Milan watches Dad leave too and then turns back to us. Her expression is different. Almost embarrassed.
Oh man, I wonder if Dad knows too? I guess it’s possible that one of the people on the town board told him. Especially since everyone else seems to know about it.
“Milan, what’s this about?” Mom says, her voice full of concern now.
Milan leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest. “To put it simply, gossip. A stupid rumor has been spread through town that I participated in a sex tape with Brandon Days.”
“Oh my lord,” Mom says, horrified.
“It’s not true, Aunt Julie,” Milan adds quickly. “I’ve never even met Brandon Days let alone made any kind of movie with him. It’s total fiction.”
“How did this happen?” Mom asks.
“Oh, you know how those stupid online gossip sites are. They just make stuff up half the time. I think they were trying to create a juicy story for my sudden disappearance from Hollywood. Like it’s any of their business.” She sighs. “So someone made a fake movie and threw it online. I looked it up when I first heard the rumor. It’s totally not me. The girl in the movie has a huge butt.” Milan looks at my mom’s reaction to this. “Not that that’s important at this moment. But seriously, if you look at the date stamped on the movie it was made while I was here in Average with you guys. It’s not me.”
What? No way! I never even thought to look at the movie. I mean, ewww, why would I? But if it’s not even Milan …
“Why didn’t you say something?” I ask Milan. “You should defend yourself. Tell people. Write a letter to the Web sites that posted the story.”
Milan laughs. Loudly. “Sorry, Jamie,” she finally says. “It was what you said about writing to the Web sites. That would never work. It would only make things worse.”
“That’s libel, Milan, what they did to you,” Mom says.
“Yeah. I don’t think anyone actually cares,” she says. “From my experience it doesn’t even matter if what the online sites or tabloids say about you is true. Once it’s out there people believe it hook, line, and sinker.”
“That’s terrible,” I mutter. I feel horrible. Really horrible. I can’t believe I caused this whole mess and Milan didn’t even do it!
Milan shrugs. “It’s nothing new. I’m used to it.” She carefully slices off a tiny piece of her pizza and resumes eating.
Mom shakes her head. “What an awful thing to get used to. There has to be something we can do—”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “Don’t drop out of the Pumpkin Princess contest. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
Milan looks at me like I’m an idiot, but I’m not kidding. I will fix this. Maybe it’s not entirely my fault. Celebrity gossip does spread awfully fast. But I feel partially responsible and while I can’t make a difference on a widespread level I can make a difference in Average. I know I can. I excuse myself from the table and go to my room to get to work.
20
I wake up Thursday morning raring to go. Today’s mission: spread the truth about Milan around Average faster than the flu. First step is to e-mail the town board again as Helpful Friend. This time I apologize for the regrettable mistake and add that the sex tape is a fraud and that Milan was here in Average with us when it was filmed.
At school I tell anyone who will listen to me about my poor cousin Milan getting framed. I make sure to keep repeating how impossible it would have been for her to have made the tape in the first place. This is our solid undeniable proof and it has to get around fast. I even tell Joyce, the lunchroom monitor, the story. Joyce is pretty gossipy so I figure it will only help in getting the news spread around town.
After school I head straight for the Patch, but before I go to work, I have to make a stop. I get in line behind a mom with two kids. When it’s my turn I step up to the register and order. “Hi, one raspberry sno-cone and a bag of kettle corn, please.”
Sno-Cone Sammy and Kettle Corn Girl eye each other as they put together my order. What? So I never usually stop at this booth. Can’t a girl change up her after-school snack once in a while?
Sno-Cone Sammy hands me my sno-cone.
“Thanks,” I say. “Oh wait, maybe I should bring Milan a sno-cone too, you know, to cheer her up. You got any flavors back there with no calories, no preservatives, no additives … Uh, well, maybe you should just fill up one of those paper cones with some plain ice shavings.”
Sno-Cone Sammy looks concerned. “How’s Milan?” she says in a low voice.
