Caroline, seeing the rapidly filling table, immediately rushes across the room and inserts herself into the open space on Liam’s right. When she’s seated, he looks up, smiles, and says hello. I swear if Tara wasn’t sitting right there beside her, holding her up, she probably would have careened over or something from the shock and excitement of it.
By the time Zane, Paul, Shanae and Alex head toward us, the table is packed and there’s no room for any of them. They don’t really seem to mind, and head off for an empty spot nearby. I on the other hand, am pissed. If I weren’t so freaked out I’d get up and go sit with them. But instead I stay in my spot, quietly nibbling at my food.
I spend the rest of lunch hour ignoring Michelle, who doesn’t seem to notice I’m not absorbing her every word, and watching Caroline, who keeps finding reasons to slide herself closer and closer to Liam. By the time the end-of-lunch bell rings their forearms are lightly touching and their shoulders are pressed together. Caroline looks like she’s on cloud nine. I doubt Liam has even noticed.
***
Let this be a lesson to all teenage girls around the world. Second dates that taken place at your family’s dinner table...not so good. Especially when said date is with a famous movie star and your family is bunch of freaks.
Grant arrives just before six carrying a large bouquet of flowers for my mom – she practically sobs when she sees them, but not before embracing him in a giant hug that lingers a few seconds past creepy – and wearing black pants, a black shirt, and a black leather jacket. The way he’s dressed reminds me a bit of Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing and I admit, I swoon a little at the idea.
About two seconds after the front door opens and he steps inside, Angelina makes her entrance. She parades down the stairs wearing a tight black skirt, knee high stiletto boots, and a mauve, curve hugging shirt. She makes it to the third to last stair just fine, but then Grant looks up and meets her eyes. She gets flustered and when she goes to take the next step, she loses her footing and falls the remaining way down. The only thing that saves her from face planting is my Dad, who quickly swoops in and steadies her tangled limbs.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Angelina so nervous. I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed harder.
Before dinner, we all assemble in the living room – or sitting room as Mom tells Grant, in a vain effort to make our family seem a little classier – and stare at each other awkwardly while passing around a plate of cheese and crackers. Ava, who managed to snag the spot on Grant’s right, I’m on his left, decides that the best form of pre dinner conversation is to rant on about how meat is murder. A brilliant topic choice, seeing as we’re supposed to be having lamb for dinner.
There are only two saving graces to the entire night – one, America is so shy that she ends up being about harmful as a hamster. She sits in the corner and blushes whenever someone speaks to her. And two, my dad is not a total ass after all. He and Grant actually bond over dinner – talking about sports and fishing and who knows what else. By the end of the night, I think he actually might like Grant. At least he’s learned to tolerate him.
After dinner I drag Grant upstairs after me to my room. I don’t know if I really want to be alone with him, but I have to get him away from my family before they do anything else insane.
Grant wanders over to the far side of my room and peers out the window, which looks out onto the street. “Nice view,” he says.
“Uh yeah,” I respond intelligently. I stay close to the door, watching his every move, and clasping my hands together.
“What’s this?” Grant reaches for my sketchbook, which is sitting on my desk.
“Oh um,” I rush forward, but he picks it up before I can stop him. Damn it. I was looking at it last night and left it open to picture I drew of him the other week.
“Is this me?” he asks.
I tick my foot against the floor and suck my lips against my teeth. “Uh huh.”
“Wow,” he lifts the page closer to he can inspect it. “That’s really great. I didn’t know you drew.”
“A bit, not much,” I shrug.
“I thought you were a writer. That’s what you said at LIMA.”
I shrug. “I write a bit too. I’m also a knitter and on days when I’m late for school, a racecar driver. I’m a lot of things.”
He smiles and puts the sketch back on my desk. “You aren’t like any girl I’ve ever dated.”
“Have you ever dated anyone who wasn’t an actress or singer?”
“Sure.”
“Or model?”
“Um no.”
I laugh. “Well there you go. I’m just like any other girl really.”
He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything more. At Mom’s call for dessert we go back downstairs. At around ten Grant’s driver comes back. Again I feel like he wants to kiss me, but this time I don’t have to turn away from him. He’s dissuaded enough by the audience of my family, hovering in the hall while he and I say goodbye. Instead he lightly brushes his lips over my right cheek and promises to call soon. He has to leave New Mexico in the morning to head for Los Angeles. Deader than Night comes out in two weeks and he has a lot of promoting to do.
***
“You have to do something,” I beg Angelina Tuesday night while she’s doing the dinner dishes. It’s been another hellish day of Michelle following my every move and I can’t stand it. She grabs a plate off the pile, sneers at the remaining clumps of meatloaf and gravy, then rinses it clean and places it in the dishwasher.
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Michelle won’t leave me alone!”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Um, yes it is. You’re the one who didn’t want me to steal your friends. So what’s with complacency? Fight for them!”
“You saw it the other week, the minute they got bored with the idea of you and Grant, they stopped caring about you. The same thing will happen eventually. They’ll either figure out you’re not going to let them near him, or he’ll dump you.”
