Vanishing Acts

by Leslie Margolis

  “Yeah,” said Seth. “I know.”

  “Which is technically North America. You can even drive there from here.”

  Seth blinked. “Are you sure? Because everyone told me it was European.”

  “I’m positive,” I said.

  “Are you some kind of genius?” asked Seth.

  “I’m just a regular kid,” I promised. “Anyway, you must take breaks. Go home sometime.”

  “Home?” Seth tilted his head, confused.

  I had to smile. “You must come from somewhere . . .”

  “Oh, yeah.” He took off his baseball cap for a second and pushed his bangs away from his forehead. “I was born in Buffalo. It’s upstate.”

  “Is that where your family is?” I asked.

  “It’s just me and my dad. I mean, it was just me and my dad, but not anymore.”

  “I’m so sorry!” I said.

  “Oh, he’s not dead,” said Seth. “He’s just not around. It’s kind of complicated.”

  Seth seemed like he didn’t want to talk about his dad, so I didn’t push it, although I was curious. “It must be hard, being so far away from him.”

  Seth didn’t answer me directly. In fact, he seemed kind of uncomfortable, so I decided to change the subject. I told Seth about how I couldn’t have a dog, either. “It’s because my brother is allergic. Which is annoying, but if I had my own dog I probably never would’ve started walking other people’s dogs. So actually I’m lucky.”

  “I’m jealous,” said Seth.

  I laughed, figuring he was kidding. “Being a dog walker is hardly something to envy. Anyone could do it.”

  Seth shook his head. “I don’t think so. I wish I had a cool job like yours.”

  “Um, you’re a movie star. Like, world famous. Tons of people would kill to do that,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, that’s the problem,” said Seth. He picked up the pepper and spilled some out on the table, then traced one finger through the grains. “Fiona says I shouldn’t trust anyone, and she’s right. But I don’t know. . . . Sometimes it’s kind of lonely.” Suddenly he looked up at me. “Do you ever wish you could just, like, walk away from your life?”

  I was taken aback. Kind of a profound question for a Thursday night. “Um, what do you mean?”

  “I don’t know—do you ever wish things had turned out differently?”

  “Well, sure,” I replied. “All the time. But it’s not like my life is over. Things change constantly.”

  Seth sighed. “Maybe for you; but for me it’s always the same. Yeah, there are different movies in different cities, but it’s always the same story.” He sounded so resigned, so dreary; this real Seth Ryan was so different from the cool, easy-going star I thought I knew. I had a million questions for him, but before I could figure out what to ask first, a tiny woman with big blond hair stormed into the Pizza Den and headed straight for our table.

  She sat down next to Seth and asked, “Where have you been? Do you know how worried I was?”

  Seth didn’t answer, but he seemed to shrink three whole inches, right before my eyes.

  “You can’t pull stunts like this!” she said, then whipped her head around to face me. “And you can’t hound him like this. Seth is very nice to his fans, but even he has his limits. If you want an autograph, you’ll have to write to the studio. Or come to his book signing next month. He’ll be at the Barnes and Noble in Union Square.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I’m Fiona Stern,” she replied. “Seth’s manager.”

  “Wait, I’m writing a book?” asked Seth.

  Fiona ruffled his hair. “No, sweetie, you already did.”

  “I did?” asked Seth, thoroughly confused. “Because I think I’d remember.”

  Fiona raised her finger to her lips and shushed him. “Just stop talking and keep smiling,” she said, turning to me. “My point is that Seth doesn’t have time for such nonsense, and he can’t afford to damage his hands.”

  “I never asked for an autograph,” I argued. “I was just sitting here, and he—”

  “And Seth Ryan is a minor. I don’t know what you think you’re doing or what you want, but I won’t have it.”

  “I’m a minor, too,” I said. “Younger than Seth, even.”

  Fiona held up her hand. “Just leave him alone.”

  Seth looked down at his lap. I could barely see his face under his baseball cap, but something told me it was bright red. I kept waiting for him to stand up for me, to tell this woman that he’s the one who started our conversation, but he didn’t. Kind of like the scene with the bodyguard. Although this time, I could see him wimp out close up.