Perfect. I was hoping she’d ask me that. “She’s okay,” I say slowly. “As well as you’d expect, considering the lies spreading all over town about her.”
“Lies?” Sno-Cone Sammy inquires, obviously hoping I’ll spill, which of course is my plan.
“Yeah. You know,” I say, and lean in close, “about the t-a-p-e.” I’m not sure why I felt I needed to spell that out.
“It’s not true?” Sno-Cone Sammy asks, and then flips around to look at Kettle Corn Girl. “See? I told you Milan would never do that.”
“Oh God,” I say, “of course it’s not true. Milan doesn’t even know Brandon Days. And if you look at the date stamp on the movie you’ll see it was made while Milan was living here in Average.”
“Really?” Kettle Corn Girl says, moving closer to us.
“Yes! And I have no reason to defend Milan, she doesn’t even like me,” I add.
“That’s true,” Kettle Corn Girl replies.
Ouch.
“Well, I never believed it for a minute,” Sno-Cone Sammy says, shaking her head for emphasis. “April kept saying it was true, but I couldn’t see Milan doing something like that. It’s not her.”
“She wouldn’t,” I agree. “Thanks for the food, guys.” I drop some bills on the counter. I take my sno-cone, the ice, and the kettle corn and head for home. I need to change and get back out here to work.
Mom asks me to be the break reliever this afternoon, which, really, couldn’t be any more perfect a job to fit in with my plan. It gives me a chance to tell everyone I relieve about Milan being framed with the sex tape. I tell Jeff and Teegan at the pumpkin chucker, Petey and Hannah at the haunted house, and Kate and Laurel at the funnel cake stand. I know my plan is going to work and people will forget this stupid story about Milan and go back to, well, I guess worshipping her like they were before the rumor leaked. But even if they are worshipping her it’s better than them ignoring her and making fun of her behind her back for something she didn’t do.
My last stop is to see Sara. She’s straightening up the display case when I reach her.
“Hey, where’ve you been? No apple today?” Sara asks.
“Nah, I had kettle corn and a sno-cone,” I say.
“What? Since when? I think I’m insulted.” Sara fake-pouts and I laugh.
“Don’t worry, it was a one-time thing,” I insist.
“It better be. I don’t like throwing away my creations.” Sara picks up the Jamie Special and acts like she’s going to throw it in the trash.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say. “Let’s not be hasty. I’ll take it home.”
She grins. “I knew you would.” She hands me the apple and leans over the counter to glance at the concession stand. I look too and see Milan busily making her pumpkin spice lattes. “Did you hear?” Sara asks me a minute later.
“Hear what?” I turn and face her.
“About Milan’s sex tape being a fake?” Sara says. “Someone set her up. That wasn’t her in the movie. It was someone else.”
“That’s terrible,” I say, faking shock and disgust. “Even Milan doesn’t deserve that!” Yes! If Sara has already heard the news I’ve been telling people then it must be spreading well throughout the Patch.
Sara nods. “Even though Milan has been so dang rotten it still must be hard being a kid with famous parents. Those gossip sites and tabloids don’t attack only the celebrities, they attack their whole families.”
“Yea
h,” I agree. Sara’s right. I never thought about how hard it must be for Milan to have such famous parents.
21
“Good morning!” a cheerful voice sings from behind me.
I back out of the refrigerator, a strawberry yogurt and an apple in my hands, and shut the door with my hip. “You talking to me?” I say.
“Of course!” Milan smiles. “It’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” she asks. She pulls the refrigerator door back open and roots around inside for her soy milk. I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen, shocked that Milan is being, well, pleasant.
“Um, yeah. Seems like a good morning.” I slip the food into my backpack and zip it closed. “You’re in a better mood,” I add.
Milan spins around. “You know, I really am. I like it here. You have a nice town.”
Wow! What a change. A lot different from what she said when she first got here. I smile. “Yeah, it is. It’s a great town.”
“Back home,” she continues, “people never would have believed the truth about me and that whole stupid rumor. But here? Everyone believes me. It’s refreshing.”
