Celebrity

by Linda Gerber

  Dad turned away from me and began pumping the man’s hand up and down like it was a piston. “Muchas, muchas gracias,” he gushed.

  The policeman, obviously enjoying his hero moment, responded by telling Dad all about my “rescue.” I didn’t understand the words he was using, but I could tell by the inflection of his voice and his huge arm gestures what he was saying. And, just in case I didn’t, Señor Ruiz-Moreno was translating it all for my mom and dad.

  I turned away from them toward the TV in the corner. It was tuned into an international news station that was broadcasting in both Spanish and English. My own image flashed across the screen—along with Mateo and Logan—at the beach. Apparently, those idiot paparazzi had wasted no time filing their stories.

  I turned up the sound just enough to hear the anchor woman report how I had run away from home to escape the scrutiny of my story about the robbery and my mysteriously convenient video of El Jefe. I was aided, she said, by my Spanish boyfriend (okay, so I liked that part) and the son of one of the show’s producers.

  A panel of “experts” joined her next, debating whether I should be pitied or vilified. Was I a victim of my parents’ celebrity, or just another American teen run amok? One lady insisted that I was just a pawn in the network’s ploy to boost ratings for the show. Another painted me as a troublemaker who ran wild in the streets. The panel’s psychiatrist theorized that I had missed out on a real childhood because of my parents’ show.

  I had heard enough. I turned off the TV and retreated to my room. Even though I had shut my door, I could still hear everyone in the apartment talking. Talking about me.

  I sat on my bed and blinked against the tears. Hugging my fuzzy pillow, I looked at the photo on my dresser. “I really blew it this time, Grampa,” I whispered. “What am I going to do?”

  The next morning when I woke up, Mom was already down with the production crew, going over the tapes to see if they had enough footage to pull together for the Valencia episode. After what they called my “ordeal,” Mom and Dad were able to convince the executive producers that it was not in anyone’s best interest for us to stay in Spain. The executive producers convinced the Spanish authorities. My guess was they were happy to get rid of me, after all the trouble I had caused.

  Dad was poring over travel itineraries at the kitchen table. He barely looked up when I came into the room.

  I took the chair across from him and stared at the wood grain in the table in front of me. “Dad, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

  He glanced up at me, and the disappointment that showed on his face stopped me cold.

  I dropped my eyes again. “I just wanted you to know,” I said in a small voice.

  When he didn’t answer me, I excused myself from the table and slunk back to my room.

  I sat on my bed and hugged my pillow again. In all the years I’d been doing stupid things, my dad had never given me the silent treatment before.

  Bayani had done about the same thing last night. I had tried to apologize, and he kept saying okay, okay; but I noticed he never looked at me when he said it. He just looked around me, like there was a blank spot where I was standing and he couldn’t find where my voice was coming from. I guess I deserved it.

  And I probably deserved the way Mateo and Logan stopped talking to me, too, but I reached for my phone anyway, to text Mateo and tell him I was sorry one more time. But then I remembered. The police were keeping my phone as evidence.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and cried.

  Mom knocked on my door at lunchtime to ask if I was hungry, but I just stared at the wall and shook my head. My stomach had turned into an empty, aching hole. I didn’t think I would ever be hungry again.

  She walked back out into the kitchen where she and Dad whispered about me, but not quite soft enough. It was very sad, they agreed, but I needed to learn my lesson. I lay back on my bed and let the tears fall again.

  Mom didn’t knock on my door again until shadows were starting to swell in the corners of the room. “Cassie?” She opened the door a crack. “Logan is here to see you. Shall I let him in?”

  I sat up and pushed my tangled hair out of my face. My throat was suddenly too tight to answer, so I just nodded. She ushered him inside and hovered for a second. And then, against her own rules, she shut the door.

  Logan stood in his spot as her footsteps faded away down the hall. “Da had to come over and talk show nonsense with yer folks,” he said.

  I picked at the blanket. “Oh.”

  He took a cautious step forward. “You okay?” he whispered.

  I shrugged. “You?”

  “I guess.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” But from the way he was banging his fist against his leg, I knew he wasn’t telling me the truth.

  “Logan.”

  He glanced at the closed door as if he could see through it. Finally, he turned back to me and said in a low voice, “I only know what I overheard. It’s not much.”

  I almost didn’t dare ask. “What?”

  “Da was talking to the network. There was tell of a lawsuit. Something about slander—”

  “A lawsuit? But who—”

  He hunched his shoulders. “Dunno. That El Jefe guy, probably. I didn’t hear that part.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” I hid my face with my hands, but I couldn’t hide the tremble in my voice. “This is all my fault.”

  “Ah, now don’t do that.” He looked away. Like it was more embarrassing for him than it was for me if I cried.

  “Can’t help it,” I sniffed. “This…. all this. It was never supposed to happen.”

  “I know.”

  I wiped my eyes. “I was only thinking about what I wanted. I didn’t think about how it would affect anyone else.”

  He looked at me sideways. “Well, you kind of are a troublemaker.”

  The tears stung my eyes, and I hid my face behind my hands again. “I know,” I wailed.

