Is it weird that I’m jealous of an almost middle-aged woman?
“Of course I don’t mind.” I glance at Ransom, sitting across from me in his black tuxedo. He’s rocked it out as much as possible—black on black, top two buttons undone, sunglasses hanging from his lapel. But watching his guitar pick seamlessly flow from one knuckle to the next, I can tell he’s as jazzed about this public foray as I am. “We’re glad to help.”
My brother snorts under his breath. We still haven’t gotten a chance to talk, really talk without our mom or camera-toting vermin listening in, but it’s on my to-do list tonight. He’s the one person out of all of this that may just understand. He’s in the muck of it as much as I am. And the more time we spend together, the more this feeling of connection grows. Not the same kind I felt when I first saw Lucas, as if the universe was pointing in flashing neon, saying, “Look here! This guy is for you.” This feeling is gentler, easier, sisterly. But no less real.
Caterina releases a relieved breath. “Good, I’m glad. I know this scene can be crazy at times. Living in a fish bowl. But it’s really not all that bad.” Reaching over, she takes my hand in hers. “Just be yourself out there, and you’ll be fabulous. You’re a natural, and they are going to love you.”
It’s as close as my mom has ever come to telling me the L word. A well of emotion builds in my sinuses, and I’m this close to ruining my makeup. I squeeze her hand, a wide smile breaking across my face, and say, “Thanks, Mom.”
Her answering wink is so full of life and affection, I want to capture it on canvas and stare at it forever.
Then the limo rolls to a stop, and she tugs her phone out of her clutch. We’re behind a few cars, but that doesn’t stop the crowd from noticing us. As Caterina chats with whoever is on the other end—a publicist, manager, or one of her many minions—the attention starts. First, just a few heads turn. Then a dozen more. Questions come flying at our closed door, flashes go off, and I throw myself back into my seat.
Logically, I know they can’t see me through the tinted windows…but try telling that to my skyrocketing pulse.
My stomach locks, my heart is in my throat.
Where the heck’s a brown paper bag when you need one?
Resorting to the techniques they teach pregnant women in movies, I breathe through clenched teeth and pursed lips. “He, he, hooooo. He, he, hooooo.”
I feel like an idiot. I have no clue if it’s helping or not. But at least I’m no longer focused on the terrifying crowd. That’s a plus.
“He, he, hoooo.”
A negative would be Mom craning a dark eyebrow in my direction like I’m a wacko, but she just pats me on the knee and continues talking on her phone, as I continue breathing.
Rance scrunches his nose. “You all right there?”
I nod through the exhale. “Peachy.”
He shakes his head at me, looking somewhat on board with the whole wacko thing, but his forehead relaxes, and he offers a small smile. Pocketing his pick, he glances at our mom. Then, leaning close, he says for my ears only, “I hate crowds, too.”
I exhale again and tilt my head. “How can you be a performer and hate crowds?”
He shrugs. “When I play in bars, most of the time it’s dark and smoky. I can’t see anyone. Plus, no one’s there for me anyway. I don’t sing. I can just fade into the background, close my eyes, and play.”
That is officially the most Ransom has ever said to me in one sitting. It also totally distracted me from my heaving stomach. I take a normal length breath, no alien-like sounds attached, and offer my brother a smile. “Guess we’ll get through this together, huh?”
Rance lifts his chin as the limo inches forward again, and I spot a long white scar along his jaw. “You got it.”
I think that counts as our first sibling bonding moment.
I want to ask about the scar. I’m tempted to push the moment and find out all I can about my brother. But now isn’t the time. And it definitely isn’t the place. Mom ends her call without saying good-bye and turns to us, eyes wide, smile megawatt. “Ready?”
No.
“Let’s do this.” I won’t let her see me hesitate. I want her to be proud. Unbuckling, I slide closer to the window and wait as the driver strides toward my door. I rock my head side to side, roll my shoulders back, and give my brother a smile of solidarity. The door opens, and the screams hit me full-force like a tidal wave.
“Caterina!”
