by Lori Folkman
Kat’s shot at stardom just fell from the sky. Her mom would say no, Kat was sure of it.
“Is her work close by? Could we go there? Or to your dad’s?”
“Oh. Yeah. My dad is at home.”
“Cool. Do you think he’d sign it?”
“Yes. Yes, I think he will.”
“Great.” Ben buckled his seat belt. He was ready to roll.
Kat sat up straight and stared blankly out the windshield. It was like her body and soul had been separated. Her body was here, in this car with Ben, but mentally she was gone. All this was just unfathomable. It couldn’t be happening. She must be suffering from psychosis. Hallucinations. Should she ask Ben—assuming that he was actually real—to just drive her straight to the mental hospital?
Ben stopped at the intersection with Bulldog Boulevard. “Um, I don’t know where I’m going. How do I get to your house?”
“Duh. Sorry. Turn right.” Get a grip, Kat, before he thinks you’re a major space cadet.
Kat guided him to her house. When they arrived, she realized that the massive remodel that her dad had tortured them with two years ago was worthwhile. Her house looked nice: modern and crisp. Classy and elegant. A place where Ben Wilder would feel comfortable. Not that her house before the remodel was trashy or anything. Just dated. And Ben would have seen how far he outclassed Kat. She didn’t want that. She wanted to be welcome in his world, even if the she had to gain entrance by sneaking in through the back door.
Ben parked in the driveway. Her dad had to be flipping out. It’s not every day a brand new (what kind of car was this? It looked like a Mustang but had a chrome snake on the dash. Or right. Not just a snake, a cobra) Shelby parked in the Hayes’ driveway. But her dad wasn’t flipping out, because he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Kat did a quick canvassing of the first floor. No dad.
“I’ll see if he’s upstairs,” Kat said. She was on the third stair by the time she finished speaking. She was seriously panicking. Her dad had to be here, somewhere.
She poked her head in her room, even though that was the last place he’d be. With one foot inside her room, Katrina had that conniption fit she’d been trying to ward off. Pictures of Ben Wilder were everywhere. She’d never realized how absurd it looked. The stupid pillow she’d embroidered with his name in big, bold letters. Four life-sized posters. Magazine cut-outs literally over every inch of the violet colored walls. Ben Wilder was everywhere. And he was down in her living room. If he saw this ….
Kat hyperventilated. She quickly shut her door. Well, slammed was more like it. The sound echoed throughout the hallway upstairs. She breathed in and out: one, two, three, times until her body felt less like it was being squeezed by a boa-constrictor. One more deep breath and then she headed back down stairs.
Ben was still waiting in the living room. He was by the bookshelf, looking at pictures placed next to the books. He looked entirely patient, entirely comfortable just meandering around the Hayes’ living room.
“I haven’t found him yet. I think he might be downstairs, in his office.”
Surprisingly, Ben smirked at her. Had she said something funny? “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she tried to shrug it off.
“Really? ‘Cause you look sort-of … fried.”
She felt tears prick her eyes. Why, oh why, was she crying? She shook her foot, as if maybe she could shake away this massive tangle of emotions. A major meltdown coming on. Oh please, stop with the waterworks. Not now.
“Fine. Really.”
He looked at her skeptically.
“Okay, not really. I’m kind-of freaked. I’m not a professional dancer.”
“Me either.”
“Well, yeah, but you’ve done this sort of thing before. I’ve never even been on a You-Tube video.”
He smiled, but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know why you would want me to do this. I’m not qualified. I’m just a silly little high-school girl who knows how to Swing.”
Ben approached her. “No. You’re an amazing dancer. And you know how to do more than just the Swing. We spoke with your instructor. She told us that you were trained in all dance forms: ballet, tap, jazz. And you have the right look.”
Her instructor: Ms. Stella? Whoa. Ben’s people did their research. But rather than getting after him for snooping around her dance studio, she asked about the other thing. She had no idea what that one meant. “The right look?”
“Yeah. You’re graceful. And you have this … beauty that transcends time. You fit into any generation.”
“But I’ve never been in front of a camera, Ben.” Katrina was so convinced that he’d picked the wrong gal. This was so not up her alley. Couldn’t he see that?
