by Jen Calonita
Hallie walks over carrying a lunch tray piled high with a Vitamin Water, Baked Lays, a Philly cheesesteak, and pudding.
“Eww, Hallie, pudding and cheese?” Keiran pulls a face.
“They both looked good and I couldn't decide.” Hallie shrugs. “And besides, Bobby bought me the chips and Joe insisted on getting me the pudding, so it didn't cost me anything extra.”
“I need to stand next to you in the lunch line and whisper what I want in your ear,” I tell her.
“People, this is a serious lunch today.” Brooke pretends to sound stern. “We have a big decision to make and very little time to make it.”
“Twenty-five minutes to be exact,” Keiran seconds.
“Brooke's right,” I agree and feel my stomach flip-flop. “Let's get to business.” Everyone pulls out notes. I thought I'd be the only one, as usual, but I guess this is a huge decision, and I'm not the only one with concerns.
It gets quiet except for Hallie's chip munching and the sound of a lawn mower in the distance.
“I think we can all check ‘parental concerns’ off our list, right?” Keiran asks, holding her pen.
“They want to adopt Susan,” Hallie tells us. “She's been so accessible. My mom has called her twice already and she always takes her call.”
“Mine too!” Keiran says. “My parents can't wait to meet with her later this week—if we say yes.” Keiran looks at me. Susan suggested we all meet for dinner Friday night to discuss some of our questions.
“No problems with mine either,” says Brooke. “They know how much I want this.”
I nod. Mine seem to be on board too. They have concerns, obviously, and I know they'll be watching every move the show makes with us, but I think they're okay with the idea of their daughter going Hollywood. “I was surprised mine didn't have more to say, but I guess that's because they don't watch the Fire and Ice Network.”
“Mwn don't ev know wha Fir and Ice is!” Brooke says happily with her mouth full. “Which is prob why ey said yes.”
I look down at my notebook to avoid seeing the turkey sandwich roll around in Brooke's mouth. “Okay then. So to the pros and cons—”
“Char, we already know what they are.” Brooke swallows the last of the sandwich and looks at the others. “This meeting is really for you. You're the one Susan wants. We want to do it. We just want to know if you want to do it.”
I shift uneasily in my seat. My butt is cold on this metal bench. “I do, but there are some cons you probably didn't think of.” I look down at my notebook again. “Like—”
Brooke cuts me off. “I know you're going to say school, but if we're not shooting at school, then school won't really be a problem, right?”
“Susan told my mom we're only shooting a few days a week, so yes, some days will probably be long, but other days will be regular days and we can get more work done then,” Hallie suggests.
“True.” I cross “school” off the list. Crossing a con off gets me excited. And more nervous. This could really happen. I don't know whether I should scream or throw up.
“Besides, how long could a shooting schedule actually be?” Keiran asks. “Three months? They're only taping twelve or so episodes, right?”
“Yes, but each episode takes more than a day to shoot,” I explain as if I actually know (which I don't).
Brooke leans over and scribbles all over my list with black marker. “HEY!”
“Charlie, this is crazy!” Brooke says. “We can ask these sort of specifics after we say yes. The question is: What will it take to make you say yes?”
I look at all of their hopeful faces and sigh. “Am I the only one who is scared of us losing us in all this?”
“What do you mean?” Hallie is doodling flowers on her own list.
“You see it in Us Weekly all the time,” I explain. “People feud when they are on these TV shows. Look at Heidi and Lauren! Lauren and Audrina! The folks on Survivor! I don't want us to be like them.”
“We won't,” Brooke assures me. “Is that what you're so afraid of, Charlie? That's not going to happen to us! I won't let it!” She sounds so determined, I sort of believe her. “Stop thinking of the negative things that won't happen. Think of the good stuff. All the great places we'll get to go, the clothes, the celebs we'll meet. We'll be dating the Jonas Brothers in no time.”
“So you're over Justin Timberlake?” Keiran asks.
Brooke grins. “I'm keeping my options open. Marleyna Garrison is going to be so jealous.”
Hallie moans. “Her again?”
“What?” Brooke asks innocently. “If she happens to find out that I'm rich and dating a Jonas, I'm just saying I wouldn't be broken up over it.”
“Stay on track, people! We don't have much time.” Keiran is more focused than I've ever seen her. “Do you really think this show could tear us apart?” she asks me nervously. “I never even thought of that.”
“We all fight sometimes and if they catch us saying something and then it's aired, we could wind up mad at each other,” I worry. “I don't want our friendship shredded for some TV show. You guys mean more to me than Justin Timberlake does.”
“We won't let the show tear us apart,” Brooke insists. “We'll make a pact to remember that what one of us says on camera could be taken out of context. We're not the type to let fame go to our heads. We'll still be the same people.”
Hallie and I look at each other and she raises her right eyebrow. I want to believe Brooke, but somehow I think she's going to be the first one booking the cover of People.
“We know each other better than some TV show can portray us,” Keiran agrees. “We're not going to fly off the handle with each other.”
“You think?” I question. I've seen Brooke when she's mad at one of us and being subtle is not her strong point. I'm sure I'm not that great in a fight either. I don't shut up till I've said every last thing I want to say. I'm our group's Judge Judy.
