“Then don’t go,” I insist, putting my foot down. I look at Jim, and I can feel the frost of his icy glare. He’s mad at me now, but I don’t care. Man to man, this is what it comes down to: who will she choose? I feel like some soap opera organ music should be playing in the background, with some announcer exclaiming, “What will Eva do? Will she stay for the son who’s always stood by her, or will she follow the man who came around and put a band aid over a missing limb?”
And I have my answer when she looks at him, passing the baton in this awful relay. It’s his turn to speak.
“Jack, I know this hasn’t been an easy transition for you,” he begins.
“That’s an understatement.” Mom’s nostrils flare at my snarky tone.
Jim takes in a deep breath. “I know it must be hard to live in a full house.”
“How would you know? You’re never around!” I snap. It’s true; Jim has so little experience with the day-to-day routines in this home. It’s like he dropped his daughters off at a permanent day care. I wasn’t surprised that Christmas Eve was the first night he discovered Britney sleeps in my room. He didn’t even know she was afraid of the dark.
My tone should have gotten me in trouble, but he continues patiently. “Here’s the situation, Jack: a very long time ago, before she was famous, before she was rich, Cherie’s parents left me and my late wife as her guardians, and I vowed to take care of her and raise her as my own in the event of some catastrophic incident. Here we are, 16 years later, and I unfortunately have a duty to fulfill.
“Now, I understand how this looks like it could be as simple as staying here in New York, but I’m also aware of the size of this family, the size of this already shrinking house, the lack of privacy a celebrity like Cherie would have in a small town like ours, all of this.”
“She is going to be famous anywhere, Jim,” I say with authority. “And that, by the way, is not good for the rest of us to have to live with forever. It’s dangerous; the reporters almost stampeded over Britney the other day. There are pictures of all of us everywhere.”
“I know. I’ve seen them, and I’m not happy about it,” he says. I feel like he means to say more, like he’s not happy that they’re labeling me as her boyfriend. I feel my face flush a little.
“But that’s not all, Jack,” he adds, his voice lowering. “Your mother and I have been talking for some time about starting fresh in a new place. As you know, the housing market is awful, and we couldn’t sell this house if we tried. I never dreamed one day we would have a space to go to freely, no questions asked.”
So many thoughts swirl in my head at once, and I have to step back. The only words that I think are appropriate to say out loud come tumbling out of my mouth.
“This is wrong. This is so wrong.”
“Jack,” my mother says in her warning voice.
“So, let me get this straight,” I continue, my hands piecing the puzzle together in the air. “You’ve wanted to – were planning – to move, but you didn’t tell me. Now, you’re looking to use Cherie’s situation – the death of your brother and his wife! – to make your dreams come true? What kind of people are you?”
“Jack!” My mother is horrified at my accusation, but I stare at her, unwavering.
Jim is red-faced. “Call it what you will, but I am taking lemons and making damned lemonade, and you will not make me feel badly about it!” Jim’s in my face now, but I’m taller, which I’m sure intimidates him.
He snarls, “What we do for the betterment of this family shouldn’t matter to you anyway. You’re applying for colleges all over the east coast, aren’t you? When you’re playing football in Florida, is it going to matter where your mother lives?” His chest rises and falls with fury. I am reminded that he lost his brother a few days ago and that he isn’t entirely responsible for what he says or, worse, what he does.
“That’s not for another two years,” I say, hating that his argument kind of makes sense.
“Well, this is a decision we need to make now, for her, and for everyone else,” he says stiffly. “You can go wherever you want when you’re ready, but right now you have to come with us while we support Cherie.”
I growl, “She’s your responsibility, not mine. You won’t make this my problem, too.” I force myself to take another step back.
“Jack!” my mom cries.
