“I know. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
We won the game 96-39. It was weird watching the game from the bench, knowing I wasn’t going in. But I wouldn’t have played much in a game like this, anyway, since Coach liked to let the second string and JV swing players get some game time. Next we needed to focus on the Southern Section playoffs.
The weekend flew by. Kip was with Megan, so I stayed home. I texted Grace to see if she was ever coming back. I kind of wished I could get that pathetic text back the second I sent it, but oh well. No answer yet.
And then it was Monday night and I couldn’t sleep because tomorrow was Tuesday, Valentine’s Day, the day I would meet Brittany Holmes.
I hoped.
REPORT NUMBER: 8
REPORT TITLE: I Apply Gabe’s Three Rs to My Life and Come Up Short
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Kip Johnson’s House at 733 Elm Street, Pilot Point, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Tuesday, February 14, 4:38 p.m.
AFTER PRACTICE, KIP DROVE US TO his place to get ready for the premiere. While he was in the shower, I sat on the edge of his bed and pulled out my grandpa’s old retro suit. I’d rolled it up and stuffed it in my backpack that morning and now it looked pretty wrinkled.
“You’re wearing that?” Kip said, walking in the doorway wearing a towel. “Your homecoming suit?”
“It’s all I’ve got. Premieres are supposed to be formal.”
“Yeah . . .” He eyed the wrinkled fabric, then shrugged. “You might get away with it, actually. Those Hollywood types love the word vintage.”
“I thought it was retro,” I said. “What’s the difference?”
“Is there one?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. What if some reporter asks me, and I say the wrong thing?”
“No reporters are going to talk to us, man. Look, you’re going to have to iron that thing, or wear something of mine.”
“I can’t wear your clothes.” I was too tall. And too buff.
“The iron’s in the laundry room.”
I pushed to standing and grabbed my crutches. “Can you help set it up? Please?”
So Kip led me to the laundry room, put down the ironing board, and plugged in the iron. “Do you even know how to use an iron?”
Oh yes. One of Grandma’s favorite punishments was to make me iron quilt squares. “I think I can manage.”
Thirty minutes later we were in Kip’s Bimmer, heading into Hollywood. The traffic was bad, but thankfully we didn’t need to get on the freeway. And we had plenty of time.
We parked in the garage under the mall on Hollywood and Highland and came up the escalators. But the way to the theater was blocked off with huge fake walls. A security guard told us we had to go out front and enter on the red carpet.
Sweet.
A ten-foot wall, plastered with the Daystorm movie poster, had been erected along the north side of Hollywood Boulevard. When I saw the actual red carpet, I about died. It covered the two north-bound lanes of the street, probably about eighteen feet wide. A metal barricade separated the south lanes, which were lined with bleachers and packed with fans. Hundreds of people were standing against the barricades too, five or six deep, waving posters and DVDs and headshots of Brittany, Valeria, and Dennis.
Kip and I made our way to the entrance of the red carpet, and I almost got taken out by a black Audi convertible that drove right up on the carpet. The fans screamed—not in terror. They were excited. Sure enough, Dennis Wylde got out, held his hands above his head, and waved. He jogged around his car and opened the door for his date—some chick I’d never seen before, who was wearing a slinky black dress. She got out. Dennis grabbed her, dipped her over backwards, and kissed her.
The fans went nuts.
Dennis escorted his lady down the carpet and waved at fans, stopping every five yards to pose for photographers. No autographs from the guy Brittany was likely going to kill in the movie.
The guys always died in these Jolt flicks.
Some dude in a black suit jumped in Dennis’s Audi and drove it off the red carpet. Kip and I inched up to the entrance.
Another black-suit guy flew up in our faces. “This street is closed to pedestrians.”
“Do we look like pedestrians to you, fool?” Kip said. “Spencer, give me the tickets.”
I dug them out of my pocket. Kip grabbed them and waved them in the guy’s face.
I really hoped we didn’t get arrested before I got to meet Brittany Holmes.
