Better You Than Me

by Jessica Brody

  I close my book and head for the door of the trailer.

  “Where are you going?” Mom asks, looking suddenly worried. Like I’m going out there to kiss Ryder Vance right this second, just for the fun of it.

  “I’m just going to get some air,” I tell her.

  It’s a total lie, but it comes out easily. I’ve been hiding the truth from my mother since I was eight years old. It’s one of the small perks of being an actress on a hit TV show. You learn how to fool just about everyone.

  I’m not going to get fresh air. I’m going to the one place where I know I can be alone. Where no one ever thinks to look for me. Where I can sit in silence, read my book, and think about what I’m going to do. How I’m going to fix this.

  When I was younger, before we moved to Los Angeles and my whole life imploded, my secret hiding place used to be in my mom’s closet. There was this little corner in the back between her long, hanging dresses and her hamper where I could just barely fit and be unseen by the rest of the world. That’s where I felt the safest. The most guarded. The most invisible.

  Now it’s impossible for me to ever be invisible.

  I step out of the trailer just as one of the studio lot tour trams rounds the corner and starts heading toward me. I quickly duck into the soundstage to avoid being spotted. The tourists are technically not allowed to take photos on the tour—the studio confiscates their phones and cameras before they leave the visitor center—but someone inevitably manages to smuggle a camera on the tram, and then I inevitably end up in a tabloid magazine two weeks later.

  Inside the soundstage, the school hallway set is being lit for our first shot—the big kiss scene—which just happens to be the last scene of the final episode of the season. Nothing is ever filmed in order in Hollywood. As always, Barry is barking orders at the crew. Right now he’s telling them how to stage the shot so they get the best possible angle on Ryder’s lips touching mine.

  I shudder at the thought of those greasy, pouty lips anywhere near mine and then keep walking down a long corridor into the back areas of the soundstage, past the writers’ room, the wardrobe closet, and the production office, before finally reaching the prop room.

  The door is slightly ajar, and I smile. Jericho is the only person who knows I like to come in here. He always leaves it open for me.

  Checking that no one is watching, I slip inside and make sure to leave the door propped open a sliver so I don’t get locked in. Then I head to the back, past the shelves of genie paraphernalia: Lamps. Rings. Old dusty books. Swaths of gold fabric. I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the cool tile floor. I flip open my book and try to focus on the words, but I can’t stop thinking about what I saw back there. Ten people setting up my first kiss, making sure the lighting is perfect, the cameras are angled right, the blocking is optimal.

  My first kiss was supposed to be special. It was supposed to be romantic and spontaneous and memorable. It wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of a fake school hallway, with fake lockers in the background and a bunch of cameras pointed at my face while a red-faced bald man tells me how much to tilt my head and exactly when to close my eyes.

  Well, I guess the memorable part will be true enough.

  I sigh and rest my head back against the wall. I have to find a way out of this. I have to find a way to tell Mom I’m not going to sign next year’s contract. I have to. Otherwise, I’m going to spend the rest of my life hiding in prop rooms. Because sure, right now it’s just “one more year,” but what happens next year when this starts all over again? Or what happens when Barry writes some horrible spin-off show—Ruby, the College Years or Ruby in the Workplace—and I’ll be expected to sign up for that, too? When does it end?

  Never. It never ends.

  Unless I end it.

  If only I had the nerve to do it.

  “And on your right is our Cities of the World set. A single block of nondescript buildings that can be decorated to look like almost any city on earth, in almost any time period….” Luanne, our Xoom! Studios tour guide, yammers on in a thick Southern accent, pointing out landmarks. Meanwhile, I’ve been bouncing in the last row of the tour tram for the past twenty minutes, just waiting for a sign of Ruby of the Lamp. To my frustration, Luanne hasn’t mentioned it once. We’ve passed the famous yellow cottage where they film the kids’ show Little House on the Big Lane and the soundstage where they’re currently filming Hot Diggety Dog 2, the sequel to one of Xoom! Channel’s most successful TV movies last year (which, I have to admit, I was pretty excited to see because I really liked that movie), and we got to see a stuntwoman fall from a roof and land on something that looked like a giant blow-up bouncy house. Apparently, she was filming a scene for some new show called Me, Myself, and Spy, about a teenage girl who thinks she’s caught up in an international espionage plot, but it could just be her wild imagination.