I smile. She thinks everyone believes her because she said so. And I’m sure some do. But I think mostly it’s because I told absolutely everyone I could and it spread. But I’m not going to say anything. It’s not like I need to brag about what I did.
“That’s great,” I say. “Well, see you later, I’m off to school.” I head for the door.
“Jamie, wait,” Milan says.
I turn back around and raise my eyebrows.
“Can you help me after school in the concession stand? My latte crowd has returned. I could use the assistance.”
I scrunch up my face. “You know how bad I am at making lattes though…”
“I’ll teach you again,” she urges. “It’ll be fine. You’ll get it.”
I think about it. Maybe this is a step in the right direction for Milan and me. “Well, all right. See you after school,” I say. As I head out to my car I feel myself smiling. That was the nicest exchange I’ve had with Milan since she arrived.
* * *
After school, I change and join Milan behind the espresso maker. I’ve only sprayed her with foam twice so far and I think I’m getting better. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we’re friends or anything now. I’m not delusional. Milan is just less mean to me.
I’m rinsing out the espresso shot glasses when Danny steps up to our stand. His brown curls are mussed and I can see a short piece of hay sticking in his hair, right by his left ear. He looks amazing.
“Hey, ladies.” He nods at both of us and I feel my insides get mushy. “Can I get a soda?”
“Sure,” I say. I pull a can of Mountain Dew out of the cooler and hand it to him, hoping he doesn’t think it’s weird that I know his favorite soda.
“Are you doing anything with that Baby Boo?” he asks me, nodding toward the back of the booth.
“Oh my God,” Milan whispers loudly in my ear. “Is he really going to flirt with you in front of me like that?”
I feel my cheeks flush and I look over at Danny’s face. He’s grinning.
“Milan!” I hiss, wanting her to shut up now.
“What?” she says. “It’s totally rude!”
I pick up the tiny white pumpkin off the table at the back of the booth and carry it over to Danny. “Here, you can have it,” I say.
“Thanks,” he replies. “My kid sister loves these.”
“Sure,” I say. After he’s left I turn to Milan. “For future reference, a Baby Boo is a type of pumpkin, not a pet name. Well, I’m sure it’s someone, somewhere’s pet name but it isn’t mine. And Danny wasn’t flirting with me. He doesn’t even like me.”
“Oh. Bummer about the name. It was sorta cute,” Milan says thoughtfully. “But I wouldn’t say that he doesn’t like you.”
“Oh, I’m positive,” I say. But now I’m wondering what Milan’s deal is. Why would she think he likes me? Not that it wouldn’t be freaking fabulous if he did like me, but we both know that he doesn’t. He likes her. What about those lunches and the short-shorts and the tractor rides?
Well, he did give me a tractor ride once too. Back when I was fifteen and first learning how to drive a car. Dad let me ride around out in the field with an old truck and I got it stuck in a big mud patch. Danny saw me and gave me a ride back to the house to get Dad. But that was it. He was only being nice then. It’s not like we have moonlit rides around the Patch or anything. It’s not the same as how it is with him and Milan. He doesn’t look at me like he looks at her. No one looks at me like that. Boys want to kiss Milan. They want to stack pumpkins with me.
I can’t say any of this to her though. I don’t think Milan and I are at that place yet. “Can you show me how to grind the espresso beans again?” I ask, changing the subject to something that doesn’t make me blush the shade of a tomato.
* * *
That evening Mom, Milan, and I are lingering at the dinner table, chatting over Pumpkin Surprise, which, go figure, I’ve come to sorta like. Mom must be slipping me something in my 2 percent milk (I may like the Pumpkin Surprise, but they’ll never get me to touch that soy stuff ). I can tell she is absolutely tickled that Milan and I are actually kinda getting along.
“I can’t believe the Pumpkin Princess contest is tomorrow,” Milan says excitedly.
“You’re going to do it?” Mom and I ask at the same time. Geez, with all the drama I almost forgot about the contest.
