Five Days of Famous

by Alyson Noel

  “Well, yeah.” She settles deeper into the cushions, crosses her legs at the knee, as though it’s as simple and obvious as she clearly thinks. “You know, especially ’cause your parents are kind of flaky and all. He thinks it’s his job to look after you.”

  “They’re not,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive.

  Tinsley looks at me, her fingers fidgety, face cautious.

  “They’re not flaky, they’re just—” My voice fades; my argument deflates. Tinsley doesn’t even know my parents. And how could she when all of their interactions are scripted? Heck, I barely know them myself.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She places a hand on my arm and shoots me a look of apology.

  “It’s okay.” I lean into her touch. “I mean, maybe you’re right…you know, about them being flaky and all. After all, they’re hardly ever around….”

  It’s not fair what I’m saying, and not entirely true. But with the fireplace blazing, soft music lilting, and Tinsley’s face just inches from mine, looking like she might actually intend to kiss me, well, words don’t seem to matter.

  Seems Plum was right—it doesn’t have to be some big, grand thing.

  When a girl wants you to kiss her, you’ll know from the look in her eyes, the way she lingers in your space.

  I rub my lips together, feeling bad that they’re a little chapped but determined to make the best of this. I close my eyes the way they do in the movies, about to make the big move, when Ezer barges into the room.

  “Party’s over, you two. I need you in the studio bright and early.”

  DECEMBER 23

  1 Day, 16 Hours, 21 Minutes, and 16 Seconds till Christmas

  DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?

  They say it takes twenty-one days to build a habit, but I’ve been in Tinsel Hills for less than a week and already every day is starting to look like a repeat.

  The first thing I do after getting my 7 a.m. wakeup call is grab the schedule Plum’s mom slides under my door, which usually goes something like this:

  8 a.m. Breakfast in the limo.

  9 a.m. Meet Tinsley at the recording studio.

  1 p.m.–1:15 p.m. Lunch break at the studio.

  5 p.m. Return home to shoot the Twelve Days of Dashaway Christmas Countdown.

  6 p.m. Dinner (squeeze in between hair, wardrobe, and makeup or during filming).

  12 a.m. Fall exhausted (and somewhat frustrated) into bed.

  Okay, maybe I added that last part. And it’s not like I’m complaining or anything, since I had a pretty strict routine back in Greentree too, only it wasn’t nearly as exciting. Still, all that time spent recording and filming doesn’t allow for much else. I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to nitpick, but with the trolley ticket expiring tomorrow night at one minute past midnight, I need to commit to either staying here in my dream life or heading back home.

  I thought I’d made my decision my second day here. I was sure I’d stay put and never look back. But there’s one small thing that’s been nagging at me—keeping my dream life from being as perfect as I want it to be (aside from my still not kissing Tinsley), and today’s the day I do something about that.

  I guess having dinner with Ezer last night made me realize how much I miss hanging with my family. Don’t get me wrong—I like how they stay out of my way and never try to exert their authority by imposing stupid curfews and random rules, like most parents do (though Ezer has that covered). But since they’re pretty much the family I always dreamed of having, I can’t help but think it might be nice to spend a little more time with them.

  Which is why today, instead of pretending to drink one of Lisa’s totally disgusting but supposedly healthy smoothies for breakfast, only to make Sparks go through the Starbucks drive-thru on the way to the recording studio so I can get something decent, I’m going to have breakfast with my family. And we’re going to hang out and enjoy the kind of real, spontaneous, unscripted conversations I used to have with my Greentree family. Only better.

  I can hear them all talking in the entryway below, so I pause at the top of the stairs, hoping to go unnoticed long enough to hear what they talk about when I’m not around. But the voices all overlap in a way that doesn’t make sense, until I realize they’re ignoring one another in favor of their cell phones.

  Holly: “No, I have no idea what time we’ll be done. That’s really up to Nick, isn’t it? All I can do is hope it doesn’t take too long and try to get through it.”