As I storm away from the table, I catch sight of Cherie and the twins standing in the doorway of the basement, spying on our conversation. Cherie’s mouth is set in a hard, angry line, but her eyes are glistening with tears ready to fall. It socks me in the gut and I wince inwardly. She whirls around and flees back down the stairs. Chloe’s sinister eyes glower at me from the dark corners of the stairwell before she follows her cousin, and Claudia just frowns. I’m not sure if she’s disappointed in me or feels sorry for me, but it makes me feel worse.
Shit.
I lay in bed replaying the conversation and standoff in my mind. Jim obviously wants to cash in on his brother’s death, but at what expense to the rest of us? She could live anywhere, like Manhattan, or somewhere swanky in Westchester with…someone. Her grandparents. Aunt Darla seems to love her. Someone else.
Lots of people would adopt her, so that’s an option.
No it’s not. Who am I kidding?
I think of California, with its surfer dudes and all those rich people that we don’t really belong with. If we move to Hollywood Hills, I’ll have to go to a Hollywood school. I don’t want to be surrounded by rich, snobby daughters of movie producers and guys who think they’re so cool because their parents party with Kanye West or something.
Nope. Can’t do it . I’ll move in with Frank. I’ll live with anyone else.
I pause and sit up, remembering my father’s email address. That could be my ticket out of here! I’ll send my dad an email and beg him to take me in; who cares if he abandoned us? Who cares if he never called or offered help when times were really bad? All is forgiven, Dad! I’ll do anything but move to `California with this circus.
I flip my laptop open and go to my email inbox. I type his address into a new message and move my cursor to the empty body.
Hi,
That’s as far as I get. I stop and lean back, staring at the screen, my fingers trembling over the keys. What does someone write after all this time? I try again.
You owe me, and it’s time to pay up.
I quickly delete it and shake my head. There’s no way he’d invite me to live with him after I leave that kind of message, even if it is what I’m thinking. I clear my throat and start to type again.
What are you up to? I hope things are good. Things aren’t so good here.
Terrible. What a dumb idea. I slam my laptop closed and fall back onto my bed, my head pounding with frustration. I am not in a good frame of mind to write this now.
I hear the creak of my door and look up. Britney’s pushing through the small slit between the molding and the door, and she closes it silently behind her. She is carrying her blue Care Bear. It was my Care Bear, but I gave it to her when she was born. She scurries to the foot of my bed and clumsily climbs aboard, crawling toward me on all fours. I pretend to be asleep, which I usually am during this routine.
She burrows inside of my arm and rests her head against my shoulder, sighing softly. I smell the Johnson’s Baby Wash in her hair and the bubblegum toothpaste my mother’s convinced her to use. She always smells like candy and clean and home.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I hear my mother’s voice. “What about Britney? She’d be heartbroken.”
I’m lying to myself if I think I can abandon Brenton and Britney the way Dad abandoned us all.
DIRTERAZZI.COM
JACK HANSEN AND CHERIE BELLE REPORTEDLY NOT SPEAKING AFTER MAJOR FALLOUT
Seems like Hansen’s fifteen minutes of fame is about to be up because he and Cherie Belle are no longer speaking to one another. A source close to Cherie says the lovebirds exchanged heated words a
fter Hansen learned his family was moving to California to support Cherie’s career, which is said to be stronger than ever in the aftermath of her parents’ deaths, despite previous reports of Cherie’s possible exit from acting. The Goldman family’s plan to move to her Hollywood Hills pad next month solidifies what Carl Schwartz told us last week: Cherie is not quitting acting.
The move is not sitting well with Hansen, however, who is in the middle of his junior year and doesn’t want to leave the east coast. As we told you last week, he has big plans to attend college down south in two years, and his current football coach is known to facilitate some seriously sweet scholarship deals for his star players. Apparently, Jack has forgotten that Cherie is a superrich megastar celebrity who could pay for him and all of his siblings to attend college wherever they want. Or maybe Jack just doesn’t want Cherie within driving distance of Caz Farrell. Either way, it appears the spark we witnessed in the parking lot a few days back has already fizzled between these two crazy kids. Teenage love can be so fickle…
CHAPTER 14
Cherie is alone at the kitchen table, typing on her laptop, when I come downstairs. It’s noon, and the house feels practically empty. Is it Saturday? Sunday? I’ve lost track. I think it’s New Year’s Eve. I always lose track during the Christmas Break. All I do know is that I don’t have to be in school, or my mother would have had me up much earlier.