  “On your left, you’ll see soundstage six, where they film the wildly popular show Story of My Lives starring Carey Divine, about a girl who, thanks to a rip in the space-time continuum, lives two different versions of the same life.”

  Carey Divine is so overrated. Some people think she’s talented, but I just don’t see it. Sure, she plays two different versions of herself on her show, but that shouldn’t be enough to beat out Ruby Rivera for Best Actress on the Tween Choice Awards three years in a row. Also, I’ve seen interviews with her and she seems so fake and pretentious. I have no idea why Ruby is best friends with her. That’s Ruby’s only flaw, in my opinion. Apparently, the friendship started a year ago, after they shot that TV movie Lemonade Stand-Off together. Ruby was, of course, awesome in it. Carey was just annoying.

  I’m just starting to lose hope that we’ll ever see anything relating to Ruby Rivera when I hear the tour guide say, “And coming up is soundstage eleven, where they film the übersuccessful Ruby of the Lamp, the show that launched Ruby Rivera into tween stardom.”

  Luanne slows to a stop a few feet away from the giant warehouse-size building and launches into the story about how Ruby Rivera rose to stardom, but I’ve stopped listening. Mostly because I already know the whole story by heart. She moved from Dallas to Los Angeles with her mom, Eva Rivera, when she was eight years old to follow her dream of becoming a star. She was soon cast on Ruby of the Lamp and the show was an instant success, kicking off her acting and singing career.

  I don’t need a rehash of Ruby’s life story. I need to see her. With my own eyes. I need to witness just a tiny glimpse of her perfect life. I need to believe that there’s still hope for someone my age to survive in this world.

  But through the hustle and bustle of people, clothing racks, golf carts, and filming equipment, I don’t see a single person I recognize. Not Ryder Vance. Not Ruby Rivera. Not even that freakishly tall woman who plays Headmistress Mancha.

  “And now we’ll continue on to the Costume Department, where you’ll be able to see the actual dress worn by the fabulous Lennon Harper in the music video for her hit song ‘Small-Town Heart’!”

  The tram slowly starts to move again and I feel panic bloom in my stomach like butterflies emerging from a cocoon.

  That’s it? No!

  We can’t leave yet! We just got here! And I haven’t seen Ruby! I came all this way—on two crowded and smelly buses—just to see her face! I can’t go back to that awful school with those awful giggles following me around wherever I go. Not without seeing her first. I need her strength. I need her courage. I need to get off this tram!

  My gaze darts toward the tour guide. Her back is turned to us as she points out a sculpture that was used in some old TV show I’ve never heard of.

  She’s not looking. She probably wouldn’t even notice.

  Do it! A voice inside me shouts. It’s the same voice that told me to run from the school hallway. The same voice that kept me from boarding the number 72 bus. The same voice that
led me all the way here. That fished out the emergency credit card from my wallet and handed it over to the girl behind the counter at the Xoom! Studios Lot visitor center to pay for this ridiculously expensive tour.

  It’s the voice of some side of myself I didn’t even know I had. A rebellious Skylar. A school-ditching Skylar. A rule-breaking Skylar.

  Do it now or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!

  While everyone on the tour is focused on the sculpture, I leap from the moving tram. It’s not going very fast, so it’s not like it’s some impressive stunt. I land on both feet and quickly duck behind a nearby trailer. I peer around the corner to watch as the tram glides down the cement pathway, disappearing behind another massive soundstage.

  I turn back to the looming building in front of me. On the wall is a gold plaque that reads “Stage 11,” and underneath that is a list of all the shows that have been filmed inside. The one on top makes my stomach do a double-twisting backflip.

