Five Days of Famous

by Alyson Noel

  “The show is a runaway hit!” he announces.

  Everyone cheers, and while I cheer along too, I’m a little confused. Isn’t that something we already knew?

  “Filming every day was a risk that some at the network were hesitant to take. But I wouldn’t give up, and it turns out I was right. The Twelve Days of Dashaway Christmas Countdown is seeing the highest numbers in the network’s history!” His grin is broad, but it’s probably more about being right than about the actual numbers. Most people love being right, but Ezer takes it to a whole new level.

  Everyone turns to me, waiting for a response. So I lift my glass and say, “That’s awesome!” which falls a little flatter than I would’ve liked, but it’s not like anyone saw fit to write me a speech.

  “Awesome indeed!” Ezer laughs, doing his best to cover for me. “In fact, it’s so awesome, The Lazy Daze of Dashaway Summer Sizzle has gotten the green light! Though the title may change, so let’s keep that under wraps until we have something final.”

  Everyone seems really excited by the news. Nothing like the thrill of working on a hit show. Not to mention the promise of a steady summer paycheck.

  As for me, I’m busy picturing long, hot days spent on the beach next to a bikini-clad Tinsley. Surely I’ll get to kiss her by then?

  “So drink up,” Ezer says. “We’ve got a record-breaking show to produce!”

  Everyone drains his glass and clears out, leaving Plum and her mom to load up one of my two dishwashers. Ezer slides an arm around my shoulder and says, “There’s something I want you to see.” He leads me into the living room, where he gestures toward the towering Christmas tree that soars so high the tip nearly brushes against the two-story ceiling. “What do you think?” he says, studying me carefully.

  The sight of it gets me so choked up I can’t speak. Considering how Mac Turtledove’s dad hijacked our Christmas tree back in Greentree, I’m pretty moved that Ezer went to the trouble to do this. How did he know just how much this would mean to me?

  I guess Tinsley was right. He really does see me like a son. None of this would exist—the house, the limo, the tree, my reality show—if it weren’t for him. I’m just an average kid with a mediocre voice and a really big dream, and Ezer managed to transform that into the world’s biggest celebrity. The only reason he lectures me so much is because he wants the very best for me—including the very best tree.

  “Yeah,” I finally say, my throat clogged with emotion. “It’s even better than the one at the mall. That one looked a little scrawny at the top.”

  Ezer laughs and slaps me on the shoulder in a way that seems really sincere as opposed to his usual pretending. And while I want to say more, want to let him know how grateful I am for everything he’s done on my behalf, my throat’s so constricted I’m forced to rely on my face to say what I can’t.

  He pulls me in close, giving me an unexpected hug. Then, leaving me gawking at my tree, he moves away just as quickly, back to telling everyone what to do and say, even though he’s not technically the director.

  Typical Ezer. And yet it’s the only way things get done around here.

  You need vision to soar.

  Besides, it’s not my place to question his methods. Between me and the boy band he managed before me, his track record speaks for itself.

  When I spot my parents and Holly just a few feet away, I make for their side of the room, determined to put the morning behind me and make a new start.

  But before I can reach them, the cameras move into place, Christmas music swells in the background, and I’ve got no choice but to put the conversation on hold as we all move into our roles as a happy family about to decorate a giant tree. All of us are sipping hot cocoa from red and green mugs and sharing a good laugh when my own Christmas song slips into the mix and Sir Dasher Dashaway starts dancing on his hind legs and barking excitedly.

  Tinsley arrives, arms loaded with gifts, and the others soon follow, mostly friends of the family I don’t recognize, except for Dougall, of course. Still, with all of us together, well, even though we’re filming, it really does make for a scene so cozy, so postcard perfect, it’s easy to settle right in and pretend that it’s real.

  It’s every picture you’ve seen of the ideal Christmas.

  Or at least that’s what I think until my mom claps her hands and says, “Time for presents!” and I realize I never took the time to go out and buy any. But apparently Ezer has my back once again, because when my mom starts handing out gifts, most are from me. And they’re much better gifts than I would’ve found on my own.

