Kyle’s scowl is clearly meant to scare me off. When I don’t move, he glances critically at his binder. “As of right now, just you.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, bringing back my smile. “More will join. I’ll help with that, too.”
“How? You just told me you don’t have any friends.”
I look away and sigh. “I’ll figure it out. I can be quite resourceful when I have to be.”
His expression finally softens, and I wonder if he’s remembering back to my story of living on the streets. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess so.”
At lunchtime, Kyle and I drag a picnic table to the front of the school. I grab some supplies from the art teacher and create a poster encouraging people to volunteer. After we set the poster up, we wait, wait, and wait some more. By the end of lunch, only Kyle’s friends Ben, Tiff, and Roberta have signed up.
The only attention I get is a continuous trail of dirty looks from Amber and the other cheerleaders. “I think I’m scaring off possible volunteers,” I admit sadly.
Kyle is halfway through a sandwich. “Why do you say that?” he asks.
“Ever since I defied Amber, I’ve been blacklisted. None of the cheerleaders will associate with me. And dumping Duke sure didn’t earn me any points with the football team.”
Kyle shakes his head and swallows what he’s been chewing. “That has nothing to do with it.”
“No?”
“Uh-uh. It’s them. They’re incapable of thinking about anyone other than themselves. Always have been, always will be.” He offers me a smile. “So there’s no need to beat yourself up about it.”
I squint at him, my mouth twisted into a smirk. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
He shrugs. “Just being honest.”
I let my eyes travel the length of the field, touching on various groups clustered all over the place. Each clique, I know, has its own little culture, its own set of rules. What makes my old group feel superior to everyone else?
“Cookie? Oatmeal chocolate chip,” Kyle asks, holding one out.
I grin, trying not to let him see how pleased I am that he even offered. I like that he’s starting to accept me; at least that’s how I choose to interpret his “There’s no need to beat yourself up” comment. “I’ll never turn down a cookie from BooBoo’s. Thanks.” It’s soft and delicious, exactly as I knew it would be. It reminds me of that night when I’d secretly sniffed at his sweater, when I’d thoroughly enjoyed the sensation of wrapping my arms around his waist as we sped through the city. The wind had been cold on my face, but his body had been warm.
“What?” he says, frowning.
Oops. Caught me. “Sorry,” I say, smiling shyly. “Daydreaming. Must be this cookie.”
He hands me another without asking. His expression says his mind is back on the project. “Well, anyway, I guess we can manage with just the five of us.”
A thought comes to me. “You know what? I think I’d do better if I tried to recruit help outside of the school.”
“Like where?”
“Maybe around my neighborhood.”
Kyle raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know, Sia. Those are some pretty rich, lazy people out there. I don’t think many will want to lift a finger. Might break their nails or smudge their diamonds, ya know.”
“As long as they lift it long enough to write a check,” I say smugly.
He chuckles. “True enough. And then there’s your parents.”
“Oh, no. I can’t ask them. They’re kind of struggling right now.”
Kyle looks surprised. “Really?”
I nod. “I think I’ll start in my neighborhood today after school. The sooner the better, right? After all, I have to catch them when I can. I have no idea how much longer we’ll be living there.”
“It’s that bad?”
My smile wavers but fights its way back. “We’ll be fine. Let’s just focus on the fundraising for now.”
“Yeah, okay,” Kyle says thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t exactly canvas my neighborhood—not a lot of money around there—but I could visit businesses, maybe. Banks, restaurants, shops.”
“Good idea.”
Kyle nods. “I’ll get the rest of our team to help me. We’ll cover more ground that way.”
I love that he says things like “our” team and “we’ll cover more ground.” Such little things, but they mean so much to me. Those words mean I am being accepted, that I am starting to belong somewhere and won’t have to go on feeling so alone.
