Likely Story!

by David Levithan

  “Look,” I said, “you got really far in the audition. I’m sure there will be another part—”

  “I don’t want another part! I want Sarah!”

  Amelia was really crying now.

  “This was supposed to be my big break, Mallory,” she went on. “And you’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined it all!”

  “It wasn’t me!” I protested.

  “Yes it was. I can see it on your face. The guilt, Mallory. You can’t hide the guilt.”

  And she couldn’t hide the fact that she was turning on me. The sadness was turning into anger … and I was the target.

  “Why’d you get my hopes up, Mallory?” she asked. “Why’d you even bother? If you knew all along I wouldn’t get the part, why have me humiliate myself by trying?”

  “I didn’t always know what would happen.”

  “Only when I auditioned, huh? Only when you saw how bad I was.”

  “You weren’t bad! It’s just that Alexis was …”

  “Better. That’s the word you’re looking for, Mallory. Better.”

  “It’s not like that—”

  “Then what’s it like, Mallory? How ’bout this? You always get your way, and this time I was in the way of your way. It had to be about you. You can’t act, but you still had to be the star. You act like you’re boy poison, but you still have to be the one who gets Dallas.”

  Dallas?

  “Dallas has nothing to do with this,” I said.

  “Sure,” Amelia said. “I’m sure the fact that he and I had so much chemistry didn’t bother you at all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Amelia actually laughed. “You’re so transparent,” she said, getting a little closer, in my face. “You saw you had competition and you eliminated it.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” I said, taking a step back. “You’re my best friend!”

  “Mallory,” she replied coldly, “I’m your only friend. And this is how you treat me!”

  She stepped forward again, and I stepped back again. I wasn’t thinking about it. I didn’t notice that I was at the edge of the pool.

  “I wanted you to get the part!” I cried.

  “You’ve wrecked everything,” Amelia shouted.

  Then she stepped forward again.

  And I stepped back.

  Right into the pool.

  For a second I didn’t know what had happened. Then I was in the pool, feeling the shock of water, pushing myself back up, surfacing.

  Amelia was just staring at me, sad and angry at the same time. And it was me saying the words that she should have been saying: “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  “I’m not sure you’re sorry now,” she replied. “But you will be. You’re going to be very sorry.”

  “Don’t!” I pleaded. I was standing up in the pool now, completely soaked. I should have gone to the side and pulled myself out, but I was genuinely afraid that Amelia would just kick me back in.

  “I have to go now, Mallory. I have to go and call every single one of my friends and tell them that I didn’t get the part that I told them I’d gotten. I have to tell my parents that my good friend Mallory sold me out for some other actress, and that the contract I signed and all the money it promised were complete lies. You always said it was our show, Mallory—our show. But it was always yours, wasn’t it? Well, I hope you had fun using me. I have to tell you, you’re really good at it. I never would have suspected that you’d do this to me at the end.”

  “I didn’t mean to!” I told her.

  “I should’ve known,” Amelia said, going for one last stab. “You’re your mother’s daughter, through and through. You’re just like her.”

  And with that she stormed back inside. Leaving me shivering in the pool.

  I wanted to chase after her. I wanted to explain to her what had happened. But I realized there was no way to do that without telling her over and over how she really wasn’t good enough. Which wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She had her own story to believe.

  She wasn’t a good enough actress.

  And I wasn’t a good enough friend.

  That’s what hurt the most: the truth of it. I had failed her. And now, it seemed, everything that I’d feared was going to come true.

  I grabbed a towel out of the cabana and tried to dry myself off. I could hear my phone ringing in my bag.

  “Hello,” I said after fishing it out.

  “Where are you?” Richard asked. “We’re starting in twenty minutes. I wanted to talk to you before.”

  “I’m coming,” I said.

  “Don’t be late,” he warned. Then he hung up.

  I walked back in the house. I went up to Amelia’s room and knocked on the closed door.

  “Go away!” she shouted.

  “Come on, Amelia. Can’t we just talk?”