  When my mom opens a box containing the gold-and-diamond necklace I supposedly got her, she dabs the tears at the corners of her eyes and flashes me heart-fingers from her side of the room.

  When my dad sees his shiny new golf clubs, he gives me a manly slap on the back and says something about the two of us hitting the course sometime soon.

  Holly actually shrieks with joy when she opens her present to find the key to a new Vespa, hidden under a mound of red and green confetti that sprays all over the floor. Which is pretty much the polar opposite of last Christmas, when the Greentree Holly frowned at the gift card I got her and in her most sarcastic voice said, “Wow, thanks for putting a lot of thought and effort into my gift, Nick.”

  They seem so happy and grateful it makes me feel guilty for taking the credit when they should be thanking Ezer, not me. I’ve been so focused on trying to kiss Tinsley I’d practically forgotten they even exist.

  After Dougall thanks me for the new Xbox I supposedly got him, and I’m practically drowning in a pile of stuff my family bought me, Tinsley approaches from the far side of the room holding a slim, rectangular box in her hands, and I freeze when I realize there’s nothing left under the tree that I can pretend came from me.

  I clear my throat and stare at Ezer, willing him to acknowledge me, but he refuses to so much as look. Leaving me to wing it on my own as Tinsley sits beside me and thrusts the box toward my chest.

  I balance the gift in my hands, examining it from all sides in a pathetic attempt to stall for time. Fully aware of the camera zooming in, knowing I’m just moments away from revealing myself as the most clueless guy in TV history.

  “Merry Christmas, Nick.” She grins excitedly, which only makes me feel guiltier.

  “Um, thanks,” I mumble, knowing that sounded even worse on film than it did in my head.

  “Hurry up, silly,” she says, watching me slip a hesitant finger along the edge of the ribbon. “I promise it won’t bite or explode.”

  I tug on the ribbon until the whole thing unravels, then open the lid to find a single sheet of coffee-stained paper bearing the handwritten lyrics to my all-time favorite song, by my all-time favorite artist (aside from Josh Frost), signed at the bottom.

  I’m speechless.

  A gift like this isn’t random.

  It required some serious scouting and planning.

  It required Tinsley to do some pretty intense research on me, since I don’t remember ever mentioning it to her.

  And suddenly, just like in Greentree, there’s no denying that this girl is truly out of my league.

  “Do you like it?” The tremor in her voice betrays her nervousness. “I read in one of your interviews, I think it might’ve been in Teen Vogue, that it was your favorite song, and I thought that maybe…” She mashes her lips together, as though she fears she’s made a mistake.

  “I love it.” I force the words from my mouth. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  What I want to say is I failed you. I have nothing for you. I was so interested in trying to impress you and getting you to like me, mostly because you’re so pretty, that I never really tried to get to know you well enough to know what you’d want.

  She blinks a few times. Heaves a dramatic, made-for-the-cameras sigh of relief. Though it’s not long before a look of expectation washes over her face, and that’s when my panic takes root.

  I clear my throat
again. Pathetic, I know. But how do you tell a girl who just gave you something amazing that you have nothing amazing to give in return?

  And not only do you not have anything amazing in return, but you actually don’t have anything at all?

  I’m just about to admit to the horrible truth when I spy Ezer frantically gesturing to his jacket pocket. Which, after a few moments, I realize is meant to symbolize my jacket pocket. So I shove my hand inside, only to find that it’s empty.

  From across the room he continues the mime, practically pummeling his left side with his fist. And not knowing what else to do, I check my other pocket, and that’s where I find a small white box bearing a shiny red ribbon that I absolutely did not put there. But that doesn’t stop me from pushing it toward Tinsley and saying, “I think this is for you.”

  And yes, I really did say that: “I think this is for you.” Like it’s a mystery that needs to be solved. Which it is, but still.

  Tinsley unwraps her gift like every bit is a work of art to be savored, taking the time to carefully fold the ribbon and place it on her lap before she lifts the lid, presses a hand to her heart, and squeals with delight.

  Whatever it is, she seems to be thrilled, which is a giant relief.

  Or at least that’s what I think until I see inside the box and nearly hurl on the spot.

  What the heck is Ezer thinking?

  “Oh, Nick!” Tinsley squeals. “It’s so beautiful—I don’t know what to say….”

  That makes two of us, so I choose to say nothing.

  And not just because the cameras are rolling in for a close-up, but because Tinsley Barnes is now looking at me in real life just like she does in my dreams.

  Like I’m the most amazing boy she’s ever seen.

  When the camera zooms closer to better capture the moment and Tinsley slips the delicate gold-and-sapphire (same color as her eyes) ring onto her finger—not just any finger but her wedding ring finger—I feel like I just might pass out.

  “When’s the date?” my mom cries, clapping her hands as though it’s pretty much the best news in the world when your son, who’s still a day away from his thirteenth birthday, gets engaged to a girl the same age.

  Tinsley laughs good-naturedly as she turns to my mom and says, “It’s a someday ring, right, Nick?”

  I smile weakly, the best I can do. I mean, I like Tinsley, I do. I’ve liked her every single day for the last year and a half without fail. But that doesn’t mean I can promise to someday marry her. Heck, thanks to Ezer’s constant interference, I still haven’t even managed to kiss her.

  And now he plants this ring on me?

  What the heck is going on?

  My parents and Holly act all excited, Dougall shoots me a thumbs-up that only seems sincere until you notice that his eyes tell a whole other story, Sir Dasher Dashaway dances in circles and barks like the well-trained purebred he is, and Tinsley grins so happily, admiring the way it glints on her finger, I feel like I’m the only one who’s not enjoying the spectacle.

  Until I catch a glimpse of Plum shaking her head and giving me a look that tells it like it is: I am the most played person she’s ever seen.

  But when my mom says, “Tinsley, did you check for an inscription?” she uses this giggly, girlish voice, like she’s Tinsley’s new BFF and not her potential, someday mother-in-law. “I always love when there’s a hidden message inside.”

  Tinsley slips the ring off and reads, “ ‘Someday I will make you mine. My love for you will never die.’ ”

  She brings her fingers to her lips, apparently so moved she can’t speak. But when her gaze meets my own, there’s definitely something she’s trying to hide.

  She lowers her hand to her heart, and, feeding the camera her very best angle, she says, “They’re lyrics to the new song we’ve been working on, ‘Someday.’ ”

  “I’d love to hear it!” Holly says. “Why don’t you sing it for us?” She claps like she’d truly like nothing more as everyone else chimes in, in agreement.

  “What do you think, Nick?” Tinsley asks as though she has no idea how I’ll react.

  And really, how could she?

  Seems everyone else got one script while I got another.

  Still, I have to admit, the idea of using a someday ring to promote our new song, “Someday,” is pretty brilliant.

  “Can’t think of anything better.” I flash a tight grin as Ezer hands Tinsley her guitar, and from the moment she starts singing, a genuine hush falls over the room.

  There’s no denying who the real talent is here.

  Her voice is strong and captivating, and there’s no doubt she has it—that indefinable thing that makes people want to watch her, listen to her, be near her.

  As I watch Tinsley sing, it’s easy to forget about the ring and all the weirdness that followed.

  It’s also easy to forget I’m not supposed to just sit here, I’m supposed to join in.

  I pick up a little late, but since it’s a new song, Tinsley and Ezer are the only ones who notice. And by the time we’re well into the final refrain, all of the earlier tension is gone, leaving me feeling genuinely happy just to share this moment with her.

  Which is why I’m caught completely off guard when she leans in to kiss me.

  Like, kiss me kiss me.

  Lips lingering.

  Moving.

  The kind of kiss that could never be considered a press-and-run.

  Since I’ve never done this before, I just follow her lead until she pulls away, angles her face toward the camera, and giggles adorably.

  And that’s when I realize my very first kiss was just broadcast all over the world to millions of viewers.