  RUBY OF THE LAMP

  I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I’m about to sneak onto the set of Ruby of the Lamp!

  Next to the sign, there’s a giant garage-size door that’s wide open. People are running in and out, carrying things like food, clothes, cords, and fancy lights. I need to get in there. That’s definitely where Ruby will be. She’s probably in the middle of filming a scene right this minute. Oh gosh, what if she’s filming a scene with Ryder Vance? What if I get to see both of them at the same time?

  I take a deep breath, stand up a bit straighter, and walk toward the open door.

  Just pretend you’re supposed to be here, I tell myself. Try to blend in.

  I nearly snort aloud. Yeah, right. I’ve never blended in in my life. Just ask the Ellas.

  But it soon becomes evident that I don’t even need to try, because everyone is so busy with their various tasks, no one even seems to notice me. A short, dark-haired girl pushing a giant rolling rack full of clothes brushes past, yelling something about skirt options. A squirrely-looking guy with a mop of hair and glasses runs past me with a clipboard, calling, “Where’s Barry? Has anyone seen Barry? I need Barry to approve these script changes!” I wonder if he’s talking about Barry Berkowitz, the creator of the show. I always see his name in the credits.

  As soon as I step inside the soundstage, my jaw immediately drops and I think I let out some kind of squeaking noise, but I can’t be sure because I’m having trouble hearing with the sound of rushing water in my ears.

  No way.

  No freaking way!

  It’s…it’s…

  EVERYTHING!

  Ruby’s entire world is laid out right in front of me: Her dorm room. Her Enchanted Objects classroom. The Jinn ’n’ Juice shop, where all the students hang out after school. The Jinn Academy’s main hallway. Rogue Raymond’s Junkyard and Bazaar (which I thought was outside but appears to actually be inside). Even the art studio where Ruby and Miles almost kissed! It’s all here. It’s kind of weird, though. All the rooms are clumped together in seemingly random order. The Enchanted Objects classroom is next door to the Jinn ’n’ Juice shop, even though the shop is supposed to be on the other side of town. And Rogue Raymond’s Junkyard and Bazaar backs up to the Wish Granting classroom, even though it’s nowhere near the school. Plus, all the rooms only have three walls and no ceilings. Like someone forgot to finish building them.

  I watch in absolute fascination as a crew begins setting up cameras around the school hallway, right where the missing wall would be.

  Eek! They must be getting ready to film a scene in the hallway!

  Tons of great scenes take place in front of Ruby’s and Miles’s lockers. They’re right next to each other, so Ruby and Miles are always hanging out there. Nothing exciting ever happens in front of my locker. Well, unless you count that horrible video Ethan showed me this morning.

  “Excuse me, miss. Are you supposed to be here?”

  I startle and look up at a man in a navy-blue uniform wearing a badge that says “Studio Security.” He gives me a once-over, zeroing in on the little red sticker still stuck to the front of my orange dress.

  I glance down at it and mentally kick myself.

  It says “Studio Lot Tour.” I forgot to take it off when I jumped. How could I be so careless? Now I’m busted for sure.

  “Um…,” I say, scratching my chin while trying to casually hide the sticker, but it looks more like I’m massaging my chest with my elbow. “Um…,” I say again.

  Think, Skylar! Think!

  Just then, a man holding a giant tray full of various flavors of smoothies comes teetering toward us, looking like he’s about to fall over and splatter everyone in the vicinity with berry and banana goo. The security guard glances away from me for a moment, reaching out to help the man. I seize the moment and run, turning and bolting down the first hallway I come to.

  I can hear footsteps echoing behind me and then a voice says, “Hey! Stop! Come back here!”

  Breathlessly, I keep running, my white ankle boots clacking obnoxiously against the tile floor. I round another corner and try the first door handle I come to, hoping I can slip inside and hide until the security guard passes, but the door is locked. I try the next door. Also locked. Every single door in this hallway is locked!