  “I said GO AWAY!”

  Her voice was tear-clogged, and I would have done anything to unclog it. But clearly I wasn’t going to make it past the door.

  “Okay,” I said gently. “But can we talk later?”

  “NOT LIKELY!” she screamed.

  I stayed there a minute longer, but all I could sense was her waiting for me to leave.

  I knew I was totally late for what might be the biggest meeting of my life. It would take too long to call a cab. And there was no way to get Richard to send a studio car, since he thought I was already on my way.

  I was at the front door when I realized what I had to do.

  “Jake,” I said, heading back to the living room and standing in front of the TV so he couldn’t see his video game, “I need you to give me a ride.”

  He hit PAUSE.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You ruined my sister’s life, and you want a ride?!?”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “Awesome!” he shouted. “Let’s go.”

  It was not exactly a comfortable silence in the car.

  “If you need to dry out those clothes,” Jake said, “feel free to take ’em off and hold ’em out the window.”

  “No thanks,” I replied.

  My phone kept ringing. First it was Richard, and I didn’t pick up. Then it was Keith, and I really didn’t pick up. Once. Twice. Thrice.

  “So,” Jake said, “do you think I could get a part on your show? That would really kill Amelia.”

  I wrung the bottom of my shirt out on his car’s upholstery.

  When we got closer to the studio, Jake became more of a daredevil driver. I wasn’t sure he was the particular devil that I wanted to dare, but I had to admit: The crazier he drove, the more likely it was that I wouldn’t miss the meeting.

  I tried to get Amelia out of my mind. I wanted to believe that it would all blow over and that eventually she’d realize that I’d done the right thing.

  But mostly I was feeling that would never happen. I’d seen a side of Amelia just now that I’d never seen before—fully vindictive, completely unforgiving. And now that I’d seen it, I couldn’t take it out of my image of her. Once it was there, it would always be there.

  “I totally just lost my best friend,” I said out loud.

  “I’ll be your new best friend,” Jake offered.

  “Not what I was looking for,” I told him.

  “Offer’s good for another two minutes, or until we hit that traffic light.”

  More calls from Richard. A text asking me where I was.

  And then we were at the studio, making it through the gates. Despite the pulsing dread that seemed to fill every ounce of available space in my body, I also felt a good amount of relief.

  “Here we go,” Jake said, pulling over in a handicapped space by the building where I needed to be.

  I unbuckled my seat belt.

  “How can I thank you?” I asked.

  “Like this,” he said. Then he leaned over and kissed me. Hard.

  “WHOA!” I shouted, pulling away. “Whoa whoa whoa!”

  He grinned mischievously and s
aid, “I can’t wait to tell Amelia you did that.”

  “Evil!” I cried out. “You’re evil!”

  His grin grew wider. “We all have our calling,” he said.

  I jumped out of the car and slammed the door. I could tell he was laughing now, and I was going to leave him to it.

  My phone rang with another text. Figuring it was from Richard and that I could text him back now, I took a look.

  It wasn’t from Richard. It was from Keith. And it had meant enough to him that he hadn’t abbreviated a single word.

  MALLORY—I HAVE FINALLY DONE IT. I HAVE

  BROKEN UP WITH ERIKA. SHE AND I ARE

  HISTORY. YOU AND I ARE HOPEFULLY THE

  FUTURE. IT IS OVER WITH HER. I AM PRAYING

  IT IS NOT OVER WITH YOU. I MISS YOU MORE

  THAN I WOULD MISS THE OCEAN OR THE

  SUN. WHICH IS A LOT. CAN WE TRY AGAIN?

  THERE IS ONLY YOU NOW. ONLY US.

  LOVE, KEITH

  “There you are!” someone yelled. I looked up from my phone, still a little in shock, and saw Greg. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said. “They’ve just started.”

  I let him lead me forward, through the hallways. He didn’t say anything about my wet clothes. He didn’t even seem to notice.

