Being Hartley

by Rushby, Allison

  "Thea?" Asher says, perhaps sensing that not everything is cool with me.

  "Don't expect me to know anything, Asher," I say with a shake of my head. "I'm not a real Hartley. I'm just some outsider along for this ride because I need to be minded. Like a baby," I say. I step forward and press the "up" button on the elevator panel and one set of doors immediately pings open. "I have to go."

  "Thea, wait…" Allie says.

  But it's too late. The doors are already closing.

  -

  23 -

  I hang out in the suite for a couple of hours until it starts to get dark, then order some food, watch a bit of TV, and field texts from Allie and Rory. I don't hear anything from my mom, which makes me strangely angry, because while I don't want to be with anyone right now, it also confirms everything I'm feeling, despite the fact that I know I could call or text her and she'd reply right away, like she always does. I've also got a fair idea where she might be (either cabana-ing like she'd mentioned, or with Deb), but it suits me a whole lot better to think she hasn't told me her exact whereabouts because I might divulge her location to TMZ or something.

  After I've downed my deli sandwich and watermelon juice, I lie on the couch for a bit and stare at the ceiling, the TV droning on in the background. I try and come up with new and inventive ways of telling my mom about my little audience participation problem and come up with…nothing. There's no good way to tell her. And what I mean by that is there's no way I can tell her that won't see her go out-of-her-mind crazy at me.

  A knock on the door makes me sit bolt upright on the couch. "Who is it?" I say, hoping it's just housekeeping.

  "It's Rory."

  I pause for a second before getting up and going over to the door to let her in. She's changed out of her work clothes and is wearing cut-offs and a tank top. "I've got to show you something," she says, coming inside, and I can see she's got her laptop with her. "Come on," she says, beckoning me over to the couch, and eventually I close the door behind us both and follow her silently. She doesn't say anything about this afternoon, and I open my mouth to say something as I make my way to the couch. Then I think twice and close it again. Rory has enough of her own problems right now.

  "What is it?" I say, looking over the back of the couch.

  "Come and sit down, and I'll show you," Rory says.

  So, I do. I make my way around the couch and sit beside her. "It better be good," I say, still feeling surly about her secret boyfriend.

  "Oh, it is," Rory replies. "I was hanging out in my room for a bit and was trying to think a bit more positively—trying to recapture the old days—and needed to see it again. And I know you've seen it before, but I also know no one loves it more than you." And with that, she passes me the laptop.

  It's Noah. Noah on YouTube doing his famed treadmill dance, and he's up to 1.2 million hits now. I try and keep a straight face as I view it for the umpteenth time (and let's face it, at least half those 1.2 million hits are probably mine), but I can't. Despite my mixed feelings about him right now, I crack the tiniest of smiles when he lands on his backside the first time, suppress a chuckle when he scoots off onto the floor, and hear myself snort when he gets wedged in between his treadmill and the one behind his. But it's the underwear that gets me—when he's pulled out, you can see his yellow underwear through the hole in his tracksuit pants that the still-running treadmill has made out of sheer friction.

  "Yeah, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist that," Rory says, grinning at me.

  "I don't get it, though. Why are you watching this again?" I ask her, settling back into the couch and crossing my legs. "Where's Asher?"

  "At a meeting."

  I snort again now, but it's a different kind of snort. "Like Mom, I guess." There's a moment's silence, which I spend picking at a loose thread on the couch, then I remember something. "You didn't answer the rest of my question—what's with the old days?"

  Rory doesn't reply for a while, and when the pause starts to feel awkward, I stop thread-picking and turn to look at her. "Rory!" I gasp. She's crying.

  "Sorry," she says, "I'm just such a stupid, stupid mess." She wipes at her eyes then takes a deep, shuddery breath.

  Instantly, my inner toddler disappears. "Oh, Rory, don't cry." I scoot over closer to her. Now I feel awful that I've been hiding up out here for hours, not doing what I'm supposed to be here for in the first place—keeping Rory sane. "What can I do?" I say quickly.