Milan nods. “I never officially dropped out, so what the heck.”
“Awesome! May the best girl win, then,” I say, echoing what Milan said to me when she first found out I was in the contest too. But I mean it. I want to compete against Milan, fair and square.
22
“Oh, Jamie.” Sara puts a hand on her cheek and looks me up and down. “You are absolutely beautiful.”
“I am?” I ask tentatively. “Beautiful” isn’t a word I hear too often to describe me. I walk over to the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door and stand in front of it. A tiny gasp escapes my lips. “Oh my God. You’re a miracle worker, Sara!”
“No, I’m not,” Sara insists. “You had all the material. I just combed and twisted some hair and brushed some makeup on in a few places.”
I stare at my reflection. Sara has part of my blond waves pulled back from my face and gathered into some twisty thing on top of my head and the rest hanging in loose curls. I’m wearing my dress: an emerald sleeveless fitted number that ends in a ruffle a few inches above my knees. She’s accented my eyes to match the dress and blushed my cheeks a shimmery shade of peach. And I’m wearing lipstick. I’ve never put anything but Chap Stick on my lips before. And that was only in the winter.
“I can’t believe it’s me,” I say, shaking my head.
“Well, it’s definitely you. And you’re going to go out there and win Pumpkin Princess. You deserve it, Jamie.”
I blink rapidly, tears beginning to fill my eyes.
“Oh no you don’t,” Sara says. “Do not cry.” She waves her hands in front of my eyes. “I practiced those eyes on myself for over two hours, trying to perfect the look. I saw it in Seventeen. It’s absolutely flawless right now and I don’t want to chance having to start over.”
I take several deep breaths. “Okay, okay. I won’t cry. It’s only, I’ve wanted this for so long. I can’t believe it’s here. It’s like a dream.”
Sara puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I know you have. And you’ll do it today and you’ll win. And then you’ll dream a new dream for yourself and go after that. It’s not like anything is truly ending today.”
I nod, even though I can’t help feeling sentimental thinking about all those days I wandered the pumpkin patch as a kid, a broken pumpkin stem tied on my head, pretending to be the Pumpkin Princess.
“Are we ready to go?” Sara asks, packing the makeup in a bag to take with us.
“Almost,” I say. “Wou
ld you mind waiting for me out front? I need to do one other thing before we go.”
“Sure.” Sara lets herself out of my room and I head for my closet.
I kneel on the floor and root around in the back, careful not to mess up my hair on the clothes hanging overhead. There. Got it. I straighten up and head for Milan’s room.
I knock softly on Milan’s door and hear her tell me to come in. “Jamie! You look fabulous,” Milan says.
“Stunning,” Sno-Cone Sammy agrees. I notice Kettle Corn Girl is nowhere in sight. Good. Milan obviously figured out her number.
“You look amazing yourself,” I tell Milan. And she does. Almost like a pink Barbie princess doll. Her hair is in big fancy curls and her pearly pink lips are in a huge, completely perfect smile.
Milan tilts her head slightly and says, “Thank you.” And I think she genuinely means it.
“I stopped by because I have something for you,” I say. I pull my present from behind my back and hold it up in front of me.
“My Roy Vances!” Milan shrieks, grabbing her cheeks in surprise and then racing over and pulling the shoes from my hands. “They’re perfect! How did you get them cleaned? They were ruined!”
“I didn’t throw them out when you told me to,” I explain. “Instead I saved them and worked on them with some saddle soap my dad has. And voilà, good as new.”
Still clutching her shoes, Milan throws her arms around me and gives me a big hug. “Thank you, Jamie.”
I hug her back. “You’re welcome.” Milan and I never did talk about that awful fight we had behind the barn that one day. And I don’t think we ever will. It just happened and we moved past it. For the first time since Milan arrived she actually kind of feels like a sister.
I pull away. “Well, we both better get over to the contest. I’ll see you there, okay?”
Milan nods, still admiring her shoes. “Good luck!”
Just Your Average Princess Page 12