“No!” Lindsay crossed her arms.
“No what? We don’t try to find her?” Nick asked.
“Not you guys. Sara and I will go. We’ll have a better chance of finding her, ’cause we’re smarter than you, and when we do, she’ll open up to Sara.”
Jared handed Lindsay the keys to the Lexus. The girls made a left out of the long, winding driveway, keeping their eyes peeled for a small, thin girl with choppy black hair and huge violet eyes.
“I think she’d probably head for the main road,” Sara opined after they’d circled the area a few times. “She’s more likely to find a taxi there.”
Lindsay turned right, toward Sunset Boulevard. “I hope she isn’t trying to hitch a ride. You never know what kind of jerks are on the road.”
Sara pressed her lips together, her eyes darting left and right as Lindsay drove—remembering her first day in Los Angeles, when those sleazy guys tried to lure her into their car. If she had enough sense not to go with them, Naomi surely would resist, no matter how desperate she was.
“I don’t get it, exactly,” Lindsay mused. “Why would she run away? Why not just say thanks but no thanks, I’m not interested in your movie?”
“I’m guessing she figured we wouldn’t let up on her, we’d pressure her. And I’m also guessing that running from scary situations has kept her alive all these years.”
“How can you compare our offer to make her a movie star with scary street situations? That’s ridiculous.”
“To you, maybe. Who knows what goes on in her head,” Sara pointed out.
They had no luck finding any pedestrians at all along the winding, palm-tree-lined Sunset Boulevard, so they headed east toward the shopping district. They wound up and down the side streets, checking coffee shops, bookstores, any place Naomi might’ve gone into. No luck.
“What about turning onto Hollywood Boulevard,” Lindsay suggested, “where you first found her?”
They rode in silence for a while. Every so often, Lindsay’s cell phone rang: Jared asking for an update.
Hollywood Boulevard was crowded, commuters coming home from work, shoppers out and about—tourists, skinheads, the usual carnival of weirdos, beggars. No Naomi.
Out of nowhere, Lindsay blurted, “I’m not going to try and force her to do this movie. I owe her, Sara. I owe her everything. If she wants to stay underground, I owe her that, too. But I’d like to give her money, at the very least, so she can do what she wants. And I want to her to know that she always …”
Silently, Sara finished the sentence: that Naomi always has friends. People to turn to. Always. Sara reached over and squeezed Lindsay’s shoulder. “I know. Me, too.”
They passed Big Al’s Tattoo Parlor, Bondage Babes Leather ’N’ Thongs, Off-Track Betting, take-out places. “Where would she go?” Lindsay said for the eighteenth time.
“She’d go where she feels safe,” Sara said.
“Oh, my God!” Lindsay exclaimed. “We’re such duh-heads. We should have thought of it right away!”
In the middle of traffic, in a completely illegal move, accompanied by the outraged horns and curses of dozens of cars, Lindsay slammed on the brakes and made a U-turn.
Naomi was sitting at the property’s edge, several feet from where the pool had once been.
Lindsay had managed to squeeze the car between the huge yellow-and-black CAT construction trucks, which took up half the winding street in front of 5905 Chula Vista Lane. It was nearing sunset and the workers had gone for the day, but the big cleanup trucks had remained.
Without exchanging a word, the girls threaded their way around back. The quake had caused an upheaval in the yard, Uncle Rob’s property now ended in a minicliff. Naomi was on it, her legs pretzeled under her; she leaned back on her arms for support. She stared out into the valley.
Naomi didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see Sara and Lindsay, who settled on either side of her.
For a few peaceful moments, no one spoke. The valley spread out below them, the hills all around, and the sun, a big red rubber ball floating in the sky, brushed the top of the mountains.
Lindsay murmured, “Awesome view.”
Naomi nodded in agreement.
“It’s so great that Rusty is getting the house rehabbed,” Lindsay noted, “so when Rob gets back, he won’t have to deal with the mess.”
Sara gazed at the sky. “Nature caused the earthquake, but look what nature gives us. Nothing can take away the glory of this landscape.”
