Will the Real Abi Sanders Please Stand Up?

by Sara Hantz

  “Abi, please.” His tone is softer, but I know it’s fake. He’s only trying to persuade me to do what he wants.

  “Lay off the charm, Jon.” Is that my voice? I’ve never sounded so sarcastic and in control before in my life. I must have learned more from Tilly than I realized.

  “But…”

  “Forget the buts. I know what you think of me.”

  “What are you talking about? You mean the world to me. Tell me why you’re being like this. Come on, we’ve still got time to get you cleaned up and back inside.” He rests his arm across my shoulder, and I pull away.

  “I’m not going back there. Not now. Not ever. Sweet ragdoll Abi won’t be manipulated anymore.”

  It’s like watching a slow-motion picture as my words penetrate. He goes from having a look of concern on his face, to a blank look, to one of shock. All in the space of a few seconds.

  “You heard,” he states quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “We didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Yeah, right. And if you didn’t mean it, I’m actually Tilly Watson. Look.” I grab hold of my wig, pull it off, and wave it about furiously. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going, and don’t try to stop me.” I take a step toward the door but stop when Jon’s hand rests on my arm.

  “Abi, please. We need you.”

  “Yes, to boost your reputation. Because it makes you seem special if you have Tilly on your arm. Or me pretending to be her, as long as I don’t open my mouth, of course. And why should I care about that?” I fold my arms and assume Liv’s I-am-a-wall-and-you’re-not-getting-anything-past-me goalie stance. And it feels good.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I need you. You’ve no idea what I stand to lose if I screw this up.”

  Foolishly, I allow my eyes to lock with his, and my heart lurches. It must be hard for him, always living in Tilly’s shadow. Really, she manipulates him as much as he’s manipulated me. “Well…” I hesitate.

  “I knew you’d understand. I’m relying on Tilly to pull a few strings and get me a part in her next movie. I can’t jeopardize that now. Come on, let’s fix you back up.” His too-slick tone jolts me out of my Jon-induced trance. He has a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and it takes all my resolve not to smack it off. He’s manipulating me again. I don’t believe it. And to think I nearly fell for it.

  Before I have time to reply, I’m blinded by a flash.

  Jon swings round to face a man with a camera. “Stop now. Or you’ll get more than a photo.”

  “Really?” The guy takes another shot. “Hey, Tilly…or whoever you are…look this way.”

  Jon lunges at him and tries to grab the camera, but the paparazzo steps to the side. Jon moves again, making a fist and drawing back his arm. But he’s not quick enough. The guy gets out of the way, and Jon is left swinging his arm in mid-air.

  Without thinking further, I lunge forward until I’m standing between them, easily deflecting Jon’s ridiculous attempt at punching the other guy.

  “Stop it,” I snap, glaring from one to the other.

  Don’t ask me why, but they actually listen to me, and both remain glued to the spot. Probably shock more than anything. It’s not every day someone my size tries to tackle two guys.

  “You don’t understand,” Jon pleads with me. “If this goes viral, Tilly will be finished.”

  And he expects me to believe that’s all he cares about? Hmmm? This is more to do with how he’s going to look. Which, from where I’m standing, isn’t good. Anyway, after all the other things Tilly’s done, surely this will just be something else for her huge PR team to handle. I can’t see it making any difference from her perspective.

  “And I’m supposed to care? After what you did to me?” I say. “I hope you’re finished. Tilly doesn’t have it easy, and she deserves better than you.”

  “You tell him,” the paparazzo says. “You know, doll, I don’t know what’s going on here, but TMZ would pay good money for your story.”

  “And you can shut up, too. You’re no better than Jon,” I reply glaring at him. “Tell TMZ they can cram it.”

  I turn to leave, and Jon makes a grab for me. But as soon as his hand touches my arm, I step to the side, transfer my weight onto my back leg, lift the other, and roundhouse-kick him in the chest. He loses his balance and his grip, and falls to the floor, and the paparazzo doesn’t waste a second snapping shot after shot.