“Charlie, I think we're going to be fine,” Brooke insists. “How could we ever get mad at each other when we're making so much money?”
Susan hasn't said exactly what we'd be paid yet, but when Mom called her yesterday she hinted that it would be in the $10,000-an-episode range. That's more than I'd make at Milk and Sugar in three years and the show's paycheck is for a week or two of work! “I'm still so blown away and it's all happening so fast,” I admit. “Don't any of you think this is happening a little too fast?”
Keiran snorts. “You think too much.”
“I do not!” I protest.
“Do too,” Brooke agrees, and takes a bite of celery. It's not school lunch if Brooke doesn't have some sort of crudités set up. “You pro and con yourself to death until you can't even make a decision. One minute you're singing with your mop and cracking jokes and the next you're Ms. Serious. Now, what's it going to be? We're supposed to call Susan and tell her whether we're meeting with her for dinner on Friday. She's too important to be kept waiting. What's your answer? The clock is ticking and I have a long walk to gym.”
The bell rings before I answer. Everyone groans.
“Charlie, after school you have to have a final answer,” Brooke demands. “You know you want to do this. Just relax and say yes! Think of how much fun we're going to have.” She throws an arm around me. “The four of us together are unstoppable. We're not going to get ripped apart, I promise. And don't forget the best part of all this.”
We look at Brooke expectantly. “We're going to be paid to hang out.”
We all laugh. The girls begin grabbing their bags and throwing away the remains of their lunches, but I move a little slower. I have free period next, and no one is going to care if I show up at the newspaper office five minutes late. I need air and sun for this decision. If I could go to the beach that would be ideal, but I'm stuck with the school's dead garden. Guess this isn't the best place to ponder my decision either.
“We'll meet at my locker at three,” Hallie yells as she heads back inside.
I head indoors and I hike my heavy messenger bag higher on my shoulder. I turn down one of the long, dark halls. There are no windows, which is sort of depressing, and every hall is painted the same shade of blah beige (just like the brick walls and the lockers). The only things brightening the landscape are fluorescent flyers taped to the walls reminding students about spring play tryouts, Friday's pep rally, and the dance committee. The Cliffside school halls are crowded—well, if you call about a hundred students per grade at a high school crowded. We have three minutes to get to class between bells and sometimes you can get knocked over by a freshman making the mad dash from the gym on one side of the school to the English cluster all the way on the other. I slide right to avoid one such girl, brow sweating, biting her lip, as she zips by.
I round the hall corner and enter the large storage room that once housed kitchen supplies and now has been transformed into our newspaper office. There's one long row of computers, a large table, and a sad-looking couch in the back. Zac Harris is waiting. I stop short. This is the best part of my day.
“You're three minutes late. I'm going to have to report you to Ms. Neiman.” Zac is sitting in one of the reclining desk chairs chewing on a pencil while he stares at me. This is what the two of us have been doing formonths—staring at each other and making mildly flirtatious comments.
“How do you know I wasn't on official Cliffside Heights business?” I ask Zac as I throw my messenger bag onto the floor and turn on the iMac next to him. The screen lights up the
room. Our office is windowless, but we did hang two posters that look like windows to spruce the place up—one shows a picture of the Caribbean, the other looks like a big green backyard with a swingset. The beige room also has several dry erase boards with upcoming story deadlines written on them, a large corkboard with newspaper policies and goofy staff photos, and a poster from Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen that got sent to us when we reviewed the movie and gave it an A-minus. It's the first time a studio has ever acknowledged one of our requests, but then again maybe they sent them to every high school and college across the country. The film did make like a gazillion dollars.
“What kind of official business?” Zac wants to know. “Because if it's official, as features editor I should officially be in the know. I'm all about being official. Should I mark you down as being officially late?”
He's smiling at me and I try not to crack up. Zac makes me laugh. A lot. Which is good, because it cuts some of the tension I feel about working so close to him. I've had a thing for Zac all year, but it kicked into high gear in December when he switched out of AP calc and into regular eleventh-grade math, clearing his schedule for sixth period, which is the same free period I have. Now, instead of seeing him once a week and smiling weakly at him during meetings, I get to see him every day. Usually we're alone. Ms. Neiman is supposed to be in the office, but she takes these extended two-period lunches to grade papers. Everyone else on staff just floats in for five minutes and then leaves.
All this one-on-one time with Zac has only intensified my crush. Especially since Hallie thinks he's crushing me back.
I can't say she's entirely wrong. There's the mild flirting thing and the staring thing and the fact that neither of us spends sixth period anywhere other than in this office, even though we could be at the gym or the library for free study. I'd rather get a C in social studies than miss a day with Zac.
Today he looks particularly cute. Okay, I think he looks cute every day, but today he has on this shirt that I love. It is a royal blue T-shirt that says “Jesus Hates the Yankees.” Zac is a huge Mets fan and if you're a Mets fan, it's your job to hate the Yankees, which Zac does. (Not that the Yankees care what Mets fans think, but still.) Zac's wearing his pro-Mets shirt over a long-sleeved thermal with dark denim jeans. But it's not just his choice of wardrobe that causes my mouth to go dry. I'm itching to run my fingers through his slightly curly dark brown hair and stare deep into his blue eyes.