  Logan crossed to the bed, and the mattress shifted as he sat down beside me. It caught me off balance and I ended up leaning into him, my face smushed up against his chest. I was about to pull away when he snaked a tentative arm around me and patted my hand awkwardly. “Hey. I didn’t mean it. It’ll be all right.”

  “Will it?”

  His shoulders rose and fell as he shrugged. “I don’t know. But no matter what happens, I’ll be here for you, deal?”

  “You better be,” I mumbled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t go away again.”

  He chuckled, which felt kind of funny with my cheek against his chest. “I’ll stay as long as you do,” he said.

  Which made me cry again.

  Logan and his dad left when it was

  dark. I stayed in my room because I couldn’t face my mom and dad. Despite what Logan had said to make me feel better, I still had a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach.

  After a long while I pushed off the bed and crossed to my desk. I sat and powered up my computer for the first time in days. When the Internet connected, I logged on to my blog. The way I saw it, I didn’t have any other choice. Everyone wanted to talk to me, but no one would listen. So I had to turn to the venue that started all the trouble in the first place. I stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, thought for a moment, and started to write.

  I WANT YOU TO KNOW

  This isn’t easy for me. My grampa used to say that nothing worthwhile ever is.

  I’ve heard what some people have been saying about me. How I shouldn’t have been out so early in the morning to capture that video. How I must have been doing something wrong. And they are right. This whole mess started because I snuck out of our apartment, which was against the rules. I should never have been in the plaza in the first place. Then none of this would ever have happened.

  Yesterday I caused more trouble because I broke the rules again. I wasn’t thinking about anyone but my
self and how I wanted to see the beach. I didn’t run away like some news shows are saying, but I did leave without telling anyone where I was going. And I dragged my friends along.

  The result is that I let my family and my friends down.

  I want you to know that this drama is all my fault. Not my mom’s, not my dad’s, not the show’s. I’m the one who messed up. Me. And for that I am truly sorry.

  I’ll be going away for a while, so I won’t be blogging about the show. I’m going to live with my gramma. I haven’t really been fair to her, either, since my grampa died. I just thought about myself and how much it hurt me to have him gone. I didn’t think about how much she must be hurting, too. It’s time for me to make that right.

  I’ve been scared to leave the show because without it, I don’t know who I am. But maybe it’s time I learned.

  Cassidy Barnett

  I hit the Publish button before I could change my mind. I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I swiped at it with the back of my hand and pushed away from the desk. There was still one more thing I had to do.

  “Mom? Dad?” I called from my bedroom door. “Can you come here a minute? There’s something important I need to show you.”

  I slept in the next morning. I figured after my confession, there would be no reason to get up. I already knew Mom and Dad were shipping me off. There didn’t seem like much else in the day to look forward to.

  So I was surprised when I finally stumbled out into the kitchen, yawning and stretching my arms over my head, to see Cavin and Logan sitting at the kitchen table with Mom and Dad. And they all looked up at me when I walked into the room. Not angry. Not exactly smiling, either—except Cavin. He was grinning like he had just told a joke and I was the punch line.

  I stopped and looked behind me. “What?” Smoothed a hand over my mussed-up hair. Quickly felt under my nose.

  “Come have a look,” Dad said, motioning me to join them.

  “You’re not gonna believe this.” Logan’s tone said that he didn’t quite believe it, either.

  “What is it?” I leaned over Dad’s shoulder to look at the newspaper he was holding. Well, tabloid, but still. There I was again. This one showed me leaning on the balcony railing, looking off into the distance.

  Cavin was practically beaming as he held the paper out toward me. The caption beneath the photo was in Spanish, so I was still kind of confused.

  “Apparently, your confession has made the news,” Mom said, sounding about as bewildered as I felt.

  My face instantly went hot at the mention of my desperate blog post. I peeked at Logan to see his reaction, but he sat by cluelessly, scrolling through the playlist on his iPod.

  “Very good, image-wise,” Cavin said proudly, as if he was the one who put me up to it. “Shows you’re vulnerable. Flawed but sincere.”

  Logan looked up then. “Flawed? Jeez, Da.”

  “Well, that’s what people want. They want someone they can relate to. Someone who messes up once in a while. Not some little Pollyanna who never does anything wrong. That tidbit about you sneaking out? Priceless.”

  Mom gave him a stern look. “I’d appreciate you not being quite so gleeful about my daughter’s lapse in judgment, Cavin.” But there was no anger in her voice.

  I pulled an orange from the bowl on the table and picked at the peel. “So…. does this mean we’re staying?”

  And then they did it—my mom’s and dad’s dreaded exchanging of the looks. My heart did a nosedive.

  “Cassie,” Dad began.

  Cavin threw up his hands and made a big show of rolling his eyes. “Here we go.”

  “Perhaps,” Mom said pointedly, “we should discuss this with Cassidy in private.”

  “Well, we’ve made our position clear,” Cavin said, scraping back his chair. “This girl is media gold right now. It would be a crime to waste that.”

  “Good-bye,” Dad said firmly.

