But now I have a chance to actually hang out with kids my own age. Mingle. Talk. Make friends!
There’s a line forming outside the kitchen, and I hurry over and join it. When I reach the front, I scan the various food options: some kind of suspicious-looking pasta and a rubbery grilled chicken sandwich. “What are you having?” the woman behind the counter asks. She’s old and crusty looking, and her hair is tucked up under a hairnet. She looks about as happy to be working at a middle school cafeteria as I am to be working on a kids’ TV show.
I stand on my tiptoes, attempting to glance behind her. “Don’t you have like nachos back there or something?”
She barks out a laugh. “Nachos? No.”
“Well, could you make me some?” I ask. “I mean, all you need is cheese and chips.”
The lady rolls her eyes. “Pasta or chicken.”
I frown. “Pasta, I guess.”
With my plate of “pasta,” I weave through the tables in the cafeteria, trying to find an empty seat. Somehow there doesn’t appear to be one anywhere. My only options seem to be eating alone or asking someone to scoot over.
I start to walk toward the closest table when out of the corner of my eye, I spot a glimmer of shiny blond hair. My head whips to the side and there they are. The Ellas. Sitting at a table by themselves.
I switch direction and head straight toward them, placing my plate down on the table and beginning to slide onto the bench. But suddenly an arm juts out in front of me, stopping me.
“Um, no offense, but what do you think you’re doing?” The voice (and arm) belongs to Daniella.
I glance down at my plate of pasta. “Having lunch.”
She gives her head one firm shake. “Sorry, no room. You’ll have to find another place to sit.”
“But,” I begin to argue, ready to point out that there are tons of seats open.
“We reserved this table,” Daniella says, “And unless your name ends in -ella, you can’t sit here.”
I look to Isabella and Gabriella, but neither one will meet my eye. They’re both staring down at their barely touched plates of pasta.
Okay, so befriending the Ellas is going to be slightly harder than I thought. But I am not discouraged. I will prove to Skylar that I can make it in middle school. That she has been blowing this whole thing out of proportion.
I glance down at my own pasta—watching the red sauce start to congeal with the sprinkles of off-color cheese—and suddenly another idea comes to me.
I bound back up, grab my plate, and in an extra-bubbly tone say, “No problem! I totally understand. This is your table. I get it. That makes perfect sense.”
Daniella looks slightly surprised by my response, but she quickly hides it, flashing me a curt smile before turning back to her friends and resuming her conversation.
I bring my plate to the dishwashing area, my brilliant plan brewing in my mind. You don’t need a name that ends in -ella to sit at that table. You just need a little creativity and ingenuity.
I put my tray on the conveyor belt. Then I pull Skylar’s phone out of my backpack and download the Ding Dong Delivery app. The writers on the show use it when they have to stay late to finish writing an episode. They deliver food from local restaurants right to your door. Of course, I’ve never been able to try it before because they don’t deliver rabbit food.
I quickly set up an account, putting in the school’s address as the delivery location and Skylar’s emergency credit card number in the payment field. I know Rebecca got mad at Skylar for using the card to buy her Xoom! Studios tour ticket, but that was different. This is a real emergency. I’m saving Skylar’s social status at this school. Which means, I’m basically saving her life. And if that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.
“Congratulations!” the screen says. “You are now ready to place your first Ding Dong Delivery order!”
I search the app for Mexican restaurants, quickly finding one that serves nachos. I add three orders with all the toppings to my cart. Then I press order, and I’m done! It’s so easy. It even shows me a little progress bar of how long it will take for my Ding Dong driver (Chester, four point seven stars) to get to the restaurant, pick up my food, and deliver it right here to the school.
That is too cool. You can order anything you want and they just bring it to you. Who cares what Ruby can do on that stupid show—this is the real magic.
While I wait, I wander into the school’s library and check out a copy of Life of Pi. I quickly find where I left off and start to read, keeping my eyes on the app’s progress bar. When my driver is “Nearing the destination,” I dash out the front doors of the school to meet him.
“I’ve never delivered to a student before,” he tells me.
I chuckle. “Well, if you were to taste what they’re trying to pass off as food in there, you’d understand.”
He rolls his eyes. “Middle school? Yeah, I remember that. Rough times.”
Oh my gosh, I’m bonding with a stranger. And he’s not squinting at me, trying to figure out why I look so familiar and then, five seconds later, asking for my autograph because his little sister/niece/cousin/daughter is my biggest fan. We’re just two regular people, chatting about food and middle school.
He says goodbye and I give him a five-star rating in the app.
I carry the bag with my three giant containers of nachos back into the cafeteria and head straight for the Ellas’ table.
Time to put on an award-winning performance.
As I near the table, I put on my best “panicked” face. It’s easy. It’s the look I’m supposed to get every time I try to find a lead about my mother on the show and it doesn’t work out.
“Oh my gosh!” I say, collapsing onto one of the benches. I place the brown paper bag on the table with a plop, knowing they can smell the delicious cheese and tangy salsa. “I ordered way too many nachos! Can you guys please help me finish these?”
