by Meg Cabot
“No,” I said. “You are.”
“No,” Sophie said. “You are.”
“No,” I said. “You are.”
“No,” she said. “You are.”
“Would you two cut it out?” Rosemary said. “You’re making me dizzy.”
So it turned out Uncle Jay had gotten it exactly right. Sophie wasn’t mad. It really was may the best man (or woman) win in the theater.
And now it was up to Mrs. Hunter. All of us hoped she wouldn’t give the role of Princess Penelope to Cheyenne. But it was kind of hard to believe she wasn’t at least considering it.
“I mean, she brought a head shot and résumé,” Sophie said as we walked home from school that day. “And she cried. She actually cried. Those were real tears. You know, she could make herself sick getting worked up that way.”
We agreed. We all remembered the tears. It was kind of hard to forget them. Cheyenne hadn’t let us, for one thing. She’d brought them up multiple times throughout the day.
“I learned that technique when I was in Anne of Green Gables,” she’d explained during the afternoon to anyone who would listen. “The director told me to think of the saddest thing that ever happened to me. So I always think of the time my mom told me she’d take me and all my friends to see the Jonas Brothers in concert for my birthday. But she didn’t buy the tickets on time, and they sold out. So I had to take my friends to Beauty and the Beast on Ice instead. It was the most embarrassing thing ever. I didn’t speak to her for a month. Whenever I think about it, my eyes fill up. See? They’re doing it now.”
We looked, and it was true. Cheyenne could make herself cry at will just by thinking about how she’d missed out on seeing the Jonas Brothers in concert on her birthday.
“I should have cried,” Sophie said with a sigh.
“No,” Caroline said. “You were good! Don’t beat yourself up.”
“You were the best,” Erica said. Then she quickly corrected herself. “You and Allie were both the best Penelopes. Totally different, but the best. It will be hard for Mrs. Hunter to decide. I’m glad I’m not her!”
Except I didn’t think it was going to be hard for Mrs. Hunter to decide at all. Because I had something neither Sophie nor Cheyenne had—a mom who was on the show Good News! Not that this had anything to do with how well I was going to portray the part of Princess Penelope!
It’s just that my mom reviewed things. Such as movies. So why not plays?
And wouldn’t Mrs. Hunter want her play reviewed on TV?
I wasn’t about to point this out to Sophie or Erica or Caroline. I wasn’t going to be a braggart about it. It was just a fact. When my mom made her debut that night on Good News! and Mrs. Hunter saw it—and I knew she’d be watching, because I’d casually mentioned to her while we were lining up for recess that my mom would be on. Just a “Hey, Mrs. Hunter? Guess what?” kind of thing—then Mrs. Hunter might be more inclined to give me the part.
I knew it wasn’t exactly fair. But were Sophie’s gorgeous brown eyes and hair fair? Had Cheyenne’s head shot and résumé been fair? Or her using her tragic Jonas Brothers incident to make herself cry?
There’s nothing fair about life on the stage. It’s cutthroat, like Uncle Jay had said. If you want to get anywhere, you can’t play by the rules.
And that’s a rule.
RULE #6
Friends Try to Make Friends Feel Better
In honor of her television debut, my mom was having a little party at our house. She had invited Erica’s family, including Erica’s big sister, Missy, and older brother, John, and my uncle Jay and his girlfriend, Harmony. They all showed up right before dinner, because Good News! is on at seven. Dad was serving his championship chili, along with nachos and a specialty drink for the adults in a funny glass shaped like a cactus. Us kids got to drink plain old juice.
“To Liz’s debut,” the adults kept saying as they clinked their glasses. Then they laughed like crazy.
Harmony was super impressed by Mom’s new job. She’s studying to be a journalist at the same college where Mom and Dad work and where Uncle Jay goes. She’s a big fan, it turns out, of Good News!
“Have you gotten to meet Lynn Martinez?” Harmony asked Mom. Lynn Martinez is the main host of Good News!
“Yes,” Mom said. “She’s very nice.”
“I’ll bet,” Harmony said. “Do you think you could get me an internship there with her this summer?”
