“I like this girl already,” I said.
“Go on!” Kendall was staring laser eyes through me.
I once dreamed of joining my mother on the big screen. But now I would like to take that dream back. I didn’t know it would require so much tap-dancing! I pray the day will soon arrive when tap-dancing will no longer be appreciated, and I can give up the rat-a-tat-tat that hammers in my brain each day when I walk on the set.
“Huh,” I said. “Tap dancers always look so happy. I wonder if they all feel this way?”
“Keep reading!”
“That’s all she wrote about that.” I turned the page and continued to read:
I hate sleeping in curlers. How is one supposed to rest one’s head on a pillow when one’s head is wrapped up in rigid plastic? I pray the day will soon arrive when curly hair is no longer appreciated, and I can once again feel the softness of down next to my cheek at night.
“I feel her pain,” I said.
“Yeah,” Kendall said. “Go on.”
I turned the page, scanned the next entry, and giggled.
“Allie! Read!”
Thoughts about makeup. It was invented for my stylist, Laura, to torture me. The fake eyelashes feel like spiders, and the lipstick tastes like plastic and makes my lips stick together (must be why it’s called lipstick!). I pray for the day when makeup is no longer appreciated and I can be a regular naked-lipped girl, and sip lemonade through straws without turning them a blazing red color.
“This is hysterical! Gabi sounds like a Hannah.”
I turned the page.
Learning lines is a bear. What do writers know about a twelve-year-old’s vocabulary? Most of the time, it is necessary to keep a dictionary in my dressing room, to discover what I am saying in a script!
“Well,” I said, “at least with reality TV, they let us talk like we talk.”
“Yep, we got that goin’ for us, y’all.”
I rested my back against the chair and looked up at the ceiling.
“Allie, I wonder if all child stars wish they weren’t stars sometimes?”
“I wonder if Gabi ever wanted to dye her hair Santa Suit red?”
“Probably. She sounds spunky.”
“Kendall! Allie! Come quick! We found a secret dance room!” Lola’s voice echoed through the hallway, and for some reason I jumped up off the chair and hid the diary under my pillow on the bed.
“We’ll read more later,” I told Kendall. “For now, let’s go see Gabi’s tap-dance chamber.”
CHAPTER 19
Star Calling
We explored the Gabi-girls’ house for a little while, and then swam again, in the ninety-degree weather.
We barbequed hamburgers for dinner, and made S’mores for dessert, which we ate while sitting on the patio at the top of the house, looking out at the city lights.
“Malibu tomorrow?” Lola asked.
Hunter scrunched his nose. “I was hoping to go to the tar pits.”
“Tar pits! Sounds like it was named after a boy’s underarms,” Ruby said. “I don’t think I wanna go there.”
“I agree,” Lola said. “Plus, it’s a sad, sad, story Hunter. Trust me. You’d rather go play beach volleyball with us.”
Hunter hung his head. “But you know I want to be a paleontologist. Why would I come this close to the tar pits and not go visit?”
Ryan came to his rescue. “I have an idea. How about the boys go check out the pits and the girls go to the beach? You can shop a little on the way there and back too. And Hunter and I will shop for tacos—not clothes.” Ryan patted Hunter on the back.
“I vote yes!” Hunter said. “I already have all the clothes I need, but I have been lacking tacos.”
“Okay, then. Tar and Tacos it is.” Ryan gave Hunter a high-five. Kendall and I laughed till we cried as we read some more excerpts from Gabi’s diary that night.
I would venture to say that sequins are the most ridiculous clothing adornment.
Caviar is disgusting. I smile, and put it in my mouth to be polite, but then I spit it out in my milk.
Today on the set, we discussed how to hide my newest pimple—which is right on the end of my nose. I suggested using a sequin, but Laura did not find that funny.
“I knew it!” Kendall said. “Zits span the decades.”
