Reality Check

by Jen Calonita

  Then we go back to filming and have a fight or say something we regret, and the not-so-good feeling starts creeping up on me all over again. My sister is right. I'm going to develop an ulcer for sure.

  Ms. Neiman rushes into the cramped office, looking harried. Her hair is frizzy, her glasses are falling off her nose, and her button-down shirt is buttoned improperly. She's carrying a boatload of papers and some of them fly out of her arms and float to the ground. A few people rush to pick them up. “I know I'm late—as usual—so let's get started.”

  Ms. Neiman jumps right into the regular features and each editor offers an update on their coverage. It's amazing to me how many brownnosers there are on the Cliffside Heights staff. They're always trying to make the mundane—this week's lunch menu!—sound mega-exciting just so they can get some sort of coddling from Ms. Neiman. While Jack Peters goes on and on about an editorial he wants to write about pep rally injustice (huh?), I slide closer to Zac and whisper in his ear. Maybe Brooke has a point about life being easier when you don't have to hide things. If Zac is on the show, I might enjoy myself more too.

  “Any chance I can persuade you to come by Milk and Sugar on Thursday? I'm working and taping that day. I can offer bribes—free scones and frozen lemonade smoothies,” I joke. “I'll even throw in an extra piece of triple-layer chocolate cake if you can be there by four.” Maybe I would enjoy everything about taping more if Zac was there on a regular basis. It would make life easier. I wouldn't have to worry about breaches of contracts or disappointed looks from Addison. And Zac seemed to have a good time at the party—after Marleyna's boat set sail.

  Zac doesn't look at me. He's concentrating on Ms. Neiman's every boring word. “I thought the after-party was a one-shot deal.”

  “It was, but…” I try not to sound too disappointed. “I thought you had fun the other night.”

  “I did,” he whispers back. “Sort of.”

  My heart starts to pound. What does that mean? I try another tactic. “I'll make sure this time is smoother than the last. I'll even perform some magic tricks to up the fun factor. How do you feel about juggling?”

  This time I at least see a smile on his lips. But he still doesn't say anything. My heart is galloping now.

  “Zac, what do you have planned for the features section?” Ms. Neiman asks and people look in our direction.

  He clears his throat. “I haven't really come up with a good angle yet,” he admits. That's very unlike him. Zac is always prepared.

  “I have one,” Ms. Neiman says. “I was thinking we should do a follow-up story on the spring fling. There's been a lot of controversy about the dance being outshined by an after-party that was thrown by a few students.”

  I shrink lower in my chair.

  “I totally agree,” Shonda Adams says as she chews her gum loudly. “I worked hours on gym decorations that people barely saw because everyone was rushing to that Cliffs party.”

  “Of course they were,” pipes up Peter Mitchell. “That party was being taped for Fire and Ice and most Cliffsiders are pathetically obsessed with getting fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “I didn't go, but did you hear about that yacht that

  Marleyna Garrison showed up on? I heard Brooke Eastman is her new lackey.”

  Going to die now. Did these people forget I'm one of the four The Cliffs girls?

  Ms. Neiman nods approvingly. “It sounds like this after-party is the hot topic this week. Zac, get right on that.” Zac doesn't say anything. Nor does he try to get out of doing the assignment.

  Ms. Neiman looks down at her notes. “Speaking of The Cliffs, I need someone to review the premiere next week. I guess I can't expect you to review your own show, Charlie.” She laughs.

  “I'll do it!” Shonda's hand shoots up.

  Groan. I can only imagine what she's going to say now that I've ruined everyone's chance to see her papier-mâché palm tree.

  “Great.” Ms. Neiman jots it down. “Now, Charlie, I know this is sort of taking advantage since you're on staff, but as you know, journalism is all about connections and…”

  Uh-oh. Here it comes.

  “…kicking myself if I didn't bring this up,” Ms. Neiman continues. “I'd like you to write something about your new show for us. It can be whatever you want. An inside sneak peek. How it came about. How you're holding up under the pressure. Whatever. I just want to lock you in before Teen Vogue calls you.” She looks at me expectantly. “What do you think?”