  I was letting myself go along with it all. But when we got close to the room and Greg said, “They’re all in there,” my legs wouldn’t move.

  “Mallory?” he asked.

  “I can’t,” I said.

  At first he looked panicked—not for me but for himself. His job was to get me to that meeting, and I was going to mess that all up. But then he took a real look at me. Saw me.

  “Nothing makes sense,” I said.

  Gently, he put his hand on my shoulder.

  “You have to pretend it makes sense,” he told me. “They don’t really know anything, either. It’s all a matter of presentation.”

  I didn’t tell him that the first time I’d ever seen him, he’d looked out of place in his suit. I didn’t tell him that he was probably like me—in way over his head, dealing with adults who may or may not have his best interests at heart.

  Instead I said to him, “When this is all over, can we be friends? Because I really need friends.”

  He smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and releasing it. “I’d better get in there before we both get fired.”

  It’s all a matter of presentation, I thought. And then I walked in.

  “There she is!” Trip Carver called.

  All eyes in the boardroom turned to me.

  A matter of presentation.

  “Wet is the new dry,” I said, laughing about my clothes. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Richard had saved me a seat near him, but there was also an empty chair next to Trip.

  I took that one.

  “What’s the story?” I asked Trip. Casual. Totally secure. Letting everyone else in the room remember: This guy used to be my stepdad.

  “We’re just talking about casting.”

  I looked at Richard, then at Annie.

  “Alexis Randall for Sarah, Francesca Moore for Jacqueline, and, of course, Dallas Grant for Ryan,” I said. “Any questions?”

  Richard looked relieved.

  “No,” Trip said. “Those were our choices as well. I’m glad we’re all in agreement. That must mean something, since getting a room of executives to agree on anything is like trying to get an alligator to mate with a shark.”

  I had to bottle up all the nervous stress laughter at that one. If I start letting anything out, I thought, I might never stop.

  Trip was now talking about how everyone was feeling really good about the script and the casting and the budget and the sets. Then the other network VPs chimed in about how great they thought it was, blah blah blah. I knew it was very important to be listening, but my mind was full of newsflashes.

  NEWSFLASH: KEITH BROKE UP WITH ERIKA!

  NEWSFLASH: AMELIA IS NO LONGER YOUR FRIEND!

  NEWSFLASH: HER BROTHER KISSED YOU!

  I looked over at Richard, and he seemed … uneasy.

  BREAKING NEWSFLASH: SOMETHING ELSE IS GOING ON!

  One of the VPs was talking about “a great opportunity”—and I’d missed what the opportunity was.

  “As I’ve told you all along,” Richard spoke up, “I agree that broadening our demographics is a brilliant idea.”

  “Well then—the show is a go,” Trip Carver said. “On one condition.”

  One condition?

  “What’s that?” I asked, trying to pretend that everything made sense.

  “As you have probably figured out, we are hoping to give Likely Story the time slot that Good As Gold occupies, now that Good As Gold is going to be canceled. And Stu Eisenhorn had an idea—well, I think it’s a brilliant idea. We’ve all discussed it, and we think it’s just the thing to get Likely Story off the ground.”

  I turned to Richard. Clearly he knew what was going on. But he wouldn’t meet my eye.

  Trip continued. “We love Alexis, Francesca, and Dallas, and believe you’ve clearly found three stars who can take soaps far into the future. But that doesn’t mean we have to ignore the past entirely. We can have it all—a show for adults and teens. A show for today and tomorrow. A show for mothers and daughters.”

  Trip stood up from the table and walked to the door.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I am proud to present you with the fourth star of Likely Story!”

  And with that introduction, before I could even get a word out, my mother walked into the room.

  “Every princess deserves to have a queen!” she purred.

  Everyone burst into applause. Everyone but me. In that split second when all eyes were on her, I had to figure out a way to react.

  There was no question about it: I’d been betrayed. I was shocked. Outraged. Indignant. Burning mad.

  But I knew I couldn’t let anyone see that.

  This was a test. Perhaps the test.