“Uh,” Mom said, “maybe. I’ll ask.”
“Thanks. It would mean so much,” Harmony said.
“This is so exciting,” Erica kept saying as we shoveled nachos in our mouths (mine didn’t have any salsa on them, though, because of my rule about not eating anything red). “Aren’t you excited, Allie?”
“I’m totally excited,” I said. Everyone was excited, except for Erica’s sister, Missy, who wouldn’t stop texting her friends, and her brother, John, who was playing indoor football upstairs with Mark (I could tell from all the thumping, although my mom hadn’t figured it out yet).
“Aren’t you excited, Missy?” Erica asked her sister.
“Yeah,” Missy said, not sounding excited at all. She didn’t look up from her cell phone’s keypad. “I’m so excited I could just die.”
“She doesn’t mean it,” Erica told me apologetically. “She’s really excited. Living next door to you is like living next door to a movie star.”
“I know,” I said. I mean, I didn’t want to sound like a braggart. But it was true.
“Hey, everyone, she’s on, she’s on,” Mrs. Harrington, who was more excited than anyone, called from the TV room. So we all ran in there.
And there was my mom, on TV!
It’s amazing to see your own mom, someone you’ve known your whole life, practically, on a famous TV show. She looked so great, and not nervous at all. It was hard to hear what she was saying, because everyone was screaming so loud, but I think mostly she was saying not to go see Requiem for a Somnambulist, and why.
“If you’re looking for a preachy, pretentious snorefest of a film on which to waste ten dollars and fifty cents, I could not recommend Requiem for a Somnambulist more,” Mom said, smiling into the camera. “Or you could just save your money and stay home and watch Good News! instead.”
The minute she appeared on the TV screen, my real-life mom went, “Oh, no!” and put both hands over her mouth.
“What’s wrong, Liz?” Dad asked, laughing. “You look great.”
“You look fantastic, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Harrington said. “That’s a great color on you.”
“I picked it out for her,” Kevin said, all proudly.
But Mom still looked upset. “They have no budget for a makeup artist,” she said. “So I did my own. Lynn kept saying to be sure to use a heavy hand because the lights really wash people out, but I had no idea—”
“You look really pretty, Mom,” I said.
But Mom just said, “Where are my eyelashes? I look like a rabbit.”
“You don’t look like a rabbit, Mom,” I said, peering at the TV. In no way did my mom look like a rabbit. Besides, even if she did, wouldn’t that be a good thing? Rabbits are cute and cuddly and everyone loves them. Even if they do poop in your hand.
“Ha,” Missy said, looking up from her cell phone keypad. “You do kind of look like a rabbit, Mrs. F.”
John and Mark had come down to the TV room to join us. John started laughing.
“John Junior! Melissa Ann!” Mrs. Harrington said. “Do you want to go home right now?”
“Yes,” Missy said.
“Ignore her, Elizabeth,” Mr. Harrington said. “You looked great. And thanks to you, I’ll be telling everyone in my office not to see Requiem for a Somnambulist, based on your advice.”
Uncle Jay brought Mom another specialty drink. He said, “Here’s to the star!”
Mom drank her specialty drink in practically one gulp. “I think I’m going to step outside for a minute for a breath of fresh air.�
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The phone started ringing, so Kevin ran to answer it. “Hello, this is Kevin Finkle speaking,” he said. All of us kids were supposed to answer the phone that way (only I said, “This is Allie Finkle speaking,” and Mark said, “This is Mark Finkle speaking.” It is a rule).
“Mom,” Kevin yelled after he’d hung up, “that was Mrs. Hauser. She says to tell you she just saw you on TV and you looked really great!”
“Fantastic,” Mom said. Only she didn’t sound like she actually thought it was too fantastic.
“Now, Liz,” Dad said. “You’re overreacting.”
“Am I, Tom?” Mom asked him. “Am I, really?”
The phone rang again. Kevin ran to get it. “This is Kevin Finkle speaking.”
“Allie,” he called after a moment, “it’s Caroline.”