“Angelina! Come on. Please? I don’t want to be Michelle’s friend and she just keeps following me around.”
“Then introduce her to Grant.”
“Yeah. Not happening.” I shake my head and lean back against the counter.
“Worried she’ll steal him away?”
“More like worried she’ll maul him. People can’t seem to keep their cool around him.” I look at her pointedly, reminding her of the night before.
“I don’t think there’s anything I can do, okay? Michelle does what she wants. What I think doesn’t really matter all that much to her.”
“You could at least help me at lunch, try and distract her.”
“No.” She drops a plate back into the sink and the sound of ceramic clattering against metal fills the kitchen.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m busy during lunch.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that it’s none of your business. So unless you’re going to help me deal with this,” she indicates the heap of dirty pots and plates in the sink, “leave.”
***
Over the next few days, I watch helplessly as my life spins out of my control. Grant’s face is everywhere: television, the internet, magazines. The makers of Deader than Night are going all out with this promotional push. I read an article the other day predicting the movie will make over $100 million opening weekend. That’s big stuff. Grant is big stuff.
Every once in a while it feels so...impossible. Grant is on TV talking about me and I just have to pinch myself because I’m convinced it’s a dream...or a nightmare. I know I said I like him, and I do...it’s just that it’s only been two dates! And some of these interviewers are acting like he and I are practically engaged.
>
On Wednesday after school Mom takes off work and drags me shopping in the city. We hit up every major department store, and when I try and head for Old Navy she presses her lips together in a tight line and drags me in the other direction. By the time we get home I have a wardrobe full of clothing that I would never, ever, pick out for myself. Dresses, skirts, fancy pants, dressy jeans, shiny blouses.
“Maybe we should consider getting you a publicist, or an agent,” Mom suggests when I complain about missing my old clothes.
I quickly shut her up by pulling out one of my new dresses and telling her how much I love it. But maybe she’s right. Maybe I need someone to carefully shape and refine my public image. The very thought makes me cringe, but it hasn’t taken long for people to start turning against me. I notice it first online – fans who are convinced that Grant is their soul mate tearing me down – limb by limb. My skin is too pale, my hair is too brown, my nose is too big for my face.
I’m not surprised really. I’m a girl, I’ve spent my entire life living with girls, I get them. Jealousy, anger, rage...it comes with the territory. Look at me. I want to destroy Ava for dating Colin. So I shouldn’t get upset when people try and tear me down for dating Grant. Still though, when some thirteen year old brat from Florida blogs that my arms are fat and I have cankles, well it sucks.
“They’re just jealous of you,” Caroline reminds me.
At school it’s a similar theme, except instead of hating me outright, people talk behind my back and act sugary sweet to my face. It’s hard to tell who’s acting fake and who’s for real. I’ve never had so many offers of friendship in my entire life. And I’m not just talking about Michelle and her minions, I’m talking about the popular and unpopular alike. From Drama Club nerds, and Glee Club Gleeks, to Student Council dictators and Athletic Department jocks. They’re all after me.
People who I entertained friendships with in elementary school are suddenly rekindling old memories of playground antics – no matter that the last time we spent any time together was in third grade on the monkey bars – and attempting to use these moments to cling to my side. It’s exhausting and frustrating. I can barely talk to any of my real friends for more than half a minute before someone is interrupting us. In Algebra, while doing a test, Melonie Mellman leans over to whisper a hello and I almost get a zero for talking during an exam.
Something has to give.
Chapter Twenty
Grant returns to West Plane on Friday, just for the one night before he heads to London the next day. He shows up at my door at five wearing a more casual outfit than I’m used to seeing him in, a pair of dark jeans and a grey Henley, the top buttons undone. Over that he has on an old army surplus jacket – or more likely a new, made to look old, army surplus jacket.
After careful consultation with my parents, which is buoyed by the fact that Grant brings my dad a basketball signed by Kobe Bryant, we head into Albuquerque for a typical date of dinner and a movie.
We eat at a little bistro downtown. It’s easier for Grant to blend in when we’re in the city, but that doesn’t stop a handful of teenage girls from recognizing him while we eat desert. Then we head for the movies, a formulaic romantic comedy. I find myself laughing more at Grant’s commentary – he’s worked with both the stars and has more than enough absurd stories about them to share – than the actual film.
It’s nice here, in the dark, hidden from view. There are only a few other people in the theater with us and none of them even look in our direction. Grant seems more at ease, happier.
I’m starting to feel more comfortable with him. Maybe because the rest of my life is uncomfortable these days, that being with him seems like a break. When I’m with him I don’t have to listen to everyone talk about him.
When the credits start to roll, we head out of the theater and into the lobby. It’s not very busy, only a handful of people are milling around. That’s how I spot them so easily. Ava’s long blonde hair seems to glow under the fluorescent lights and I would recognize the back of Colin’s head anywhere.