  I would not think about my mother. I would not think about how long she must’ve known that this was going to happen. I would not think about how she was behind the ambush.

  Instead I thought about Gina.

  Gina, who’d always been so nice to me. Gina, who hugged and supported me even when my mother didn’t. Gina, whose show was about to be canceled and who would need a new job on a new show.

  I could save her.

  If Good As Gold was sinking, I could save as many people as possible. I could bring them all over to Likely Story.

  The only hitch was that my mother would be in the lifeboat, too.

  I looked over at Trip Carver. He was watching me. Challenging me. Seeing how I would react.

  You can’t throw me, I thought. I’ll show you how much I’ve learned.

  I put a big smile on my face—big enough to seem genuinely thrilled but not so big as to seem sarcastic. I walked over to my mother with open arms.

  I am not an actress. But if there’s one role I’ve been taught how to play, it’s The Loving Daughter.

  She was still basking in their applause. Then she saw me coming—and, I swear, for a moment there was fear in her eyes. I was suddenly unpredictable.

  That’s right, I thought. Keep that fear there. You’re going to need it.

  To keep the show, I’d play their game. And I’d win.

  I hugged her then like I’d never hugged her before.

  Then, loud enough so everyone could hear, I proclaimed:

  “Mom! Welcome to my show!”

  BOOK TWO

  I have a confession to make: My life is not nearly as glamorous as it might seem. Or as easy.

  If I say, “I’m a sixteen-year-old girl who gets to run her own soap opera on network TV,” it should mean big parties, great shoes, famous friends, and cash coming out of fountains.

  The reality? TV seems a whole lot different when you’re up at the crack of da
wn making it. Famous doesn’t look so sexy at 6 a.m.

  Do you know what the world record for thinking I have no idea what I’m doing is? I think it’s two million times in a single day. Which was pretty much a typical day for me as my show, Likely Story, came to life.

  My skin tone had turned mortician-ready from all the time I spent untanning under fluorescent lights. Southern California living usually allows for plenty of sun; it gives the city populace its opulent glow. But the only color I had came from the sequoia-worthy rings under my eyes. I should have been able to deal with it. After all, I’d grown up on a soap opera set, the daughter of a Daytime Star. But it’s one thing to be the little girl making lipstick drawings on the makeup table while her mother is twenty feet away, bitch-slapping a nun for stealing her husband. It’s quite another thing to be the one responsible for every bitch slap, betrayal, and love quadrangle.

  I needed a break from all the drama.

  Finally I finagled a night off, despite my executive producer Richard’s objections that there was still work to be done. One thing I’d learned quickly was that there was always work to be done, and if I wanted time off, I had to demand it. Or I had to sneak away.

  There was no question about who I’d spend my freedom with. For reasons that weren’t entirely clear, my ridiculously understanding boyfriend, Keith, had stuck with me even though I now spent much more time alone in my room writing about kissing than I did … well … kissing. So a big date was long overdue. While most guys would have used this as an opportunity to make a reservation at the closest cozy couch, Keith was taking me out for a special night at the movies. One of my favorite classics—Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, starring Liz Taylor and Paul Newman as a Southern couple whose marriage is slowly eaten away by the secret that they harbor. (One of them is in love with another man. Guess which.) My mother had gotten me hooked on the movie years ago, while she was researching her role as Liz Taylor in the Lifetime Original Movie A Diamond Cuts Both Ways: The Nine Lives and Seven Loves of Elizabeth Taylor. It was not a memorable MOW (that’s Movie of the Week in biz speak) and did not serve as the launching pad to the greater cable success my mother had been hoping for. It had, however, instilled in me an early love for the weepy but wonderful women drawn by that maestro of melodrama, Tennessee Williams. I had been looking forward to the movie all week. There was only one problem: As much as I loved Tennessee Williams and Liz Taylor and Keith and the idea of going out on a date, I loved sleep even more. And as much as I’d been neglecting Keith, I’d been neglecting sleep even more.