Almost Famous, a Talent Novel

by Zoey Dean

  How did anyone stand out?

  These kids looked like they’d been plucked straight from the covers of various clothing catalogues. Everyone had a very specific look. There was the Abercrombie group—girls dressed in colorful tank tops and faded jeans—walking through the archway and onto campus. The Anthropologie girls followed, three friends all wearing super-girly dresses with lace and bows on their behinds. Next Emily noticed two Billabong guys who looked like models playing Hacky Sack on the sprawling grassy lawn. At the end of the lawn she saw a group of guys in American Apparel hoodies, purple skinny jeans, dyed black hair, and red plastic sunglasses. Boys in Iowa didn’t dress like that. A girl in an Urban Outfitters sundress and red polka-dot Toms shoes relaxed on the other side of the fountain, lying on her back reading The Alchemist, holding it with her right hand while her left dangled to the ground.

  Emily blew out her bangs, trying not to stare at any one person for too long. What if the school principal took one look at her and deemed her unfit for BAMS? I’m sorry, Miss, ah, Mungler, but we have a cool-people-only policy. And you’ll notice on page twenty-seven of your handbook, clause F, that we do not accept students who have spent a significant amount of time in the Midwest.

  Emily was standing there when a text came through from Mac.

  DNT 4GET 2 GO 2 RM 201 @ 759.

  Well, at least Mac was looking out for her, Emily thought. She checked her Swatch. It was 7:55 a.m. Four minutes of painful, everyone-wondering-who-is-that-new-girl solo time. She stared at her iPhone again, wondering at what point it would become totally obvious that she was just trying to look busy, when she noticed a Rolls-Royce Phantom with the vanity plate E TACH pulling into the driveway.

  Even though Emily was brand-new, she could figure out whose car it was: Kimmie “the Tawker” Tachman’s father, Elliot Tachman, was known in the trade magazines as E-Tach. He was the most powerful producer in Hollywood, a guaranteed hit maker, and the man everyone wanted to work with. According to Mac, he was also the reason his daughter held high social status instead of just being known as a pink-obsessed musical theater nerd.

  The car door opened and Kimmie bounded out, wearing a pink message tee that said PURRRFECT with Joe’s jeans. She skipped toward Emily like a puppy charging after a ball. A bright, energetic, pink puppy.

  “Hey, girl!” Kimmie put her hands on her hips and faced Emily. She always seemed a little too excited to see people. “My dad wants to say hi to you,” she announced.

  Emily winced. Elliot Tachman was the producer of Deal With It. He had been at her audition—and then rejected her in favor of redheaded super-starlet Anas tasia Caufield. It was extra embarrassing because during the audition, Emily had been forced to improvise, and she’d even kissed Davey Woodward, her star-crush. Her heartbeat quickened just thinking about it. But what could E-Tach possibly want with her now?

  Emily scoured the school grounds for some way to escape this inevitably awkward meeting, and then realized . . . she didn’t know where anything was. Before she could stammer, Maybe some other time, Elliot Tachman himself emerged from the black Phantom. With his bulky frame and wild, curly hair, he looked like the giant wolverine on his navy blue Michigan sweatshirt.

  “Hello, Emily,” Elliot said, smiling. “I hear we get to keep you in Los Angeles for a little while.”

  Emily nodded. She’d heard that word traveled fast in this town, but this was reallyfast. She’d only moved in with the Armstrongs twelve hours ago. She hadn’t even slept there yet!

  Around her, a crowd of BAMS students headed toward the entrance seemed to slow, as if impressed to see some random girl talking to the multiple-Oscar winner. Emily blushed. Strutting across the campus with the Inner Circle was one thing, but getting attention on her own felt weird.

  “Glad to hear it.” Elliot nodded. “You know, everyone was so moved by your audition. We want to find a part for you no matter what. My office will call your agency, but I wanted to tell you myself. I do hope you’ll consider working with me.”

  Emily looked around her, as if he’d started speaking to someone else. She felt her throat go dry. Her right leg began trembling, then her left leg. She felt weak and excited at the same time: Elliot Tachman had just offered her, Emily Skyler Mungler, a role. In a Hollywood movie.

