by Jess Keating
3.Pretend you’re really, really interested in what your interviewer is saying. This one is super hard because sometimes interviewers are snooze-fest boring.
4.When you’re not talking, make sure you keep your mouth closed. Sugar said that if you don’t, you will look like a baked trout.
Please God, don’t let me look like a baked trout.
“Okay, everybody, can we get in place please? Where did the bird go?” The producer yelled at his crew. “We need the parrot in the shot!” He waved for all of us to crowd on and around the couch. Mom, Grandpa, and Sugar had the center cushions, while Dad, Daz, and I had the chairs to the left and right. An assistant raced across the room with Darwin’s cage and placed it behind the couch, so the cameras got a clear view of him. Even my parrot looked less nervous than I was to go on television. In fact, he looked downright thrilled at all the attention, clicking his beak with glee and preening under the bright lights.
My face was already beginning to sweat from the heavy spotlight on us, but it got much worse as I adjusted myself toward the camera; a huge knot was growing in my stomach. I’d take a thousand posters of my butt all over school if it meant I didn’t have to do this.
Can someone’s lungs spontaneously stop working? Mine felt like they had shriveled up inside my chest. I sucked in another breath; it was like breathing Jell-O through a straw.
The cameraman positioned himself behind the camera, and all of the makeup artists scattered like roaches to the outside of the room. The knot in my stomach was twisting and turning like an angry python, and the palms of my hands were sore from my nails constantly digging into them.
“Now, this is going to be great. We’ve already gone over questions.” The producer nodded to Grandpa. “Shep, we’re covering your book release, tour, your daughter, your next movie, and your grandkids—we good?” He flicked over a sheet on his clipboard and tapped it with his pen.
“We’re good,” Grandpa said, wrapping his arm around the back of my mom’s shoulders. He looked so relaxed. In fact, everybody looked so relaxed. What was wrong with my family that national television didn’t faze them? I clenched my fists harder, hoping that my face wasn’t melting off under the lights and that my hair wouldn’t randomly catch a spark from all the hairspray.
“And, Jane—can I call you Jane? And, Henry? We’re covering some of your childhood and your own hopes for the zoo, m’kay?” More tapping on his clipboard.
Mom nodded, straightening herself out and testing out a smile for the camera. With the professional makeup job, she looked almost as pretty as Sugar (only with a lot less skin showing, obviously). Even Dad’s mustache was trimmed.
“And, kids.” He looked at both of us in turn. He had to check his clipboard for our names. “Daz? Ana. Just act natural. No big deal. You’ll be fabulous. Smile, keep your chins up, and try not to look at the camera. Only Josie or each other, okay?”
Josie was the redhead news anchor that would be interviewing us. I’d seen her before on TV; she was always shoving her chest out like she was trying to purposely pop one of the ivory buttons on her blouse. The thing they don’t tell you about these people is that “television makeup” is actually quite scary up close. The blush of her cheeks looked almost neon.
She was pulling bits of hair away from her face and fluffing it around her forehead in the mirror when she heard her name. “Ready to go?” she chirped.
The producer nodded, and she skittered over to her chair facing us. She turned to make sure that her profile was perfect for the camera and gave us all one last smile. “Here we go!” she said.
Keep it together, Ana. I swallowed down the bitter taste that was making its way to my throat and forced my face into what I hoped was a casual smile. Do casual smiles twitch? How should I hold my head? Should I stick my chin out like Josie? Or tuck it close to my chest like Sugar? The cameraman began counting, “In five, four, three.” He motioned with two fingers, then one, then pointed to Josie, who jumped in right away with typical Josie flare.
“Welcome back, everyone. Today I am so, so excited, because I get to meet one of my all-time favorite people.” She cooed at the camera, emphasizing her point with her hands. On the couch and chairs, we all sucked in a breath at the same time, like we were about to dive into the deep end of a pool all at once.