Erica and I ran to the phone.
“Hello?” I said, holding the receiver so Erica could listen in, too.
“Oh, my gosh, Allie,” Caroline cried. “We just saw your mom—”
“I’m here, too, Allie, I’m over at Caroline’s on the extension,” Sophie cried.
“—and she was so funny,” Caroline said.
“And she looked so pretty!” Sophie said.
“She thinks she looked like a rabbit,” I said.
“Why would she think that?” Caroline asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “She just does.”
“She didn’t look anything like a rabbit. She looked totally beautiful,” Sophie said. “I called my mom, and she thought so, too. Plus, she thought the stuff she said about that movie was hilarious.”
“My dad thought so, too,” Caroline said. “He was laughing. Wasn’t he, Sophie?”
“He was,” Sophie said.
“That’s good,” I said. “I’ll tell my mom.”
“So, see you at the stop sign tomorrow?” Caroline said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I’m so nervous about the play,” Sophie said. “I’m so nervous I can’t eat. My mom is worried I’m giving myself an ulcer. I’m really scared Cheyenne is going to get the part of Princess Penelope.”
“She won’t,” Erica said.
“She won’t,” I echoed, even though I had no way of knowing that for sure. Still, friends try to make friends feel better. That’s a rule. “She’s too big a crybaby.”
“Maybe Princess Penelope is supposed to be a crybaby,” Sophie said.
“No,” I said. “Princesses aren’t supposed to cry. Princesses are strong. They have to be, for the lightbulb fairies and transportation elves they’re supposed to protect.”
“Oh,” Sophie said. “I never thought of that.”
The call waiting went off. “That’s the other line,” I said. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” Caroline said. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow,” I said, and hung up. “This is Allie Finkle speaking,” I said to whoever was on the other line.
“Hello, Allie Finkle,” said a lady. “This is your mother’s friend Joyce from work. Is she there? I’d like to tell her what a great job she did on Good News! just now.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll go get her.”
So. It was starting. Basically, my mom’s first TV appearance had ended only five minutes ago, and she was already a celebrity! My dramatic life change was about to begin.
Sure, after everyone went home, my dad made me help him fill the dishwasher.
But I didn’t mind because soon, I knew, we’d have a housekeeper to do all that, just like Mary Kay Shiner. Maybe even a butler. I mean, the family of a big TV star couldn’t be expected to empty and fill their own dishwasher! That would just be ridiculous. After this week, I’d probably never have to do a single chore again.
It was really hard to sleep that night. For one thing, Mewsie was still so excited from the party (he loved having company) that he kept bouncing around my room, batting his catnip ball back and forth. It was really, really annoying, but he was still too little to let outside—especially at night.
Plus, I couldn’t stop thinking about my new life as the daughter of a TV star. When I got to school, probably the kids were going to swarm all over me and stuff. It was going to be really hard to sign all those autographs without getting a wrist cramp, but I was just going to have to try. I didn’t want them to think I was a snob like Cheyenne!
Then there was the part where I was maybe—probably—going to get the role of Princess Penelope. This would obviously make people even more jealous of me. I mean, if it happened. Which it might not. But it probably would. I was going to have to be very sympathetic to Sophie when she started crying because she didn’t get the part of Princess Penelope.
I wouldn’t be at all sympathetic to Cheyenne, though. Because I didn’t care about her at all.
Even though I thought I’d never fall asleep, I must have, because I woke up the next morning to find Mewsie massaging my hair and making tangles out of it, as usual. I carefully untangled his claws and got dressed, putting on my best purple leggings and jean skirt, my high-tops and my most colorful hoodie. I knew it was important to look good for my first day as a TV star’s daughter, and as the star of my class play…but not too good. I really didn’t want people to think I was a snob.
Because that’s what happens when you’re a star, and all. Most people love you.
But some people can’t rise above their jealousy. They warn about stuff like this all the time in Missy’s teen magazines.
When Erica came to pick me up to walk me to school, she didn’t seem to notice how carefully I’d picked out my clothes, or the beautiful styling job I’d done on my hair, using many multicolored sparkle clips.