  “Thanks,” Emily said calmly, but inside she was buzzing. She wished Mac were there to say the perfect thing, because Emily had no idea what you were supposed to say when the biggest producer in America offered you a job. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Great. We’ll be in touch.” Elliot waved. Then, looking right at Kimmie, he said, “And you. Behave. Or else.” He made a “grrrrr” sound like a bear.

  “Duh, Da-dee!” Kimmie said, giggling and making a bear paw back. Elliot disappeared into the Phantom, and it drove off immediately.

  Turning to Emily, Kimmie cried, “I can’t wait to tell eh-ver-eee-one your news!” Emily was still too stunned to say anything. “Are you in homeroom with me and Mac?” Kimmie asked slowly, as though she were talking to a small child.

  Emily nodded weakly. Her brain had shut down.

  “All righty, then. We should go,” Kimmie said. Emily was so excited she barely noticed Kimmie grabbing her hand and leading her to homeroom.

  Emily took one last look at the BAMS grounds, smiling. What had she been so worried about before? She belonged. Not only that, she was going to be Bel-Air ’s newest starlet-in-residence.

  CHAPTER THREE

  coco

  Monday September

  7:55 AM Le Strut

  12 PM Bam-Bams captain audtions!

  Coco’s heart skipped a beat as she opened the blue double doors to the BAMS auditorium. The stadium-style leather seats were packed. True to BAMS policy, the whole school was invited to the captain auditions for the Bam-Bams, the dance team. Anyone could walk in and watch.

  Or snicker.

  Coco was always a little afraid that kids would make fun of her behind her back because her mother was Cardammon—and she wasn’t. Having a living legend for a mom made it difficult to feel accomplished.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Mac, Becks, and Emily sitting in the third row, two rows behind the Bam-Bams, taking pictures of themselves with their iPhones. Mac had brought bento boxes for them all for lunch. Becks looked up from a dragon roll to wave hello.

  “You ready?” Mac whispered, turning her phone to snap a picture of Coco.

  “I guess so.” Coco shrugged and began her stretches in the area to the side of their seats. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. This audition was about so much more than just dancing. Earlier that week, Coco had tried out for Brigham Powell, the most powerful music producer in the world—along with her Bam-Bams teammate Ruby Goldman. But Brigham had passed on Coco and had instead signed Ruby up for a record deal. Apparently, Coco needed more work. Unfortunately, today was Coco/Ruby showdown number two, as Ruby was up for captain as well. Ruby had always been an amazing dancer, but ever since she’d lost forty pounds over the summer, she’d had a sparkling confidence that gave her an extra edge. Coco was dreading the idea of losing to Ruby again, especially since she’d wanted to be captain for years. It was the ultimate leadership position, because the Bam-Bams didn’t have a coach, just a “faculty advisor.” The captain chose all the routines, scheduled the practices, and was even in charge of booking all the group’s shows.

  Coco took a sip of her citrus-flavored Vitamin Water just as she spotted Ruby entering the auditorium. One of Ruby’s minions, Haylie Fowler, stood to her side with her arms crossed, more bodyguard than friend. Since Ruby had lost all that weight, Haylie was now the only truly fat girl in their grade. She was also an alternate on the dance team, but had never actually gotten to perform. Coco almost felt sorry for Haylie: Everyone knew that the only reason she was still on the team was because her father owned the Grove, the best outdoor shopping mall in L.A., and she hooked the team up with their prestigious holiday show every year. Hayli
e was untouchable.

  Ruby was dressed in stretchy gold lamé pants and a black T-shirt that hung off one shoulder and exposed her shiny gold sports bra. Her yellow-blond hair was teased in a side pony. She looked like she was an extra in the 1980s movie Flashdance. Mac jabbed Coco in the ribs, making sure she’d seen Ruby’s outfit choice. But the gold and black getup didn’t make Coco scoff; instead she felt silly for having chosen so conservatively—she was wearing black leggings and a black American Apparel tee. She looked like a nerdy grad student compared to her nemesis.

  Ruby and Haylie walked slowly across the auditorium and squeezed themselves into the second row, right in front of the Inner Circle and right behind the dance team. Technically anyone could be on the team, even boys, but in reality the Bam-Bams was an exclusive club for some of the cutest, most connected girls at school.

