Almost Famous, a Talent Novel

by Zoey Dean

  “Don’t move me!” Ruby barked, as though Vivian were her assistant and not a school administrator. Coco automatically made her way to the stage, feeling like she should do something. She paused at the front row and watched in disbelief as Haylie escorted Ruby off the stage and out the auditorium’s back doors, practically carrying her fireman style.

  The dance team huddled together in a semicircle, while Coco stood on the floor in disbelief. When the girls broke apart from their circle, Lucia Peets, a very influential seventh-grader on the dance team, whispered to Coco from her seat. “You were phenom,” she said. Lucia had icy blue eyes and long brown hair, and she and her twin sister, Maribel, were rumored to want to co-run for social chair next year.

  “For reals,” Maribel chimed in, her blue eyes sparkling. “We totally voted for you,” she hissed confidentially as she handed a stash of dance team ballots to Vivian.

  “Thanks,” Coco said sheepishly.

  Vivian walked back to the center of the stage, holding the ballots in her hand. “All right, everyone, now that Miss Goldman is, uh, finished with her performance, it’s time for me to announce your new captain. I’m sure you’re all eager to get back to class. NOT!” She chuckled at her own non-joke. “Well, I’ll make this brief. The sixth- and seventh-graders have chosen a dance team captain. And that captain is . . .”

  There was a pause. Coco looked around, wondering whatever had happened to Ruby, and whether the other team members would rely more on today’s dance-off or on past performances to make their decision. What if they decided Ruby had performed better for the last two years? What if they felt bad for Ruby and voted for her out of pity? Coco curled her toes in her jazz flats to stay calm.

  “Drumroll, please . . . Your new BAMS dance team captain is . . . Cordelia Kingsley.”

  Mac, Becks, and Emily stood up and cheered, and the rest of the school followed. Coco looked down at the floor, mildly embarrassed that the Inner Circle was shrieking so loudly—she heard Becks whoop like a guy, “YEAH, COCO!”—but mostly, she was proud that she had such great friends on her side. Mac held her iPhone up to take a photo. “Do a victory dance!” she cried out.

  Coco grinned from ear to ear. She was maxed out on dancing for the moment. The thought of another pirouette was excruciating. Instead, she high-fived Becks and did a victory strut.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  becks

  Tuesday September

  7:55 AM Do the Le Strut thing

  8 AM School

  2:59 PM Out of school

  3:36 PM Surf, surf surf!!!

  Becks dragged her favorite surfboard, her Al Merrick daisy-covered beauty, down to the deserted semiprivate beach behind her house. There were few things in the world that Becks loved more than surfing in the afternoon, when the Malibu air was hot and the ocean felt perfectly breezy by comparison. The early September sky couldn’t have been bluer, and the waves were soft and slow.

  Becks plopped her board onto the sand; she wanted to do some yoga poses before hitting the waves. Cat, cow, inhale, exhale. Just like she’d practiced with her father and their yoga guru, Vikram, every morning in Hawaii this summer. Becks had always thought yoga was ooky-spooky, but one day, after a lesson, she’d seen Vikram surf the North Shore in a series of fearless, loose lines, like he was weightless on his board. Becks had promptly rethought her stance.

  From the downward dog position, she could see Steven Spielberg’s house in the distance. She inhaled and shifted her gaze to take in her own giant stucco house with its enormous glass windows. Becks’s mother had died when she was a baby, and it had been just Becks and her dad, Clutch, living in that house for as long as she could remember. Her father had put her on a board when she was just three years old, meaning Becks had surfed before she’d learned to ride a bike. But that was natural for someone related to Clutch Becks, who had been the star of his own prank show, That Was Clutch. He’d made MTV so much money that they’d designed him a special house out of gratitude (and, of course, to use for reunion movies). While Clutch was retired now, his prank-show buddies still came over all the time, often attempting stunts that were both death- and logic-defying.

  Becks took out her piña colada-scented surf wax and began waxing her board. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar goldendoodle bounding toward her—Boone. And if Boone was nearby, that meant his owner, Austin Holloway, was not far behind. Austin was one year older than Becks and was starting freshman year at Bel-Air Preparatory School, aka BAPS. Becks scanned the sand and spotted her crush jogging toward her, holding a dog treat shaped like a cupcake.

  Becks and Austin had grown up together, and for years she’d treated him like a brother. They gave each other wedgies and had veggie dog-eating contests (Becks usually won). Their hangouts were always some version of surf/eat/make fun of each other.

  Until last week. When Becks saw Austin for the first time after being apart all summer, something had changed between them. Now, every time she saw Austin, with his new arm muscles and longer hair, she wasn’t sure how to behave around him. The one thing she did know was that she couldn’t stand how discombobulated he made her feel. Like now, her body felt as wobbly as Jell-O, and her heart was fired up like the time she’d tried one of Mac’s Red Bulls.