She looks up at me with contempt, and I’m immediately reminded of my argument with Jim the night before.
“Hi,” I say, trying to smile at her.
Her eyes quickly drop to her screen, and she ignores me. I walk around the table and reach into the refrigerator for some orange juice. Her cellphone rings, and she promptly answers it. Her voice is all sunshine and flowers.
“Hello? Oh, hi, Chris. Yes. Yes, I am. Thank you, that’s kind of you. I’ll be okay. 1:30? Of course! Okay. Yes, I’ll be ready. Thanks, Chris, see you soon.” She hangs up on Chris and types out a text message.
My mind spins briefly. Who is Chris? What’s happening at 1:30? Suddenly, it comes together. “Are you still doing that New Year’s Eve thing?”
She ignores me again, keeping her back to me, and resumes typing on her laptop. When I look down at her screen, I see she is posting something on her blog. The font is too small to read.
I swallow hard and consider ignoring her back, but some gut instinct urges me to apologize. “Look, I, um – ”
“Save it, jerkoff,” she huffs, and she slams her screen down, swipes the computer up into her arms, and heads for the basement.
I’m stunned and don’t know how to respond to that. “Excuse me?”
She spins around and glares at me. “I heard everything you said last night. You’re a real asshole, Jack.”
I smooth the back of my hair and feel my cheeks burn with shame. “Yeah, about that – I’m really sorry –”
“No, you’re not.” She spits the words at me like fire, and I’m growing defensive. I try to remember she needs extra patience. “We’re not family. We’re not even friends. Why would you care what happens to me?”
“Cherie, I really didn’t mean it – I was just mad,” I try to say, but she waves me off.
“I said save it, Jack. I don’t need your apologies, or your fake sympathy. I am not anyone’s problem!” She scoffs, “You don’t really think I want any of this, do you? I don’t want your stupid family moving into my home and getting in my space!”
It’s becoming harder to have patience now. “Please don’t talk about them like that.”
“Just shut up, Jack,” she hisses, and I actually find myself complying. She’s practically shouting as she steps forward, her teeth flashing and her eyes wild. “Don’t talk to me – ever! Don’t pretend to care, don’t act like you understand what I’m going through, and just don’t speak to me! Is that clear?”
I nod, and she turns toward the basement. She stops in the doorway and looks back with hatred. “We have one month stuck in this house together before we move. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.” With that, she disappears and slams the door behind her.
That night, at a New Year’s Eve party at Frank’s house, I’m immediately surrounded by the kids from school who haven’t seen me since the start of break. Their attention is overwhelming, and I have to dodge a myriad of questions about Cherie and the chaos at home. I’d never been a really popular kid before, but now it feels like everyone is trying to be my best friend. Of course they all only want to talk about the one person I wish to discuss least in the world.
“What’s Cherie like?”
“Are you really dating her? That’s just a rumor, right? Frank said it was a rumor.”
“Is she pretty in person?”
“Sorry about your aunt and uncle. It’s so nice of you to be there for Cherie – you’re such a good boyfriend.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were dating Cherie Belle? That is so cool!”
One meddlesome kid asks, “Is that why you broke up with Katrina?”
Automatically, I look up and find Katrina just feet away, glowering at that question. Pouting and huffing, she walks past me and the nosy guy, making sure to roughly slam her shoulder into my arm.
“Katrina – ” I try to call out, but she ignores me and storms out of the room.
It’s almost 11 before I find a chance to pull my real friends aside and tell them that I have to move. Frank shakes his head, Josh’s eyebrows raise, but neither of them seems terribly surprised.