  “That’s how you take your opponent out,” I say, looking down at his face and wondering what on earth I ever saw in him. “And it’s also the last kickboxing lesson you’ll ever get from me.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can even get the words out, I turn on my heels, go outside, and flag down a cab. All I want to do is go home.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I run through the hotel reception and through the double doors to the stairs, hoping that no one catches sight of me. When I get to my level, I race along the corridor and then use my keycard to open the door to my hotel room. Then I slam the door behind me and lean against it. I’m screwed. There’s no way I can go back home on the private plane, I’ll have to get there another way.

  How can everything be so good one minute and the next minute it all comes crashing down around me? It’s just not fair.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I don’t know how I feel.

  I don’t know anything, apart from the fact that I want Liv.

  She’ll tell me what to do. And she won’t judge either. Even if she does think to herself that it’s my fault. Which I wouldn’t blame her for thinking.

  Except, how can it be all my fault? I tried so hard to do everything right. Surely I can’t be to blame foreverything? Then again, maybe I’m deluding myself by thinking that I’ve been totally blameless in all this.

  I have to talk to her. But, of course, I’ll never get her to take my call. So what’s the point? Well, if I can’t speak to her, I’ll phone Mom instead. At least she’ll talk to me, even if she won’t like what I’ll be telling her.

  I pull out my cell from my purse, but before I call, something inside tells me to stop.

  What am I doing?

  Rhetorical question. I know what I’m doing. What I always do. Looking to someone else to sort out my problem. All my life I’ve turned to Mom and Dad, or Liv, or Matt. Well, not any more. It’s about time I took control myself. Okay, having a stutter hasn’t exactly made my life easy (even if I am able to control it most of the time), but I’m an adult, and from now on I’m going to be in charge of me.

  Just the thought of it sends my heart racing and the adrenaline flowing, but not in a bad way. I sort of feel empowered.

  I sit on the couch to think through my options.

  With a clear head, I now realize that getting home isn’t going to be a problem. All I need to do is go online and book a flight. Simple. So, I reach for my cell and then take out my credit card, find a flight, and reserve a seat. The only problem is the flight takes off in under two hours, so I have to leave right away.

  While getting my things together, I catch a glimpse of myself in the bedroom mirror and realize I’m still in makeup, including the nose. All I have time to do is wipe the black mascara stains from my face and brush my hair. At least without the wig I look a lot less like Tilly.

  I take the elevator to the ground and walk through the hotel with no one staring at me. Thank goodness.

  “Want a cab, miss?” the doorman asks as I leave the hotel.

  “Yes, please. To the airport,” I reply.

  In an instant, there’s a cab pulling up alongside me, and I flash him a grateful smile.

  The ride takes about forty minutes, during which time I stare out the window and watch the lights of New York. Even at this time of night, there are still loads of people around. It’s so different from Omaha. I’d love to come back and explore one day.

  It sort of feels like I’m in a movie; nothing’s quite real. There are bound to be some re
percussions from the studio. Damaging their reputation or something. But it’s not all my fault. If Tilly hadn’t got wasted, then none of this would have happened, so really she should take some of the blame.

  “We’re here,” says the driver, over his shoulder.

  “Thanks.” I didn’t even notice we’d stopped driving.

  After giving him the last of my dollars, I head toward the door for departures and then walk up to the check-in desk and wait in line for my boarding pass. It doesn’t take long and, glancing at my watch, I see that there’s about thirty minutes before we board. I manage to find an empty seat near the TV, except the only thing on is the news. Which is boring. In fact, I’m just about to get up and go to the bathroom when someone familiar on the screen catches my eye.

  It’s me.

  Me as Tilly, taking off my wig.

  …

  It’s now four-thirty in the morning. Scanning the people waiting as we come through arrivals, my heart’s in my mouth. I texted Matt just before take-off asking him to meet me at the airport, but he didn’t reply. I didn’t know who else to ask. I’m just hoping that he’ll forget how I’ve been, at least for the moment, and be here.

  “Abi.” I hear my name and see Matt waving, a grim expression on his face.