  Austin’s shaggy brown hair was flopping over his eyes and down his nose. He wore a long-sleeved Rusty tee that was now too tight in the sleeves, and cargo shorts with big pockets down the legs. He looked boyish but adorable—too adorable, actually. Becks wanted to hide.

  “What happened to you the other day?” Austin asked, swatting Becks with his ratty blue towel as he reached her side. “You ditch me for the ick?” he teased, referring to his nickname for the Inner Circle. He pretended to throw up.

  “Could you not talk about my friends that way?” Becks said, putting her hands on her hips defiantly, pretending to be annoyed. But inside she was buzzing at being so close to Austin, even if he was making retching noises.

  “Dude, you just, like, took off. Why were you MIA?” He stopped fake-vomiting and looked at her, patiently expecting an answer.

  Becks pretended to be really focused on slathering her right arm with Coppertone SPF 45. The last time she’d seen Austin, he’d been flirting with big-boobed Ellie Parker, even carrying her board for her, as he taught her to surf on their beach. Ellie was one of Ruby’s newest minions, a bubbly blonde with a tiny body everywhere except for her naturally big chest. Becks had bailed because watching Austin act stupid just to please some annoying girl made her heart ache.

  She looked down at the sand, digging a hole with her right big toe. “I figured you two wanted to be alone.”

  “Me and Ellie?” Austin asked incredulously, running his fingers through his hair with both hands. He sounded so sincere that Becks actually dared to look up into his blue-gray eyes. He looked off at the ocean, as if he’d already forgotten the day and was trying to remember. “Nah . . . Ellie just wanted me to show her how to surf.” Austin shrugged. “I’m always willing to teach a newbie.”

  “That was it?” Becks asked. Boone rubbed against her bare leg and she ruffled the shaggy fur on his golden head.

  “Dude, Ellie can’t surf. She can’t even get on her board.” He made a face that indicated he found not being good surfer as unattractive as having warts all over your body. A sunbeam landed on his messy hair, making him look even more golden. “You ding-dong! You know I couldn’t hang with a girl who can’t surf.” He mussed Becks’s hair, giving her noogies.

  Becks knew from the heat in her cheeks that she was full-on blushing. She bent down to nuzzle her face into Boone’s soft fur just to hide her rosy glow.

  “Hey, I gotta meet with a surf coach tomorrow, but we should hang Wednesday,” Austin said. “You around?” He swatted her again with his towel.

  Becks felt a surge of excitement wash over her. We. Should. Hang. The greatest three words ever.

  She counted to two in her head so that she didn’t sound overeager,
then stood slowly. Pretend like you’re talking to Mac. Pretend like you’re talking to Mac. Her heart was pounding. “Sure, I’m around.”

  “Great. Hasta miércoles,” Austin said, punching her in the shoulder.

  “Yeah, see you Wednesday,” Becks chimed back. She smiled into his eyes for a second, before realizing he was leaving without hopping in the water. “Wait. Aren’t you going to surf?” Becks asked.

  “Nah. I just came by to say hi.” Austin grinned and took a few steps backward toward his house.

  As she caught his blue-gray eyes with her gaze, all Becks could think was: She had a date. With Austin. It didn’t get any better than this.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  mac

  Tuesday September

  8 AM Homeroom with Ems

  12 PM Lunch (how many days in a row is too much sushi?)

  12:30 PM Last-min. tanning, SPF 30

  2:55 PM School’s out (T minus 17 hours to SC election!)

  Mac walked down Main Hall en route to Mr. Anderson’s homeroom. She was wearing the Inner Circle’s campaign outfit: Hudson jeans and the pièce de résistance: the “Team Mac” T-shirt, designed expressly by Cardammon. It was a plain navy tee with a snug rocker fit that said TEAM MAC in all caps across the chest. It was simple, understated, and cool. Coco, Becks, and Emily had distributed the tees that morning in the BAMS driveway. Her hips swiveled as she stepped: She was working it. She smiled slyly when she realized that she had definitely been noticed by the two cutest boys at BAMS: Lukas Gregory and Hunter Crowe. They were standing under an archway checking their BlackBerries. Lukas had brown hair, dark eyes, and a chiseled face, and Hunter looked like a junior version of Matt Damon.

  Mac’s Jimmy Choo Mary Janes clicked as she walked down the red-tiled hall, her eyes deliberately hidden behind her Gucci aviators so no one could tell she was really performing a status check. What she noticed, in this order, was:1. The Team Mac posters had not been tampered with.