  Cavin sighed. “C’mon, Logan. Let’s go.”

  Logan followed his dad, but he turned before he reached the door and looked back at me. “See ya, Cass,” he said. “Good luck.”

  I had to go into the police station that afternoon to sign my witness statement. If Mom and Dad had had their way, the thing would have been delivered to the apartment so they could keep me hidden. But they couldn’t argue with the authorities, especially since they were making a concession by letting me go before the arraignment.

  As usual, Señor Ruiz-Moreno agreed to come along. I hoped he would bring Mateo with him.

  Knowing it could be the last time I was ever going to see Mateo, I really wanted to look good, but I couldn’t decide what to wear. I picked up about every shirt I owned and threw each one of them aside. “I changed my mind,” I mumbled. “I don’t want to leave my room.”

  “Then you won’t have anywhere to wear this,” Victoria said.

  I spun around to see her standing in my doorway, holding a bright blue shopping bag with hot pink handles. “You’re back!” I cried. Without even thinking, I rushed to her and threw my arms around her.

  “Well,” she said, softly. “There you go.”

  “How was your trip?” I asked. “Did you meet any matadors?”

  She laughed. “Like I said before, I don’t think a matador and I would get along. But look what I brought you.” She held up the bag. “Hot off the runway.”

  I took it from her and dug through the crinkly pink tissue paper to find a soft white cotton blouse with tiny tucks and pleats across the bodice. Tucked neatly in the folds was a beaded necklace the color of a robin’s egg. “I love it,” I breathed.

  Victoria smiled proudly. “I thought you would.”

  I rushed to the mirror and held the shirt in front of me. I smiled at myself, and myself smiled back. “It’s perfect! Thank you.”

  “I thought it would be fitting for la chica moda.”

  I groaned and turned away from the mirror. “So you saw that.”

  “Oh, you’re quite famous. All the rags are running features on you.” She gave my arm a squeeze. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go have a word with your mum.”

  “Wait.”

  Victoria turned back to me. “Yes?”

  “They told you I’m not coming back, right?”

  She nodded. “They did.”

  “I….” My throat felt hot and tight. “I’ll be going to school in Ohio.”

  “So I hear. That could be an adventure.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Instead of tutoring you, you mean?”

  I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

  Victoria pulled me into a hug. “Hey, none of that. I’ll be here, working hard, waiting for your return.”

  I must have looked at her strangely because she laughed. “Is it that hard for you to think of me as anything other than your tutor?”

  “No. I just—”

  “Logan will be traveling with the show now.”

  “Oh,” I said, remembering. “You’re going to be his tutor.”

  “Cassidy.” She held me from her. “None of those definitions. I’ll always be here for you. You know that, right? No matter where we are. Never forget it.”

  I nodded.

  “All right. Now you get ready. I’m going to go talk with your mum.”

  As soon as she left, I slipped my T-shirt off over my head and pulled on the cotton blouse. The fabric felt smooth and cool against my skin. I straightened the neckline and checked myself out in the mirror again. I couldn’t help but think how different the girl looking back at me was from the one who had arrived in Spain just the week before.

  I sighed and held up the blue necklace again. It went perfectly with my jeans. Dressy enough that I could wear it to sign documents at the police station (and maybe see Mateo) and casual enough that it didn’t look like I was trying too hard. I fastened it on, but something about it didn’t feel right.

  Taking it off, I wrapped it back up in the tissue pa
per and set it aside. I pulled the leather cord necklace from under the shirt and settled the charms gently atop the tucks and pleats, pausing for just a moment to let my fingers smooth over the cornicello. “I think I’m on the right path again, Grampa,” I whispered. “Wish me luck.”

  When my mom announced it was time to go, I practically burst through the apartment door, I was so relieved to get out of there. Mateo was waiting in the car with his dad. I settled onto the backseat next to him.

  “You okay?” he whispered.

  I nodded. “Yeah.” At least I would be when this thing was over.

  Someone must have tipped off the press once again because there were swarms of people and cameras in front of the police station when we arrived. They actually had to send out policemen to hold back the reporters so we could make our way into the station.

  It was just a short walk to the door, but it seemed to take forever. Dad tucked me close to him and held a magazine in front of my face to shield it from the cameras. Which meant I kept tripping over my feet because I couldn’t see where I was going. Everyone was yelling at me, shouting questions, but I didn’t understand most of them because they were speaking Spanish. One voice rang out louder than the others. Or maybe I just tuned into it because he asked his question in English.

  “Cassidy! After everything that has happened, how do you feel?”

  I turned away from Dad’s magazine shield. I wasn’t sure exactly who had asked the question, but I looked toward the general direction the voice had come from.

  I thought of my mom and dad, who cared enough to worry about what was best for me before they thought of themselves. I thought of Victoria and Bayani and how the crew of When in Rome was like a big family. I thought about my gramma, waiting for me in Ohio. I thought about my oldest friend, Logan, and my newest friend, Mateo. And I thought about how they all still liked me, even when I seriously messed up. How did I feel?

  “Lucky.”