And of course, there is Kyle. The fact that he’s part of that “we” is a definite bonus.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
After lunch, we lug the bulky table back inside and get back to class. I have trouble concentrating on what the teachers are saying, though. I’m anxious to get out and see what I can do with my neighbors. After school, John drives me home, and I run inside. Beatriz has just made a quiche, and it smells amazing.
“Hungry, Sia?”
“Starved.”
Beatriz laughs. “I can tell. Didn’t you have any lunch?”
We sit together. I tell her about my day, about the plan Kyle and I have been working on.
“Kyle? The cute boy with the motorcycle?”
I blush furiously. “How’d you guess?”
“Just the way you look when you say his name,” Beatriz says with a giggle. She raises an eyebrow. “You have good taste in men.”
Half of my neighborhood is friendly and receptive when I come to their doors, asking for donations for the Red Cross. Yes, they’re wealthy, but Kyle was wrong. They’re actually happy to help out. Just because someone is better off financially doesn’t necessarily make them selfish. I’m learning that, and I’m determined to show Kyle that. Some of my neighbors write checks. Others ask if I can stop by the next day so they can have food and clothing donations ready. I hum to myself as I reach a house a block away from my own. I’ve collected over $800 in checks all by myself, and I’ve only been out an hour. Kyle is going to be pleased.
I ring the next door.
A slender woman with jet black hair answers, her doe-like eyes set in a perfect white complexion. When I’d asked Beatriz about the neighborhood, she had mentioned this woman. She’s a retired supermodel from Romania.
“Hi. I’m Sia Holloway,” I say. “I’m a student at Beverly Hills High. My school’s doing a fundraiser to help victims of the San Francisco earthquake. And I was wondering if you’d like to make a donation.”
“Oh yes. I see this on television. Terrible things, earthquakes. Terrible,” the woman says, her eyes widening further. I can’t help but catch the mysterious, captivating curl of her accent winding through the words. “I am Alyz. Come in, Sia.”
The entrance hall is wide open, the walls a rich, strident burgundy. The furniture is modern and leather, black and gold being the prevalent theme. Across the room, a water fountain bubbles, calming and almost as beautiful as its owner.
I step inside. “Yes, it caused a lot of damage. Lots of people are in need.”
Alyz hangs her head. Her expression is hopeless. “So many people suffer everywhere. I know this. I am very involved in charity work.”
“That’s wonderful,” I say. “Can we count on your support?”
“Absolutely, darling. Everyone suffers the same. We must help each other.”
I nod. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Are you collecting food or money?”
“Whatever you’d like to give.”
“Good. Then let’s go see what we can find then, yes?”
I know it’s nosy of me, but I can’t help peeking into the rooms we pass on our way to the kitchen. Each one is exquisite, impeccably decorated. Along the corridor hang huge, immaculately framed photographs of Alyz in various poses. I am mesmerized.
“I don’t know what is here,” Alyz apologizes as she opens her pantry. “My chef cooks my meals. Let’s see.” She leans in and frowns. “Hmm. Not much. Ma
ybe . . . ” She turns and gives me a dazzling smile. “Maybe is better I make check, no? Then you buy whatever those poor people need.”
“Whatever is easiest for you,” I reply. “Anything you can give will help, I’m sure.”
“Good, good. Come this way.” She leads me into an office.
I admire the desk and shelf units, which are transparent masterpieces of modern art. I don’t see any books on the shelves, but there are plenty of tastefully displayed photographs and awards.
“Here is check,” Alyz says, pulling a pad from inside her desk drawer. “How much have you collected today, Sia?”
“Almost one thousand dollars,” I reply.
“All by yourself?” When I nod, she grins, then fills out her check with a flourish. “That is so good! Here is another thousand.”
I gape at the $1,000 check. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Wow. Thank you so much, Alyz. This is going to help so many people.”
“I am glad to help.”
“I hope some of our other neighbors will be as generous as you.”
“You live around here?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier,” I say. “I live about six houses down.”