“When?” Frank asks.
“February,” I say quietly. “Over break.”
Frank’s jaw drops. “But that’s in, like, a month! That’s – it’s too soon!”
Josh nods and harrumphs, “Better make the best of the time we have I guess.” He hands me his half-empty beer.
Frank is less easily comforted. He grumbles, “There’s got to be another way. It’s junior year. There’s just gotta.” I’m too clouded over with misery to tell him not to say anything to anyone. Shaking his head, he walks away and over to his girlfriend, who looks from him to me as he relays the news. Then she’s off, going directly to a group of girls with the information. Pretty soon, the whole junior class knows about it, and kids are coming over to pry further.
I curse under my breath, swallow the beer in my hand, and prepare for another round of questions.
On TV, Cherie sings a duet of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” with Caz Farrell in Times Square before the ball drops. I drink more beer and cheap champagne than I should. When the ball drops, Frank sheds a drunken tear as he hugs me, Josh razzes me about how in love Cherie and Caz look, and Katrina asks me to go upstairs with her. I look at the TV, watching Cherie exchange hugs and kisses with her celebrifriends. She and Caz hug extra-long. Without a second thought, I take a swig of my beer and follow Katrina to the guest bedroom.
DIRTERAZZI.COM
CHERIE BELLE COZIES UP TO CAZ FARRELL AT NEW YEAR'S PARTY, GETS WASTED! JACK HANSEN NO WHERE IN SIGHT
It was a wild night for Cherie Belle as she proved to the world she will go on, despite facing the ultimate tragedy this week. First, she and Caz sang and danced a near perfect duet of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” a romantically charged number full of that breathy, sex-kitten voice for which Cherie is famous. The heat between the Kidz Channel alum and his costar did not go unnoticed, and neither did their escapades afterward. Cherie followed Caz and his entourage to New York hotspot, Pulse, for a post-party to remember, or forget, based on reports of Cherie’s level of sobriety (or lack thereof). It is being reported that Cherie drank an intense amount of champagne for a little girl, and her ever-shrinking frame did not handle the overdose of alcohol well. She spent the night stumbling and slurring, and eventually passed out, needing to be carried out by a friend. Caz, who is not known for his chivalrous ways, stayed at the club and partied the night away with his buddies. Whatta guy!
Another thing that did not go unnoticed: the absence of Jack Hansen, Cher
ie’s parking lot prince, who is no longer speaking to her. Something tells us that if Jack Hansen had been there, he would have been the one to carry Cherie out of the club…or drag her out by her hair, caveman-style, depending on whose version of Jack Hansen we believe. All we do know is that Cherie is going to wake up with a serious headache – and we don’t mean the one Kidz Channel is going to give her when they scold her for underage drinking. Stay tuned!
CHAPTER 15
The month that follows is a whirlwind of chaos as my mother files and registers and calls and books and altogether drives all of us crazy to pick ourselves up and make this haphazard move across the country. Sometimes I feel like she is possessed by some woman who actually believes this move is a great idea and that everything is going to be just fine, which has become her mantra.
When I remind her how all of my SAT scores and my college applications have our current address listed, she informs me that she can call the admissions offices and take care of the change in the morning.
“The acceptance letters will find their way to us, honey. Everything will be just fine,” she nearly sings.
As I ask her for more boxes for my things, she says, “Of course, dear, I’ll go to the post office tomorrow to get some. Not to worry, everything will be just fine.”
One day, I catch her obsessively cleaning out the bottom shelf of one of the kitchen cabinets, wiping what seems like the same spot over and over, muttering curses to herself. I offer to help her and she jumps in fright, as if I snuck up on her. Throwing off her rubber, yellow gloves, she shies from my hands, which are reaching out to steady her. Before I can wonder if she’s finally on the verge of cracking, she breaks into tears and runs to her room, slamming the door and hysterically whimpering, “I’m fine! Everything is going to be fine!”
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