The black suit glared at Kip and snatched the tickets out of his hand. His expression instantly softened. “Hey, Brooks!” He waved a bald guy over and gave him our tickets. “Take these two to check in.”
Brooks grinned at us. “Right this way, gentlemen.” He motioned for us to follow him.
And that was how we entered the red carpet walk. Kip waved at the crowd, which made them scream. I hobbled along beside him on my crutches. The reporters seemed to know we were nobodies and ignored us.
I needed me some bling crutches, that’s what.
“How long you been doing this?” Kip asked our guide.
“A few years.”
“You ever wave at the crowd?”
Brooks chuckled. “Um, no. Paychecks are nice.”
“But you don’t care if I wave?” Kip asked.
“Not at all.”
So Kip waved again. But that was his last chance. We came to a gold and velvet rope barrier that stretched along the ten-foot high wall, creating two paths: a fifteen foot one for the stars and a three-foot one for people who no one cared about.
That was us.
I was thankful that Sue Adams from the Pilot Point Bulletin didn’t cover the Hollywood scene. She was still trying to get me to talk to her about my injury.
But I didn’t want to think about that right now.
I pulled out My Precious II and snapped a picture of Dennis and his girl, who were posing for the paparazzi. Wish I would have thought to get a picture of him and his car.
We soon left Dennis in the dust. When we neared the entrance, I could see the El Capitan Theater above the bleachers across the street. The crowd was screaming for someone else. Brittany, I hoped.
I scanned the red carpet and marked Valeria Silver, one of the co-stars of the franchise, surrounded by three guys dressed in black. Valeria played Brittany’s BFF and demon hunter wing-woman. She was cute where Brittany was gorgeous. Tinker Bell compared to Wendy. Valeria was wearing a short, strapless white dress that was covered in hairs. Or feathers. I wasn’t close enough to tell the difference.
Valeria strutted down the carpet five yards at a time, stopping to pose for pictures and wave. The men in black, ear pieces in place, moved with her. Must be bodyguards.
Our guide turned off the red carpet, through a break in the fake walls, and into the actual mall. Everything was shut down here as well.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To the check-in tables. Hopefully whoever gave you these tickets will have put your name on the list.”
“Tickets aren’t good enough?” I asked.
“Not for a Jolt movie. Where’d you get them?”
“Ving MacCormack,” I said, trying to sound like he and I were BFFs.
“Ah, then your name is likely on the list. Mr. MacCormack’s staff is very thorough.”
Brooks led us to the table where a handful of twenty-somethings, dressed like he was, were looking bored.
“Jessica, hello,” Brooks said, handing our tickets to a pretty girl with a ponytail and a black suit jacket and skirt. “I have brought two ticket-holders that need to be checked in.”
Kip winked at Jessica. “Kip Johnson.”
Why was he talking? “It will be under Spencer Garmond,” I said.
Kip glared at me until Jessica said, “Ah, Spencer Garmond, here you are. Personal guest of Irving MacCormack. Lucky you.” She smirked at Kip. “And you must be M
r. Garmond’s plus one.”
I laughed out loud at that one.
“Gentlemen, enjoy the film,” Brooks said.
Jessica gave us lanyards with a metal tag on the bottom. It had a picture of Brittany from the movie trailer with the words “Jolt IV: Daystorm” on the top and “VIP ACCESS” on the bottom.
I took a picture, then hung it around my neck with so much reverence, I may as well have just won me an Olympic Gold Medal for basketball.
Jessica pointed us to the theater’s entrance, which was only about ten yards from the table. Halfway there the wall ended and the red carpet came into view again. Dennis and his girl were still out there, posing for tomorrow’s Yahoo! Entertainment News headlines.
Outside the doors to the theater, a crowd of people were mingling. Guys and girls in back with little white aprons were walking around with trays of hors d'œuvres and something bubbly in stemmed glasses.
Kip snagged a glass as a waiter passed by and sipped it. A slow grin crossed his face. “Champagne.”
“Really?” I looked for another waiter. I wanted one.
