by Alyson Noel
And yet, she couldn’t imagine living any other way. Maybe contentment was for other people, not her. Maybe it just wasn’t part of her genetic makeup. All she knew for sure was that while she’d always love Mateo and his little sister, and would always be there for them in whatever way they might need, at her core she was guided by a restless soul, willing to chase her dreams all the way to the edge of the world if that was what it took.
And then, of course, there was the issue of Tommy. But the thought left her feeling so disloyal she marched it quickly out of her mind.
“Are you keeping up with your homework?” Mateo asked. “Do you need any help?”
“Homework?” Layla feigned like she was aghast. “They’re making you do homework in here?”
Valentina shrugged good-naturedly. “It was my choice. I didn’t want to get too far behind. Besides, it didn’t take long for the thrill of watching TV all day to wear off.”
Layla was about to respond, when the same nurse who’d forbidden her from entering barged into the room, took one look at Layla, and said, “I’m going to pretend you’re not here.”
“What, her?” Valentina nodded at Layla. “She’s my first cousin once removed.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The nurse deposited a beautifully wrapped package on the bed and said, “Seems you have a secret admirer. There’s no card attached.”
That was all it took to send Layla’s pulse rocketing. But shy of snatching the box from Valentina’s fingers, which she hadn’t completely ruled out, she didn’t know what else to do but stand back and wait to see what happened next.
Would the box contain another diary entry?
Would she be forced to leap on top of the poor sick child and wrench it free before Valentina could see the horrible thing it most likely contained?
With a frantically beating heart, Layla watched Valentina work through the layer of wrapping paper and tape to reveal a plain brown box underneath that bore no identifiable markings of any kind. Though Layla had no idea what it was, she knew without a doubt it wasn’t good. They’d reached the part of the poem where she was supposed to claim it without causing too many tears. And she needed to act fast.
She rubbed her lips together, wondering how best to handle it. With the nurse and Mateo both watching, her position was an awkward one.
Valentina had just started opening the box when Mateo moved in to help, but Layla, in a rush, beat him to it.
“Here, let me!” Fingers trembling, she ran a nail under the tape, unfolded the flaps, and held her breath in her cheeks as she looked inside. It was a bear. An adorable stuffed bear—the kind with hinged arms and legs and soft, plushy fur.
“Uh, are you going to let me see it?” Valentina asked, as Layla became aware that everyone was now staring at her.
“Yes. Um, of course!” Trying to sound cheery and upbeat, which was always a stretch even on a good day, she freed it from the box and gave it a quick but thorough inspection before Valentina pretty much demanded she hand it over.
Layla’s stomach churned. She watched Valentina grin as she lifted its arms, patted its fur, and made its legs kick back and forth. Would she be forced to wait for the nurse to leave and Valentina to fall back asleep so she could slice it open and get to the surprise that was waiting for her?
She was contemplating doing exactly that, when her gaze dropped to the bottom of the box and she saw an envelope bearing her name in the familiar curlicue script.
Somewhere deep inside awaits yet another surprise . . . Did that refer to the message hidden deep inside the box, as opposed to something far more sinister lurking deep inside the bear? Layla could only hope.
Valentina continued to play with the bear. It was amazing how one moment she was like some ageless sage—a dispenser of wisdom—and the next, an average ten-year-old girl who’d received a lovely new toy from a secret admirer.
“Who do you think sent it?” Valentina asked, barely able to take her eyes off it.
“Probably some cute boy in your class who misses you and wants you to get well soon,” Layla said, laughing when Valentina responded by crinkling her nose in distaste.
At that moment, Layla wanted nothing more than to place Valentina in a bubble and keep her safe from the world.
But the world was patient, and in the end, there was no good way to avoid it.
“I think that’s enough excitement for one day,” the nurse said, giving Mateo and Layla each a stern look.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Valentina said as they were preparing to leave.
Layla looked from the bear to Valentina, hoping she’d done the right thing by letting her have it. But what choice did she have?
“I won’t,” Layla promised, shooting a questioning look toward the nurse, who refused to respond either way.
With the door closed behind them, Layla tossed the box in the bin, shoved the envelope in her bag, and told Mateo to hurry.
THIRTY-FIVE
WATCHING THE DETECTIVES
BEAUTIFUL IDOLS
Through the Looking Glass
By Layla Harrison
Ever look at the dark side of a mirror?
When you were a kid, did you ever flip it over to see how it worked?
Were you surprised to learn your reflection was the result of nothing more than a thin sheet of glass with a metallic backing?
And if so, did its magic dim just the tiniest bit?
Maybe that was just me, but I do believe celebrity works in much the same way.
When a Hollywood starlet first appears on the scene, they’re like the shiny surface of the mirror, all gleaming and bright. While we, as potential haters or fans, are like the dingy metallic backing, reflecting all sorts of attributes the celebrity may or may not deserve.
Which brings me to Madison Brooks.
Since she disappeared, there’s been an outpouring of emotion and wild proclamations of love—all of which begs the question:
Just how much do we really know about Madison?
Are the Princess Di and Mother Teresa comparisons (a notion yours truly finds completely absurd) actually valid?