“Earth to Charlie. Come in, Charlie,” I hear Zac say.
“Sorry.” I pray I'm not blushing. “I'm sort of spacey today.”
“You're lucky we're not on deadline,” Zac scolds. “Otherwise I'd have to swat you with my leftover pasta salad.”
“I wouldn't want that.” I laugh. “It looks disgusting.”
Zac peers skeptically at the half-empty Tupperware container. “It's not that bad,” he says and pretends to sound hurt. “Even if is from Zorn's.”
I groan. Zac works after school at Zorn's and even he admits it is the worst deli ever. It's hard to have a bad deli when you live in New York, home of fresh bagels, real cold cuts, and decent pizza, but somehow Zorn's manages to butcher every dish they make, including grilled cheese (who messes up grilled cheese?). I glance at Zac's computer screen and see a Duke University logo staring back at me.
“Um, that doesn't look like official newspaper business either,” I say.
“Caught me,” Zac says. “I'm reading the admission application form again.”
“Even though we won't be filling one out till next fall,” I remind him.
“If I fill one out,” Zac says lightly.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. Going to Duke is one of Zac's favorite topics. His dad went, his brother went, and Zac practically has his bags packed to go.
“They raised tuition again,” he tells me. “We're talking almost forty-nine thousand a year. A year! Even if I get a small scholarship, how am I going to be able to swing that one?” He grins mischievously. “You think Zorn's would give me an advance on my paycheck?”
“I'm not sure the place is even worth that much,” I joke, but Zac still looks bummed. “You'll figure it out.”
He shrugs. “The school didn't cost anywhere near this when my brother graduated a few years ago and it was probably two thousand dollars a year when my dad graduated.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I don't know how these schools expect us to pay for college anymore. Unless my dad becomes a brain surgeon in the next year, I think I'm going to have cross Duke off the top of my list.”
Of course, this makes me think of the show. I haven't settled on anywhere yet, but I like Boston University and that costs just as much as Duke. My parents definitely don't have that much saved, but they've never pushed me to think about state schools that are cheaper. Maybe they're just as much in denial as I am.
Forty-eight thousand a year, plus inflation. Two hundred thousand-plus for the four years. TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND. How do you pass up the chance to make that much plus more? I'd be a fool not to go for this show. Zac would do the same thing if given the chance. Anyone at Cliffside would! Brooke is right. My friends and I have been close forever. I shouldn't think a TV show is going to tear us apart. And if that's my only big concern, then I have to get over it, pronto.
“I think someone spiked your Snapple at lunch,” Zac tells me. “You are anywhere but here today.”
“I'm sorry,” I apologize. “My head is ready to explode at the moment. I have a big decision to make and I have to make it by three o'clock.”
“Want to share?” Zac asks, and leans back in his swivel chair.
“It's so complicated.” I groan, looking at the clock. There is no way to explain it all in twenty minutes. “I'll definitely give you all the details when I have them, but the short version is that I have the opportunity to do something huge that would pay me a ton of money and give my friends a ton of money, but I'm not sure if I should do it.”
Zac looks at me skeptically. “Did you join the mob?”
“No!” I swat him.
“Are you selling stolen merchandise?” Zac's mouth begins to twitch.
“It's nothing like that.” I smirk. “But it is kind of far out there. And if I want to avoid paying college loans till I'm sixty, the smart thing would be to consider the offer.”
“Then what's holding you back?” Zac asks.
“I'm kind of scared,” I admit. “It's HUGE. So huge, you have no idea. It's
a little overwhelming to wrap my head around.”
“You've got me so curious,” he tells me, and smiles. “I didn't mean to pull you down on this sinking college tuition ship with me. Let me throw you a life preserver. What are you doing next Friday night? We can get together and talk about this huge decision you will have made by then. I'd ask you to hang out this weekend, but my parents are dragging me to my cousin's baby's christening in Philly.”
Did Zac really just ask what I'm doing on a Friday night? Is he asking me out on a… date? “Next Friday I'm probably reviewing whatever awful indie Ms. Neiman is obsessed with and no one else will go see for next week's issue,” I say nervously and rock in my swivel chair to calm down.
“What if I suffer through it with you and we get dinner before or afterward?” Zac asks.
He is asking me out on a date! I tilt so far back on my chair I practically backflip over it. Zac catches the armrest and steadies me. I try to pretend like nothing happened. “That would be…”
Awesome? Amazing? What I've been hoping you'd ask all year?
“Okay,” I say calmly.
“Okay,” Zac repeats and grins. “We'll wait for your awful assignment and make plans after that. And celebrate you saying yes to that huge decision you have to make.”
“You don't even know what I'm making a decision about,” I point out. “How do you know I'll say yes?”
Zac smiles. “Because I know you—you wouldn't be obsessing over it this much if you didn't want to do it. It's like the time Ms. Neiman asked you to cover Z100's Zootopia concert. You freaked out about interviewing Taylor Swift, but you had the guts to do it anyway.”