“We’ve got Shep Foster here,” she said, fanning herself with her index cards. “As well as his beautiful family and current girlfriend.”
Sugar bristled at the word current, but Grandpa squeezed her shoulder. I could feel Josie’s eyes on me, and I was already dreading anything and everything she could ask me directly. Would I actually have to speak? What if the panic kept coming? This was going to be everywhere, and already I could feel the prickle of sweat under my armpits. I should have worn another shirt. Can the camera tell that I’m sweating so bad? Is my face shiny? Will Zack be able to tell? How can Daz be sitting there so calmly?
Shoot!
I had just looked right at the camera. Lopsided eye! Had I been doing that the whole time? Why won’t my eye stop twitching? I’m going to look like an awkward serial killer sitting here twitching and sweating with a record-breaking zit.
Josie went on, “Of course, Shep needs no introduction. You’ve seen him everywhere—he’s starred in countless documentaries, reality television shows, and most recently you’ve seen him on an international book tour, promoting his third book, Wild Thing…”
My mouth was completely parched. This was it. I was on television. Any hope I had of crawling under a rug of invisibility until I finished high school was gone faster than a bag of crickets in Daz’s room.
If people could make my butt famous at school, imagine what they could do with this.
I started to count everything that I could see without turning my head. I had to focus on calm things before I had a heart attack. Things that do not throw up or accidentally swear on television or spontaneously bawl.
8: the number of sandwiches left over on the craft services table
4: microphones hanging over, around, and beside me
11: the number of times Josie has reached over to touch my grandpa’s knee
11: times Sugar has crossed and recrossed her legs
3: number of spontaneous lion roars heard through the window, causing the producer to look like he was going to pee himself
0: things I’ve eaten in an attempt to keep my stomach empty, hopefully to delay embarrassing bathroom issues, some but not all of which include barfing
14: times Dad has touched his mustache
0: the number of times I’ve blinked in the last three minutes. I should probably blink now.
“That’s so exciting, Shep! And how wonderful for your granddaughter to be continuing this sort of work with such passion—and at such a young age!” Josie trilled.
5: number of…Wait.
What?!
I didn’t realize my mouth had been open until I snapped it shut. What did the redhead just say? I jerked my head to Daz, who was watching at me like he was expecting fireworks to shoot out of my ears. His eyes were wide and a shocked but amused grin was on his face. He let out a breath with a slow whistle and started picking at his fingernails.
Grandpa was still in the middle of talking animatedly, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, she’s a wonderful presenter. I know she’ll do a great job tomorrow, so you wait ’til you see her in action! She takes after my daughter, you see. Janie’s always been a natural with a crowd.”
I’ve never been hit with a ton of bricks, but when his next words stampeded out of his mouth like a rogue elephant, I knew exactly what it must feel like.
“I’ve already spoken to my crew, and we’re filming her presentation for my movie.” He looked at me admiringly.
I couldn’t believe it. I’m not just saying that either. I really couldn’t believe that he’d said that. I must have
misheard him. Because there is no way my grandpa—no—no way my mother would agree to putting her terrified daughter in front of another camera for the single most petrifying event of her entire life.
Right?
Holding my breath, I slowly turned to look at her. She avoided my eyes, but I could tell the news was a surprise to her as well. She straightened herself up again and had on the poker face she wore whenever Dad disagreed with her. All business. Meanwhile, my face was growing hotter by the second.
“And what about you, Ana?” Josie tilted her head sideways at me with interest. “It must be exciting getting to follow in your grandfather’s footsteps! Featured in a big movie! You must be delighted?” She held the microphone to my face.
My mind went blanker than Rayna’s during an English test.
To this day, I have no idea why I said what I said. Maybe because it was the first word that popped into my head. Maybe I was so worried that my life started to flash before my eyes, and his yellow polo shirt was still stuck in my mind like some sort of fluorescent beacon of hotness. Maybe I should just be thrown in the monkey pen outside and live off bananas for the rest of my life, because when I leaned forward toward the microphone, terrified, I uttered the only thing I could.
“Zack?”
Everybody turned to look at me quizzically. Sugar cocked her head and batted her lashes, while Daz stared openmouthed, trying not to laugh. Mom’s eyebrow furrowed with pity.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
The silence was so loud it hurt my ears. My eyes blurred, and the only thing I could see was Darwin the parrot bristling his feathers, bouncing eagerly in his cage beside the sofa. He hated a quiet room.
“Braak! Zack! Braak! Zack!” he squawked, his tinny voice echoing around the room.
Kill me know.
“I mean, yeah! Yeah. Yes. I, uh…absolutely!” I plastered a twitchy smile on my face.
I had totally meant to say yeah, but my brain completely spasmed. Maybe I have a tumor? An awful brain tumor hanging out in my skull taking up space in a very important part of my brain that helps me talk? And stupid Charles Darwin?! What kind of a friend was he?!
Josie leaned away from me with a hard smile and looked to the camera once again. “Well, there you have it! More after the break, where we’ll discuss Shep’s future plans for Hollywood. What you need to know and more, coming up next.”
The Number One Rule of Going on Television Is:
1.Don’t look like a baked trout. Do not go on television.
Five Places to Live, Now That My Fate Is Sealed
1.New Zealand. The obvious choice, but seeing how Liv is too busy with Leilani, I’d better keep looking.
2.London. I could buy myself one of those salt-and-pepper hats and go around saying “Cheerio” to everybody, like Mr. Miller. Plus, that’s where Mary Poppins lives, and I could sure use a nice nanny to feed me treats and sing to me. Or one of those awesome flying umbrellas so I could travel without a hassle.
3.Oz. I mean, now that Dorothy’s dealt with that awful witch, it doesn’t sound like a terrible place to be. Maybe “somewhere over the rainbow” is the place for me.
4.Mexico. Not sure why this is on the list, but I do hear about an awful lot of people that go there looking for a new life.
5.The moon. Wasn’t that rich guy who owns that airline trying to fly people to the moon? I wonder what I’d have to do to get on that list. Actually, maybe that guy is looking for a daughter.
chapter 14
“Dolphins, whales, elephants, and several other animal species can experience shame.”
—Animal Wisdom
Is that supposed to make me feel better?
I had to escape. After the interview that could only have been orchestrated by the god of the underworld, Daz and I got a ride from Mom to meet Bella and Kevin at Shaken, Not Stirred for a disaster meeting. Well, Bella and I were going to talk. I’m pretty sure Daz just heard about the possibility of ice cream.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the house, away from Mom and Dad, but especially Grandpa. Mom promised me she had nothing to do with what Grandpa had said—that she was just as surprised and sorry that it had come out like that. She must have felt pretty sorry for me because she handed me a twenty from her wallet and told me to get “as much ice cream as it takes.”
Nobody mentioned the word Zack the entire way to the mall.
Bella was waiting in a booth, looking at a menu, and the second she saw the three of us plod in, she got up from her seat.
“I’m so sorry, Ana. I just saw.” She reached out to give me a quiet hug, ignoring my brother, who had already snatched the menu from her hand.
“Thanks.” I slumped into the booth beside her and hung my head. I had to admit, as awful as all this was, I was grateful to have Bella around. She was like the exact opposite of Liv, totally shy and had zero advice for how to deal with Sneerers. She didn’t call me a wimp once.
Kevin and Daz slid into the booth across from us. Kevin grabbed the menu from Daz, glanced at it, and dropped it on the table. He laced his fingers together. “Well. That was something,” he muttered.
I scoffed. “Yeah. Sure was. Captain Charisma, right here,” I huffed. I had no idea why Kevin was acting so annoyed—it wasn’t like he had gone on television and made a huge fool of himself. He got to watch me do it from the comfort of his own living room. That wasn’t in the middle of a hippo breeze either.