Today, someone slid an autograph book under the stall where I was “resting” in the women’s bathroom at Macy’s, but they didn’t offer me a pen. I sat there for ten minutes, not knowing what to do, until a hand reached back under and stole the book away.
“That girl’s a hoot!” Kendall said. “She should have written a book.”
I held up the diary. “Ahem. She did.”
“Well, I’m glad. I really needed a good laugh.” Kendall stretched and yawned. “That swimming and hiking killed me today. I better go to sleep if I’m going to play this silly beach volleyball that Lola’s all fired up about tomorrow.”
Kendall spent a few minutes in the bathroom and then came out and dove under the covers. She turned out the light, but I wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. I pulled the “Matt 51415” headlamp out of my bag, turned it on, fastened it on my head, and threw a blanket over myself on the chair so I could read more.
After Kendall was sound asleep, I found exactly what I needed:
January 1, 1949
The valuable thing about diaries is that you can go back and read what you’ve written and see how ridiculous you were a few days prior. I have noticed in my writings a pattern of complaining, and I am disturbed by it.
Today, being that it is the first day of a new year, I have determined to complain less. I read this in my Bible this morning:
Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus to you. 1 Thessalonians 5:16 (ASV)
I regret that I have not been rejoicing or giving thanks in all my situations—especially for my life on the movie set. Today I received a letter from a little girl who has a club foot, and she wrote that when she watches me dance, it brings her joy. That caused me to think deeply about my life, and to wonder:
Lord, have you called me into this life of stardom for a reason? Do you have a bigger plan for all this tap-dancing?
I paused, and put the book down on my lap.
Lord, have I been complaining a lot?
I didn’t really have to listen for God’s answer, because I already knew it. The answer was yes.
I turned off the headlamp, and sat in silence under the blanket for a few minutes.
I’m sorry, God. Show me how to stop complaining about my life.
I waited a little longer, and right about the time I started to break a sweat under the blanket, I heard a still, small voice deep down—somewhere in the middle of my soul. It said, “Focus on me, not on you.”
“What?” I said that out loud, and then remembered that my blanket was not soundproof.
Anyone who tries to hold onto his life will lose it, and anyone who loses his life will find it.
Okay, that had been a memory verse for me a while back. And I didn’t quite get the meaning, until I heard the next thing.
“Allie, your life is not about you.”
CHAPTER 20
Sand and Tar
The next morning, we all piled into the minivan and drove Ryan and Hunter to the rent-a-car place so they could pick up a Mustang convertible for the drive to the La Brea Tar Pits.
“Don’t wear your cowboy hat with the top down,” Lola said.
“And leave the bones there!” Kendall waved and Hunter flashed his famous smile as they drove away for their tar and taco adventure.
We girls picked up some deli sandwiches and other snacks at the grocery store, and then headed out through the beautiful Malibu canyon on our way to Lola’s dream beach.
It didn’t disappoint. Except that Lola’s hair streak didn’t exactly match the water. Today the ocean was a rich, azure blue.
“It’s spectacular!
” Lola threw her arms out to both sides—like she would hug the ocean if she could. “Smell that salty air! Who wants to go swimming?”
The answer was—all of us. We threw our tote bags and backpacks on the sand and ran out to immerse ourselves in the warm . . .
“It’s freezing! Aaaack! What? Why is it so c-c-cold?” Ruby wrapped her arms around herself and jumped up and down in the ankle-deep water. Kendall shook her head and ran back to her towel and wrapped up. Lola and I tried to be brave. After all, you don’t get in the Pacific Ocean much when you’re from Louisiana.
And now, with all the goosebumps that were appearing all over my body, I was thinking that’s a good thing.
“I need to go wrap up in a blanket too,” Lola said.
“No. We came all this way. Let’s go all in.” I stepped out a little deeper, and a wave came and splashed up to my waist.
“Brrrr. Are you sure, Allie? All those surfers out there have wetsuits on.” She pointed out at a cluster of people sitting on boards in the distance.