  Which annoyed me—yet at the same time, made me feel sorry for the guy.

  And just then, Finn and Milo and Lucy walked back with all of our food. “What’s going on?” asked Lucy. She stared from me to Seth. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like Seth—”

  Fiona grabbed her arm before she could finish.

  “Yee-ouch!” Lucy yelled.

  “Keep quiet and do not say his name so loud,” Fiona hissed. Then she turned to Seth. “Have you already forgotten about the riot in Pittsburgh?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Seth whispered, his voice kind of shaky.

  This seemed to anger Fiona even more. “What are you doing here, anyway? This place is disgusting.” Suddenly she turned to me. “You haven’t fed him any pizza, have you? Vanished takes place in Norzenia—a future, post-apocalyptic world with a very low food supply, so Seth needs to keep his weight down. Kids are skinnier there. They don’t get to go out for pizza whenever they want to. Know why? Because all the pizza joints burned down after the gargantuan atomic fireball. Seth has been on a very strict diet for months, and I’d hate to see him ruin it. And this place does not look so clean.” She turned to Seth and said, “We’re checking your clothes for bedbugs as soon as we get back to the hotel.”

  She looked him up and down, seemingly taking in his outfit for the very first time. “Oh, sweetie. I can’t believe you left your room like that. You look awful. On second thought, we’ll just burn the clothes.”

  “The Pizza Den is great,” I said, even though I didn’t really believe it.

  “Maybe for you,” said Fiona.

  I turned to Seth, waiting for him to stand up for himself at the very least, but he kept the frozen zombie grin on his face. Clearly the guy just didn’t know what to do.

  “Seth?” I asked, trying one last time.

  Finally he snapped out of it and mumbled, “Sorry.” But he said it to the ground, so I couldn’t tell if he was apologizing to me or to Fiona.

  Then he pulled his baseball cap down even farther.

  “We need to go—now!” Fiona tried to pull him away, but Seth dodged her grasp.

  “Hey, you should come see me tomorrow,” Seth said to me.

  “I’m not allowed to, remember? Jones banned me from the set.”

  Seth gave me a half grin. “I know, but I’m not talking about the—”

  Fiona huffed. “Let’s go. This isn’t safe.” With a final withering glare at me, she grabbed Seth by the arm and whisked him away.

  Chapter 11

  “Who was that?” asked Milo, setting his plate of mozzarella sticks and ginger ale on the table.

  I groaned. “Seth’s manager, Fiona. She’s pretty awful, huh?”

  “No, I mean the dude with his pant leg tucked into his sock. He doesn’t live around here, does he?”

  I blinked at Milo, trying to figure out if he was kidding. Somehow, he didn’t seem to be. But how was that even possible?

  Lucy slapped her palm down on the table, rattling both us and all of our plastic-ware. “Are you telling us you didn’t recognize Seth Ryan just now?” she asked.

  “Seth who?” Milo replied, completely confused.

  “Dude, either you’re joking or you’re seriously out of the loop,” said Finn.

  Milo pointed over his shoulder toward the door.
“Is that the actor everyone in school’s been talking about?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “He’s that actor.”

  “Did he yell at you again for messing up his movie? Because I’m happy to go after him.” Milo was already half out of his seat. A nice gesture, but also a strange one.

  “No, no, no. That was the director who yelled—Jones Reynaldo. Seth is a total sweetheart,” I explained. “We were just talking.”

  No one said anything, because they were too busy gaping at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Sweetheart?” asked my brother.

  I shrugged. “He was.”

  Finn shook his head like I’d said something crazy.

  Milo kind of smirked, but I don’t know why.

  Lucy leaned closer and said, “I can’t believe you were just hanging out with Seth Ryan. That’s beyond amazing!”

  I giggled and felt my face heat up. “I know. So crazy, right?” It had seemed strange enough in the moment, but now that it was over, it really hit me—Seth Ryan had been wandering around the neighborhood looking for me.