  My mom: “Well, can he squeeze me in at eleven? Eleven-fifteen? Eleven-forty-five? No, I have another appointment at one. There has to be a way he can see me. I booked this over a month ago, and I need to look good for tonight!”

  My dad: “No.” Sigh. “Not today.” Grunt. “I have no idea how long this will take, which is why I can’t commit to anything firm.”

  When I reach the landing, they all turn to stare, with their cell phones raised before their ears. Looking anxious, uncertain. Like me, they have their own schedules to keep.

  Unlike me, they don’t seem to resent theirs as much as I’ve begun to resent mine.

  My dad’s the first to speak. Wearing a tight smile that seems glued to his face, he slides his phone into the front pocket of his khakis and says, “Nick—what’s this about?”

  I shift my gaze to my mom. Her expression is an exact match for my dad’s. And when I look over at Holly, well, she looks a lot like Sir Dasher Dashaway when he pokes his head out of her purse: widened eyes, tilted head.

  All of them caught in a state of suspended animation, waiting for me to explain why I pulled them away from their busy lives just to eat pancakes with me.

  “Sorry.” I try to wave it away as though it was all a big misunderstanding, feeling embarrassed, deflated, to realize I was so wrong about them. Clearly they don’t miss spending time with me. If anything, they’d prefer to avoid me. “I’m not sure what I was thinking. Or, more likely, wasn’t thinking…”

  I peek through a clump of hair that’s fallen into my eyes. Wishing they’d stop me from apologizing, tell me I’ve got it all wrong—that they’re happy to be here. My mom would give me a hug, my dad would give me a hearty slap on the back, Holly would jokingly call me a dork, then we’d all head into the kitchen and enjoy a leisurely family breakfast together.

  Instead they continue to stand there, fidgety, twitchy, waiting for me to wrap this up so they can get on with their day.

  “But I know you’re all busy, so…I guess I’ll see you at the live taping tonight.” I nod, forcing myself to smile as I gesture for them to leave. Watching as they push through the door and rush toward their cars, in such a big hurry to get back to their lives they don’t even think to say goodbye.

  JUST LIKE IN THE MOVIES

  Once again we hit it early on. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about this business, it’s that if you want to be taken seriously, you have to pretend never to be satisfied, so I insist on doing it again.

  Also, I’m reluctant to say goodbye to Tinsley.

  Especially considering how every time Ezer leaves the room, Tinsley looks like she’s relieved to finally have some time alone with me, even if the sound geeks are standing nearby.

  But after another hour of redos, Ezer overrides me and calls it a wrap, claiming they have everything they need and that we should get some rest before tonight’s taping, since we’re broadcasting live.

  “Are you nervous about tonight?” Tinsley asks as we make our way outside.

  “Not at all,” I say, not entirely sure what she’s getting at. I mean, we tape a show almost every night. Why should this be any different. “Are you?”

  “A little,” she admits, though the look on her face tells me it’s way worse than that. “There’s no way to hide a mistake when it’s live.”

  I guess I hadn’t really thought of that. Still, it’s not worth getting worked up about.

  “I’m afraid of doing something stupid that’ll end up going viral on YouTube. Especially
since I’ve never had such a big part on your show.”

  I’m surprised to hear her say that, since it seems like she’s always on set. But I guess by the time we’re done with all the hair, makeup, and wardrobe prep, not to mention trying to act real while following a script, I have no interest in watching it play out on TV to see what Ezer did in the edits.

  “Don’t be nervous,” I tell her, trying to sound reassuring, even though I’ve got my own private concerns.

  There’s only one day till Christmas.

  One more day till my return ticket expires, along with any chance of returning to Greentree.

  Even though I’ve decided to live out my life as an International Superstar here in Tinsel Hills, knowing I can never return to the old life is kind of a big deal. Especially after that botched family breakfast this morning.