I nodded. “That’s because they’re sissies. We can survive a few minutes in here, no problem. I dare you to dunk that turquoise streak under the water.”
Lola scowled at me. “Allie, you’re nuts!”
“Do it!” I yelled, and when the next wave came in, I ran toward it and dove into the surf.
I was numb in seconds. When the water receded and I stood, Lola was next to me, drenched from head to toe.
“Makes you feel fully alive, doesn’t it?” I shivered in the breeze.
Lola pointed at the surfers.
“T-t-they are not sissies, they’re smart.”
Another wave came and splashed us up to our shoulders. I shivered some more.
“Okay, maybe you’re right. Let’s go find our towels. We’ve completed our mission and conquered the mighty Pacific.”
It was like a race back to find our towels. Ruby saw us coming and held one out for Lola and wrapped her up in it.
“What a nice sister,” I said. I looked around. “Anyone seen my towel?” I searched through my tote and the surrounding area for the yellow thing with the big orange butterfly on it, but it was nowhere to be seen.
Brittany looked around.
“I haven’t seen it, Allie. Are you sure you brought it?”
I stood there, freezing water dripping down my body.
“Uh . . . maybe I didn’t bring it. Maybe I left it at the pool.”
Just as I said that, the sun went behind a cloud.
“I also may have forgotten to bring a sweatshirt.”
“I’m sorry,” Brittany said. “I should have warned you that California beaches can be cold.” She pulled a towel out of her tote bag and swung it around me.
I shivered a little bit more. “That’s not what you see in the movies,” I said. “And it was so hot yesterday.”
“That was inland,” Brittany said. “It’s probably hot there now too. It should warm up here for a couple of hours before the fog rolls in this afternoon. Make sure you put on sunscreen. The sun can burn you even though you feel like you’re freezing.”
I sat down, wrapped in the towel, facing the waves, and watching the surfers.
“How does anyone stay in there long enough to learn how to do that?”
“It’s amazing the difference a wetsuit makes,” Brittany said.
“Allie,” Ruby said, “your lips are turning blue.”
“Oh, dear.” Brittany came over and knelt next to me. “Are you breathing okay? Did you bring your inhaler?”
I gestured over to my backpack. “Of course. I never forget that. I only forget unimportant things, like clothes. But actually, my breathing is fine.”
Lola pointed down the beach. “Is that a shop over there? Maybe they sell sweatshirts.”
“I bet it is,” Brittany said. “Let’s dry off and go shop. If we’re going to stay here for a while, Allie’s going to need some warm clothes.”
“Sound good to me,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lola added. “We can’t leave until we play volleyball and until I sketch a sunset for Papaw.”
The little shop was called “The Malibu Hut,” and it had sand piled inside on the floor. I had my choice of lots of souvenir sweatshirts, hats, flip-flops, and more. I picked out the warmest sweatshirt I could find. It was a soft, light-gray hoodie, with the word Malibu scrawled in scribble letters across the front. Shells were sketched below the letters, with a swoosh of orange, pink, and yellow sunset colors sandwiched in between. I bought sweatpants too.
“Ryan’s going to give you a hard time, you know, after all that talking about needing to buy shorts.” Brittany paid the cashier for my clothes, and at the register, she threw in a pair of socks and a ball cap to match.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said. “I have money saved.”
Brittany winked. “Papaw sent me some money. You can thank him.”
The shopkeeper let me use the fitting room to put my new clothes on over my suit. When I finally emerged, my cousins were chomping at the bit to get out of there.
“Okay, can we go play some volleyball now? I got my souvenir.” Lola batted around a turquoise volleyball that said “Malibu Beach” on it. The ball matched the streak in her hair.
“Let’s go!” I said. And just as I did, I spotted a familiar sandy blonde surfer wearing a Surf & Son Summer T-shirt running past the open door of the Malibu Hut.
I watched for a second, not knowing what to do.
Could that be him?
“I’ll be right back!” I yelled, and I ran out of the hut.