“I need help, guys. How can I get out of this? I will never live this down, and tomorrow it’s only going to get worse.” I let my head fall against the table with a thud. For some reason, my failed art project bubbled up into my mind. I still hadn’t thought of something to replace the crummy one I’d given Ms. Fenton. A dark thought crept over me. Was my true self seriously a big loser who said stupid things on live TV? Was I doomed to feel like this forever?
Bella tapped her fingers on the table while Kevin and Daz stared at the menu. “I think I’ll have a banana split,” Daz said suddenly, perking up.
I glared at him.
Typical.
Kevin, who was normally really helpful, was sitting there scratching his head looking like he had something more important to be doing. When the cute waitress strolled over to take our order, he barely looked up.
“What’s up with you?” I asked, poking him from across the table with a straw wrapper.
He didn’t answer; instead Daz piped up. “Kev’s bummed that he got the last question wrong on his social studies exam,” he said, throwing him a quick look.
I gaped at him. “What? Kev, you’re a genius. I doubt you got anything wrong. You never get anything wrong,” I said.
He swiped some rogue hair from his dark eyes and glared at me. “Sometimes I get things very wrong, Ana.”
Whoa.
Bella shifted beside me, and Daz shook his head. What was his problem? Did I really deserve the stink eye? I almost opened my mouth to snark at him, but Lacey had sidled up to the booth with our orders.
“Thanks, doll,” Daz said, giving her his trademark skeezeball wink. Lacey ignored him and wandered back to her textbooks behind the counter.
“Let’s focus on the positive,” Bella said. “School is done, so you only need to face them at the presentation and at the dance on Monday night.” I made a face. “If you go, that is,” she added quietly, peering at Kevin. “Maybe you could pretend you’re sick? Don’t you guys have all sorts of jungle diseases going around the zoo?” Bella said quietly through the tension, giving Kevin a swift glance and twiddling with a piece of her short hair.
She took a drag from her Funky Monkey shake. I was really starting to like Bella, but it was weird to be drinking shakes with someone other than Liv. I might have even felt guilty if Liv wasn’t off having adventures of her own without me. I wondered why we never hung out with Bella before
Liv left.
“You need to pretend-catch some awful, twenty-four-hour jungle disease!” she went on.
I gave a halfhearted shrug.
“The only problem with that, Bella,” Daz said, mowing into his banana split, “is that most jungle diseases are pretty serious. There’s a good chance that if she could convincingly fake one, Mom would escort her directly to the hospital and into quarantine for weeks.” He slurped a dribble of caramel sauce from his chin. “And let me tell you”—he waggled his spoon at her—“quarantine sucks.”
“It’s true. Mom would definitely know I was faking. And quarantine does suck,” I told Bella. I poked my straw through my vanilla shake, mixing in the whipped cream. “Maybe I could ‘accidentally’ hit my head on something and get amnesia? Does that have to last forever?”
Bella squinted; I could tell she was searching for data in that history buff brain of hers. She tapped her mouth with her index finger. “Maybe you’re approaching this the wrong way,” she said. “Maybe you need to just change your strategy. That’s what all the great warriors did,” she said with a gleam of intrigue in her eye. Daz looked up at her and gave an approving grin.
Honestly, the only times I saw Bella get excited was when she was talking about stuff that happened over a century ago. I liked the idea of being a warrior though. I had visions of myself in leather armor with a sword.
“Go on,” I said, stirring more whipped cream into my ice cream.
She sat forward and cupped her hands around her shake. Her brown eyes were bright. “Well. Take Alexander the Great. He was never defeated. Never defeated! He conquered half the known world in his lifetime. But here’s the thing: every time he faced a battle, he didn’t sit back and let his men fight. He stood out there on the front lines himself. He wasn’t afraid of anything and spent his time thinking about strategy—not about fear. He didn’t let fear get to him.” She settled back and nodded, like she was quite happy with her point.