  2. Ruby’s posters were MIA. (Were people pulling down Ruby’s posters?)

  3. Spotted: Six girls wearing Team Mac shirts. Just in Main Hall.

  If Mac had not decided to stop smiling in public because pouting was way cooler, she would have cracked a très goofy grin right then.

  “Good luck!” A brunette in a Team Mac tee came up to her. The girl had a sweet face and brown eyes. Mac tried to remember her name but drew a blank.

  “Thanks,” Mac said, blowing a Chanel lip-glossed kiss. “That means a lot.” With a final nod of appreciation, she clicked down the hallway toward her locker.

  Mac knew she sometimes got ahead of herself, and she couldn’t get too excited about social chair, because she hadn’t won. At least not yet.

  The lockers at BAMS were bright red, had digital combinations, and were nearly four feet high, in case long coats came into style. Mac had petitioned for locker number 622, which spelled out M-A-C on the buttons of her iPhone. As she started to punch in the combination, she spotted a pink blur out of the corner of her eye.

  It was Kimmie Tachman, wearing a pink Abercrombie hoodie with a Team Mac T-shirt underneath. She slunk over to Mac’s locker and looked over both shoulders like a spy.

  “Nice shirt,” Mac noted, stunned that Kimmie was being so bold about supporting Mac. “Where’s your boss?”

  “Look, I can’t hate on Ruby,” Kimmie whispered. “I already invited her to come to Maui.”

  “So why are you talking to me?” Mac asked nonchalantly, checking her perfectly glossed pout in the compact she always stored in her locker. She kept triplicates of all her beauty products so she didn’t have to worry about transferring from home to Prius to school.

  “I thought you’d like to know—Ruby’s ankle is broken with a capital B,” Kimmie hissed, looking over her shoulder again. “Her deal with Brigham fell through! According to very informed sources, you’re leading social chair polls ninety to ten.”

  Mac raised her right eyebrow. She wasn’t sure if she should—or could—believe the Tawker. After all, Kimmie was publicly Team Ruby. Could it be a trick? Or could it be that Kimmie recognized power and wanted to give her allegiance where she knew it would soon be rewarded?

  A conundrum.

  But before Mac could say anything, Ruby appeared from around the corner, hobbling on a set of shiny silver crutches coated in glitter and faux diamonds. Mac fought the urge to gasp—Kimmie wasn’t kidding. Ruby really was hurt. She stopped at her locker, which was just across the hall from Mac’s. (Number 782—Ruby always copied Mac, and had petitioned for a locker that spelled out her name. But really it just spelled out RUB.) Haylie Fowler and Ellie Parker stood on either side of Ruby, holding her books.

  Kimmie immediately took a step away from Mac and zipped up her hoodie, hiding her Team Mac T-shirt. She joined Ruby, Haylie, and Ellie as though her conversation with Mac had never happened.

  “Ruby, I have your history textbook right here.” Kimmie patted her oversize Coach bag, which she used as a backpack. But she looked back and smiled knowingly at Mac.

  “Well, if it isn’t the soon-to-be-loser of social chair,” Ruby snickered, spotting Mac. Haylie proceeded to open Ruby’s locker and carefully hang Ruby’s white jacket inside.

  Mac sized up the new group, who were so clearly trying to copy the Inner Circle. Ellie was wearing a miniskirt that showed her stick-thin legs, and even Haylie looked like she’d dropped a few pounds. “If it isn’t the Thinner Circle!” Mac smirked, pleased at her new nickname for Ruby’s group of newly skinny Inner Circle wannabes.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ruby said, leaning on a shiny crutch.

  “Yeah, thanks for the cohm-pliment,” Haylie said, totally overdoing the friend backup.

  Ruby shot Haylie a shut up glance and Haylie looked down at the ground nervously, chewing a cuticle.

  “Um, can we hit pause for a second?” Mac said, eyeing the sparkles on Ruby’s crutches. “Did you BeDazzle your crutches?” She said BeDazzle like you would say barf all over.

  “They’re titanium,” Ruby snapped defensively, gripping the handles of her crutches a little tighter. “Engineered just for me by the designers at Porsche.”

  “That’s very, um, reality show of you.” Mac shrugged, snapping shut her compact. She was about to say, Thanks for showing us why Porsche should stick to car design, but then decided it wasn’t any fun to kick someone when she was already so clearly down.

  “So, Mackerel, I hear your friend made dance captain,” Ruby said bitterly. Haylie and Ellie smiled smugly behind her, and Kimmie played with the zipper of her sweatshirt, as if unsure what to do. “At least this time she didn’t freak out and make a fool of herself in front of a major record producer.”

  Mac slammed her locker shut and glared at Ruby. