Five Days of Famous

by Alyson Noel

  He shifts as though he’s looking at me through the rearview mirror, but the reflective lenses he wears makes it impossible to confirm what he’s thinking.

  “You know, that day you were waiting for me because the trolley was late?” I add, really hoping he remembers, because I have no idea how to find it on my own.

  Still nothing.

  “I really need you to take me there. The sooner the better. And if Ezer calls, tell him you haven’t seen me,” I say, hoping he can glean from my tone, if not my actual words, just how urgent this is. I need to leave now, before Ezer has a chance to notice I’m gone, and hopefully well before my return ticket expires, which is just a few hours from now. I cast a nervous glance toward the street. It’s just a matter of time before Ezer and the rest of the film crew arrive, thereby killing any chance I’ll have of escaping this place.

  Sparks rubs his lips together but otherwise makes no move to start the car and pull out of the drive.

  “You sure about this, Nick?” he finally says. And it’s probably the first thing he’s ever said to me other than You got it!

  Or Watch your head!

  Or I got you covered!

  Or Ezer called—he wants you on set, immediately!

  Not to mention he called me Nick.

  Not Mr. Dashaway, which I never fully got used to, but Nick.

  Does that mean he’s on my side?

  Does that mean he knows the truth about how I found myself here in Tinsel Hills?

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “Never been more sure in my life.”

  And when he starts the engine and eases the limo onto the street, I collapse against my seat, feeling like I can finally breathe.

  I’m going home!

  To Greentree!

  And I can’t get there quickly enough.

  The streets are clogged with traffic, which would normally only add to my anxiety, but as long as we make it by one minute past midnight, when the ticket expires, I figure I’m good. The plan is to get there and find a place to lie low until the trolley arrives and hauls me right out of this life.

  I pull my hoodie up over my head, prepping for the moment when the most famous teen in the world (me) attempts to go incognito. Then I sink down low in my seat and reach for what will probably turn out to be my last can of Mojo while I cradle my backpack on my knees as though it might try to flee.

  Too bad I couldn’t pack a bigger bag and take some of the awesomeness with me. But unfortunately the makeup, hair, and wardrobe people decided to arrive early, leaving me no choice but to sneak out when no one was looking.

  The real Dougall would love the Xbox I got the other Dougall for Christmas. I found it in my room today with a sticky note attached, reading THANKS, BUT I ALREADY HAVE ONE.

  And my dad could really use a fat wad of Ben Franklins to deal with his back taxes and year-end financials.

  But Holly would’ve hated the Vespa. Turns out, it’s pink.

  And my mom would’ve felt really uncomfortable wearing something as fancy and expensive as the diamond necklace I gave Eileen.

  Not to mention how impossible it would be to explain all those things.

  Still, it’s kind of funny to have owned all the cool stuff money can buy, only to return home with the same stuff I arrived with and feel perfectly okay about it.

  Besides, the return ticket is my most valuable possession anyway.

  I trace the edge of the pocket where I stashed the ticket, reassured by the feel of it crinkling inside, as Sparks comes to a stop, slips from his seat, and walks around to my side. But before he can even reach for the handle, I’m opening the door, leaping toward freedom, only to gape in horror when I see he betrayed me.

  “What the heck?” My first instinct is to pummel him, but he’s ten times my size. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” I’m transfixed by the sight of Ezer’s mansion looming large before me. “You work for me—not Ezer, me! And I’m ordering you to take me to the trolley stop immediately!”

  But no matter what I say or how loudly I say it, Sparks is impenetrable. He just continues to watch me from behind his mirrored lenses. “You sure you got everything?”

  “What? Of course! Now let’s go, before someone sees me!”

  I start to climb back inside the limo, but Sparks stays put.

  “Maybe you should double-check, Nick.”

  The way he says it makes my heart squeeze and my skin go all weird and tingly. Then he nods his head toward my bag just the tiniest bit. I’m overcome with this awful gnawing feeling—like my stomach grew teeth and they’re cannibalizing me from the inside out.

  I unzip the pocket, shove my fingers inside, and come away with a palmful of air, a stray ball of lint, and an old movie ticket stub I mistook for my ticket.

  How can this even be possible?

  It was in there last night before I went to bed, just after I came up with my plan. I checked to make sure!

  I force the pocket inside out, and still all I unearth is another ball of lint and a really old gum wrapper with more lint stuck to it. So I reach for my backpack. Even though I’ve never once moved the ticket, that doesn’t stop me from dropping to my knees and dumping the entire contents of my bag onto the ground, scrambling through every single item, if only to confirm that the return ticket is gone.

  I gaze up at Sparks. Desperation doesn’t even begin to describe the emotions raging inside me.

  The side of his mouth twitches like he’s just about to speak when Ezer opens the front door and calls for me to come inside immediately.

  “Where is it?” I whisper, convinced Sparks has something to do with this. How else would he know the ticket was missing? “Please—if you know who took it, you’ve got to tell me. And if you took it, you need to return it!”

  Sparks kneels down and helps me stuff my things back inside, as though they got there through some kind of unfortunate mishap.

  Ezer calls from the doorway again and tells us to hurry. But Sparks just waves him away and leans toward me. “I didn’t take it, Nick. But if you think about it, I’m sure you’ll discover who did.”

  “Wait—what? What does that even mean?” My voice is frantic and shrieky, betraying the full extent of my panic.

  “Think, Nick.”

  So I do. I conduct a full mental inventory of everyone who had access to my house.

  The list is long.

  Too long to really consider.

  So I make another mental list, this one consisting of the people who would be determined to keep me here, who benefit merely by knowing me, who not only had access to my room but might even know what to look for.

  Which narrows it down to…everyone. But since Tinsley got an earful out by my pool, maybe she’s the top suspect?

  Ezer shouts again, becoming really impatient, as Sparks grabs hold of my arm, pulls me to my feet, and pushes me toward the house, where Ezer and Tinsley are waiting.

  4 Hours, 14 Minutes, and 28 Seconds till Christmas

  SURPRISED FACE

  I reach the front door, and Ezer says, “Nick—what gives? I called you countless times, Sparks too, but neither of you had the decency to answer. You’d think you could at least save this kind of behavior for your break, which starts tomorrow, by the way. Is that too much to ask?”

  No matter how worked up he gets, his voice is just noise in my head. I’m too busy gaping at the HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NICK! banner hanging overhead. Not to mention the Christmas decorations, and the cast, crew, and cameras all standing by, ready to shoot.

  Ezer set me up!

  And Sparks helped him.

  But he also helped me by pointing out the missing ticket and bringing me here for a chance to retrieve it.

  All I know for sure is that the Twelve Days of Dashaway Christmas Countdown finale is being shot here.

  Which means either that Ezer wasn’t one bit fooled by our conversation by the pool or that Tinsley told him everything I was dumb enough to tell her, or both.

  In the end
it doesn’t matter how he knew. He’s been pulling the strings all along. Probably has my ticket hidden in his pocket, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I can tackle him to the ground and demand that he return it. I bet he has a whole security team waiting for me to try.

  “So!” He slaps a hand to my back, using more force than necessary. “Bet you thought we forgot your birthday in all the excitement.” His grin is so tight and wide it reminds me of a cartoon shark zeroing in on its prey. “That’s why we changed the location—we wanted to surprise you. We’re set for one heck of a party to celebrate you, Nick! But first—what’s this you’re wearing?”

  He pinches my sleeve between his index finger and thumb as I gaze down at the hoodie I grabbed in a hurry. Same hoodie I was wearing under the Christmas sweater when I first arrived here. The faded blue one with Greentree M.S. written in yellow script along the right side.

  He squints. Probably trying to figure out the best way to tell me to change, that the color washes me out or doesn’t play well on TV—the usual excuses when he doesn’t like what I’m wearing.

  “I have no idea where you found it,” he says, “but it works! It’s old school. Random. Doesn’t look overly stylized, like you’re trying too hard. You’re just teenage Nick Dashaway walking into your surprise party. A hoodie like that says you don’t take yourself too seriously. You don’t feel the need to overdo it every time you leave your house. It’s like giving the viewer an insider’s look at the real you. It’s genius, I tell you! Nothing phonier than some celebrity visiting a friend wearing a tuxedo and bow tie.”

  I nod. Shrug. I had no idea a single hoodie could convey all of that.

  He continues to study me with a deepening gaze. “You know, my first reaction was to tell you to change. But sometimes it’s good to take a step back and look at things from a whole new perspective. Oftentimes you’ll find that the things that once bothered you aren’t nearly as bad as you think. In fact, once we get past our initial resistance, we’re able to see that our situation may actually be a whole lot better than we originally thought. So much so that we would never consider going back to doing things the old way. Know what I mean?”

  All I know for sure is that at some point this conversation switched from being about the hoodie to being about me. I nod, willing to agree to just about anything until I can get my hands on that ticket and get the heck out of here.

  “Why don’t you go on over to hair and makeup so we can get ready to roll. Then head back outside and ring the bell. And this time, when we jump out and shout, ‘Surprise!’ I want you to look as shocked as you did when you first arrived.”

  Back when I was eleven and three quarters and about to start my first year of middle school, my dad warned me about the absolute foolishness of assuming.

  “Never assume you know what another person is thinking or feeling,” he said. “Bullies bully not because they feel strong but because they feel powerless inside. And the people you view as popular don’t have perfect, problem-free lives. Nobody does.”

  He went on to demonstrate how the very word itself is a warning. It’s all right there in the spelling, impossible to ignore: ass-u-me. And yet people still choose not to see it and assume all kinds of things, about all kinds of people, on a regular basis.

  It’s not like I didn’t listen. But at the time, all I really got from that talk was that my dad feared I’d be marked as unpopular bully bait from day one and felt the need to prepare me.

  It’s only now that I truly get the lesson.

  Too bad it’s too late to change the fact that I assumed I could outwit Ezer and this dream life, only to have them outwit me.

  Though it’s not the only assumption I’ve made. I’ve assumed all kinds of things about everyone here, and now it’s time to challenge at least one of them.

  It’s a really big risk that could very well backfire, but with Ezer tracking my every move, I have no choice but to go on with the show. Which means if I’ve any hope of pulling this off, I’ll have to narrow my list of suspects and pin all my hopes on the one person I’m not even sure I can trust but is the only one who might be willing to help me.

  With my hair purposely messy and my face powdered down, I stand outside Ezer’s front door waiting for the director to shout, “Action!” That’s my cue to enter wearing a surprised face while Eileen clasps me tightly to her chest and wipes nonexistent tears from her cheeks as she reminisces about the miraculous day she brought her little Christmas miracle (that would be me) into the world and how she knew right away I was destined to be a star.

  Joe stands alongside us, beaming for the camera while droning on about how proud I’ve made him. Until the camera pans to focus on the fake Sir Dasher Dashaway dancing circles at my feet, and Joe drops the proud expression for one of extreme boredom, like he’d much rather be hitting balls on the course than praising me on TV.

  Holly takes the Santa hat from her own head and plops it on mine, all the while recounting some staged story about my absolute adorableness as a baby, which comes off as so freaking lame I’m embarrassed for all of us. I mean, what self-respecting sister would ever say such a thing?

  Do people actually believe this stuff?

  Was I this gullible when I watched the Josh Frost show?

  And am I the only one bothered by the complete lack of reality in my reality show?

  Where were the cameras when my mom was dissing my sweater and raiding my wallet?

  And how come no one ever thinks to film one of Ezer’s incessant lectures or meltdowns?

  Heck, even Sir Dasher Dashaway got a stunt double when he overindulged and ended up hurling his cookies all over the floor.

