It does. She is. A pale pink gloss that makes her look both sixteen and twenty-five. “The pigtails can stay,” she tells her hair guy. “I like them.”
When I finally see my finished self in the mirror, I don’t look like Emily Fine at all. I look very private school, very Samantha. I’m told not to smile in the first two photo sets. I’m to adopt an expression of “polite disdain,” which doesn’t come easily to me.
Theodora ignores the photographer’s directions. More yelling. The art director tries to sweet-talk her into doing what he wants. The photo editor comes over and informs Theodora that there’s no way she’ll have the cover if the pictures “suck.”
“I really don’t care,” Theodora says.
“Well, let me share this,” the woman says. “In two seconds, your phone will ring. And it will be your agent screaming in your ear.” She walks away.
In a minute, “We Are Family” entertains the photo shoot crowd. Theodora barks “Whatever” a lot. Then, “Fine. Calm down.”
By the time Belle and Jen arrive, we’ve gotten into the groove, as the photographer likes to say. When someone’s assistant comes over with a lunch menu and asks if we want any extras, Theodora says, “They’re in high school.” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Sex with a hot assistant!” Belle whispers, eyeing some very good-looking twenty somethings walking around.
“Belle!” Jen shushes her. “I’m sure he’s talking about lemons or dressing for the salads or something like that.”
Theodora laughs. “He’s talking about drugs. A joint.”
Belle and Jen and I stare at each other. We wait for Theodora to say she’s just kidding, but she doesn’t. She does say I might want to leave that part out of the essay I’m supposed to write about this whole experience for the magazine and for a special Theodora-focused issue of the high school paper.
Might want to leave it out?
Oak City High Gazette
A RAFFLE FOR AN UNWORTHY CAUSE!
by Tim Conners, reporter, junior class
Rumor has it that a group of students has been selling raffle tickets for a tour of Theodora Twist’s bedroom—and for a half hour alone with the award-winning movie star. Where’s all the money going? The greedy group’s pockets.
“I don’t believe it,” Theodora told me earlier today. “It’s just more gossip, more rumors. But if it is true, anyone who bought a raffle ticket wasted their hard-earned cash. So I hope it’s not true!”
Mr. Opps is currently investigating the rumor. Anyone with information is urged to see the principal right away.
Emily
“I assume we’re invited to your party,” Samantha Paris says to me before English class on Friday morning. “If I’d known you were having a party, I would have canceled mine. Everyone’s going to yours now.”
I smile at her. “It’s going to be really crowded, so . . .”
She looks so pissed and so miserable that it’s all I need. “But I don’t believe in excluding anyone, so of course you and Samantha and Carin and April are invited.”
“Avril,” April corrects.
“See you tonight,” Zach says, smiling at me with that incredible smile.
“Anyone who wants to come can come,” I say defensively as Jen gives me a disappointed look.
My mom is thrilled that I’m having a party. She thinks it proves that doing the show is already changing my life.
“The house is going to fill up with people—and really popular people—because of Theodora. Not me,” I pointed out last night. “So it’s bull.”
My mom smiled. “You know, Em, sometimes it can be okay to let the ends justify the means.”
“I have no idea what you just said.”
“Having a famous roommate for a month is supposed to change your life,” she went on. “Parties, popularity, boyfriends. It’s what you do with what you’re suddenly given that’s the important thing.”
“So everyone’s coming here tomorrow night instead of going to a party I was excluded from. What am I supposed to do with that?”
She smiled again. “You’ll just have to figure it all out as it comes. Just like I’m doing. Just like Stew is doing.”
I glanced at Stew. He was sitting in his den, watching a game on TV, but folding laundry at the same time. His cameraman filmed him for a few minutes, then took a bathroom break. Stew, amazingly, kept folding.
“He can’t fold to save his life,” I said.
My mom laughed. “And that’s okay. It’s called a really good start.”