No, just plain old Cat, I want to say when I plant a heel onto the sidewalk. I take the driver’s offered hand and push to my feet, pasting on the familiar smile I’ve worn all my life. No dimple, no nostril flare, zero weird eye crinkle. This is the public me. The only me anyone ever saw, other than Dad, up until a few months ago. It’s strange that while it’s easy to pull on, it now feels forced. I step to the side and let Ransom emerge. I notice his sunglasses are in place.
Immediately, my hands fly to my hips, then my bodice, and then my hair, as reality dawns. I forgot my sunglasses. How could this happen? Sixteen years of events like this, and I’ve never forgotten those suckers. I glance at the railing that keeps the surging crowd at bay. Swallowing hard, I feel my fake smile go manic.
Then, Caterina exits the car.
Hand in the air, she lifts her chin as she smiles and waves at her admirers like Miss America.
Flashes blind me (another reason sunglasses are so essential), and I attempt to hold my smile without flinching. It’s about as easy as you’d think. I play it off as best I can and turn toward my brother. “A thousand bucks for those sunglasses.”
I’m half teasing, and he must be able to tell because his lips turn up in a smirk. “No way. The rocker always gets the shades.”
“Touché.” My fake smile turns a bit more genuine—just a touch, since we are still in the midst of my own personal hell. But it’s nice to tease Ransom. I imagine this is close to what normal feels like.
Four minions fall in place around us, and a woman wearing a headset and tailored suit steps in our path. “We’re a happy family enjoying a movie together,” she instructs, creeping me out with her use of we. And the fact that she’s feeding us lines. Are we not really a family enjoying a movie together? Wasn’t that the whole point?
“It’s been a natural transition,” she continues, walking backward on the red carpet and curling her fingers for us to follow. “We’re glad for this chance to become a real family.” She looks at Mom and says, “Motherhood is the greatest role there is.”
Okay, this is seriously weird. Ransom shakes his head and adjusts his collar.
“Aren’t they gorgeous?” My head snaps back as Caterina takes our hands and tugs us toward the railing on the right—the one for the media, and opposite the wall of ear-splitting chaos. A microphone with a giant six on it is thrust in her direction, and she says, “The two best things I’ve ever created.”
Excuse me while I upchuck.
Guilt follows that thought, continuing my up and down ride of confusion. She’s trying, in her own way, and this is what I wanted. Sort of. My mother holding my hand, claiming me, being proud of me. But something feels off. I also can’t stop thinking about Jenna. How I lied and said this was now my scene. How I thought maybe this was where I belonged.
If this is what finding your place feels like, I think I’d rather be lost.
Reporters fire questions at the three of us, and Caterina lobs answers back without breaking a sweat. Sadly, I cannot say the same. Nonchalantly dabbing my upper lip with my fingers, I wipe at the collected moisture, give one-word responses, and think of my happy place. Lucas. Riding on the back of his bike. Throwing paint balls at the canvas. Kissing him in our paint-smattered coats, the blue and red combining to form my new favorite shade of purple.
When those thoughts bring heat to my cheeks—a predicament potentially just as embarrassing as sweating on camera—I look for another distraction and take a few small, subtle steps closer to Ransom.
“So,” I
say, angling toward his ear so he can hear me, “tell me your story.”
He looks at me, then at our mother fielding questions in front of us. “Now?”
I shrug. Contrary to what I thought before, this may be the perfect time. It’s not like anyone is really paying attention. Somehow, in the midst of the insanity, surrounded by hundreds, I feel more alone with Ransom than ever. “No time like the present. Besides, they don’t care about us. We’re just props for their video packages.”
The truth of that statement stings, and yet it’s also a relief. Rance frowns, considering it, then must decide I’m right. He doesn’t appear that upset by the revelation, either.
We sidestep in line along the carpet as Caterina moves on to the next reporter, and over the sound of her rehashing our story yet again, my brother says, “What do you want to know?”
