Reel Life Starring Us

by Lisa Greenwald

  “You think?” Dina asks.

  “I know.”

  Video tip: Keep words on the screen long

  enough for people to read them twice.

  “This has been an amazing day,” Chelsea says once we’re on the train. “I know this sounds cheesy, but thank you.”

  I laugh. “It doesn’t sound cheesy. It’s good to hear.”

  We sit back in our seats and stare out the window as we wait for the conductor to come and punch our tickets.

  “It has been a totally amazing day,” I say after a few seconds of silence.

  Chelsea sighs. “It felt good to talk to Sasha, didn’t it?”

  I nod. “Totally.”

  “Because she’s a real person who went to our school and things weren’t always great for her, but she graduated and look how she’s doing now.” Chelsea seems so serious all of a sudden. “Even if things are bad, they can get better. Ya know?”

  I nod. I’m not sure if Chelsea thinks I know what she’s referring to. I feel like this is one of those instances where I should just sit and listen.

  It’s hard to tell if Chelsea realizes how people see her, how when you’re popular your life is made—or at least that’s how it seems.

  As we get closer and closer to Rockwood Hills, I stop thinking about this because I am getting more and more nervous.

  I was never the type of girl to do bad things, so I was never the type of girl to get in trouble.

  I have no idea what’s in store for me.

  My parents are there waiting when we get off the train, and Chelsea’s mom is waiting, too. Chelsea and I say good-bye quickly. I tell her to have fun with Ross. I try not to be too jealous that she has actual plans on a Saturday night—and plans with Ross, of all people.

  Ali and I would always talk about what life would be like on Long Island and one of the things that always came up was that I’d have boys over. Ali said I’d be babysitting Nathan and a boy would walk over and we’d make microwave popcorn and watch a movie on one of the leather couches in my den.

  Too bad that hasn’t happened yet. Too bad it’s never going to happen.

  For one thing, I haven’t even babysat since we’ve been here. My grandparents always come over to stay with us.

  For another, I have no friends to come over—let alone boyfriends.

  I reach for the car door handle, and I feel like I’m going in slow motion. I get into the car, sit down, and buckle my seat belt, and my dad starts to drive home.

  “Hi,” I say. “First of all, I’m really sorry for lying. You have every right to be really, really, really mad at me.” I think it’s best to start out apologizing; then it doesn’t really leave them with that much to say.

  “We appreciate your apology,” my mom says. “And we’re glad you know lying is wrong.”

  Then: nothing. They don’t say anything. I stare at the clock above the radio. The minutes tick by. My dad is silent. So is my mom. What is going on?

  “So what’s my punishment?” I ask. I have to know. Waiting and not knowing is probably way harder than just being punished.

  “Just don’t do it again,” my dad says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Don’t do it again,” he repeats.

  I can’t believe this. They sounded furious on the phone. I was nervous all day. And there’s no punishment? That’s so not like them. They really believe in the punishment-fitting-the-crime kind of discipline. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.

  “We know you’re having a rough time, honey,” my mom says. “We’re just glad you made plans with someone. But we wish you could have just been honest about it.”

  “Really? No punishment?” I should be happy about this, but instead I’m just confused.

  “We’ll discuss more when we get inside,” my dad says, pulling into the driveway.

  My grandparents are at our house, and for the first time in my life, I feel embarrassed to see them. I feel like they won’t look at me the same way anymore. They’ll see me as some rebellious teenager instead of the nice girl they used to know.

  It’s strange—now that my parents aren’t that mad at me, I’m even madder at myself.

  My grandparents are taking Nathan out to dinner, so luckily they don’t have a lot of time to look at me as the rebellious teenager. My parents and I sit down in the den, and we start talking.

  It feels like one of those “talks” you see on TV, like on Sasha’s show. Sasha’s always getting in trouble with her parents—that’s what most of her advice is about.

  “We’re not going to punish you because we don’t think you did it to be purposefully deceitful, but we’d like to understand why you did it,” my dad says.