  Rory fans her face with one hand, blinking back her tears. After a couple of flicks, she stares at her fingers for a second. "Why do people do that? And why does it help?" She smiles a watery smile.

  "You know," I tell her, "I could help better if I understood what's really going on. I just…" I pause, not knowing how to put this. "No one ever gives me the whole story, Rory."

  I get another watery smile for this.

  "And don't tell me that rhymes," I add, pointing a finger at her. "And don't try and change the subject. That's what I've been sulking about up here. No one ever tells me anything. Not Mom, not you. I don't understand why we have all these secrets. I don't understand why you can't tell me what's going on with the show, or that you're dating Asher Evans. We never had any secrets when we used to jump on the trampoline. Why now?"

  Next to me, Rory sags a little. "I don't know. I guess we, I don't know…grew up."

  I sigh. "Well, that's what Mom says. You're 'transitioning.' Apparently. Ooohhh, scary."

  Rory frowns slightly, sizing me up. "She's right about that. You know, you don't give her enough credit, Thea."

  I sit up straight when I hear this. "I don't give her enough credit?" I laugh a very fake laugh. I've heard that one before from Uncle Erik, but said to Mom, about me. I guess it goes both ways.

  But Rory points a finger at me, cutting in. "Now don't get started. You know I don't agree with the no school thing, no hip hop thing. But there's no denying your mom has been in this business a long time, Thea."

  I sigh. "Yes, yes, I know. So everyone keeps telling me. What does everyone think? That I haven't noticed? I've been following her around my entire life while she works." But as I talk, I start to feel guilty. How can I ask to be treated like a grown-up when I've done something like go behind my mother's back in order to dance on national television?

  Rory takes a deep breath now. "Look, I can't change things between you and your mom, but I can tell you what's going on with me. Properly. I'm not supposed to, but I will. Because I trust you. And because you've come all this way to help me out and you are helping me out. More than you know."

  I lean forward in my seat slightly, urging her on, the word "trust" reverberating in my head for some reason. She trusts me.

  "The show. The changes they've been talking about?"

  "Yes?" I say.

  Rory shakes her head. "It's not going to be G-rated anymore. It's moving on up to PG to fit in with more of the music videos."

  "But that's…huge," I say, my mouth hanging open. I get what Rory is saying right away. SMD has always been a super-clean, family show.

  "I know," Rory replies. "And the bottom line is, I don't want it to change into what they want it to become. It's not what I signed up for. I mean, that's what I always loved about it—that anyone could get into it, from three-year-olds to grandparents. Look at the people we've had in the audience over the past few shows. It's been great. And now…" She exhales loudly. "Ugh, I don't want to sound like a prude, but it's going to turn into some Lycra skin-fest. I mean, here…check this out. This is what my outfit's going to change to." She grabs the laptop again now and spends a moment or two bringing up a file. "Here." She passes it over.

  "Oh, my…" I can't even finish the phrase; my eyes locked on the costume in disbelief. At the moment, the raciest Rory's SMD outfits extend to is a kind of racerback white tank and boyleg bike shorts. And this outfit? It's pretty much bikini bottoms and a tiny crop top. "Are you supposed to dance in that?" I stare at her incredulously, then back at the l
aptop again.

  "Hey, Lady Gaga does it in a lot less, right?" she says with a shrug.

  "Did you tell them you don't like it?" I ask her.

  Rory makes a scrunched-up face, and my eyes widen. "Uh oh. What did you say?" I ask her.

  "I think my inner-Allie came out. I might have asked when they'd be issuing me a pole to dance around and if I'll be allowed to keep the dollar bills audience members will surely be shoving down my thong."

  "Rory!" I laugh.

  "I don't care. I'm over it. It's not going to be about the dancing anymore. It's going to be about being pretty and sexy, rubbing up against things like an animal in heat, and flinging your hair around like an idiot."

  I nod now. "Which is why Sonja's all about picking out the Ingrids in the audience."