He grabbed her by the arm and took three side-steps with her. He placed her in front of the oversized mirror near the foyer. She walked past this full-length mirror every morning on her way to school. And now the reflection staring back was standing next to this incredibly handsome boy-man, whose image just so happened to be plastered on the walls of her room.
His arm snaked around her waist. He pulled her closer to his body. They both stood facing the mirror, her body overlapping his image by an inch.
“We look great together,” Ben said. “Light and dark. Curly and straight. Our differences complement each other.” Then he took her hand and held it up in front of his. “Plus you’re small; petite. It makes me look bigger than I really am. You make me look like I’m over six feet tall. It’s perfect, really.”
Kat’s body vibrated from where he’d touched her. Her waist had the same sensation her foot does when it falls asleep. Her hand tingled. Now her outer nerves were in a jumble, right along with her inner nerves.
She focused on the reflection. Yeah, they looked good together. Perfect, just like Ben had said. Yeowza.
But the dancing? What if they didn’t sync? A week’s worth of practice might not cut it. “Do you think that we’ll really be able to learn an entire dance in a week?” she asked.
“Well, technically it’s eight different dances. One for each of the generations. But they’ll all be interwoven. And yes, we’ll be able to learn it. That’s why we hired Ernie. He’ll make us look like Fred and Ginger.”
Mmm. How many seventeen-year-olds boys even know about Fred and Ginger? Kat might just be in love.
“But, we can’t start working with Ernie if we don’t get that permission slip signed.”
Kat stiffened. Had she been drooling? “Oh, right. My dad. I’ll go look downstairs.”
This time she walked, not sprinted, down the stairs to find her dad. And in his basement office, he was.
“Dad!” He was asleep in his chair, his feet propped up on his desk. His eyes flipped open when she called his name. She wanted to tease him about his work ethics, but there wasn’t time. “Help!” She collapsed into the leather armchair in the corner of the room, feeling like she’d just run the Boston Marathon.
Darin Hayes looked a little alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh nothing. Ben Wilder is upstairs.”
Her dad laughed.
“No, really. Ben Wilder is in our living room.”
“What? Then what are you doing down here?” Her dad got out of his chair and headed towards the door.
Kat caught his arm. “I came to get you, duh Dad.”
“But you’re sitting down.”
She breathed a long sigh. “Ben wants me to be in his video.”
“With Jack?”
“No, Jack’s not in the video. Remember? He’s co-directing. Ben wants me to dance in the video.”
“Dance?” Her dad had a look of … disgust? Disapproval?
“Nothing inappropriate, Dad. Just, ya know, Swing and stuff.”
“Swing?”
Okay, she had to spill it. “Ben watched me dance at the Hilton on Friday. He wants to incorporate it into the video. You know a dance-through-the-decades kind of thing.”
“R
eally? Wow.” Her dad’s voice sounded like he’d dismissed the disapproval. She could tell he was getting excited. “That’s a big deal, Kat. You dancing in a music video? With Ben Wilder? This is … pretty huge.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And you want to do it?”
“Shya. Of course I want to do it.”
“You don’t look like you want to do it. You look … kind of sickly.”
Fabulous. “Thanks a lot, Dad.”
“Sorry, but you do. You look like you saw a ghost.”
Kat pulled herself out of the comfortable chair. “Dad, this is majorly, majorly cool. To work with Ben … it’s like …” Oops. Wrong direction. Her dad looked disapproving again. So she wouldn’t say that it’s a dream come true. “He’s going to be artist of the year. This new album is incredible. And to be a part of that—it’s an amazing opportunity. I would be a fool to pass it up.”
Her dad was silent, but his eyes moved around her face, then around the room. Finally, he said, “A music video? I never, in a million years, thought I’d let my teenage daughter be in one of those. You sure it won’t be … racy? Modest clothing and all that? No bump and grinding?”
“Really, Dad. Jackson wrote the video. You think it would be inappropriate? And you know Ben’s image is all goody-goody. They’re not going to let him do some raunchy video or he’ll lose all his tweener fans.”
Her dad tapped on the doorframe. He looked contemplative. “We better check with your mom first. She might not like the idea.”