  “I didn’t think you’d let me go to the city, and I couldn’t risk that. I had to go for my project,” I tell them. “And so I figured it was best to just go and come back.”

  My mom moves closer to me on the couch and puts her arm around me. “Please just be honest with us from now on. Actually, starting now! How are you doing? How are things at school? You seem so distant and so unlike you.”

  I want to open up to them and tell them how hard it is to find friends and how Chelsea doesn’t even consider me a real friend. But somehow I just can’t. Maybe it’s because I’m tired. Maybe it’s because I need to process the day or because all I can think about is Chelsea and Ross Grunner. Even with the stuff about her dad, her life is so much better than mine.

  “I promise to be honest from now on,” I tell them. “But I’m really tired now. Can I go upstairs and lie down?”

  “Sure,” my mom says. “We’re going to dinner with that couple from down the street, the Bentens. You’ll be okay here? Do you want to invite a friend over or something?”

  “Maybe,” I say as I’m walking up the stairs. “I’ll think about it.”

  And even with that talk about honesty, I just lied again. Because I won’t think about it, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t have anyone to invite.

  Sasha Preston piece of advice: Don’t burn

  bridges. You never know when you’ll

  change your mind about someone.

  My parents look so happy going out that I almost forget what’s really going on: that my dad spent the whole day (up until an hour ago) in his workout clothes, that my mom cashed in an IRA to pay for the rest of Alexa’s braces. I don’t think I’m really supposed to know this, but I overheard them refer to it while they were getting ready.

  My dad’s wearing one of his pinstriped sports jackets and a peach tie, and my mom has on her black pants with her sequined sweater. I want to take a picture of them so I can remember how they look, just in case they never look this way again. I’m not even a sentimental person, but this whole thing with my dad has started to turn me into one.

  “Call us if there’s a problem,” my mom says. “And there’s money for pizza on the kitchen counter. Alexa should be busy with that dollhouse video game Grandma sent her, but it wouldn’t hurt if you paid a little attention to her.”

  “Got it.”

  “Are you having Kendall and the girls over?” my dad asks.

  “Not sure yet.” I shrug. Now I’m turning into Dina and becoming a liar. It’s not even hard—it just seems to happen all of a sudden. “We’ll see. I may catch up on homework, and I also have that project for the fiftieth anniversary to work on.”

  “Good girl,” he says.

  And then a blissful few seconds later, they’re out the door on the way to Riverbay, where they spent so many Saturday nights in the good old days.

  Maybe this is a sign that things are changing, that things will return to normal soon, and that everything will be okay again. And maybe Ross and I will start going out tonight, like we’re supposed to, and that will be a good distraction, too. I could always start to like him more once we’re going out. It seems like meeting Sasha Preston was my good luck charm. Ever since this morning, things have been getting better.

  Ro
ss rings the bell at eight forty-seven, and it’s clear that he didn’t want to arrive exactly at eight forty-five but didn’t want to be late, either. That’s so Ross.

  My skin starts to feel prickly thinking about the fact that I have a guy over and my parents don’t know, even though it’s just Ross and they’ve known Ross forever. It’s just that when I usually have guys over, there are girls over, too.

  But I’m in eighth grade now! This is what eighth graders are supposed to do.

  “Hey,” he says, walking into my house like he lives here. “What’s up? How was el ciudad?”

  “Practicing your Spanish?” I laugh.

  “Sí.” He smiles. “So how was it? And can I have one of those graham cracker granola bars you’re always eating in math? They look soooooo good.”

  “Sure.” He follows me into the kitchen, and I start telling him all about the day, how much of a sleuth Dina is and how we actually ended up being extras in the movie, which I still can’t believe.

  He seems really interested. Interested like a girl would be, not like an eighth-grade boy. It’s weird to see him alone, without anyone else around. He seems calmer and less worried about impressing people. “So, how did Dina find out all this stuff? And were you totally nervous about sneaking into the extras scene and into the trailer and all of that?” He climbs up onto one of our kitchen barstools and finishes his graham cracker granola bar in one bite.