“Holloway, you said, no?” Alyz’s exotic eyes widen and she stands even taller, closing in on six feet. “Not the Raymond Holloway, the film producer?”
“The very same,” I say.
“Oh! Your daddy is very famous. And this means your mother is Janet Holloway, the beautiful model, no?”
I nod.
“We did a photo shoot together once. She’s amazing.”
I puff with pride. “Yes, she is.”
Alyz folds one hand on her hip, a perfectly graceful movement; it’s as if Alyz dances rather than moves. “This is impressive, Sia, that you are doing this. Most Hollywood socialites wouldn’t be so . . . hands on, I think they call it.”
I chuckle lightly. If only she knew. “I kind of left that socialite scene, actually. It just wasn’t for me anymore.”
“Ah,” Alyz says softly. “I see. Do you know . . . ” She trails off, obviously having changed her mind about what she was going to say, then smiles gently. Her eyes narrow just a bit, and it looks like she has an idea. “This is so good, Sia.” She gestures around the room so I can take in the photographs of her with celebrities and men in fancy suits, standing on gorgeous yachts or sitting in limos, holding bubbling glasses of champagne in their hands. “I still see these people,” Alyz says, “but it is only because they support my charities.”
“Oh!” I say, suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t mean that all socializing is a bad thing.”
Alyz shakes her head, but she’s still staring at the photos, looking thoughtful; my comment hasn’t fazed her. “I know, darling. But I am thinking . . . ” She walks toward the photographs, then turns with an elegant spin on her heels. “I have idea for how you can raise much money.”
“Really? I’m all ears.”
“There is big event this weekend. You know of it, yes? The Oscars? It is biggest event of year.”
“Yes. I think my dad’s going.”
“Of course he is! All of Hollywood’s elite will go. Actors, directors, producers, writers.”
My mind starts catching up to Alyz’s train of thought. “And by ‘elite,’ you mean wealthy, right? As in: they might think about donating?” I try to think how I can get my father to speak to people at the Oscars on my behalf. But no. He’s got enough on his mind. He’ll need to concentrate on his own business, not mine. Still, I could mention it to him . . .
Alyz lifts her face toward the ceiling and laughs out loud. “Oh yes, darling. Extremely wealthy. These people spend thousands of dollars just dressing their little dogs.”
“Wow. Are you going to The Oscars?”
“Yes, and to the Vanity Fair after-party. You will come, too.” She says it just like that, as if it’s a given.
“Me?”
“Yes, you, Sia. We will go to this party, and I will help you. I will introduce you to some very rich men. They won’t be able to say no to you.”
I frown, confused. “But how will I get in? I’m not a celebrity.”
“Your father. You say he is invited, yes? He can bring guests.”
I hesitate. “I don’t know.”
Alyz takes my hand and squeezes gently. “Don’t be nervous, darling. This is great opportunity. With your beauty and charm, I know it will work. You will be big success. I guarantee. And you will win hearts of all the movie stars you already love!”
I grimace. “Alyz, there’s something I need to tell you. It might actually mean The Oscars won’t work for me. The thing is, I don’t know who any of the movie stars are.”
“I don’t understand. You have seen movies, no?”
So I tell Alyz all about my fugue amnesia. She listens, rapt, and when I finish, she lifts her hands in the air. “But this is extraordinary, Sia. You cannot even remember who you are?”
I shake my head. “The doctor thinks it’s only temporary.”
“Truly amazing,” Alyz says, still sounding incredulous. “But this is not a problem for the party, darling. Maybe it even makes it better. Because you are true hero.”
I make a face. “Hero? Me? No.”
“Yes, yes. Listen, Sia. You are true hero because you don’t even know who you are, but you want to help others. This is beautiful story.” She sets her hands on her knees and stares at me. “So we will do this, yes? You and me? We will rock this party!”