  Fifteen pairs of eyes stare at me as I squirm in my chair. It's nerve-racking enough that the whole town will be watching the show, but now I have to comment about it in our school paper as well? But how can I say no? “Okay,” I agree.

  Ms. Neiman smiles. “Great!” A loud ring jolts her and she starts nervously gathering papers again. “I'll see you all later. Any questions, come see me in my office.”

  People begin to file out, but I hang back, pretending to look for something in my backpack, as I wait for Zac. He's being weird. I need to know how he feels. He's busy talking to one of the editors so I linger longer and longer. So long, in fact, that the second bell rings. Zac finally turns around.

  “I hope you weren't waiting for me,” he says and smiles.

  “No,” I say hurriedly and pat my backpack. “I couldn't find this, uh, paper, I mean, pencil, I need for math.” He nods.

  I can hear the clock above the door tick loudly. Zac grabs a chair on wheels and turns it around so he can sit facing backward. He steers one over to me with his free hand.

  “So listen, since we're late anyway, and we're actually alone, I thought we could talk,” Zac tells me. “Is that okay?”

  Why do I have a feeling that whatever Zac is going to say isn't good? I grab the chair to steady myself. “Okay,” I say, trying to sound totally nonchalant even though I'm freaking out. I sit down and face Zac. “What's up?”

  He shifts uncomfortably, not looking in my direction. I notice he even glances at the door to see if we'll be interrupted. “First of all, I'm sorry about Ms. Neiman's assignment,” he says, looking embarrassed. “I didn't know what to say. Everyone knows we went to the dance and after-party together so if I didn't take the piece, I'd catch a lot of flak.”

  “I understand,” I say even though I'm not sure I do.

  He nods. “I had a great time with you Saturday night.” He smiles. “I always have a great time with you. It's just—”

  Uh-oh. “It's just” isn't a good sign.

  “I don't know exactly how to do this,” he says with a sigh. “I've been playing out the different scenarios in my mind over and over trying to find a solution and I can't find a way to make this work.”

  I try to decipher the awkward guy speak. It's not you, it's me is code for breakup, of course, but we're not officially a couple, so what exactly is not working? Hanging out with me? “Can't make what work?” I ask.

  Zac stares straight at me and I realize he actually looks bummed out. That's when I really get worried. “I like you, Charlie. A lot. But after what I saw Saturday night, I realize I can't be part of some TV circus. It's just not me. I told you what a bad public speaker I am and how much I hate being on display. And as much as I like some of your friends,” he stresses and it doesn't take a genius to know who he must not like, “I can see you guys have your hands full. There's too much drama for me. I don't think I can handle being part of that.”

  “So you don't want to hang out with me anymore because of a fight Brooke caused?” I ask shakily. “But that had nothing to do with me.”

  “It's not about Brooke,” Zac says quietly. “It's about the show.”

  “Then don't be on it,” I say quickly, forgetting for a mo-ment about Addison's warning. “We'll keep things separate.”

  Zac shakes his head. “How? Your whole life is the show now.”

  “No,” I protest. “It doesn't have to be.”

  Zac doesn't budge. “I think it's great that you are enjoying it and you're going to make all t
his money for college, but I don't want to be this recurring character in your life. I want to be a main character, and I don't think that can happen right now.”

  “Fine.” I nod fervently and pray I'm shaking any possible tears out of my ducts before they can plop onto my cheeks. “I understand.”

  Zac grabs my hand. “This is really hard for me,” he says. “Part of me knows I'm making a huge mistake, but I have to do this. I'm really sorry, Charlie.”

  I don't want to listen to any more. I stand up quickly, letting Zac's hand drop, and my chair flies out from under me. I lose my footing slightly, and Zac reaches out for me, but I can take care of myself. “I should get to class,” I tell him, not exactly looking him in the eye.

  Zac stands up too. “Charlie, are you sure—”

  “I'm fine,” I lie and cut him off.