  If it doesn’t appear perfect—or at least charmingly imperfect—it won’t make the cut.

  And I guess that’s what bugs me the most. All this time I longed for a perfect life surrounded by perfect people, only to discover that a real life, a good life, is anything but.

  Still, I do my best to play along. For one thing, I can’t afford to alarm Ezer any more than I already have. I need to convince him he can trust me—that I’m fully committed—that I’ve come to my senses and wouldn’t even consider messing up a good thing. Problem is, I’m not that good an actor. But with my future happiness on the line, I’ll do whatever it takes.

  It’s not until the fake Dougall goes for a fist bump, mumbling, “Happy birthday, bro! So glad you made it,” that I get all choked up. Not because I believe he gives a flying flip about my birthday but because it makes me miss the old Dougall, who always means what he says. Though by the time I reach the end of the line where Tinsley waits, looking impossibly pretty, I’ve got my emotions in check.

  “Happy birthday, Nick.” She leans in to kiss me.

  But as irresistible as she seems with her eyes closed and her lips willing and ready, I turn my head so her lips land on my cheek, making it more like a kiss from your nana than a kiss from the girl you’ve wasted the last year and a half dreaming about. When she pulls away, trying to hide her own surprised face, I whisper, “Thanks, Tins.” My eyes bore into hers as if to silently say, I know what you did.

  “Cut!” the director yells, insisting we shoot it again. “You’re in love! So deeply in love you gave her a someday ring! Come on, Ninsley—show the fans what first love looks like!” He tries to ignite a flame that’ll never spark again.

  Inwardly I roll my eyes. Still, you have to pick your battles in life, and this one isn’t at all worth the fight. We’re on a tight schedule. Everyone wants to go home and spend the holiday with their family, me included.

  This time I let Tinsley kiss me. Starting a slow countdown from three to one the second her lips touch mine, then moving straight into the scene where we’re pretending to be relaxed and happy, until my parents and Holly disappear into the kitchen, only to return with the most humongous birthday cake I’ve ever seen. And that’s when I realize, at this exact moment, my every wish has come true. Tinsley is my girlfriend—I’m
the most famous teen in the world—and my birthday is no longer overshadowed by the holiday.

  Only now that I have all that, I feel ashamed for having wanted it.

  The candles sizzle like sparklers as Tinsley presses near. “Make a wish, Nick,” she says. “Sometimes wishes come true!”

  My gaze locks on hers, caught by her words. This is pretty much how I found myself here.

  Maybe it was only a cupcake instead of an actual cake.

  And instead of thirteen stunt candles, there was only one red-and-green one.

  But the ritual is the same.

  There’s power in a wish, Plum said. Don’t waste it on the mundane.

  Tinsley grasps my hand, her grip a little too forced, the squared edges of her perfectly manicured nails digging into my palm. “You’re going to burn down the house if you don’t blow those out! Hurry! Make a wish, Nick—and make it a good one!”

  “Make a wish!” Dougall calls.

  “Make a wish, Nicky!” my fake mom says.

  “What’s the matter, Nick? Your life so great you’ve got nothing left to wish for?” Ezer taunts from the sidelines.

  I stare at the candles.

  What if this is my way out—like a glamorous bookend to my earlier experience?

  What if this is the one thing that can turn it all around?

  What if that ticket doesn’t even matter?

  What if it really is this easy?

  I take one last look at Ezer, close my eyes, and make my wish, emptying my lungs of every last ounce of air I have in me.

  3 Hours, 3 Minutes, and 33 Seconds till Christmas

  REINDEER GAMES

  Ever hear the saying lightning never strikes twice?

  Turns out it’s true.

  The second I blow out the candles and open my eyes, it’s clear that not a single thing has changed.

  The cameras are still rolling. Tinsley is still standing beside me, her voice a little nervous and hitched. “Try not to look so disappointed, Nick! What did you wish for—to be teleported to a beach in Hawaii?”