As it turns out, we don’t know nearly as much about Madison as we think.
And while you may hate me for what I’m about to do next—in fact, I’m counting on the fact that you will—over the course of the next several weeks, I double-dare you not to follow this feed.
So, without further ado, I present to you the first installment of Madison Brooks’s journal.
Make of it what you will, but please note that I did not make this up, this is not a work of fiction, and it came to me via a reliable source.
As always, feel free to exit through the comments section on your way out.
October 5, 2012
I’m so over it!!!!
So over absolutely EVERYTHING!
Including my so-called friends, my family, my stupid fake boyfriend, but mostly, this stuffy, boring, stick-up-its-ass town.
☹
UGH! I feel like I’m dying here, suffocating, drowning—and it’s time to make a move and get the hell out before these uptight, small-town morons take me down with them.
People like to tell me how grateful I should be. Constantly reminding me of how lots of kids who find themselves orphaned at my age end up staying that way until they age out of the system and are forced to move on to dead-end jobs, multiple divorces, jail sentences, drug addictions, unplanned pregnancies, and whatever bleak clichéd scenarios those self-righteous judgmental assholes who don’t even know what real hardship is can drum up on short notice.
Whatever.
I mean, yah, so my parents agreed to raise me—big fuckin’ deal. Fact is, they benefited from the arrangement in ways they’d be smart to never reveal. But of course they won’t hesitate to take all the credit once I’m famous. Just watch!
Totally pathetic but completely true.
And unfortunately, I’ll have no choice but to go along with whatever bullshit story they unearth for
the press about all the heartwarming times we all shared.
But let’s make one thing clear: when my face is on every magazine cover and every billboard—when I’m the most sought-after actress/singer/performer in the world—the only one truly responsible for helping me get there is P.
If it wasn’t for him fabricating my past and arranging my present, I’m not sure where I would be.
The Ghost saved me—spared me from a future too horrible to contemplate. One much worse than the scenario above.
I guess you could say I owe him my life.
Then again, he owes me his too.
Turns out, justice isn’t quite so black and white like most people think. There are lots of varying shades, and it’s better not left to chance.
And now, because of the choices we made—because of the way P went out on a limb for me and put his whole life on the line—our destinies are forever entwined. If I ever go down, he’s going down with me. Though I’m pretty sure that only works one way. Because if P goes down first, he’ll go down alone. And he’ll take all my secrets with him as well. He already proved it six years ago when he made a choice to save me. Which is why I guess, in a lot of ways, I consider him my real father.
Anyway, tomorrow is the day I board the bus to LA and never look back.
P says he’ll handle my parents, all I have to do is write the note he already dictated.
At first I’ll stay with him until I’m old enough to get my driver’s license. Once that’s done, he’ll help me score a sweet apartment I’ll have all to myself!
Luckily, P knows a lot of people—the influential kind that can help kick-start my dreams so I can get on with my life.
I guess I should be feeling more reflective, or melancholy, or something, to be ending the life I’ve lived all these years. But the truth is, tomorrow can’t come quickly enough. I’ve been waiting for this moment since the day I was born.
Though I guess I might end up missing X just the tiniest bit. I mean, he was my first after all! (Just not my first-first like he thinks ☺). Though he is the first person I sort of found myself kind of caring about.
Which is another reason why it’s time to move on. I can’t waste my time on small-time boys with minuscule dreams and no future to speak of.
Besides, I’m sure it won’t be all that hard to move on.
It’s crazy to think how next time I write in here, I’ll be living an entirely different life!
☺ ☺ ☺
Tommy stared at the screen long after he’d finished scrolling down it. Yeah, Madison’s diary entry was juicy—in an ambitious, starry-eyed, teenage-girl way. And it also helped to prove their theory that Madison was hiding some deep, dark secrets and that Paul, aka the Ghost, aka her fixer, had, for whatever reason, buried them for her. Still, he hoped Layla wasn’t seriously planning to post it. Though the threats she received seemed serious enough, he feared that caving in to the sender’s demands would only cause them to escalate. After all, blackmailers rarely went away quietly.
But Layla refused to involve the police, and it wasn’t like he blamed her. After Larsen had pulled them over for no other reason than to flex his muscle and show them who was boss, he agreed they couldn’t be trusted. Still, there had to be some other way to handle it—someone who could help make it all go away. Question was who?
He rubbed at his eyes, having spent the bulk of the morning trying to overcome some major sleep deprivation, thanks to the crazy events of the previous night, while fielding constant texts and phone calls from Malina, who’d booked him for a long list of meetings that would take up the better part of the upcoming week.
“And what about my job working for Ira?” he’d said, voice groggy and partially muffled by his pillow.
“Quit,” she’d replied, as though he was in any position to do that.
While it was undeniably tempting, Tommy was smart enough to know that one semi-successful gig did not a rock star make. Quitting his real job before things truly took off for him wasn’t something he could even consider. For now, his rock god dreams were primarily fueled by speculation and wishful thinking. The future was hopeful, but at the moment, it ended with a question mark, not a period.