  “Guess that’s the difference between an amateur and a pro,” says Tinsley, flashing me a sideways glance as her mouth droops into an adorable frown. “Every time the camera’s on me, I feel like I’m about to throw up.”

  “I used to feel that way.”

  Her eyes narrow as though she’s not sure she believes it.

  “But then someone reminded me that the audience just wants to be entertained and inspired, and it was my job to give it to ’em.”

  A look of pure adoration washes over her face, like I’m some kind of god.

  Which seems like as good a time as any to kiss her—except we’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk just outside a recording studio, with Sparks watching over us from his place beside the limo.

  “So what now?” I ask, motioning for Sparks to wait.

  “Ezer wants us to take it easy so we’ll be rested for tonight.” She takes on this dutiful, good-girl tone, but her expression tells me she’s up for something more exciting.

  “Yeah, so where else could we do that—other than home?”

  Her smile is sly. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I’ve never been to Disneyland,” I say, remembering how the Pirates of the Caribbean ride has that one romantic spot with all the dim lights and fake fireflies. Or at least the one in Florida does.

  “Seriously?” She seems shocked by the news.

  “Yeah, I’ve been to Disney World,” I say. “Not Land.”

  “So…you flew all the way to Florida to see a replica of what you could’ve seen just an hour down the freeway?”

  I shrug like it’s no big thing. Like that’s just how I roll. Forgetting yet again she has no idea that I’m not really from here. Heck, most of the time I forget too.

  She dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand. “If you’ve never been, you should really spend the whole day, because there’s so much to do. How about we go to the beach instead?”

  It’s a brilliant idea. The weather is always so perfect; the beach in December is totally doable.

  “It’s actually my favorite time of year.” She catches the end of her ponytail and twists it around in her fingers. “I like it better than summer. For one thing, it’s not nearly as crowded, and, I don’t know, I guess I feel kind of privileged to get to do things like that in the middle of winter when the majority of the country is knee-deep in snow.”

  “Then it’s done.” I lead her to the limo and tell Sparks to drive us to the best beach he can think of.

  I thought the water would be warmer, like in Florida, but Tinsley just laughs and reminds me it’s cold most of the year.

  Cold or not, it doesn’t stop me from kicking off my shoes, rolling up my jeans, and joining Tinsley at the place where the surf meets the sand.

  “This is my happy place!” she says, nudging a shell with her toe, her face radiant in the fading rays of the sun.

  “Mine too,” I agree. Even though, other than a family trip to Miami, where Holly and I took a single surf lesson, this is only my second time at the beach. But that doesn’t make it any less true. With Tinsley beside me, I could be behind bars in a maximum-security prison and I would say the same thing.

  The water splashes over our ankles and onto our shins as Tinsley lifts her skirt just past her knees and runs deeper into the waves, laughing and splashing and singing our song at the top of her lungs. It’s pretty much the most beautiful sight I could ever imagine.

  “Come on!” she calls. “What’re you waiting for? Scared to get a little wet?”

  And that’s all it takes for me to hurl myself straight into an oncoming wave just to be near her.

  “Much better.” Her tone is teasing, eyes gleaming. “Except for your hair.” She arcs her arm through the water, thoroughly drenching me in one single move.

  So of course I splash back, and before you know it, we’re in a full-scale water fight, both of us laughing so hard we nearly miss the oncoming wave.

  But at the very last moment, I reach for her hand and pull her down with me. The two of us resurface simultaneously, wiping salt water and sand from our eyes, as my arm finds its way around her waist and she brushes my hair off my face. Her gaze soft and tender. Her lips parted. Looking so beautiful it’s like she walked straight out of a movie.

  Only if this were a movie, this is exactly the part where I would usually fast-forward until it was over.

  But that was before I ever had a chance at the starring role.

  I rub my lips together, hoping she won’t find them too salty, then I take a deep breath and move in, fully aware of the miracle unfolding before me as Tinsley leans toward me with a look as eager as mine.