  I'm not fine. I'm almost angry and I don't know why. I know Zac didn't sign up for this. I did. But I didn't think so much would change in my life so quickly. I certainly didn't think it would upset my friendship with Brooke or wreck any chances I had with Zac. “I have to go.”

  Before he can say anything else, or I burst into tears, I grab my backpack and hightail it out of there.

  eleven

  A Dose of Reality

  I'm nestled in my warm bed and I'm drifting in and out of semi-sleep. I check the time. My alarm will go off in a few minutes so I can get ready for school, but it's not beeping angrily yet. I close my eyes again and try to fall back to sleep.

  “Give me a little bit more light on the right side of her face.”

  Huh?

  “That's good. And Phil? Get a closeup. I want every zit, all the drool, that smudged makeup under her right eye…”

  Wait a second. Is that Addison talking?

  “Closer. Closer. That's good. Zoom in so that we can see the tip of her nose.”

  Something cold hits my nose and my eyes pop open.

  “Oops.” I hear someone laugh.

  A big, bright camera lenses is inches from my face. It pulls back and I realize there are several people crammed in my tiny room. Addison is standing near my door with a clipboard. Our lighting and sound guys are standing on either side of my bed. Kayla is getting a long-range shot and Phil is practically lying on top of me holding the camera that just nearly gave me a nosebleed. I sit straight up, shaking.

  “What are you guys doing in my room?” I freak. “Sleeping is off-limits. You know that.”

  Addison's phone rings and she picks up, listening through her earpiece again. I hear her mumbling and then she hangs up. “Sorry, Charlie—no pun intended—Susan says the show is a little dull. She thought this would spice things up. You know you don't make the rules. I do. Whoa!” She laughs. “Watch your top.”

  My hand instinctively goes to my chest and I look down. The shoulder strap from my tank top has fallen and I'm dangerously close to flashing everyone in the room.

  Phil laughs too. “Smile, Charlie, and watch your hands. You don't want to give the world a show.”

  Their laughter gets louder and louder and more obnoxious. Phil brings the camera in tighter and crawls on my bed to get closer to me. I can't take any more. I start to scream.

  BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

  BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

  What the?

  I practically throw myself out of my bed and whirl around.

  There's no one here. My hands spring to my pajama top. My tank-top straps are snugly in place. The sun is coming up.

  BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

  And my alarm is going off.

  It was just a dream.

  Or more like a nightmare.

  Someone knocks on my door. “Charlotte? Are you okay?” It's Mom. The door creaks open a crack. “I heard you yell.”

  My heart is still pounding and I sit Indian-style on the floor to calm down. “I'm okay. I just need to sit here for a minute.”

  Mom pads in, wearing her fluffy pink robe and cream Isotoner slippers. She wears her slippers so much they're threadbare. I keep telling her not to wear them outside. “Are you sure you're all right?”

  I shake my head. “I'm fine, Mom. Really. I just had a bad dream.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I stand up and stretch. I should get going. I have a newspaper meeting at 8 AM and Zac will be there so I need time to go for the “I'm-fine-and-look-hot-so-don't-you-regret-dumping-me” look.

  “Nothing to talk about, Mom.” I head to my closet to find something to wear. I still feel a little jumpy. I throw the closet doors open and half expect to see Phil, but instead, it's just a row of shirts and jeans on hangers. Just to be sure I push apart some of the clothes and peek behind them.

  “Is this about Brooke?” Mom tries again. She is the queen of never letting things die. No wonder my sister went away to college.

  “What about Brooke?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “I know you're fighting.” Mom gives me a look. “I saw Keiran's mom last night and she told me what happened at the after-party. She heard from Hallie's mom, who found out from a bus boy who was there.”

  Great. This means the whole town knows.

  “We're fine, Mom,” I lie. “It's no big deal.”

  “Is Brooke hanging out with Marleyna Garrison?” Mom asks.

  “How do you know that?” I can't help but smirk. Look at Mom getting all the hot gossip.