  Which makes me wonder if this was staged too.

  Did Tinsley even want to kiss me—or was it just part of the script she was given?

  I sit there stupidly, unsure what to do.

  I mean, what’s the correct response when your first kiss has been hijacked as a publicity stunt?

  But it’s not like it matters. Just a few seconds later the director calls it a wrap, Ezer grabs Tinsley’s guitar, someone else unhooks my mike, and the crew begins dismantling the set as I make a mad dash upstairs to my room.

  REALITY BITES

  Once I’m in my room, I do something I should’ve done a long time ago: I watch the more recent episodes of my reality show. After everything that just happened, I need to know how I ended up diving straight off a metaphorical cliff without any warning.

  I settle onto my bed with my laptop, and it doesn’t take long before I’m gaping in horror at the way the camera captures my changed expression whenever Tinsley enters a scene.

  Not to mention how they edit the smallest, most insignificant moments to make them seem way bigger than they actually were.

  Clearly Ezer’s had an agenda from the day he introduced me to Tinsley, and he’s been manipulating the footage ever since. He even added video clips of us goofing off in the recording studio when I was totally unaware of being filmed. Including shots of me trying to make her laugh and using any excuse to touch her arm, her shoulder, and one time—her knee. Making it seem like Tinsley and I have been a thing long before tonight.

  Like we’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend all along.

  Like the next logical step in our relationship would be for me to give her a someday ring.

  And that’s when I get the full extent of just how bad this mess is.

  Ezer’s been using me as a tool to make Tinsley famous.

  I tell myself I shouldn’t care.

  I’m so well-known there’s plenty to spare.

  Still, I can’t help feeling betrayed by the way he played me—how he used my feelings for her to manipulate me into going along with his game.

  But mostly I’m mad at myself for allowing it, for not paying closer attention, for choosing to believe in this fake version of my life just as much as the fans who obsessively watch it.

  And the worst part of all: after wat
ching the footage, I can’t help but realize that Tinsley isn’t really the person I thought she was.

  I guess I fooled myself into believing that if I could get someone as perfect as Tinsley to like me, then maybe it would make me perfect too. But now I know I had it all wrong. Tinsley’s not even close to being perfect, and she only pretended to like me. A real friend would never use me like that. Tinsley’s only in it for what she can get.

  I reach for my cell, desperately needing to talk to someone, but the truth is, there’s no one to call.

  Despite all of my fortune and fame, turns out, I’m lonelier here than I ever was back in Greentree.

  While the Greentree Dougall would understand, this Dougall is exactly what Ezer warned me about. He’s only my friend for the celebrity perks. Always there to party and be seen with me, he’s never around for the more normal, less flashy moments. Not to mention how he’s always making fun of my music, my image, my decision to sing with Tinsley. And even though in retrospect he might’ve been right about the duet, I’m sick of him always urging me to collect the cash while I can and not giving a flying flip about anything else.

  I may have a manager; a chauffeur/bodyguard; a chef, a personal stylist; a hair and makeup team; and a crew of people to mow my lawn, clean my pool, and keep my house organized and pristine, but I don’t have anyone I can truly call a friend.

  No one I can talk to about anything deeper than which party is worth going to and which girls make the hot list.

  And as far as my family goes, well, I’m pretty sure I can’t trust them. Heck, we couldn’t even manage to have breakfast together. Not to mention how they clearly knew exactly what Ezer had planned and did nothing to protect me or, at the very least, warn me that I was about to be ambushed on live TV.

  I mean, what kind of parents let their son get engaged, or promised, or somedayed, or whatever just happened to me, at almost thirteen?

  What kind of mom claps her hands like it’s the best news ever?

  To think I’d actually felt guilty about not spending enough time with them, when the truth is, they never try to spend time with me. When my dad offers to take me golfing, or my mom and Holly say we should all do lunch—they’re just repeating whatever it says in the script. Not a single one of them has bothered to follow up. No one has ever once pulled me aside to ask how I’m doing—how I’m really truly doing. No one has said anything original to me this whole, entire time.