  It’s not rocket science to work out that he’d rather be anywhere else than here waiting for me. But at least he’s still here, as he’s always been when I’ve needed him. Tears form in my eyes, but I fight them back while heading over to him. “Thanks for coming,” I say, not making eye contact in case they start again.

  He shrugs and then walks away, his hand jammed into his pockets. He leaves me to follow. I’ve ruined everything between us.

  When we reach his car I put my bag into the trunk and then get in next to him. “Thanks,” I say again.

  “I’d hardly leave you alone in the middle of the night, would I?”

  Of course not. Because he’s a true friend. Or he was once.

  “I guess not.”

  I focus on my knees, wishing I could turn back the clock to before Bill mentioned this whole stunt double thing. Those so-called feelings I had for Jon were just crap. They weren’t real. I got sucked into the glitz and glamour of everything. And ended up losing the best thing I ever had. Matt. Okay, I know that he didn’t feel the same as me. But I had his friendship. Now I don’t even have that.

  “And what on earth made you travel looking like that?”

  I glance at Matt and see the disdain on his face. Then I pull down the visor and look in the mirror at Tilly’s nose. Tilly’s makeup. And my hair.

  Who the hell am I?

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I creep into the house, trying not to make a noise in case it wakes Mom and Dad, except I trip and stumble into the hall table, and the books and keys on top fall to the floor with a crash.

  “Who’s there?” Dad yells from the top of the stairs.

  Which isn’t a good idea if it really was an intruder. Maybe I’ll mention that to him later.

  “Dad, it’s me,” I call.

  “Abi?”

  “Abi?” Mom repeats. “What are you doing home? Is everything okay?”

  Before I have time to answer, she’s hurrying down the stairs, with Dad close behind.

  “Not really. It was awful, he…” My voice breaks.

  “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She runs down the last few stairs and engulfs me in a hug. My body goes limp, and a groan escapes my lips.

  “What’s happened?” Dad asks. “Has someone done something to you? I’ll kill them!”

  ”No.” I sniff, pulling out of Mom’s hold. “No one’s hurt me.”

  “Well, something must have happened to make you like this,” Mom says. “Why have you come home in the middle of the night instead of tomorrow, like you said you would?”

  “Because I found out the truth about what they’re really like. They were just using me. I thought that Jon was my friend…”

  “Jon, as in Tilly’s boyfriend?” Her voice increases in volume.

  “Yes. I was with him tonight.”

  “What about Tilly?”

  “Tilly couldn’t go to the premiere, so they asked me to go as her instead. In full makeup. To protect her reputation, they said. And I said yes. I thought it would be fun and exciting.”

  “Why would it protect her reputation?” Mom asks.

  “They thought if she didn’t go, the media would say it was because she was out of her head somewhere. It made sense to me because you know what the press is like. In this instance, they’d have been right. She couldn’t go, because she got wasted the night before.”

  “So, what happened last night to change everything?” Mom asks.

  Everything.

  “I found out some of the people who were supposed to be my friends were just using me. Jon didn’t want to protect Tilly’s reputation. He was just looking out for himself. He wanted to be seen with Tilly on his arm.” I swallow hard. “I’ve made a total idiot of myself. They don’t care about me, not really. They never did.”

  Saying it aloud is really painful.

  Mom puts her arm around me again. “Try not to think about it. I know it hurts, but you don’t need them. You’ve got some great friends who love you for being you.”

  “Had, you mean. I’ve ruined everything. Liv hates me because I let her down over her party. And Matt…well, if it wasn’t for the kickboxing, he wouldn’t want to know me either.”

  “Liv doesn’t hate you. Talk to her. You’ll sort it out, I’m sure.”

  “Let’s leave it ’til the morning,” Dad says. “The main thing is you’re not hurt.”

  Well, maybe not physically. Mentally, it’s another matter.

  “Good idea,” Mom says. “Let’s wipe your eyes and go to bed, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.” She passes me a tissue from the box on the side and then walks me toward the stairs. My body starts to relax, closely followed by the hugest guilty feeling ever flooding through me.