“No!” Kat grabbed her dad’s arm. Then she realized if she freaked out, her dad would call her mom. “Ben is up there waiting. Alone. What if Taylor comes home … with her giggling gaggle in tow? They’ll scream so loud the entire neighborhood will run over here. Please dad, let’s just get the paper signed so he can get out of here.”
He seemed amused by that thought. Then he shook his head, like the imaginary screaming had hurt his ears. “Ok. You’re right. We don’t want him here when Taylor comes home.” Kat followed him out of the office. He turned to her when they reached the foot of the stairs. “I don’t think you’re mom will mind. It’s just a music video. It’s not like you’ll become famous.
Chapter Seven ……
Kat looked like she’d just fallen into a freshly dug grave, with the casket still open. Seriously, she looked like she’d just embraced the dearly departed. Scared. To. Death.
But Jackson wasn’t ready to feel bad for her yet. He was still too mad.
The set was crammed with people; it was even more chaotic than normal. Ben led Kat through the studio. She was pale. Her eyes were wide. Jackson hoped he hadn’t looked that pathetic on his first day.
Jackson looked through the new storyboard. And the more he saw, the more ticked he was. This was not his treatment. It was now just another stupid dance video. No feeling. No heartstrings. Just hip. Just hop. He was ready to throw the storyboard on the floor and walk off the set. And he knew no one would stop him.
What about Kat? What would she do if he quit? Would she support him? Would she walk off too, sighting the injustice done to her best friend? Jackson saw the way she held her eyes on Ben, like she didn’t want to miss a word that passed out of the rockstar’s mouth. Like he was the Dalai Lama. And then Jackson knew. Kat would choose Ben over Jackson. Just like everyone else.
Ben walked up to Jackson, Katrina close on his heels. “This the new storyboard?” Ben asked. He didn’t wait for Jackson to respond. Ben grabbed the board and studied each frame. “Perfect,” he declared. “Perfect,” he repeated as he set the board back on the table. “Nice work,” he said.
Jackson knew the compliment wasn’t for him. It was for the other half-dozen people huddling around Ben. And when Ben moved on, so did the huddle. Jackson felt invisible.
But Kat stayed behind. “Jackson, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I swear I didn’t have anything to do with this. I was totally shocked ….” she stopped talking and looked away. Jackson could see the tears pooling in her eyes. She blinked rapidly. “I didn’t want this,” she continued. “I didn’t want to take this away from you.”
“Yeah? Well, you did. Congratulations.” Jackson turned and walked away, his mouth feeling like he’d just eaten a spoonful of grapefruit. He headed to the craft services table where he grabbed a bottle of water. He chugged the entire thing, not caring if his manners looked crude. He even wiped the excess moisture from his lips on the sleeve of his shirt. What were they going to do—kick him out? Bring it on.
Jackson noticed a buzz of noise coming from the dressing room area. A large crowd was gathering. And Ben was still on the other side of the studio.
The crowd swarmed away from the dressing rooms and into the center of the studio. People seemed to be following a skinny man with white hair. Seriously: not gray, but glowing white. But—excluding the hair—the man looked like he was only forty. And when the man broke free of the crowd, Jackson laughed out loud. He was glad he wasn’t still drinking water, or he would have sprayed like a busted bathroom pipe. That—Jackson deemed—would have got him kicked out for sure.
The reason Jackson had laughed out loud? He saw what the man was wearing. A baggy pink sweatshirt, shiny leggings, and leg-warmers. Leg warmers. Was the crowd teasing the man? Were they chasing his scrawny silver legs out of the studio? No. Of course not. Jackson could see that the crowd adored the man. Like he was some kind of god, even more powerful than the great Ben Wilder.
Speaking of Ben, Ben practically ran across the studio to meet the man. And then they embraced! Ben hugged a man wearing leg-warmers. Maybe Jackson hadn’t lost Kat to Ben after all.
“Who is that guy?” Jackson asked one of the nearby assistants.
She looked at Jackson like he was a pesky toddler asking questions. “Ernie Dixon,” she said. Even though she didn’t say, “Duh,” her voice certainly reflected it.