  I’m glad we were sitting, because my knees felt wobbly, like when our entire social studies class took the Circle Line cruise around the Statue of Liberty last year. There hadn’t been enough seats for everyone, so I’d had to stand for over an hour. When we got off the boat, I still felt like I was at sea, even hours later.

  That’s how I felt now, like I’d just gotten off the boat. Except Seth Ryan was, in many ways, a lot more spectacular than Lady Liberty. If I had to stand up right now, I’d need to steady myself on the back of the booth. But luckily, I didn’t.

  “So what’s he like?” Lucy asked. “Tell me everything!”

  “Um, there’s not much to tell,” I replied. I didn’t mean to come off as coy. I had nothing to hide. I just didn’t know what to say, since I was still trying to figure out what happened, and why Seth had sought me out.

  Was he really impressed with how I’d stood up to Jones Reynaldo?

  Did he really always do what he was told to without question?

  Were all famous people that bad at geography?

  “Did you get a picture with him?” asked Lucy. “Tell me you got a picture with him!”

  “It’s not like I carry around my camera,” I replied. “And I’m still saving up for a cell phone.” Finn and I are the only kids we know, practically, who don’t have them.

  “Well, what about an autograph?” asked Lucy.

  “It didn’t really come up.”

  Lucy slapped her palm against her forehead. “How could you not ask for his autograph?”

  “Did he have a really big head?” Milo interrupted.

  “Not at all—he was super modest,” I said. “Totally mellow, too. He’s not at all what I expected—especially after being screamed at by Jones Reynaldo. I figured everyone in Hollywood was super sensitive and short tempered but Seth Ryan . . . he’s different.”

  “No,” said Milo. “I’m talking literally. His head seemed way oversize.”

  “Sonya and Beatrix are going to freak!” said Lucy. “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Approach him.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “He came over to me and asked to sit down. He said he’d been looking for me.”

  “Omigosh!” said Lucy. “He likes you.”

  “He does not like me,” I said, so loud I surprised myself, and Milo, too, who stared at me, alarmed. “He just wanted to talk about—”

  Milo interrupted. “I think he was wearing makeup.”

  “All actors wear makeup,” I said. “It’s just part of the job.”

  “I could never be an actor, then,” said Milo. He tried balancing the saltshaker on top of the pepper shaker, but it toppled over almost instantly.

  I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me. Not like he didn’t notice, more like he was purposely avoiding me.

  Finn laughed and asked, “What’s wrong with makeup? Does it threaten your masculinity?”

  “No way, dude. The problem is, my skin’s too sensitive. I’d break out in a second,” Milo replied, finally pushing the salt and pepper aside.

  Lucy burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but join in.

  “What?” asked Milo. “It’s true. This one time I accidentally got sprayed by one of those perfume ladies at the mall. I think she was aiming for my grandma; anyway, five minutes later I had hives the size of quarters all over my body.”

  “Perfume isn’t makeup,” I said.

  “Well then, what is it?” asked Milo.

  “I don’t know. A scent?”

  “A scent you can buy wherever makeup is sold,” Milo pointed out.

  “Right, but that doesn’t mean it’s makeup. Shampoo and conditioner and soap are all sold in the same aisle at the grocery store, but that doesn’t mean they’re the same thing.”

  “They’re all soap,” said Milo. “And perfume and lipstick are both beautifying products.”

  At that, all three of us cracked up. We just couldn’t help ourselves.

  “What?” asked Milo, totally offended.

  “It’s nothing personal,” I said. “It’s just funny to hear you say ‘beautifying products.’”

  “Well, that’s exactly what they are,” he argued.

  “Sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to laugh, and it doesn’t matter that you’ve never heard of Seth Ryan. You should see one of his movies sometime, though. Um, maybe we can rent one this weekend.”

  I almost didn’t say that last part. Asking Milo out on a real date was hard enough. But doing so in front of an audience? I couldn’t believe I’d actually gotten the words out.