Whether I want it to or not, my body suddenly freezes. Grant, not noticing I’ve stopped walking, collides with my side. I topple to the right, but Grant reaches out and steadies me before I can fall over. Sensing the commotion, Ava’s head snaps up and veers in our direction. Colin’s gaze follows.
I step to the side, unhooking my arm from Grant’s grasp and putting a foot of space between us. I do it quickly, without even thinking. Colin doesn’t seem to notice, nor does Grant, but I catch Ava watching me with a curious stare.
“Isn’t that your sister?” Grant notices them and pokes my shoulder.
“Yeah. Ava.”
Oblivious to my rigid apprehension, Grant starts walking toward them. I follow behind.
“Hello again Ava,” he smiles at her warmly. She returns the smile and nods her own hello.
“Hi guys,” I wave.
Colin’s gaze sweeps over me, then lands on Grant. “Hi there.”
“Oh right,” I cough. “Grant this is Colin, Colin this is Grant.”
“It’s great to meet you,” Grant reaches out and clasps his hand around Colin’s. They shake once, twice, and then release. Colin retracts his hand, trailing it up the side of his thigh, before sliding it into his front pocket.
I’m trying my hardest not to look, but I can’t stop staring at him. One of his curls has burst forth and is falling in his eye. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to reach over and push it aside. I keep my hands balled into tight fists behind my back.
I try to look away, but his eyes catch mine. I feel a hot burst of red creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. I turn my head down and wait for the blood to dissipate before anyone notices, but when I look up again Ava is watching me closely.
“So you guys are here to see a movie I guess?” Colin asks, breaking the awkward silence.
“Just saw it, actually,” Grant nods.
“Oh. Right. We’re just going in now.”
“And we should get in there,” Ava says brightly, reaching out and firmly wrapping her hand around Colin’s. She gives me a stern, pointed look as she does this. “Or we’ll miss the previews. You guys have fun.”
“Sure thing.” Grant nods.
“Goodbye,” Colin says as Ava tugs his arm and drags him off toward their theater.
“Bye,” I whisper.
Grant reaches for my hand and I let him take it. We head for the exit, and just as Grant pulls the door open for me, I twist my neck and glance behind me. Colin is standing at the podium, holding his ticket out to the usher. The usher takes it, rips it, then tries to hand it back, but Colin doesn’t notice because he’s looking back at me.
***
The silence between us is thick. I’m not sure if Grant notices, or even realizes...but I’m more than aware. It makes me itchy and uncomfortable. I want to say something, but my lips are clamped firmly shut. Every time my eyelids slide closed for more than half a second, I see Colin there with Ava, and then he’s staring at me as I leave.
Nothing. It means nothing. Colin is a fantasy. A wish. But Grant, he’s real. And he’s here. I just need to forget.
I pull my gaze to the road and watch the concrete, illuminated by the glow of the headlights and the swollen moon, pass by us by. Instead of having a driver ferry us around, Grant rented a car and is driving us himself. In the distance I see something, caught under the light of the moon, shimmer.
“Slow down,” I say, just loud enough for Grant to hear me.
“What?”
“Slow down,” I repeat. He glances over at me with confusion, but eases his foot off the gas.
When we get close enough, I smile. I see the sign I’m looking for, worn and barely legible, pop out of the darkness. It’s on the edge of a small lane that veers off into the
desert.
“Turn here,” I tell Grant.
He shakes his head, but adheres to my request and pulls off the highway and onto the road. Soon the paved lane gives way to hard packed dirt and rock. The only sign we’re on a road at all is the impression of tires prints before us.
“Where are we going?” Grant asks, gripping the steering wheel tightly as the SUV tips and jerks over the rough surface beneath the tires.
“Just wait,” I lean into the dashboard and watch for what I’m waiting for.
After fifteen minutes I spot the marker. A big rock with words painted in faded black on its face.
“Stop here,” I tell Grant.
He pulls the SUV off the road and parks on a smooth of sand, almost catching a plot of low desert bushes in his tires. As soon as he cuts the engine, I unlock my seatbelt and push my door open. My feet hit the ground and I smile. I may live just inches from the desert on a daily basis, but I barely drift out of civilization any more to enjoy it. When we were young, Dad would drag all of us out to hike and camp. I used to love it. Cooking over hand built fires and sleeping beneath the stars.
I walk over to Grant’s door and yank it open.
“Come on,” I pull at Grant’s hand. He undoes his belt, then slides out of the seat and lands beside me.
“Why are we here?”
I grab his hand and drag him away from the vehicle. He keeps his eyes on me the entire time. “You’re dad wants you home in an hour.”
“Forget about him,” I laugh. “Just enjoy it.”
“Enjoy what?”
“This,” I say. I reach out and curl my fingers beneath his chin. With a subtle push I tip his head back so his face is parallel with the sky. I’m not sure there’s any sight more breathtaking than the desert sky at night. Away from the saturation of city lights and pollution, its untouched beauty is unprecedented. You’re lucky, standing downtown West Plane or Albuquerque, to see a smattering of stars. But out here, it’s hard to find a patch of sky unmarked by their twinkling light.
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