I notice Gabriella’s eyes light up at the word “nachos.” And even Isabella looks like she’s mildly interested, but Daniella adamantly shakes her head. “No. We don’t want any nachos. And what did I tell you about—”
But I ignore her and swing my feet over the bench, making myself comfortable as I pull the first container of nachos out of the bag and pop open the lid. I grab a chip loaded with toppings and steer it into my mouth. The explosion of flavor and gooey cheese hits my tongue. I chew slowly, stopping only to moan a little, the same way Ryder does whenever he eats in front of me. “Mmm…these are soooo good.”
I notice Gabriella hasn’t taken her eyes off the nacho container since I opened it.
I pop another chip into my mouth. “Are you sure you guys don’t want any?”
“Yes,” Daniella says, but it’s too late. Isabella is already lunging for the nachos. Gabriella quickly follows. And before long, both of them are crunching in delight right along with me.
“Good, right?” I ask, and they both nod ardently.
“So good,” Isabella mumbles with her mouth full, causing both me and Gabriella to laugh.
Daniella glares at me.
“Oh, sorry!” I say, removing the second container of nachos and taking off the lid. “We’ve been hogging them. Here you go. All for you.” I slide the container so it’s sitting right in front of her. For a moment, she’s silent, just glowering at the nachos. Gabriella, Isabella, and I all watch her in silence, waiting to see what she’ll do.
She can either stand up in disgust and walk away, or she can dive in. Because really, those are the only two options. There’s no way she can just sit there and stare at the nachos without eating them.
Daniella slowly reaches out and breaks off a tiny tip of one of the chips. She dips it daintily in some of the melted cheese and brings it to her mouth.
I try not to let the victory show on my fa
ce and quickly move on to the next phase of my plan. “So I thought of another celebrity makeup tip, if you guys are interested.”
Daniella doesn’t answer. Instead, she grabs another chip—this one loaded with toppings—and pretends to look uninterested.
“What?” Isabella asks.
I lean forward like I’m about to tell them something top-secret. Isabella and Gabriella lean forward, too, but Daniella stays put. I cover the side of my mouth with my hand and whisper, “Egg yolk.”
Isabella scrunches up her nose. “What?”
I nod. “You put it on your skin for like five minutes and then wash it off. It works wonders with breakouts.”
“No way!” Gabriella says, and I notice Daniella glance uneasily between her two followers, who are both watching me with extreme interest.
“Yes way,” I insist. “My makeup artist friend says all the celebrities do it. Especially the ones with really bad acne, like”—I glance over both shoulders, pretending to check for eavesdroppers—“Carey Divine.”
Isabella’s jaw drops. “What? Carey Divine has acne?”
“Yup. Her makeup artist spends hours covering it up before she goes on set. And her hair’s not real. Extensions.”
“How do you know this?” Daniella asks dubiously.
I flash the Ellas a conspiratorial smile. “Oh, the things I know would make your head spin.”
He wasn’t joking. The stench hits me the moment Ryder steps onto the set of the Jinn Academy hallway. He smells like he just rolled around in a giant vat of onions and garlic. His breath reeks.
“Whoa, Ryder,” Cami says, waving her hand in front of her face like she’s trying to clear the air of a bad fart. “What have you been eating?”
He smirks. “Just a little lunch.”
“Do you need a breath mint?” She asks all nasally, like she’s breathing through her mouth.
Ryder glances at me and grins. “Nope. I’m good.”
“Places!” Russ calls out, and Ryder and I resume our positions from yesterday. I stand with my back to the lockers and Ryder leans in with one hand behind my head.
“H-h-h-hiiii,” he murmurs, blowing out as much breath as he can.
The odor hits me like a garlicky punch in the face. Oh gosh, it’s awful. Awful. I immediately feel my gag reflex kick in.
The reaction must show because Ryder chuckles. “What’s the matter?” he says, breathing heavily.
I cough and choke and turn my head away from him to avoid suffocating from the stench.
“Ruby!” Barry calls out from behind the monitors. “What’s with that face? You’re supposed to be in love with this person. Not repulsed by him.”
I school my expression.
“Okay, people, let’s do this!” Barry calls out. “Camera speeds! And, action!”
Ryder’s expression instantly transforms. He’s no longer that taunting, teasing boy he was at lunch. Now he’s sweet, adorable, tender Miles, Ruby’s best friend. Ruby’s crush. And seeing that shift immediately reminds me what I’m supposed to be doing. I try to relax.
Pretend you’re in love with him, I tell myself. No, you are in love with him.
I think about every time I’ve seen his face in a magazine. Every time I’ve paused an episode of Ruby of the Lamp on a close-up of those gorgeous eyes. And now he’s here. Those eyes are right in front of me, finally staring back at me.
I just need to not breathe through my nose.
“I just wanted to say,” Ryder says, his voice gentle and compassionate, “that we’ll find her. I promise. I’m not giving up and neither should you.”