“These past two weeks,” Naomi said quietly, “at Jared’s house? It’s the first time in my entire life I ever had my own room. But I was happiest in this place, in the basement. Funny, huh?”
“No, not at all,” Sara said. “I feel completely out of place at the Larson mansion.”
Lindsay whipped around. “Really? Not me. I feel right at home there.”
“Will you live there some day?” Naomi asked Lindsay.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not thinking that far ahead.”
“But you’ll end up with Jared, right?” Sara asked. “You love him.”
“You two are made for each other,” Naomi put in.
Lindsay had no quip. She seemed to mull whether she should say anything. Finally, she said, “Remember that night in the hot tub, you guys asked what I saw in Jared? I didn’t tell you everything. I love him because, at the end of the day, he’d do anything for me. He’s crazy about me. He accepts me even when I’m selfish, and snobby, and—”
“You? Selfish? Come on!” Sara jabbed her, and they all laughed.
“Jared has seen me at my worst. And he loves me anyway.”
“Then why do you sound so mournful?” Naomi asked.
“Because …” She took a breath, “Because I hurt him once before. And I could hurt him again. At least I think I could. If something came up and, say, Jared wasn’t in a position to help me, career-wise? I could leave him. I could do that.”
Sara glared at her. “You’re full of shit, Lindsay.”
Naomi and Lindsay gasped.
“You … you … cursed!” Naomi stammered.
“Well, I’m tired of hearing Lindsay talk trash about herself. You do, you know! You make jokes out of everything, pretend to be heartless and selfish, and, okay, I’ll grant that in some ways you are. But when it matters, you’ve got a heart of gold, girl. You really do.”
A tear streaked down Lindsay’s cheek. “If you ever tell, I’ll kill you.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. Now, go on and tell Naomi what you came to say.” Sara smiled knowingly.
Lindsay sniffed. “I’m sorry we freaked you out, Naomi. You don’t have to read for the movie; you can forget about it, if that’s what you want. You don’t have to tell us why. But—”
“No buts,” Sara scolded mildly.
“Just let me finish, okay?”
Lindsay looked into Naomi’s eyes. “Here’s the thing. Whatever’s going on in your head, whatever you need—for whatever reason—we can help you.”
Sara said, “We became like a family this summer, Naomi. All of us. And family help one another. If you need money, if you need to stay under the radar—whatever you need, we’re there for you.”
“You don’t have to be alone again. Ever.” Lindsay and Sara leaned in and hugged her.
You’d expect huge, gloppy tears to fall from those ginormous anime eyes. When Naomi cried, they did.
October: Beshert—What’s Meant to Be
“What’s the word from our guys in the Midwest?” Jared asked Lindsay, who’d just shut her cell phone. The pair were lazing in Jared’s backyard on a balmy Saturday afternoon, with Linz looking exceptionally luscious in her metallic bikini—so “in,” as she advised him, and so perfect with her copper hair, golden brown eyes, and faded rusty freckles.
A stab of pain shot through him. Lindsay would be leaving soon for the location shoot in Oklahoma for The Outsiders. After much haggling, the movie studio decided to remain faithful to th
e original, in setting at least. She’d be gone for three months, and though Jared would visit as often as possible, he missed her already. He’d be busy, doing double-duty. As part of the big Larson compromise, Jared had agreed to really go back to school, to take classes, and to work part-time at Galaxy.
From her lounge chair, Lindsay leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Nick’s at college. He joined a fraternity—and big surprise, he’s already got a girlfriend. He thinks he’s gonna be a business major. I think we convinced him he could open a chain of fitness centers one day. I’d invest in him.”
Jared laughed. “I bet you would, cutie-pie. And with all the money you’re gonna make on The Outsiders and the plans I have for your career, you’ll have lots of money to invest.”
“Bet on it,” she said dreamily.
“And Eliot, our neurotic-genius friend?”