Jackson was still in the dark. He knew he’d look even more foolish if he inquired further. But, at this point, he didn’t care. “Who’s Ernie Dixon?” Jackson asked.
Her mouth popped open. She even gasped. She didn’t hide the fact that she was seriously astonished by Jackson’s lack of knowledge. “Ernie Dixon is only the best choreographer in the business. He’s saving this video.”
“Saving the video, huh?” Jackson spied some slices of cake. He put one in the palm of his hand—without putting it on a plate (or even a napkin) first. “He’s going to make this video look like every other dance video out there. I’d call that destroying it. Not saving.” Jackson took an enormous bite of cake, knowing full well that he’d just smeared frosting across his face. But who would care? He was just the pathetic kid who had made a mess of the video.
He walked away, feeling momentarily satisfied. He’d shown that coffee-fetching assistant. But then he thought about what he was doing. If he tried to get fired, or walked off the set, he wouldn’t be who he wanted to be ten years from now. He’d be a coffee-fetching grunt. A voice trickled through his mind. “It’s still a great experience.” It was Kat’s voice. Jackson clenched his teeth and groaned. Why did Kat have to be right?
The crowd—which had been coagulating around Ernie—had spread out into a line, as if there was something for everyone to see. Jackson went to the edge of the row to take a look. Music started playing, big-band style. And suddenly Kat and Ernie Dixon came spinning past.
They twirled, they kicked—their feet moving faster than any of the Galaxy’s players. Jackson was impressed. He had no idea that Kat was that good. The last time he’d seen her dance was at a recital two years ago. He didn’t remember her being so … graceful. Then again, he hadn’t really paid that much attention to her. There had been at least a dozen other girls on stage—all in tight leotards. He had spent more time ogling their curves than he had watching Kat’s skill level. But what he saw right now was exceptional, and a complete transformation from the Kat he’d seen just minutes ago. She no longer had that scared to death look on her
face. She was smiling her huge smile. Her eyes were sparkling. And those kicks … wow. They were more like standing splits. She should audition for one of those dancing reality shows.
So maybe Ben hadn’t ruined the entire video because he was crushing on Kat. Maybe having her dance in the video was a good idea. But this type of dance? Hmm. Not so hip. Not so hop.
The dance ended, and of course everyone applauded. Jackson saw Kat’s cheeks flare slightly. This surprised him. He thought praise wouldn’t embarrass a performer. But then he saw the way Ben was cheering; he was standing at the front of the crowd, his hands clapping faster than anyone else’s. And Ben’s eyes were locked on Kat, drawing her in like a tractor-beam. Oh. That’d be why she’s blushing.
Ernie Dixon silenced the crowd. When he spoke, Jackson was surprised. Ernie had a deep, booming voice. A commanding voice. Not one like Peter Pan, as Jackson had imagined. Ernie explained that, while the choreography was still incomplete, the essence was there. “Each decade’s dance will be modernized. But discreetly, with just enough variance to make it new: fresh.”
The dance guru kept talking, but Jackson got lost in the language of dance speak. Everyone else was nodding their heads. Music started again, and Ernie said, “Let me demonstrate.”
This time, he grabbed the hand of a different dancer. This lady was tall and lanky … built like a dancer. She was a professional—Jackson could tell this instantly. And the dance was taken up a notch too. Like Ernie had said: it was modernized. Double steps, body grooves, and shoulder rolls were added here and there … subtlety. It was kinda cool.
Jackson glanced at Kat again. She had that scared look again. In fact, she looked like she was holding her breath. Breathe, Kat. You’re gonna pass out. The song ended. He saw Kat give Ben a concerned look—a look where her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were pursed. Ben gave her this huge smile and put his arm around her shoulder. He gave her a shake. He was probably saying “You can do it, Kat.”
Jackson wanted to yell, “Get your hands off my sister!” from across the studio. And not because he wanted to keep the lie in check, but because he wanted to protect her. This kind of camaraderie with her long-time unobtainable crush just couldn’t be good. And Jackson knew it was only going to get worse. He saw how closely Ernie had held that professional dancer to his body. And that was going to be Ben and Kat. Great. Just great.