“So I still don’t get how this blind speed-dating thing is going to work,” Belle says that night as we’re getting ready for the party. We’re all wearing jeans and cute T-shirts. Belle borrowed one from Theodora and is convinced it makes her look curvier. It’s a plain black T-shirt from the Gap. “We have to go to the prom with whoever picks us?” As matchmaker extraordinaire, Belle has never been able to fix up herself.
“No, whoever you match with,” Theodora says, dabbing on some lip gloss. “Everyone can pick up to five people they would want to get to know better. If the person—or people—you pick also pick you, you’re given each other’s name and phone number.”
“But we have no idea who we’re picking,” I say. “That’s so weird. I could pick Todd Tuttle and not know it. Or Zach Archer.”
“But you probably wouldn’t,” Theodora says. “That’s the point. Guys like Todd and Zach are jerks. You’ll know it in two seconds.”
“And with a bag over his head,” Belle adds, “Zach won’t have the cute factor to make him seem nicer than he is.”
“And I won’t have the movie star factor to make me any different than anyone else,” Theodora says. “Guess I’ll find out if I have a good personality.”
I glance at her. I think she said that for the benefit of the camera. The whole thing has to be pretty strange for her. If she’s just another girl under that bag, what will she say? What will she talk about?
Buzz! Doorbell.
Belle and Jen and I look at each other. This is my first party. And everyone who is anyone, as they say, is coming. My mom and Stew expect things to get totally out of control, number-of-people-wise. Which is why they are chaperoning. Stew will be in the living room the entire time, “reading” in his recliner in the corner. My mom will be gardening by moonlight in the backyard, where the party will definitely spill out.
“Where’s the keg?” Zach Archer’s friend Scott asks the moment he walks in with at least eight guys. Groups of people are behind them.
“This is a booze-free party,” Theodora says.
They stare at her. “Theodora Twist just spoke to me,” Scott says, swooning.
“Anyone caught with alcohol will be escorted out,” Stew announces loudly. All heads turn to him; then Belle puts on a CD and the party starts.
Theodora disappears in the crowd. I notice that Zach follows her, but she ignores him every time he tries to start up a conversation. She’s surrounded by groups everywhere she turns.
The Samanthas arrive in coordinated teeny-tiny miniskirts and tight pastel-colored tank tops. None of them speaks to me, of course. An hour into the party I realize no one is really speaking to me, except for Belle and Jen and Stephen and Tim Conners, who I promised a tour of the house for the Oak City High Gazette. We’re trailed by a group of people, peering in every room with bored faces, and Nicole. I take Tim through the first floor, where there’s barely room to move. We head upstairs. Out of the corner of my eye I see Todd Tuttle dart into my room. Jerk. He’s probably looking for something of Theodora’s to sell on eBay.
I hear a shriek. I run to my room and throw open the door and freeze. Samantha Paris is standing in my room— which is lit only by the bedside table lamp—in her bra and underwear. Todd Tuttle is holding what looks like a raffle ticket. They both look like they’re going to throw up.
“You’re not Theodora Twist,” Todd tells Samantha, who grabs her clothes from the back of m
y desk chair and runs into the bathroom. “Either produce her or give me back my two hundred bucks,” he yells at the closed door.
“Two hundred bucks?” Tim asks.
“I bought twenty raffle tickets to get a half hour alone with Theodora, and I won,” Todd explains, glaring at Samantha when she emerges.
We all look at Samantha, whose face is still bright red.
“Wait a minute!” she yells, staring at the cameras, then at me, then at the crowd. “This is totally not how it looks. You think I was in here trying to pass myself off as Theodora? Like I’d want to spend one second with you in a room? I don’t think so, loser,” she snaps at Todd. She turns to me and Tim. “A few minutes ago, I complimented Theodora on her dress and she said it was Dolce and Gabanna and that I could try it on in her room if I wanted and borrow it sometime, and then she left to give me a little privacy. And then a minute later, Todd walked in waving his stupid ticket!”