And then it happens. He leans toward me. His eyes sink closed. His lips drift toward mine, as though they’re floating all on their own, separate from his body. And suddenly the smell doesn’t matter. Because I can’t breathe anyway. All the oxygen in the room vanishes in a tiny explosion of light. The world slows down, time seems to disappear, until all that’s left in the entire universe is this moment. And as his lips lightly brush mine, all I can think is I am the luckiest person in the world.
“No offense, but we need to find you something to wear to the dance tomorrow night.”
Daniella links her arm through mine and guides me into a store. We’re at the South Coast Plaza mall in Costa Mesa. The Ellas invited me to come shopping with them after school and, after Rebecca told me it was okay, I, of course, said yes. It took a little while for the Ellas to warm up to me—especially Daniella—but I loaded them up with makeup tips and celebrity gossip at lunch and made them a list of all the places in LA where the members of Summer Crush hang out, so they seem to have granted me temporary access into their group.
Which is just another indication that I am totally rocking this middle school life. I’ve aced presentations and tests and gym class. I’ve even managed to make friends! All in one day!
And honestly, I’m not really sure why Skylar seemed so scared of the Ellas. Despite some of the not-so-nice things they say (always proceeded by “no offense”), they’re really not that bad. After dealing with the sharks of Hollywood, these girls are nothing more than harmless little guppies.
“Yeah,” Isabella says as she riffles through a rack of dresses. “No offense, but you could totally use some new clothes.”
“Oh, I agree,” I say wholeheartedly. Especially if I’m going to go to that school dance for Skylar tomorrow night. I’ve seen her closet. Nothing in there will suffice.
“What about this?” Gabriella holds up a hanger with a sparkly orange dress on it, and I fight not to cringe. She and Skylar would get along great. They have the exact same horrible taste in clothes.
Daniella, on the other hand, does nothing to conceal her dislike. “No offense, Gabriella, but that dress is hideous.”
“Are you trying to get her to look like a sparkly pumpkin?” Isabella asks.
Daniella chuckles and I chuckle, too, because it seems like the right thing to do, but then I see the look of hurt flash on Gabriella’s face and I quickly stop giggling.
“This one,” Daniella says, plucking a blue dress from the rack with the same decisiveness I’ve seen on Sierra, the show’s costume designer. She shoves the hanger into my hand and points toward the dressing room. “Try it on.”
I do. And it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. I stand in front of the dressing room mirror and do a spin. The pale blue fabric brings out Skylar’s eyes, and the fitted waist makes her look much curvier than she really is. Daniella could totally be a costume designer when she grows up.
When I come out of the dressing room, the Ellas actually applaud.
“Yes,” Daniella says. “One hundred percent yes.”
“Perfection,” says Isabella.
Gabriella nods. “One hundred percent perfection.”
“I’m going to get it!” I proclaim, and then return to the dressing room to change back into my school clothes. After removing the dress, I check the price tag. It costs six hundred dollars. I guess that’s a normal price for a dress. I honestly have no idea how much dresses cost. I didn’t buy any of the clothes in my closet. They were all either gifted to me by designers or Mom bought them for me.
I realize I’m going to have to use Skylar’s emergency credit card again, but I don’t think Rebecca will mind. I’ll just explain to her later that I really needed a dress for the dance.
After I’ve paid and the cashier has put the dress and the receipt in a bag, the Ellas and I continue to walk laps around the mall, and all the while, they gossip about people at school. They talk about what everyone wore this week, and who they saw flirting with who in the hallway. The whole time, I can’t help thinking, So this is what normal twelve-year-olds do on a Friday afternoon. They don’t shoot promo videos for the upcoming season finale of their hit show. They don’t sit around their trailer discussing plans for a sold-out
concert tour. They go to the mall. They talk about clothes and makeup and boys. They just hang.
We grab frozen yogurts and I load mine up with about fifteen toppings, everything from sprinkles to cookie crumbles to gummy bears. There’s so much delicious stuff in my cup, I literally have to dig through it with my spoon to reach the vanilla-strawberry-swirl yogurt underneath.
We find a table near the merry-go-round in the Carousel Court and sit to eat. When we’re all finished, Daniella takes out her phone and snaps a dozen photos of us. Some are selfies. Some are candids of me laughing. Some are posed—all of us smiling or looking fierce.
I let out a contented sigh as I glance around the Carousel Court, admiring it the way a tourist would admire an ancient cathedral in Europe. The high ceilings, the bright lights, the bustle of people just going about their everyday, normal lives.
I know I’m technically doing all this for Skylar—making friends and proving to her that middle school can be fun—but in this very moment, I feel happy. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m part of something. Like I actually belong somewhere.
I tip my head back and stare up at the second floor of the mall. And that’s when my blissful state comes crashing to a halt. I let out a terrified shriek as my gaze lands upon a ginormous picture of my face.
My real face.
Hanging from the rafters are three huge banners advertising the upcoming autograph session with Ruby Rivera. After everything that happened today, I forgot all about that. That’s my deadline. That’s when Skylar and I are supposed to meet up and change back. It’s a cold, harsh reminder that my time here is limited.
Better You Than Me Page 16