  I can’t believe what I’ve done. I’ll make it up to everyone. I really will. To Liv, Matt. Mom and Dad. To everyone.

  …

  I stretch out, and glance over at the clock beside my bed. It’s two-thirty. What am I doing in bed at this time?

  Oh, crap.

  I remember.

  All of it.

  After a long, hot shower, I pull on my jeans and tee shirt and go downstairs to the kitchen, where I can hear the TV blaring. Mom’s a total TV addict, keeps it on all day. She says it’s for the background noise it makes. She hates it when it’s too quiet.

  Judging by the smell, Mom’s doing her usual weekend baking. Man, I could kill for one of her chocolate muffins.

  “Hungry?” Mom asks as I walk through the door.

  She must have read my mind.

  “You could say that.”

  She puts a muffin on a plate and passes it to me, then flicks the switch on the kettle. “With a hot chocolate, too?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “How are you feeling?” Dad asks as he comes into the kitchen. He walks past and ruffles my hair.

  “Dad, don’t,” I say in a sort of sharp tone, but I don’t really mean it. It feels good to be back to normal.

  Mom gives me my drink and pulls out a couple of kitchen chairs. We both sit down, and Dad leans against the worktop facing us.

  I wrap my hands around my mug of chocolate. The smell and the warmth are so relaxing.

  Suddenly, the volume on the TV gets louder, and I notice Dad pointing the remote at it. “Turn it down, not up,” Mom says, glancing away from me.

  “It’s that girl,” says Dad. “She’s got that look on her face. You know, the one you have, Abi, when you’ve done something wrong and you’re not sure of the repercussions.”

  I sit back in my chair, and we all face the TV. It’s Tilly sitting behind a table, with her mom. Since when do I look like that?

  “She’s giving a press conference,” says
Mom, sounding all knowledgeable.

  “Who’s that?” asks Dad, looking at the photo on the screen of me from last night.

  “It’s me, Dad. My argument with Jon, when I pulled off my wig, got caught by one of the paparazzi and…”

  “Quiet,” says Mom. “Tilly’s speaking.”

  I glance back up at the TV. Tilly looks all contrite. But she knew what we were doing, so surely she’s not going to try and get out of it?

  “I’ve been under a lot of stress recently and came down with the flu after a difficult shooting schedule,” Tilly says, her voice weak and pathetic.

  “Flu? That’s debatable,” I say.

  “Sssshhh,” say Mom and Dad, together.

  “Sorrryyyy.” Okay, that may sound belligerent, but really…

  “My manager persuaded my stand-in on the movie to go to the premiere as me. Unfortunately, I was so sick, I didn’t really register what I’d agreed to.”

  “Jon said she knew and was all for it…” I pause for a moment. “But I guess that’s just another lie he told me,” I say, realizing that Tilly has probably been used as much as me. And not just by Jon. I wasn’t much better, wanting to steal him from her, however much I denied it to Liv. And to myself, to be honest.

  “Who was the stand-in?” calls out one of the journalists.

  I hold my breath. Please don’t let her say my name. Please. It would be the most awful thing in the world if everyone found out it was me.

  “I’m not prepared to say,” says Tilly, lowering her eyes. “I don’t blame her at all for what happened. She was manipulated. Just like me.”

  Thank you, Tilly. Whatever your reason for not naming me. “And your manager?” calls another journalist.

  “He’s history,” says Tilly’s mom, leaning in front of her daughter to speak into the mic. She looks nothing like Tilly. Her hair is short and so blond it’s almost white. She has a hardness about her that creeps me out. “He took advantage of my little girl while she was sick. No more questions. Tilly needs to rest.” She puts her arm around Tilly’s shoulders, and Tilly visibly relaxes into her.

  Tilly’s either doing a first-rate acting job, or she’s sorted out some of the problems she has with her mom. I know I’d just die if she was my mom, but whatever she’s like, she’s Tilly’s. However old I am, I couldn’t bear not to have Mom there, looking out for me. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.