But that was okay. I realized it was just because I’d been so subtle about it.
And when we got to the stop sign, Caroline and Sophie didn’t notice, either. That was okay, too.
“Allie,” Caroline said, instead of saying anything about my new look, “your mom was so good last night.”
“And she looked so pretty,” Sophie said.
“I know,” Erica said. “Didn’t she? I didn’t think she looked like a rabbit at all.”
“I wonder how many people saw her,” I said. That wasn’t really what I wanted to know, though. What I really wanted to know was if Mrs. Hunter had seen her and been so impressed by all the fine actresses in my family that she had decided to give me the part of Princess Penelope.
“Probably the whole town saw her,” Erica said.
“Everyone who wasn’t watching Entertainment Tonight,” Caroline said.
“No one watches that show,” Sophie said scornfully. “It’s boring.”
“Missy watches it,” Erica said. “She always wants to find out what her favorite teen sensations are up to.”
“Oh, well,” Sophie said. “Missy.” And she rolled her eyes.
We were at school by then, and Kevin, bursting with the desire to spread the news about our mom to the kindergarten set, dropped Erica’s and Caroline’s hands and went running toward the jungle gym, screaming, “My mom was on TV last night!”
Cringing with embarrassment, I looked around for somewhere to hide. But it was too late. Some fifth-grade girls, who always keep an eye out for Kevin’s arrival to see what extraordinary outfit he might have on, came up to me right away. One of them, who had red hair pulled back in Hello Kitty barrettes, asked, “What’s he talking about?”
“Oh,” I said. This so wasn’t happening how I’d pictured it. Where was my long white stretch limo? And where were my bodyguards to protect me from the paparazzi? “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” Sophie said excitedly. “Her mom is the new film reviewer on Good News! She was on last night. She called that new movie Requiem for a Somnambu-whatsit a preachy, pretentious snoozefest.”
The red-haired fifth-grader looked surprised.
“That was your mom?” she said. She called across the playground to another group of fifth-grade girls. “Hey, Katie! Guess
what? The little pirate kid’s mom is the new film reviewer for Good News!”
The fifth-grader she was calling to stopped texting and ran over to where we were standing. The friends she’d been with put away their cell phones and came running over as well.
“No way,” Katie said to me. “That was your mom?”
“Yeah,” I said. I couldn’t believe all these fifth-graders were actually talking to me. And for once, it had nothing to do with my brother showing up at school in a funny costume.
“That’s really cool,” a fifth-grade girl in a pair of jeans with rhinestones on them said. “What movie is she going to do next?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening. I was becoming famous. And I hadn’t even been kidnapped by aliens or cast as Princess Penelope yet!
“What’s going on over here?” someone wanted to know, and we all looked around to see Cheyenne and her friends M and D approaching. Cheyenne looked mad. Why did she look so mad? Had Mrs. Hunter told her who’d gotten the part of Princess Penelope already, and it hadn’t been her? But how could she? School hadn’t even started yet.
“This girl’s mom is the new film reviewer on Good News!” the red-haired fifth-grader told Cheyenne, pointing at me.
Cheyenne looked at me and sneered. “So? I’ve never even heard of that show.”
Caroline and Sophie and Erica and I all looked at one another. Who had never even heard of Good News!? It was, like, the most famous show in our town ever.
You could tell the fifth-grade girls all felt the same way, since they started laughing. Only not with Cheyenne. At her.
“You’ve never heard of Good News!?” the girl in the rhinestone jeans said. “It’s only the most popular show in our whole town. What’s wrong with you?”
Cheyenne’s face turned a funny color of pink. The thing is, the fifth-grade girls are the coolest girls in our school. Getting made fun of by them is the worst. It’s almost as bad as getting made fun of by Cheyenne.
“Well,” Cheyenne said, sticking out her pointy chin, “I’m from Canada. We don’t have that show there.”
“Well, you live here now, don’t you?” the red-haired fifth-grader asked. “You better start watching it, if you want to know what’s going on.”