  “Nick,” Tinsley whispers, “promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll remember this moment.”

  I have no idea what she means, but I don’t waste much time thinking about it. How could I ever forget the day Tinsley Barnes decided it was a good idea to kiss me?

  She snakes her hand around the back of my neck, her breath soft and sweet, the scent of sun and salt water and happiness wafting from her skin. Her lips are just millimeters from mine, so ready and willing, just about to touch down, when Sparks shouts at us from a few feet away.

  I tune him out.

  Whatever he wants can wait.

  The moment I’ve been waiting for is finally here, and I’m committed to seeing it all the way through.

  Unfortunately Tinsley doesn’t share my commitment.

  Which is how I end up with my lips lodged in her hair, somewhere north of her ear, as Sparks yells, “Ezer called. He wants you in hair and makeup now! They moved the taping up three hours.”

  YOU’RE A MEAN ONE, MR. GRINCH

  It’s impossible to hide my annoyance with Ezer.

  Especially after rushing all the way home only to find that the crew hadn’t even arrived.

  “What’s the deal?” I barge into the den—my den—where Ezer sits on the couch, feet propped on the table.

  He slips a hand over his phone and says, “In a minute, Nick.” Then he takes his sweet time to finish the call as I pace around the room, dripping water everywhere. Tinsley starts checking the messages on her cell like she’s used to standing in living rooms soaking wet while waiting on Ezer.

  “You need something?” He finally decides to acknowledge us.

  My mouth opens wide, but despite the speech I rehearsed in my head—beginning with a reminder of how he works for me—my tongue feels like lead and no words come out. With Tinsley standing beside me, glancing nervously between us, all I can manage is “Um, yeah. So we rushed to get here, but nothing’s happening. What gives?”

  He removes a pile of papers from his lap and sets them aside. Then, easing his reading glasses onto the tip of his nose, he studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I told you to take it easy, to rest up for tonight, and you take that as permission to go frolicking about in a freezing-cold ocean.”

  I’m about to object to the use of the phrase frolicking about, but when I take a moment to think it over, it really does fit.

  “And now here you are, soaking wet and shivering, at risk of losing your voices, all because you
chose to do the exact opposite of what I instructed.”

  I mumble under my breath and roll my eyes like I’ve seen Holly (Greentree Holly) do a million times.

  “Care to repeat that?” Ezer says as Tinsley shoots me a look full of worry.

  “You’re not my dad.” I’m forced to clear my throat to get the words out, which only serves to prove his point.

  “No, Nick, I’m not. But right now I’m the closest thing that you’ve got to one.”

  I don’t know why, but at that moment my throat goes hot and tight while the backs of my eyes start to burn. I must be overtired. Or maybe it has something to do with this morning. Either way I need to get over it. I’m living the good life, the life of my dreams. So there’s no reason for me to be feeling like I’m this close to doing something completely humiliating, like crying.

  “Go take a hot shower, Nick.” Ezer rises from the couch while I stand there trying to pull it together so I don’t embarrass myself in front of Tinsley. “Get some rest. Tinsley and I will see you tonight.”

  Before I can reply, he’s leading her out my front door.

  KISS AND RUN

  By the time I’m showered and dressed, my entire house has been transformed into a winter wonderland, with the Christmas decorations out in full force.

  Every available surface is smothered in garlands, tinsel, wreaths, sprigs of holly, the works, and I can’t help but think how much my Greentree mom would enjoy seeing this.

  The cast and crew are gathered in the kitchen, everyone hoisting glasses filled with what looks like champagne but, knowing Ezer, is probably just sparkling cider.

  “Just in time!” Ezer waves me over. “Grab a glass—we’ve got good news to celebrate.”

  I pinch my glass at the stem like I’m used to drinking out of champagne flutes, then focus on Ezer. I have no idea what this is about, but I can feel his excitement from here.