I looked left and right. No surf heads to be found. Then I spotted him—at least I thought it was him, getting into the back seat of a green Jeep, which backed up and rolled out of the parking lot, and into Malibu Canyon.
“Allie!” Brittany chased me down, like I was a toddler getting ready to run into the street. “Your parents will never speak to me again if I lose you. What were you chasing?”
I watched the cars zooming in the distance.
“Reality, I think.”
“Oh.” Brittany shaded her eyes and looked in the same direction as me. “Well, that’s progress. Come on, let’s go smack a volleyball around.” She put her arm around my shoulder and turned me back toward the beach. “That should warm you up.”
“Okay, who are the teams?” I jumped over on the side of the net that I liked the best. “Should we go by age or by athletic ability?”
“What are you tryin’ to say?” Kendall stood at the back of the sand court, straddling the line.
“She’s trying to say that some people, though they might be the oldest, are not volleyball players,” Lola said. “But I appreciate your showing up to make my dream come true.”
“I don’t think sisters should be on the same team either,” Ruby said. “We might fight.”
“Well, that means . . .” Lola gave Kendall a funny look.
“That I’m on your team! Aren’t you lucky today?” Kendall smiled and jumped over on Lola’s side. “Don’t worry—I’ll let you hog the ball all you want.”
I whispered to Ruby, “This will be short and sweet. Just keep hitting it to Kendall.”
“I heard that!” Kendall yelled. “You are not very nice to take advantage of a less athletic cousin. If you don’t treat me nice, I will refuse to sing at all your weddings!”
I scooted to the back of the court and got ready to serve.
“Zero-zero!” I tossed the ball up with my left hand and hit the ball overhand with my right. It zoomed over the net, heading for Kendall, just as I had planned.
Kendall, however, side-stepped out of there, and Lola came diving in to dig the ball up and over the net, taking Ruby and me both by surprise. We sorta just stood there while the ball hit the sand.
“Good one, Lola! Our team rocks!” Kendall clapped and put her thumbs in her ears and flapped her fingers at us. “Take that—athletic cousins!”
Lola served next—a rocket that tippe
d the top of the net and then dropped in between me and Ruby. Two-zero.
The next five serves were a bunch of aces by Lola. Ruby and I jumped left and right, back and forth, but we never got a single body part to touch the turquoise fire bomb.
“Girls. Here’s a tip. You have to fling yourself in the sand,” Lola said.
“But I’ll get sand in my clothes,” Ruby said.
I laughed. “You get muddy all the time at home. What’s the difference?”
“Sand gets in your teeth and your ears and your eyes and your nose and, well . . . everywhere else. I get the feeling that the sand I take home today will stay with me forever.”
We won the next point, because Lola couldn’t stop laughing at Ruby’s sand explanation, so she served the ball into the net.
“Thanks for the break,” I said. “Kendall, this one’s comin’ for you!”
“I’m ready!” Kendall yelled, and she stood all the way at the back of the court, so Lola could have all the space she would need to dive and destroy us.
Brittany stood outside the court, acting as our referee, and laughing.
“I’m getting hot now,” I said, and I started to peel off all the new clothes I had just bought. Soon I was back to my swimsuit. And I tried to dive, which worked. But Ruby was right. Sand was everywhere, and a ton of it stuck to my sweaty legs.
“This is not my favorite sport,” I said. “We’re only playing one game, right?”
Lola even tried to brush sand off herself between serves. “It’s fun, but it’s not as glamorous as it looks on TV, and it’s a lot dirtier than playing in the gym. I might just stick to that.”
A few minutes later, Lola and her invisible partner Kendall had wiped the court up with me and Ruby.
“Anyone want to take a dip in the ocean and clean off?” I asked.
“NO!” was the response from every single person.
Instead, we found a water spigot near the parking lot, and we tried to wash off as much sand as possible. But the truth is, Ruby was right. Most of that sand was coming back with us, probably all the way to Louisiana.
Running from Reality Page 11