  “I have no clue how she figured it out.” I shrug and don’t answer about how nervous I was. Ross doesn’t need to know that. “She’s a detective.”

  “Really?”

  “No. I mean, she’s not like a paid detective.” I laugh. “But she can find out anything, probably about people at school, too. Like if Mr. Oliver was really involved in that scandal with the rigged tennis team tryouts.”

  Ross throws his head back and bangs his hand on the counter. “That was ridiculous!” He widens his eyes like he’s in some kind of spooky horror film. “You think she’s found out stuff about me?”

  Ross seems really interested in what Dina thinks of him. I think he must be fascinated with new people. We’ve all been in the same classes with the same kids since kindergarten, for the most part, so we’re used to each other. “I doubt it.”

  “Why?” He has a stupid grin on his face, and it makes me want to throw something at him. Maybe I can’t go out with Ross Grunner. Maybe he’s just as annoying as everybody else.

  “I don’t know.” I look at this colorful painting on the wall. My mom bought it in Spain when my parents were there a few years ago. After I stare at it for a few seconds, it starts to give me a headache. “Anyway, why’d you come over here? What do you want to talk to me about?”

  I walk around the island in my kitchen and sit down on the barstool next to his. Up close he smells like he used too much cologne or too much of that men’s body spray.

  “I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he says. “I mean, it totally sucks that you’re, like, faced with this whole new lifestyle now.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him, but he keeps talking. “You know, all the stuff you were used to, you can’t really get anymore, and everyone knows about it, and it’s just sucky. It’s like your parents were involved in some kind of scandal.”

  “Not really,” I say. “They didn’t do anything wrong. If you watched the news, you’d see it’s a pretty bad economy out there.”

  “You watch the news?” Ross scoffs. “Chelsea Stern watches the news?”

  I shrink away from him a little. “Sometimes,” I mumble.

  “That’s hard to picture.” He laughs. “So, how are you handling it?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly homeless,” I tell him, annoyed that he just laughed at me. “I mean, yeah, I’m dealing with fewer pairs of jeans, but I’m not going to school in rags.”

  This is what I don’t get about Rockwood Hills. In any other part of the country, everyone would know that people are losing their jobs, and it wouldn’t be the biggest deal and no one would treat it like you had some kind of highly contagious disease. I know Ross came over here to help me, supposedly, but he doesn’t seem to understand any more than Kendall and Molly do.

  “Chelsea.” He lowers his eyes at me, and I suddenly think this is a really bizarre time for a first kiss with someone. “Come on. You know and I know that we were the richest kids in the grade.”

  Barf. I want to barf right now. I hate this discussion. How was I ever a person who was okay with talking about that stuff? And when did I change?

  I don’t respond. Ross takes another granola bar out of the box, and I wonder if we should order in pizza. I look at the clock and see it’s after nine o’clock. He must be starving. Alexa must be starving, too.

  “Alexa!” I shout down to the basement. “What do you want on your pizza?”

  I hear the twinkling sounds of her new dollhouse video game. You get points every time you finish decorating a room. She probably would have forgotten about dinner altogether if I hadn’t reminded her.

  “Mushrooms!” she yells back, and Ross mouths the word mushrooms like it’s weird.

  “What kind of kid eats mushrooms?” he asks.

  “Oh, now mushrooms are for poor people?” I say, mostly kidding but a little curious about how he’ll respond to that.

  “I never said you were poor,” he says all matter-of-factly. “I’m sure your dad’s severance package was more than most people make in a whole year, maybe even two years.”

  How does he know all of this? “Do you read the Wall Street Journal or something?”

  “I do, actually,” he says, all smug and proud of himself.

  Right now he looks so cute, and I start to think I can actually like him like that. It’s bizarre how these feelings can change in a second, like turning a car engine on and off.