  Mom gives me withering glare. “Everyone knows the Garrisons. That daughter of theirs is a prima donna. I've seen her at the Associated and she always acts as if she's better than everyone else. You know, her parents only sent her to the Ross School because she got caught on a date with one of her dad's business partners when she was fifteen!” Mom shakes her head.

  “Mom?” I try gingerly. “I really have to get going.”

  Mom glances at my clock. “Right. It's a school day! How could I have forgotten?”

  I didn't.

  I never thought I'd be happy to hear Zac is out sick, but today I am, even if I did spend twenty minutes flat-ironing my hair. I mope through the newspaper meeting, force myself to eat half a muffin for breakfast on the way to first period, and wait for Brooke by her locker before Spanish. She never shows up. I guess I'll see her at lunch. The girls and I agreed to meet Addison during our lunch hour once a week to go over schedules and other stuff. Since we're only taping three days a week, Addison says it's crucial we have time off-camera together to discuss everything else.

  But Brooke isn't waiting outside school when Addison comes to pick us up. Addison doesn't look surprised not to see her and when I ask where Brooke is, Addison makes a face. “She's not coming,” she says matter-of-factly. “We already went over her schedule for the week.” Addison looks at me sort of sadly and then says. “I'm so sorry, Charlie,” as if my dog just died. I don't say anything. I fasten my seatbelt and sit silently during the short ride to the Windjammer restaurant while Addison, Keiran, and Hallie talk about mindless things, like the Harbor Festival coming up and when the beaches officially open. No one mentions the after-party. Or Brooke again.

  As soon as we get to the restaurant, Addison gets a phone call she has to take in private, and she's gone so long we order without her. Our food comes and I stare miserably into my clam chowder, stirring it absentmindedly while we wait for Addison to come back.

  “Char, forget him,” Hallie insists. “He doesn't deserve you.” Keiran nods in agreement.

  “Thanks, guys,” I say with a small smile, “but I think in this case he had a point.”

  “He didn't try hard enough,” Hallie says angrily as she pushes a greasy fry around on her plate. “One crappy night on camera and he wants off? He should want to do this for you. That's what Brandon said to me at the dance. He wants to be there for me on-camera and off.” She stares dreamily at one of the nine billion sailboat pictures hanging on the walls. I've still never figured out why ninety percent of the restaurants in a beach town have to have a beach theme. Do they think we've forgotten whe
re we live?

  Keiran nudges Hallie.

  “Oh. Right,” Hallie says quickly. “We're not talking about me, we're talking about you and Zac. My point is, I think he wimped out.”

  I sigh. “Not helping, Hallie. He didn't wimp out. He didn't want to do the show. I knew that and pushed it anyway.”

  “Why are you defending him?” Hallie wants to know.

  I crush some chowder crackers in my soup. “Because at least he was honest. And because I really like him.” I look at Keiran glumly. “Thoughts?”

  She gives me a grim smile. “Yeah, but you're not going to like them.”

  “Tell me anyway,” I say, and crush my oyster crackers into my bowl.

  “I don't think you can be mad at Zac, as much as you want to,” Keiran says. “It's not like he didn't warn you that he felt this way. I have to give him credit for being so upfront about it.”

  “I know.” I agree. “That's what makes it even worse. Zac is a decent guy. That just makes me like him more and we have zero shot together.” I find myself staring at those darn

  sailboats. “Now I have to find a way to stop liking him.”

  “Why the long faces?” Addison asks as she rejoins the table, carrying a hamburger. She must have ordered in the bar while she was on the phone.

  “Charlie got dumped by Zac,” Hallie explains. I glare at her. “What? It's true.”

  “By Zac? When?” Addison looks shocked. “He seemed so into you on Saturday!”

  Part of me wants to say something sarcastic to Addison. Blame her for all of this, but Bella says I can't. I called her at college and told her everything. “You agreed to do this show and you asked Zac to be part of it instead of insisting to keep that part of your life separate. You have no one to blame but yourself.” As mad as I am, I know she's right.

  “He doesn't want to be a TV star,” I say miserably. “And he thinks it's too complicated to try to be a couple off-camera, so I guess we're over.”