“Spencer!” MacCormack appeared at my side, with his wife Diane just behind him, and squeezed my shoulder. “So glad you could make it. And your friend. We’ll sit together inside, of course.”
I nodded, grinned at Diane, who was giving me her usual glare, then caught sight of Valeria Silver’s white dress just over Diane’s shoulder. Valeria and I . . . we made eye contact. I’ll never forget that moment. Meeting the sultry gaze of a famous actress, then watching as she smiled and walked toward me.
Me.
She was two steps away when MacCormack pushed past and embraced her. Gave her the Hollywood kiss-kiss on each cheek.
Should have known she hadn’t been looking at me.
But then . . . “This is my son, Spencer,” MacCormack said. “Spencer, meet Valeria Silver.”
Now I know she was looking at me. “Hey,” I said.
“My, you’re tall!” She elbowed MacCormack. “Might want to take a paternity test on this one, Ving.”
Ouch.
Ving just laughed. “His mother was a supermodel,” he said. “And he’s going to play NBA.”
I got to say, I liked his introductions.
“Ooh, I love basketball,” Valeria said.
“I’m Kip.” He stepped between us, grabbed Valeria’s hand, and kissed it. His impersonation of Dennis Wilde, perhaps? “Do you believe in love at first sight, Valeria Silver, or shall I walk by again?”
Here we go.
Valeria barked a deep laugh, then looked Kip up and down. “Walk by all you want, honey. I don’t mind the view.”
I’m sorry, what? Would no one ever slap him?
Kip moved closer to her. “So when are you going to get your own movie, girl? Because you shine.”
“Oh, Ving. I like this one,” Valeria said. “Can I keep him?”
But Ving and Diane had walked away. With them moving on and Kip flirting with Valeria, I felt a little lost.
And then I saw her. Brittany Holmes, Light Goddess, strutting this way, parting the crowd like she was dressed in fire. She was wearing a flimsy orangish red dress that draped over her body like a bed sheet.
Yeah, I know. Mind out of the gutter. Three Rs and all that. I shook my head a bit to clear it. Brittany stopped to kiss-kiss MacCormack, then Diane. She laughed at something MacCormack said. She was wearing lipstick the same color as her dress, and her hair was down and curly and wild and—
They turned my way. They were stepping toward me. I suddenly couldn’t remember who I was or why I was here. The sound around me dipped. My head got dizzy.
“—my son, Spencer.”
“Nice to meet you, Spencer.” Her face was looking up into mine. Wild black hair. Red lips. Gleaming teeth.
What was it with rich people and glowing teeth?
“What’s with the crutches?” Brittany asked me.
I just stared, trying to think of something clever to say.
“Torn ACL,” I heard Kip answer.
She tilted her head to the side, making her curls swing in one big clump. “What’s that?”
“It’s a ligament in your knee,” Kip said. “Spencer has a ton of offers to play college ball. And he’s going pro after that, Lakers, hopefully. But first he’s got to get back in shape.”
“He looks like he’s in fine shape.” And I swear she checked me out.
“Oh, sure. Spencer can bench his own body weight. But he’s got to work his knee. It’s tough physical therapy. But Kobe came back, and so did Rondo. So I have no doubt we’ll be watching Spencer on TV someday.”
Mental note to thank Kip for making me look cool despite my crutches and sudden case of muteness. I just about worked up the courage to say something, but then Brittany looked at me, raised one sculpted eyebrow, and pursed her lips like she might blow me a kiss.
“So tell me, Spencer. Does a torn knee ligament injure your tongue?”
“Ah . . . no.”
She tipped back her head and laughed.
“I think he’s just trying to find the words to propose,” Kip said. “It’s challenging to get that just right.”
She swung her hair Kip’s way. “He’s a fan, then? Is that it?”
“We’re both your biggest fans ever. In fact, I’m hosting a Jolt Revolt party in a few weeks in Pilot Point.”
“Oh, excellent, Kip!” Brittany Holmes reached out and grabbed Kip’s arm. Touched him—that punk. “That’s so good for the film and the FLYs.”