  I can’t think of anything else to say, and I guess he can’t, either. “Where’s your computer?” he asks, out of nowhere.

  “Upstairs on my desk. Why?”

  “I wanna show you something. I’ll be right back,” he says.

  “Great. I’ll order the pizza.”

  As soon as he’s gone and out of the kitchen, I start to get a creepy feeling that he’s upstairs in my room all by himself. Is he looking through my stuff? Touching my pillows? He’s still a boy, after all, and who knows what gross things boys do.

  I try not to think about it. Instead, I order two pizzas and two bottles of soda, and the guy on the phone tells me it’ll be here in thirty minutes.

  While Ross is upstairs getting my computer, I start to wonder if I’ve really changed, if this whole thing with my dad’s job has turned me into a different person. Because I don’t think I can be the same person anymore, someone who only cares about having fancy, expensive stuff and going on exotic vacations every single school break. Maybe that’s what makes people change. Things in their life change, and so they have to become different.

  Maybe that’s really obvious to most people, but it just occurred to me.

  Take Dina, for example. Maybe she’s become this new person who lies to her parents because she had to move, and she’ll never be the same as the girl she used to be back wherever she used to live. Maybe at the end of the year, she’ll be different from how she is now. Maybe we’re always just changing, and we don’t even realize it until after the change has happened.

  “Ready?” Ross asks, poking his head into the kitchen.

  “For?”

  “To watch videos on the Wall Street Journal site. Duh. It’s not what you think—all boring, financial stuff. There are cool videos on the site, too. Come sit on the couch.” He walks into the den and makes himself comfortable, like he’s the one who lives here and I’m the guest.

  “Sure, but the pizza will be here in thirty minutes,” I tell him.

  He nods and starts the video. We’re sitting so close to each other on the couch. Now I’m definitely sure he used too much cologne, and I can’t figure out if I love him or hate him
or even like him. I can’t figure out who I am and if I’ve changed, and I have no idea why we’re watching Wall Street Journal videos on a Saturday night.

  None of this makes sense. All my friends are at Kendall’s, eating sushi and having a sleepover and pranking people in the grade, and I’m alone with Ross Grunner on my couch. But I don’t want to be either place.

  What do I want?

  “Why are we watching this?” I ask.

  “You didn’t believe me that I actually read it.” Ross laughs and moves a little closer to me on the couch. His breath smells like graham crackers from the granola bars. “But don’t worry, my family makes fun of me all the time for it, too. They think I’m totally right-wing, but they’re just super liberal.”

  “Your family is super liberal?” I ask. I’m not even really sure I know what liberal means, but I don’t think it’s how I’d describe the Grunners.

  “Here, let’s watch this clip about a billion-dollar resort in China,” he says.

  So I sit back and watch and try as hard as I can not to think about anything else.

  Lately, I’m always waiting for something to happen. Right now I’m definitely waiting for something to happen, but I’m not even sure I know what I’m waiting for.

  Video tip: Start with an establishing shot—

  a general shot of the subject or location

  to help define the project.

  At lunch on Monday, the Acceptables are talking about what they always talk about—Chelsea Stern and Ross Grunner.

  “She’s so different this year, though,” Maura says. Maura has tuna salad in her braces, and if I look at it too closely, it makes me queasy. “She doesn’t even seem to care about the trends, or what everybody’s wearing, or anything.”

  “I don’t think she’s that different,” Katherine says. “Her jeans cost more than my whole back-to-school wardrobe.”

  Katherine lives in the Spruce section. I think they may rent out the basement of their house to someone else. Her dad owns a lumberyard, and her mom’s a nurse. She’s always talking about the money situation in Rockwood Hills and how some people have so much more than others. But Katherine’s the one with the sandwiches from the deli every day for lunch, all wrapped up in their perfect white paper. Her mom gets them for her on the way to school. It’s a small thing for a mom to do, but I think it’s really nice.