“Emergency El is doing fantastic,” she reported. “I got an e-mail. That school in Chicago is like his dream environment. He’s even got—are ya sitting down?—a girlfriend!”
Jared punched his fist in the air. “Yessss! Awesome!”
“I texted him; he’s gonna send a picture. I told him we could probably all get together over Christmas. I mean, I’ll be in Oklahoma—how far could that be from Chicago and Michigan?”
Jared chortled. “That’s my Linz. Don’t ever change, baby, okay?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I think you just made fun of me.”
He reached over and cupped her chin. “Never. I’d never make fun of you.” The kiss was tender, and sweet, and lingering.
“Mr. Jared, a delivery came for you.” Desiree’s voice wafted from the French doors. She held up a large manila envelope.
Jared knew what it was—he’d asked Amanda to please send it over on Saturday so he could surprise Lindsay before the rest of the showbiz community saw it on Monday. He opened it in front of her.
Lindsay’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God, Jared! That’s … that’s … where did you? When will this come out?”
They were staring at a poster, the first draft of what would eventually be used on billboards, magazines, and in TV ads to advertise The Outsiders. The final version wouldn’t be released for many months, but Jared and Amanda had fought for the wording on it, and Jared wanted Lindsay to see it.
The poster pictured the seven male stars standing shoulder to shoulder—including Mark Oliver, the young actor Lindsay’d met in the park—their names listed beneath the photograph. On the side, in her own spotlight, was a profile of Lindsay’s sparkling face, with the words, “And starring Lindsay Pierce as Cherry.”
She gulped. “You did this for me.”
“Well …” Jared tried to hide his grin. “It was really your agent, Amanda, who did the heavy lifting. But, yeah—as the son of the owner of Galaxy, I put my two cents in. C’mere, you.” He held his arms out.
Lindsay joined him on the chaise lounge, tucked herself under his arm.
“And you know, Ms. Pierce,” Jared said, “this is only the beginning. Galaxy and I have big plans for the likes of you.”
Through her tears, she giggled. “Tell me again.”
“We’re gonna pitch Leave It to Lindsay, a half-hour TV series, and it’s all you. It’s you being single and funny and free in L.A. It’s you being clueless and brilliant at the same time, it’s you being self-centered and intensely generous. It’s you and your coterie of friends—it’s I Love Lucy meets Sex and the City. You should be planning that Lindsay Pierce doll now.”
“And the perfume,” she sniffed. “Everyone has a scent.”
“Okay, you two, get a room!” Sara sashayed into the backyard, wearing capris and a snazzy V-neck top accessorized with a golden cross necklace.
Lindsay bolted upright and gave Sara a huge smile. “Wuzzup, Saint Sara?”
Jared looked from his girlfriend to Sara. A strange feeling overtook him. He had the distinct feeling Lindsay knew why Sara was there. Which intensified when Lindsay, who never could contain her excitement, suddenly shot off the lounge chair and started prancing about, circling him.
Sara laughed and pulled something out of the Hermès Birkin bag that Lindsay had pressed on her. She’d only agreed because in her new job—while still auditioning for acting roles—she was always toting around scripts and papers.
Sara had not gone back to Texarcana, not gone back to Donald. She’d decided, after much deliberation, to stay in L.A., to continue trying to find acting gigs and to work with Naomi. Once the formerly homeless girl accepted them as true friends, as family, she’d opened up. Told them about her missing sister, her fears of finding Annie, or of not finding Annie.
Lindsay had offered to help. Jared’s family had the resources to be discreet, to be sure no harm came to anyone, no unwanted publicity. They hadn’t found Annie Foster yet, but they had earned Naomi’s trust. In short order, that trust had led her to audition, finally, for the role of Moxie in Hide in Plain Sight.
The newbie actress needed a manager, someone to protect her, look out for her interests. They created that job for Sara at Galaxy.
“Well, come on!” Jared was getting antsy. “What are you and Lindsay up to?”
Slowly, just to mess with him, Sara extracted a rolled-up poster from her bag and gave it to Jared. “Unroll it.”