“Sure. Hey, you know what would make my Jolt Revolt the best? If you and Valeria dropped by.”
Did Kip just invite Brittany Holmes to his lame high school party?
But she clicked open her little purse, which looked like a mini black football, and pulled out a cell phone. She handed it to Kip. “I won’t promise anything, but put in your number and maybe I’ll call you.”
“Me too,” I said, suddenly able to speak. I pulled out My Precious II and held it out to her.
She smirked at me. “Oh, no, Mr. NBA. You give me your number. I don’t give mine to anyone. Nice suit, by the way. Who made that?”
“It was my grandpa’s.” What? No! What was the matter with me?
She tipped back her head and laughed again. I loved when she did that. I’m an idiot, but at least I’d made her laugh twice.
MacCormack leaned into our little circle. “It’s time to go in.”
Kip handed Brittany her cell.
I reached out to take it first, but she slipped it back into her football purse before I could get my hands on it.
I whimpered.
“No worries,” Kip whispered to me. “I put your number in.”
“My new one?”
“1575, yes.”
“Thank you.” And then it hit me, the past two minutes of my life. I took a deep breath. “Dude.”
“I know,” Kip said. “You’re welcome. And guess what? Valeria gave me her number.”
I pushed a crutch at him. “Shut up.”
“Ooh, hold up, there.” Kip put his empty champagne glass on a waiter’s tray, grabbed two full ones, and handed one to me. “Now you see why I didn’t bring Megan?” He took a long drink.
“I guess.” Megan still wouldn’t be very happy if she found out. “Hey, no more of that. I can’t drive your car.”
“The movie is two hours long. Then there’s a party. I’ll be fine. Drink yours. You need to loosen up. What if Brittany talks to you again?”
Point taken. So I downed the champagne and gasped at the way the little bubbles tingled in my ears. Nice.
I handed Kip the glass and crutched my way into the dark theater. Nothing fancy about this place on the inside. The theater was open for regular movies all week. Kip and I had seen Star Trek: Into Darkness in here.
I sat on MacCormak’s left, Kip sat on my left, then some random guys filled out the row. Brittany and Valeria were a few rows behind us. Dennis was sitting in the row a
head.
On the bright side, with Brittany back there, I’d be able to watch the movie instead of staring at her all night.
Though I might do that anyway.
The lights went down and everyone applauded and cheered.
Roll film.
REPORT NUMBER: 9
REPORT TITLE: I Insult Brittany Holmes: Light Goddess
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Dolby Theater, Hollywood and Highland Center, Hollywood, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Tuesday, February 14, 6:07 p.m.
THE MOVIE OPENED WITH A GUY, maybe fourteen, wearing Civil War era knickers and a poufy white shirt and vest. He was walking through a field of waist-high grass. He lifted a wooden mask to his face and tied it in place, stumbling a bit as he did.
Numbers flashed at the bottom of the screen: 1843.
It was twilight, and in the distance, an old, southern mansion sat on a hill. The lights were on, making all the windows bright orange.
Suddenly the boy was knocking on the door. It opened, revealing a man in a fancy old suit, who was wearing a sculpted tin mask that covered his eyes and cheeks but left his nose and mouth bare.
“Yes?” the man said.
“She walks in beauty, like the night,” the boy said.
The door opened wider, and the boy stepped inside. The man shut the door and walked deeper into the house.
The boy followed.
They entered a rectangular room, no windows, no furniture. There were hundreds of candles on wall sconces, pillars, the floor itself. Ten men in two rows were sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, facing each other and creating an aisle from the door to the other end of the room where two pillars and an altar stood.
The man who answered the door walked between the sitting men and, when he reached the altar, turned. “Kneel.”
The boy knelt.
“Do you declare upon your honor, before these witnesses and me, your Grand Master, that you freely offer yourself as a candidate for the mysteries of the Daysman?”
“I do, sir.”
“Have you chosen a name?”
“Degory Freeman.”
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