  Lucy shot me a secret thumbs-up—embarrassing, but sweet, and exactly what I needed. I grinned and looked away, realizing she was right. It was time to stop this wimpy waiting, time to step up. It’s hard for guys to put themselves out there. And Milo had with that note. Which I’d pretty much ignored up until this moment. (At least as far as he was concerned; he had no idea how many times I’d read it and attempted to analyze his handwriting for some deeper meaning.) I was feeling pretty good now that I’d finally done it.

  At least until Milo opened his mouth. “Forget it. I’m busy. Anyway, I don’t think I could get over his big head.”

  Yikes.

  No, better make that double-yikes.

  I looked at Lucy, who cringed down at her half-empty plate.

  “Food’s getting cold. Let’s eat,” said Finn, who hadn’t bothered waiting for us anyway. He was already on his second piece. But I was glad he said something.

  Lucy grabbed a garlic knot and ripped off a large chunk with her teeth. “Delicious,” she said with her mouth full—clearly trying to deflect my own personal moment of humiliation.

  I’d lost my appetite, but bit into my slice of pepperoni anyway, just to have something to do. It was cold and greasy. Which pretty much fit my mood.

  I didn’t want to look at Milo, but couldn’t help noticing him eating his mozzarella sticks out of the corner of my eye. Sulkily.

  “Have you guys started your report on Cindy Singer?” asked Lucy.

  “That artist lady?” asked Finn.

  “I think the technical term for a female artist is simply ‘artist,’ “ I said.

  Finn threw his crust at me. “If she were a dude, I’d have said ‘artist dude.’”

  “No food fighting,” said Lucy. “We cannot go there!”

  “Sorry,” said Finn.

  “It’s okay,” I replied, removing the crust from my lap and putting it on my tray.

  “Anyway,” said Lucy, “I just read about this exhibit she had last year in London. She created this whole Hansel and Gretel–themed candy house, and it was life-size and made out of real gingerbread and gumdrops. It was on display at the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park, and one morning when they opened up, one of the sides had collapsed. At first they thought it was vandals or maybe art thie
ves or something. But once they took a closer look, they realized it was ants. Like, thousands of them—they actually ate the exhibit!”

  “That’s wild, but not totally surprising,” said Finn. “Ants are insanely strong—they can carry objects that are fifty times their body weight with their mandibles. And they’ve been around since the dinosaurs.”

  “Really?” asked Lucy, wide-eyed and—in my opinion—overly impressed.

  So my brother did a study of ants for his most recent science report and he happened to retain the information. Guess what—I could spout off plenty of facts about wolves: they’re the largest members of the dog family. They can roam up to twelve miles in a single day, and they can eat twenty pounds of meat in a single sitting. But I didn’t need to share any of this, because I didn’t need to show off.

  Not that Milo would have been impressed by anything I had to say at the moment.

  We both picked at our pizza in silence while Finn and Lucy talked.

  Ten minutes later when they finally took a break, I said, “I should get home. It’s late.”

  I’d never seen Milo stand up faster. “Me, too. See ya around,” he said before bolting for the door.

  Once he was gone, I turned to Lucy and Finn. “‘Just ask him out. He’s shy.’ Great idea. Not!”

  Lucy and Finn both gave me looks of sympathy, which just made me feel worse.

  “Sorry, Maggie,” said Lucy.

  “I don’t know what I did, but obviously he hates me,” I replied as we gathered up our trash.

  “He doesn’t hate you,” said Lucy. “He’s just in a weird mood, I guess. I don’t know. Maybe he’s upset that we laughed at his whole makeup-allergy thing.”

  “I didn’t mean to laugh,” I said. “‘Beautifying products’ sounds really funny. Try saying it without laughing.”

  Lucy said, “Beautify,” and struggled to maintain a straight face, which just set us both off laughing again.

  “Dude, give the guy a break and let it go. Anyway, that’s not it,” Finn said, standing up and chucking his soda into the trash can. “You’re both missing the obvious. The guy is jealous!”

  “Of what?” I wondered.

  “Of Seth Ryan,” Finn said to me. “Because he thinks you’re crushing on the guy!”