“Omigod, Samantha Paris was fooling around with Todd Tuttle!” someone shouts. “He won the raffle and Samantha tried to pass herself off as Theodora!”
Samantha turns bright red and looks like she’s going to hyperventilate.
“Why would I do that?” she screams as the camera moves back for a wider angle. “Like I’d want to fool around with Todd? Give me a break!”
“Because you probably tried to get Theodora in the room at the same time as Todd and it backfired in your face,” Tim says.
“Oh, you’re so impartial. If this gets in the paper, my father will sue you and your parents and the school and Emily’s parents and Theodora.”
“What’s going on?” Theodora asks, weaving through the crowd. “I miss something?”
Samantha, red-faced, goes running out, pushing and shoving.
“Can you leave us alone for a second?” I ask Tim. He shrugs and leaves and I shut the door and pull Theodora into the bathroom. Vic and Nicole are there too, but I’m so used to them now that it seems almost normal.
“Did you set that up?” I whisper.
“Yeah. Brilliant, huh?” she says, smudging her glittery eye shadow. “PG-rated, but very clever. I had no idea the reporter guy would be with the people who walked in on them, though. That’s just icing. God, I’m good.”
“Or just really mean,” I tell her.
She looks at me like I have two heads. “Lighten up, Emily. The point of my being here is to film a reality TV show. It’s supposed to be entertaining. And this little scene was very entertaining.”
I shrug and head back into my room and sit on my bed.
“Emily, can you stop being so annoyingly PC for one freaking minute? What is your problem?”
I don’t know. The whole thing is just so . . . high school. Isn’t she above this kind of stupid backstabbing? I mean, she’s a movie star. She has everything. “I’m not being PC,” I tell her. “I’m just being—”
“You’re just being a bore?”
“I’m just being me,” I say. “That’s all.” I don’t even know why what happened bothered me so much. I hate Todd Tuttle. I hate Samantha Paris. And I like Theodora.
“Whatever, Emily,” she says, heading out. Vic trots after her. “You are such a baby.”
“And you’re such a bitch,” I shoot back, then freeze as Vic wheels back, his lens trained on my startled face. I can’t believe I just said that.
I see Theodora stiffen—just for a second. And then she’s gone.
Theodora
An hour later, the party’s over and Emily is still sulking. I’m so bored.
“Okay, okay,” I tell her. “I’ll handle it.”
She flips onto her stomach and faces me. “Handle what how?”
“Where’s your phone book?”
She raises an eyebrow, gets the White Pages from her desk, and drops it on my bed. I thumb through, then dial. “Samantha? It’s Theodora Twist.” Emily is staring at me. “I’ll make you a deal. You donate the proceeds of your little raffle to Teens In Crisis, and I’ll make sure the segment doesn’t ever hit the air.”
“You can do that?” she asks.
“Yup.”
“Deal.”
“I’m sorry about the humiliation factor, okay?” I tell her. I actually consider offering her free tickets to see Family, but who am I—Emily?
“Okay.”
I hang up. Emily is smiling like an idiot. “There’s something seriously wrong with you,” I tell her. “You really need to work on your inner snark, Emily.” Calling me a bitch was a good start, though.
She glances at me, then away. “When my dad died I saw a therapist for about six months. She once told me that when people act like jerks, it’s usually because they’re in pain over something. I guess I never forgot that.”
“Oh please. What is Samantha Paris in pain over? Her thong’s too far up her ass?”
“You never know about people,” she says. “That’s all I’m saying. You can think someone has the perfect life because they’re popular or gorgeous and then find out something horrible is happening to them.”
“Is this what you talk about at parties?” I ask, picking up the Vogue I bought today. “Because if it is, Emily, it’s no wonder you only have two friends.”