  "You got it. I think the kids and the moms and dads and grandparents won't be included anymore. And that's not what I'm about. But because I'm contracted, they're going to make me about that. Like your mom's been saying, things have changed for me. I've changed. And it's time to move on. I'd like to go to college, like Asher, but the show isn't okay with me taking any time off. Basically, we've reached a stalemate. Now we're just waiting for someone to crack—either them, or me."

  I frown as I listen to Rory. "What I don't get, though, is that they have someone to fill your spot—Mara could take your place. She obviously wants to. And there must be thousands of girls who'd love to take her spot once she has yours."

  "But they don't want Mara, they want me. They want a Hartley."

  My cell rings at this point, and I fish it out of my pocket. "It's Mom," I tell Rory, and she motions for me to answer it. "Hi, Mom," I say, answering the call.

  "Are you in the suite?" are her only words.

  "Yes," I say.

  "Good. Stay right there, young lady. I'll be up in one minute." And then she hangs up.

  My eyes glued to Rory's, I slowly remove my cell from my ear and end the call. "She 'young lady'd' me," I say.

  "She knows," Rory states the obvious.

  All I can do is gulp.

  * * *

  I ask Rory to tell Allie that I'm sorry and that everything's fine, and then Rory is out of the suite in a flash. Even before the door opens again and my mom enters, my heart is beating faster than it ever does in one of Anna's killer workouts.

  "Thea?" she calls out, and I hear the door close behind her.

  "In here," I say, from where I'm standing beside the couch. I cross my arms then realize I'm crossing them and uncross them again. Every organ inside my body goes into panic mode. I don't think I've ever been as scared of my mom as I am right now.

  I hear footsteps coming down the entryway, and then my mom appears. For a moment or two, we stand and stare at each other. She looks like she's trying to collect herself before she takes a few more steps, closer toward me and halts again. Which is when it starts—she begins shaking her head in disbelief. Softly at first and then harder as her eyes watch me, narrowed.

  "What on earth did you think you were doing?" she finally says, quite loudly.

  I open my mouth, not knowing if she expects an answer here, or if this is a rhetorical question. I guess she doesn't expect an answer, because before I can say anything, she keeps going.

  "You're all over the entertainment news. All over it! The 'other Hartley' they're calling you. What do you think of that? Hmmm?"

  I open my mouth again, wondering if I should speak or not. No, probably best not to. When I don't, my mom shakes her head one last time before starting to pace back and forth in front of me from the dining room to the bar. As she goes, I try and think of a time I've seen her angrier than this and can't come up with anything. This isn't good. I'm off to military school for sure. That's if I make it through this, because my heart's currently beating so fast, it might wear out before we're done here.

  "Anything could have happened, Thea. Anything! I wasn't there, Erik wasn't there, and the SMD people aren't there to watch out for you. Have you forgotten how someone tried to snatch Eva Norton's son just last month?"

  Eva Norton was an actress Mom worked with last year. "Come on, Mom, be fair." I have to speak up now. "That was in Colombia, not Las Vegas. And her son is six or something."

  Mom stops on the spot now and turns toward me slowly. "You're asking me to be fair? Me! I brought you on this trip on the condition you would do the right thing, Thea. And so far, you have done nothing but go behind my back and actively seek out the attention of the media. We've been away from home for less than three days, and you've managed to star on TMZ on TV twice, in several tabloids, and on Entertainment Tonight. I should have known. I should have known it would only go downhill after what happened at the airport. I should have turned us right around and gone home."

  My mouth drops open again, but this time I find the words I need and I say them, too. "Are you serious? Like I'm supposed to be able to help it if the paparazzi are waiting for you at the airport? What am I supposed to be able to do about that?"

  "Perhaps not enjoy it quite so much?" Mom gives me a pointed look. "Ugh." She shakes her head in disgust again. "I cannot believe I found out about this on Entertainment Tonight. And that's what that woman was talking about this afternoon, too, wasn't it? The one who approached us at lunch..."

  Now I do feel bad. "I've been trying to tell you…" I start.