Jared did not enjoy being stealthed. Warily, he slipped off the rubber band and unfurled the poster.
“It’s a first draft,” Sara warned. “It’s not final.”
“But the wording is!” Lindsay squealed.
It was Jared’s turn to tear up. McSmoothy became McMush. The poster was for Hide in Plain Sight. And it wasn’t the billing, “Introducing Naomi Foster as Moxie,” that moved him to tears. It was the top billing:
“A Rusty and Jared Larson Production.”
Epilogue: One Last Laugh
Later that night, Lindsay and Jared were still outdoors; hadn’t moved from the chaise lounge. They had one more surprise visitor.
“Uncle Rob!” Jared exclaimed. “You’re back! You’re … here!”
Indeed he was. The tall, craggy, forever-hippie Robert Larson, Jared’s favorite family member, loped into the backyard. He’d be bunking here at the mansion, he told them, until his own house at 5905 Chula Vista Lane was fully operational again. He stretched out on the chaise next to the couple and turned to Jared.
“So, nephew, how was your summer?”
Jared shrugged. “Oh, you know, nothing exciting. Same old, same old …”
Lindsay began to giggle. The giggle became a guffaw, which morphed into peals and peals of staccato laughter, bouncing off the canyon walls and through the valleys, around the hills, drifting into the perfect California night.
About the Author
Randi Reisfeld is the author of numerous original series and novels for teens, including three New York Times bestsellers. Her series with HB Gilmour, T*Witches, is the basis for two popular Disney Channel TV movies. Her trilogy Starlet also reflects her lifelong obsession with all things Hollywood. Randi lives in Washington Township, New Jersey. Visit her on the web at www.randireisfeld.com.
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Shirt and Shoes Not Required
Todd Strasser
“School’s out for … ever!”
Okay, so maybe it was one of the lamest songs ever to come out of the 1980s, but Avery James had to admit that thumping out of the radio in her pickup, it sounded dead-on. Driving with the windows down and the warm June breeze whipping her light brown hair, she turned the music up a little louder.
Summer, there was nothing like it. And this year, she was going to make the most of it. It was June 23, and the rest of her life stretched before her, beginning with two months of sun, sand, all-night parties—and no one checking IDs too close—to celebrate her release from the minimum-security prison known as high school.
Cruisin
g down the road toward Wildwood, New Jersey, the salty smell of the ocean filled her nostrils and a thrill ran up her spine. This is it! Ever since she was a kid she had heard about the beachside community that was the summer hangout for thousands of high school and college students. Now she was finally going to see for herself.
She drove over the causeway—the breeze adding a ripple to the green water below—and into town, passing the blocks of rental houses and condos, motels, gas stations, and liquor stores that serviced vacationers. Her first impression was that every other car was a brand-new convertible or a tricked-out import complete with spoiler and rims. Compared with them, her rusty, dented red truck was almost an eyesore. But that was okay; she liked being different. A girl driving an old pickup stood out in the crowd. It didn’t matter that the real reason she drove the pickup was that it was free. The truck was a hand-me-down from her uncle.
The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun big and yellow. Its rays warmed her arm in the open window. Avery tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and double-checked the addresses for the house she would be sharing. She was looking for number 15. As she drove toward the beach the numbers got lower. 93 … 87 … 81. The houses were mostly two stories and larger than she had expected. Some were freshly painted with neatly trimmed green lawns. Others were victims of the salt air and harsh winter weather—paint flaking, battered shutters hanging askew. Houses like that anywhere else might have been considered dilapidated, but here they seemed charming and rustic.
She passed number 19 and slowed the pickup, but her heart sped up in anticipation. Seven people would be sharing the house, including her boyfriend, Curt. No parents, no rules, nothing to hold them back from having a great time. Daytime, nighttime, all the time. That was, if they could stand one another. She wondered what her housemates would be like. Maybe it wouldn’t be important. Her cousin had once shared a house at Wildwood with three other girls and swore she never saw two of them more than five times the entire summer.
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