I think about it. “Honestly, everything. Everything and anything you want to share.” I look at him and smile. “I’ve never had a brother before. You Googled me, so you know my story. Depending on how deep you dug, you know every embarrassing stumble, every zit, every bad fashion choice. I just want to know more than that you’re in a band and…” I grin. “That abhorrence of attention may be genetic. Though clearly recessive, since it skipped our mother.”
On cue, Caterina laughs at a joke and poses for another photo.
Ransom lifts his eyebrows at her and then shrugs. “I graduated high school last year, went straight into college, and have no clue what I want to do. Other than music. When the fall semester ended, I told my folks I was taking off to focus on that.”
My eyes widen in admiration. It’s a familiar story, I’m sure. Guy into music drops out of school to play seedy bars and chase a dream and a lyric. But what I hear is that Ransom knows what he wants. He’s found his place in the world, and all that’s left is making it a reality.
“Did they flip out?” I ask, wanting to keep him talking.
“Dad didn’t do a backflip, but he was all right. He’s always encouraged my music. It’s my mother who walked out of the room. But that’s just Mom.”
The harsh breath he releases tells me more than his words.
Filing that away for now, I move on to what brought him into my life. “And that led you here? Caterina said you were the one who reached out.” I glance at the crowd, take another sidestep in line and smile at the latest reporter, then lower my voice. “Did you think she would help with your music? Get you connections?”
Ransom shakes his head before the questions are fully out. “Handouts don’t get you taken seriously,” he mutters, popping his knuckles. His jaw is tense, and I’m scared I offended him. But before I can apologize, he says, “I never even wanted to find her. She gave me up, she never tried to reach out… She could’ve gone to hell for all I cared.”
Color me confused. “And yet you’re here,” I say, stating the obvious.
He slides me a look.
“What changed your mind?”
My brother stares ahead for what feels like forever. Caterina chatters on, turning and winking at us, pretending to include us in the conversation, and we move on to the next reporter. I don’t know Ransom well enough to read the look on his face, and those dang sunglasses hide any clues he may be giving off.
Finally, he scratches the side of his jaw. “It’s gonna sound unbelievable.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Trust me, I’m good with unbelievable. And implausible.”
He drags his top lip between his teeth, considering, then shrugs in a way that seems to say, why not. “I’ve been staying with a friend in New York. My birthday was last month, and as a joke, he took me to see a psychic.”
The noise around us silences as I turn fully to face him.
He gives me a weird look. “Yeah, total B.S., I know. But the girl was close to our age and she seemed cool. We had nothing better to do, so we went with it. Anyway, she read my tealeaves or whatever, and the whole time I thought it was a joke. But then out of nowhere she gave me some cryptic fortune about finding my true family.”
Prickles of awareness creep down my spine.
“I couldn’t shake it,” he says, sounding confused. “I kept hearing her rough voice, nagging me to do it. Kept hearing Romanian words whispered around me. It was the weirdest thing, but finally I figured it couldn’t hurt to try.” He shrugs. “So I called up Dad, got Caterina’s contact info from our lawyer, and here I am.”
I look up at the night sky and repeat, “Here you are.” I wink at the heavens and smile.
Reyna.
Suspicions
∙Lucas∙
So this is what people do when they don’t have ass-kicking soccer practice every day. They watch mindless television. I have a paper due soon in English, a project to finish for Mr. Scott, and I could always head to the garage to mess with my bike. But this is nice. Doing nothing. Sitting next to my sister in a quiet house while she flips through the channels like a twitchy two-year-old hopped up on sugar.
“You realize there’s such a thing as a menu, right?” I ask, amused by her restlessness. “And DVR?”
Angela nods, pausing for a fraction of a second on Nickelodeon. A tall man in a bright orange jumpsuit sings with a boom box and strange-looking creatures. We look at each other and crack up laughing.
“Sure, but if we used that, we’d miss the joys of the next generation,” she says sagely, keying in the numbers for channel three and starting the process over again. “This way leaves room for surprises.”
Surprises. A lazy smile crosses my lips as I think about Valentine’s Day. Cat wrapped around me on my bike. Making out covered in paint. As nervous as I’d been about our date, it turned out better than I imagined.