  Mac, Emily, and Becks stopped playing with their cell phones long enough to give Ruby and Haylie a you’re not welcome here stare. If Ruby noticed, she didn’t let on. She dropped her coffee-colored leather Club Monaco duffel on the floor and sat down to face the stage, her back to the Inner Circle.

  Snippets of Ruby’s conversation and her oh-so-annoying baby voice floated back to Coco. “And then I said to Brigs, ‘I’m only thirteen, I can’t drive!’” Haylie laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her entire life. “And then he asked me if I was rehearsing for dance captain auditions. And I was like, ‘Um, hellooo, are you crazy?’ That’s, like, an insult to my level. Can you imagine?”

  Coco looked down at the ground, hoping that none of her friends had heard Ruby’s comment, because Coco had spent hours choreographing a dance to Rihanna’s “Umbrella.” She’d taped herself from every angle, changed the dance four times, and repeatedly asked her mother’s opinion.

  Ruby and Coco had each been given two days to devise a routine that, in theory, the dance team could perform. Coco desperately wanted to impress the younger members of the team, who voted on a captain based on choreography, dance skills, and of course the unspoken x-factor: popularity. But Coco also wanted to impress herself. She wanted to be proud of her dancing again. She’d been so depressed after her Brigham audition that she’d almost quit.

  Coco pressed her Stila-glossed lips together, wishing the din of the noisy room were even louder so that she couldn’t hear their voices. She was imagining how stupid she would feel when she did her very practiced, very coached dance, and then Ruby blew her away with something effortless. It was so unfair how some people were born with Talent, and Coco had to get by with Hard Work. She kicked her foot up on the chair in front of her—Ruby’s seat—and tied the laces of her black jazz shoes a little tighter.

  Ruby turned around, very slowly, when Coco’s shoe tapped her chair. “Oh, hi, Coco! I didn’t see you!” she said with fake surprise. “Hey, Mac, Becks, New Girl . . .”

  “Hi,” Coco replied evenly, slowly removing her foot from Ruby’s chair. She could feel Mac tense beside her.

  “I’ve been soooo busy with Brigs and career-planning, I haven’t had time to check in. How are you?” Ruby asked fake-sweetly, teasing some blond hairs in her side pony.

  “Fine,” Coco said through gritted teeth.

  “Ruby, why didn’t you tell me it was Back to the ’80s Day!” Mac jumped in, eyeing Ruby’s ensemble. “I wish I’d known. I would have worn something . . . ugly.”

  Ruby laughed like this was a joke instead of an insult. A beat too late, Haylie followed along, letting out her screechy laugh. She sounded like a horse. Coco felt bad for Haylie, who, in addition to being large, was knock-kneed. Behind her back, people called her SSD (Seven-Second Delay) because she was so slow. “Oh, Macdaddy,” Ruby sighed. “You’re so funny.”

  “You know what’s funny?” Mac replied instantly. “Your outfit.”

  “You know what’s sad?” Ruby asked sweetly. “How you’re gonna lose social chair.” Her tone was so Splenda-sweet the words sounded like a compliment.

  “Snore.” Mac threw her arms up to fake-yawn, her wooden bracelets clunking. “Wake me up when Ruby stops talking.” Emily and Becks giggled. More than anyone they’d ever met, Mac was so not afraid of confrontation. Maybe it came from having a no-nonsense agent mother.

  “Don’t sleep too long or you’ll miss my social chair victory speech.” Ruby flashed a coy, Paris Hilton smile.

  Coco glared at Ruby, about to say something. And then she realized . . . it was all a total waste of energy. Instead, Coco decided to spend her energy on herself. She put on her Bose noise-canceling headphones and listened to the Dreamgirls sound track, tuning out everyone. She imagined performing the best she could. She mentally ran through her routine: double pirouette, barrel turn, hip walk, hip fall. She envisioned stretching her arms out vigorously, nailing her turns, and smiling all the way.

  Coco had spent the summer training with the most revolutionary dance teacher in London (arguably the world)—Marcel Marcel, the man who had made her mother a pop star. He’d taught Coco to let go and “feel” the music. It had taken all summer, many failed moves, and much sharp-tongued criticism, but eventually his staccato commands had become fewer and fewer, until Coco could dance his style without Marcel having to whisper a word.