She turns away, and I can tell she’s debating whether to embrace her inner snark after all. It’s weird to realize that she’s gotten to know me well enough to have a lot to say back. If she is planning on zinging me, my ringing cell phone interrupts her. Ashley.
I’m expecting her to scream in my ear, but instead, she gives me great news. I’m saved! I get to escape for one week. Yes! I have to reshoot two scenes of the movie that’ll come out next year. In Paris, which means I can probably see Bo and Brandon!
When Ashley and I hang up, I turn out my bedside lamp. “Good news, Emily. You’re free of me for a week starting tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t even know why I got so upset before,” she says, shrugging. “I can’t stand Todd or Samantha. And she set you up first. You just got her back. And Todd.”
“You’re one of those nice people,” I tell her.
“And what’s the point of being nice? Being nice got me dumped by the guy I was in love with for two years. That’s pathetic.”
“No, Emily. He’s the pathetic one. Niceness and sex have nothing to do with each other. You have integrity. It’s so rare in L.A. that it took me a while to recognize that that’s what makes you so different from everyone I know.”
“I’m sorry I called you a bitch,” she says.
“I am a bitch,” I point out.
“You’re not.”
I want to hug her. But I don’t.
NEW YORK POST PAGE SIX
What teen queen movie star who says she’s “just friends” with a certain teen twin boy band was reportedly spotted with her tongue down both brothers’ throats in the elevator of the Eiffel Tower in Paris this past week?
FROM THE DESK OF ASHLEY BEAN
ASHLEY BEAN TALENT MANAGEMENT
To the New York Post:
Please be advised that the recent Page Six piece alluding to Theodora Twist is absolutely false.
Thank you.
Emily
Monday: Samantha Paris is furious that Theodora is gone for a week. Sammy told everyone that Theodora called her personally to apologize for the “misunderstanding.” But she was counting on Theodora backing her up at school.
Four times I’m asked if Theodora will have any identifying marks on her paper bag for blind speed-dating.
Tuesday: I miss her.
Wednesday: I notice Ray Roarke checking me out in English. He looks away when I catch him. Why is he cuter than he was two weeks ago? Samantha Paris asks him if he’s participating in blind speed-dating. He ignores her, and she and April-Avril crack up. I hate them. (I also wish Ray had answered.)
Thursday: Funny, now I can’t sleep without Theodora yammering away in the next bed. It’s too quiet. My mom and Stew are too quiet. The camerapeople have been over only a cou
ple of times this week. I think my mom and Stew are so relieved to have their house back that they’re actually being nice to each other.
Friday: She’s back. So are the paparazzi.
Theodora
“Theodora!” paparazzi shout as I walk briskly through the terminal at JFK, Larissa by my side. “Is it true that you and the Bellini brothers had sex in the elevator of the Eiffel Tower?”
I stop and flash a bemused smile. “So ridiculous! Bo and Brandon and I are just good friends. We ran into each other in Paris, had lunch at a café, and the rumor mill got to work. I didn’t even go near the Eiffel Tower. It’s crazy!”
The Stewarts welcome me back with a family party. I can’t stop smiling, even when Sophie drools on my leg. I even take second helpings of potato salad and baked beans.
“What’s gotten into you?” Emily asks later in our room when Nicole and Vic leave. “Was it because you got back to your real life for a week?”
I realize she’s half serious. “Duh,” I say, punching her arm. “It’s because I saw Bo and Brandon,” I whisper. “Because everything is fine between us. They were just crazy busy and with the time change and me stuck in class, we couldn’t connect. But we connected big-time in Paris. Twice.” I’m beaming like one of my giddy fans. “When they come back to the states in a month,” I add, looking at pictures of them on my camera, “we’re going to get more serious.”
Emily nibbles on her cuticles. “You’re all going to get more serious?”
I nod. “Didn’t I just say that?”
“How does that work?” she asks me. “How does a threesome get more serious?”
“You clearly wouldn’t understand, Emily,” I say, giving an exasperated sigh.
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