A good thing, since we haven’t seen much of each other this week.
Restless energy stirs inside me, and my leg begins to bounce. I check my phone again. Other than the brief glimpse of her in the halls, our only contact in the last twenty-four hours has been the selfie she sent of her crossed-eyed under a rat’s nest of curls and the text saying she was ditching today. I wasn’t surprised. In another move that proves just how clueless the woman is, Caterina kept Cat out until dawn. Mr. Crawford must’ve been spitting nails.
But now school is over, the weekend has begun, and other than that sunrise text, I haven’t heard from my girl. When I called earlier, Alessandra answered and said she was still sleeping. I don’t want to be that guy. The clingy, hovering one.
I check the time on my phone. Three o’clock.
I’ll give it another hour.
Angela flips through the channels a few more times, and I catch a glimpse of a familiar smile. “Wait, go back.”
She looks at me strangely but does it. When she lands on the channel I spotted, and sees the same frozen image, all she says is, “Oh.”
A pretty blonde in a short dress and severe ponytail stands beside a photo of Cat’s mom waving for the cameras. I grab the remote and dial up the volume.
“Caterina Angeli made the rounds at the premiere for Holly Underhill’s latest,” she says. “The star-studded event had Hollywood’s biggest celebs stopping by to show their support, but it was a certain brunette megastar’s name that was on everyone’s lips. Angeli graced the red carpet in support of good friend Marlena Powers, the film’s director. And as she revealed to Ryan Seacrest on his radio show yesterday, her teenage children were in tow.”
The video package goes on to show snippets of random celebrities commenting on Caterina being a mother. Older actors and actresses offer flat smiles and rattle off congratulations, but the younger ones are bolder.
“Crazy, right?” Jaycee Powers says, mouth gaping open. “Who knew she’d make such a great mother? The way she’s taken her children under her wing and stepped up, that’s just so great.”
Reid Roberts, the teen actor who starred with Alessandra in the Shakespeare winter workshop, leans toward the camera next. He listens to the question and nods. “I actually met her daughter last m
onth. She’s a great girl. Gorgeous, too.”
Angela smirks as I curse under my breath. I’d thought the guy turned out to be okay in the end, but maybe Austin was right after all. He is a douche.
The screen switches again to a shot of the two co-hosts against a backdrop of Los Angeles. An idiot with white Chiclets for teeth smiles at the blonde. “They sure do make a beautiful family, don’t they, Krista?”
The woman nods enthusiastically. “They do indeed, Mark.”
“Good Lord,” Angela mutters.
Krista continues as the video switches once again to clips of the so-called beautiful family. “It’s rumored that while at the after-party, Caterina met with producers about a possible new project. It’s a Quest is in preproduction and already has a slew of big names attached. If Angeli joins that list, it will mark a decided shift for the box office favorite. Taking on the harried mother role instead of tempting vixen.”
As she speaks, the video shows Caterina looking flawless as she loops her arms around Cat and Ransom. They walk down the red carpet, past the velvet ropes and a backdrop of film posters. Caterina’s gaze remains glued to the crowd, her walk purposeful, as Ransom watches the ground and Cat stares straight ahead. She’s stunning. Her dress flows over her curves, her hair is up, exposing the slope of her neck, and the sight of her punches me in the gut like it always does.
But the girl on the screen is not the girl who was on my bike Saturday. She’s not the girl who hated having a televised sweet sixteen, or rolls her eyes at paparazzi. Her sunglasses are off, and she shares an amused smile with Ransom.
I don’t even know this girl.
The host ends the segment by saying, “From the looks of things at the premiere, Caterina Angeli as a loving mother no longer seems so unrealistic. Sources say after her appearance last night, the role is practically hers.”
And just like that, everything makes sense.
This is why she’s here. This is the end goal I always knew existed but could never quite figure out. Caterina didn’t come back to start an idyllic new life with her kids. Cat and Ransom are nothing but pawns in her stupid Hollywood game.
My Not So Super Sweet Life Page 11