  "There shouldn't be anything to tell me, Thea."

  "I know, I just…" I want to tell her how things played out. That I wasn't trying to hurt her. That I simply wanted to dance with Noah so much. That for a few blissful minutes, I wanted it to be me up there, living my dream. But Mom cuts in again.

  "There's no excuse for it, Thea, none."

  "I—"

  She puts a hand up now. "No, I don't want to hear it."

  It's when my mom says this that something changes inside me. I'd been feeling bad that I hadn't told her, but now I see that it wouldn't have made a difference if I'd done the adult thing and confessed anyway. Because she's hardly listening to me here, is she? Even if I knew the perfect words and phrases to string together to make my case, however I tried to explain myself, she wouldn't hear me. She never does.

  On realizing this, just like I'd experienced this afternoon, backstage at the SMD show, that little spout of anger rises up inside me again. I'd plugged it successfully this afternoon, but now, with my mom confronting me, I can't seem to do that. It erupts and overflows. "Well, that's no great surprise. After all, you never want to hear my side of things, do you?"

  Mom's eyes move swiftly to mine. She looks shocked. "What was that?"

  I try and stop myself, but it's too late to turn back now. "I'm trying to tell you something. I've been trying since it happened. Since I got up on that stage. But I can't. Because you never listen to me. Never!"

  My mom cuts me off. "Oh, no. Don't you make this about me. This is all on you. All of it."

  "Is it? Is it really?" My anger explodes now. "I mean, you're talking about how unfair it is to find out things through Entertainment Tonight. How about last year when I found out we were going to New Zealand for six months? Remember how I found that out?"

  Across from me, my mom's jaw sets in a hard line.

  I answer for her. "Funny, but I found that out on Entertainment Tonight as well!"

  "That was entirely different," my mom pipes up now. "That information was leaked."

  "Well, it should have been leaked to me first, Mom. From you!"

  She shakes her head again at this. Yet another "no" from my mother. No, Thea, you can't do this. No, Thea, you can't do that. No, Thea, you're not even allowed to speak. To exist! No, no, no.

  Frankly, I'm tired of hearing no. For once, just once, my mother can listen to me. Adrenaline surging through my body, I try and piece together my argument. What I want her to finally hear from me.

  "Okay, look, I'm sorry that it happened this way," I start, before taking a deep breath, because I'm going to need it for what's coming next. "I know I sh
ould be careful. And I am careful, usually. But the bottom line is, I don't see what's so wrong about what I did, either. I got up on a stage and danced, Mom. That's all. Because I love dancing. Because Noah asked me. Because I wanted to so badly I couldn't say no. And I didn't do it because of you. I did it because of me. Because I wanted to. For five minutes, I got to be a Hartley too. And I know that you hate that I'm one. I know that you can't stand it that I'm like everyone else in this family. But just for once, I wanted things to be about me and what I want. Because it's always about you. You, you, you. But I'm here, Mom. And I exist. And I have things I want and need and dream about. And the truth is…" I pause for a second, getting up the inner courage to tell my mom what I've wanted to tell her for a long time. "I'm tired of my life being defined by who you are and not by who I am."

  -

  24 -

  After I deliver my speech, I stand back and wait for the aftershocks. I expect one of two things to happen—either my mom will go off her nut and we'll have an all-out screaming match, or she'll say nothing, grab me by the ear, and we'll be in a cab and on the next plane out of here to the safety of secluded Tasmania.

  Neither of those things happens.

  What happens is much, much worse.

  In front of me, my mom goes white as a sheet, and her right hand comes up to her chest, her palm landing over her heart. Then she kind of takes this shuddery breath in, as if she can't get enough air.

  OMG. My face falls as I watch her.

  I've given my mother a heart attack.

  "Mom!" I race over and pull out a chair from the dining table. I grab her elbow. "Mom! Sit down!" I shuffle her over until she's beside the chair and then sit her down slowly. As I stand over her, I'm torn as to what to do next. Call 911? The hotel doctor? Uncle Erik? Dad? Get a glass of water?