  Vivian Kelley, the school’s athletic director, walked to the front of the stage. She had broad shoulders, and was shaped like a rectangle. Today she wore a navy blue tracksuit, her thick brown hair hanging down like drapes. She looked like a man wearing a wig. “All righty, everyone, let’s get this party started,” Vivian called out, clapping her meaty hands together. “As a reminder, we will be having a dance-off for the role of Bam-Bams captain, between two of the eighth-graders on the team: Ruby Goldman and Cordelia Kingsley.”

  The Inner Circle applauded furiously at the sound of Coco’s name, and, in front of them, Haylie whooped for Ruby. The Bam-Bams in the front row remained quietly nonpartisan.

  “One lucky girl will be chosen to choreograph the routines of the world famous Bam-Bams!” Vivian continued. “I’m going to call one of the names at random, and each of our dancers will perform a quick two-minute routine. Of course, you can all cheer, but only the Bam-Bams can vote.” She eyed the front row, where the seven other members of the dance team were sitting holding ballots: the twins, Lucia and Maribel Peets; Alexa Harris, whose father owned Harris jeans; Eden Singer, whose mother, Anabelle, was a former reality TV star and supposedly cuckoo; and the sixth-graders—Anais Lindly, Taylor White, and Ames Evershod. They were all dressed in their black Lululemon workout pants with a hot pink waistband, because the clothing company had recently decided to sponsor the team in a bid to win over young tastemakers.

  Onstage, Vivian was still talking. “I want you all to show your support for our amazing dancers and all the hard work they’ve put into the team for the past two years. It’s gonna be off the hook!” She pulled a slip of paper out of her tracksuit pocket. “Cordelia, you’re up first!” she announced, and man-walked off the stage.

  Coco realized Mac was nudging her to go. She removed her headphones, dropped them into Mac’s open palm, and walked confidently down to the stage.

  Coco assumed her first position: head bent, arms behind her back. She’d decided not to use an actual umbrella, because that seemed too cheesy. But she was trying to invoke the idea with her arms. The opening beats of “Umbrella” began to play over the auditorium’s powerful sound system, and Coco took two deep breaths, let out the air, and then went for it. She turned her leg in a half circle, leapt forward, and then actually landed her first double pirouette. Very easily. And the rest of the dance only got easier, even though the moves were technically more difficult. Her barrel turns felt as natural as walking. I love dancing, she remembered. She didn’t think about Ruby, or her pop star mother, or the Inner Circle. She didn’t look out at the other dance team members, wondering what they thought of her. She didn’t even think about the crowd.

  At the end of the dance, Coco pulled her foot in and spu
n around four times in a row. It was a turn she’d missed often in practice, but this time, she held on to the ending.

  Coco’s breaths slowed, and she let her focus return to BAMS. She looked out into the auditorium and saw rows of smiling—not snickering—faces. Coco beamed proudly and walked back to join her friends, who were jumping up and down as though she’d just won an Olympic gold medal.

  Ruby was already taking the stage.

  Coco didn’t want to watch. She didn’t want to have to feel inferior again, especially not after the high of the performance she’d just given. She decided to stretch by the side of the row of seats, deliberately facing the back of the auditorium instead of the front. Still, she couldn’t help but overhear her friends.

  “What in the world is Ruby doing?” Mac hissed.

  “She looks like she’s about to eat it,” Becks said, a little too loudly.

  “Oh, jeez. Did she even learn a dance?” Emily asked softly.

  Coco turned around to peek at RG.

  Ruby’s moves were, as always, perfect, and she’d chosen a series of incredibly difficult spirals and fan kicks. But she hesitated after each move, as if unsure of what came next. Her face was contorted in a strained expression, rather than the exuberant smile they’d always been told to wear during a performance. Suddenly Coco realized: She was trying too hard. Coco held her breath as Ruby brought her arms in for what Coco instantly recognized was a difficult, five-rotation spin that even Cardammon in her heyday might have missed.

  Ruby opened her arms mid-spin and careened to the wood-paneled floor of the stage with a thud.

  “Ow!” she screeched. The music stopped. The auditorium filled with hushed whispers as two hundred curious people leaned toward the stage for a better look.

  “My ankle!” Ruby leaned on her back, staring at her feet, which were crisscrossed. She seemed stuck in her own body.

  Vivian Kelley ran over and tried to lift Ruby to her feet.