The whole idea sounds crazy and inconceivable, but here I stand, holding hands with a supermodel. Suddenly, anything seems possible. I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
“Fantastic! We will have wonderful time.”
The thought makes me grin. “Wait until Kyle hears about this.”
Alyz crosses her arms and frowns. “Who is Kyle?”
“I go to school with him. The whole fundraiser was his idea. He’s the coordinator.”
“Is this Kyle handsome?”
Her question makes me blush. “Uh . . . ”
Alyz does it again, laughing up to the sky, her long black hair almost touching her waist. “Yes, yes, he is! I know this already. Your Kyle will come with us. He can work the rich cougars there. You can make him go, yes?”
“I think so.”
“He is crazy to say no. He is coordinator. He must come.”
I chuckle. “I’ll tell him.”
“And Sia?”
“Yes?”
“Wear something breathtaking. I know you must have something. Or maybe your mother does. You must blow their minds. And this Kyle, too. He must be perfect.”
I can’t help grinning the whole way home. I’d headed out an hour before with a vague hope of making a little money for the charity. Now I have $2,000 in my pocket, a new supermodel friend, and a plan to go to one of the most spectacular parties in the U.S. Who knew helping others could be so rewarding?
Just like Alyz, I laugh out loud. Kyle is going to die when he hears this!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I can hear the TV, which is weird in the middle of the day. “Beatriz?”
But it’s not Beatriz. It’s Dad. Weirder still. He hasn’t been getting home until after ten o’clock recently.
“It’s me. I’m in here. Come see this, Sia.”
He’s in the den, watching old family videos. Dad’s the guy filming, obviously, because when I walk into the room, I’m met by my mother’s beautiful face. Gosh, she looks so young. Then the camera zooms in on me, white-blonde pigtails tied in pink bows high on my head and a smudge of dirt on one cheek. Another little blonde girl is squatting behind me, her hands half-submerged in a mud puddle. She grins up at the camera, looking devilish. I am holding what looks like a dog. It’s filthy and rail thin, but it’s definitely a dog; I can see its tail wagging.
“What did you say, Sia?” movie Dad asks.
I move
my lips, but he tells me I have to get closer to the camera so he can hear me. With my tiny brow creased into a scowl, I glare into the camera. It’s really cute how intense I am, like no one’s going to tell me what to do. How could I have been that small? How did time pass so quickly? “I want to keep the doggie till it’s all better,” little me declares.
Real, live Dad turns to smile at me. “That was you in a nutshell, honey. Always wanting to bring home the strays. Snails, frogs, lizards—anything you thought was lost or hurt or hungry.” He clicks off the video. “You even let them sleep in your bed.”
“Seriously? I slept with that dirty old dog?”
He chuckles, but his expression is wistful. “Yes, you did. Your mom wasn’t too thrilled. But you said the animals were too scared to sleep alone. How could we argue with that?”
That’s strange. Considering everything I’ve learned lately, that doesn’t sound like me at all. The words don’t fit with the picture I have of myself. “Who’s the other little girl?”
“Amber. You two have been like sisters your entire life.”
“Hmm. So that’s what I was like?”
“You were a real happy, curious kid. You had everyone wrapped around your little finger.”
“And when did that stop? When did I change?”
He looks thoughtful. “I think you and Amber both started to come into your own when you were about twelve. Just like every other little girl, you know? The teenage years are . . . well, they’re the most definitive.” He pauses, searching my eyes. “We still loved you all along, Sia. No matter what personality changes you go through, we will always love you.”
From the look on his face, I can see he really means it, and a certain warmth swirls around in my heart. “I know, Dad. I just want to make sure I love myself, too.”
He nods, smiling easily now. “Well, it sounds like you’re on the right track with this fundraiser thing.”
“What? You know?”
He nods. “Beatriz told me. How’s it going?”
“Not bad. Way better than I expected, actually. I just walked around the neighborhood. Look how much I collected.” I hold out the money for him to see. “Almost two grand!”
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