  I’m about to give up and just turn myself in, when I find the last door on the left is open. I bolt inside and pull it quietly closed behind me. I try to catch my breath and calm my thundering heart as I slip to the back corner of the room, slide down the wall, and pull my knees up to my chest.

  But the moment I hit the ground, something else kicks my pulse back into overdrive and I feel like I might actually vomit right then and there.

  Because sitting against the opposite wall, not five feet away from me, in almost the exact same position, is none other than Ruby Rivera.

  The moment the girl bursts into the prop room and sinks to the floor across from me, all I can think is:

  Fantastic.

  Just what I need right now. Another stalker fan who’s managed to sneak past the security guards. And there’s no way that’s not what this girl is. I can tell by the look on her face. They all have the same look: Those bugged-out eyes. That open mouth. That scream that’s bubbling up inside of them. Sometimes when fans recognize me, it looks more like they’ve just seen a horrible four-headed monster than someone on TV.

  It’s been four years and I still haven’t quite gotten used to that look. I don’t understand people’s reaction to celebrities. I’m just a person. Same as them. In fact, this girl looks my age. And yet she’s staring at me like I just sprouted out of a piece of broccoli.

  It appears as though crazy stalker girl is about to say something, but when she opens her mouth all that comes out is the loudest hiccup I’ve ever heard in my life. It actually sounds more like a really obnoxious burp that shakes her entire body. Her hand flies to her mouth, as though she’s trying to pull the hideous sound back in, but it’s way too late for that. That thing was epic. It seemed to echo through the entire prop room. I would have burst out laughing had I not been more concerned with checking the shelves to make sure nothing was going to fall on my head.

  She buries her head in her hands, and a moment later her body starts to shake and I hear soft sobs coming from the other side of the room.

  And that would be my cue to leave.

  It wouldn’t be my first time dealing with a crying fan, and I’ve learned over the years that the blubbering types are the craziest of them all. They seem harmless at first, so overcome with emotion, but then the tears slowly turn into hysterics and before you know it, they’re chasing you around a mall food court, swearing that they’re your BFF and they’re going to sneak into your bedroom tonight so you can have a slumber party.

  Yes, it happened.

  I push myself to my feet,
tuck my book under my arm, and move slowly and quietly toward the door.

  Crazy Stalker Fan Lesson #1: Don’t make any sudden movements.

  She must hear my footsteps, because her head jerks up and I can see the streaks of tears running down her cheeks. She watches me with fascination as I ease my way to the door.

  Crazy Stalker Fan Lesson #2: Be nice but firm.

  I flash her a fake hurried smile as I reach for the door handle. “Thanks for watching the show,” I say brightly. “I have to get back to set now.” I gently turn the handle and pull on the door.

  Except it doesn’t open.

  And that’s when I notice that it’s not propped ajar like I left it. It’s shut. Locked. The crazy hiccupping girl must have closed it behind her when she came in here. I jiggle the door handle and yank on it with all my strength. It doesn’t even budge.

  I turn back toward the girl, keeping my back pressed against the door. She’s still just sitting there watching me, like I’m a caged animal at the zoo. Tears continue to stream down her face and she sniffles and wipes her nose on the sleeve of her dress, which is probably the ugliest shade of orange I’ve ever seen.

  I reach into my pocket, feeling for my phone, before remembering I left it in my trailer. I immediately start gnawing on my fingernail. Mom hates it when I bite my nails but I don’t care. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  I glance around the room, searching for something that can serve as a weapon in case she decides to charge. My gaze lands on a marble sculpture of a genie head. It’s from the episode where Ruby goes to the Jinn History Museum to research her ancestry in hopes of getting information about her mother’s whereabouts. I could smash it over the girl’s head, but I know the thing isn’t real marble. It’s probably made of some special lightweight plastic. It would be like hitting her over the head with a tissue box. As I continue to scan the shelves, it suddenly occurs to me just how tiny this room is. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.