Though when it did come time to quit, Tommy knew exactly how it would go down. The plan was to look Ira right in the eye and tell him (in the most casual voice possible) that he was about to embark on a sold-out world tour, and then, oh yeah, just so you know, I’m the long-lost son you never knew about. Got the birth certificate right here to prove it. Then, after Ira had time to review the document and adjust to the shock, he’d gaze at Tommy with eyes filled with pride and maybe even give him a dad hug.
But he wasn’t ready yet, not even close, and he’d told Malina in no uncertain terms that quitting wasn’t even negotiable.
The rest of his day was spent fighting the urge to call Layla. He missed her. Wanted to see her—like, really wanted to see her. But Layla was skittish, and any display of interest might push her away. So instead he’d worked on a new song about a snarky waif of a girl who’d cast a spell over him.
When Aster had texted and told him everyone was meeting up at her place, Tommy had readily agreed, only to discover Layla was already there, with Mateo sitting comfortably, a little too comfortably, beside her. And for the first time in his life Tommy felt the sharp sting of jealousy. Like a blunt object to the side of the head, it rocked him so off balance, he had no idea how to deal.
“So, now that you’re up to speed . . .” Aster spoke pointedly, as Tommy stared blankly. “I mean, you have finished reading it by now?”
He set the laptop on the table before him, and ran a hand over his face.
Were Layla and Mateo back together again?
Was Layla so horrified by their hookup she’d gone straight from Tommy’s bed to Mateo’s in an attempt to erase what she’d done?
Was last night really the quickest rebound in the history of rebounds?
“Just wondering what your thoughts are?” Aster shot him an annoyed look, and Tommy sat up straighter, forced himself to focus on the subject at hand.
“Uh, yeah, well, I’m not sure Layla should post that,” he said, worried for Layla’s welfare both if she did, and if she didn’t.
“Me neither.” Layla frowned and studied his face. Her look was so scrutinizing, Tommy quickly averted his gaze. “I don’t like being threatened. But I have to admit, part of me is afraid not to post it. Whoever it is has access and reach—they seem to always know where I am. This latest message was sent to me in Valentina’s hospital room! That alone changes everything. It’s one thing to threaten me, but when it extends to innocent people . . .” She paused for a moment. “Anyway, for now at least, I’m still holding out. But in the future, who knows?”
Tommy nodded, relieved to know she was taking the time to think it through, as opposed to being driven by fear, which would only lead to a reckless act that might make the situation worse. He pushed away from the couch and went to stand before the window. His emotions were all over the place, and though he was aware of Aster sighing in frustration behind him, he needed a moment to get a grip on himself.
“But what if they post it for you?” Ryan said. “You already said they hacked into your email account, so what’s to stop them from hacking into your blog and publishing whatever they want?”
Layla shrugged. “If they do, then maybe they’ll leave some sort of electronic trail that Javen might be able to trace?” She cast a hopeful glance in his direction, but Javen was too busy working to respond.
“So, what if this X guy is real?” Mateo ventured. The mere sound of his voice instantly filled Tommy with an irrational hatred he could barely contain, so he didn’t.
“So what if he is?” Tommy turned away from the window and glared at Mateo. His tone was so combative, everyone met it with a confused stare—all except for Layla, who seemed to see right through him. He looked away and sank his hands in his pockets, feeling ridiculous for being so trans
parent.
“What I meant was,” Mateo continued, completely undeterred, “what if X isn’t just a fill-in—what if it stands for a real person? Like the X is short for Xander or Xavier or something? Wouldn’t it be worth looking into? Maybe even tracking him down?”
Tommy frowned. It made sense. Not that he’d ever admit that.
“But how would we even begin?” Layla asked, and Tommy breathed easier knowing Layla didn’t just automatically applaud everything Mateo said. She was no lapdog. She was too smart for that.
“Good point,” Aster chimed in. “She kept him a secret, which means he probably didn’t go to her high school. So where would we even begin? Maybe we should look up Dalton instead? Or even those friends she mentioned in that first entry—Jessa and Emma, I think they were?”
“Didn’t Trena do a story on Madison’s past?” Ryan asked. “I seem to remember her interviewing the people who raised Madison, along with her group of friends back in Connecticut.”
“She did, and I read it.” Layla nodded. “But I don’t remember any mention of a mysterious X in Trena’s article. Which was pretty much Madison’s whole point, right? I mean, from the way she writes about him—” Layla reached for the laptop and took a moment to skim the entry she’d written. “The part about him having no future sounds like he might be from the wrong side of the tracks, which is probably one of the reasons she kept him a secret. Like he didn’t correspond with the image she was trying to project. And so I doubt she would’ve told anyone about him. That’s not how it works.”
At that, Tommy cast a sharp glance her way. Clearly Layla should know, being an authority on secret lovers. Question was: Who was the secret lover in her world—him or Mateo?
“Hey, Javen—” Aster looked toward her little brother, who was off in a corner, hunched over his computer. “What are the chances of you locating a guy between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five who may or may not live in the town Madison grew up in and who goes by the name of X, which may or may not be his real name?”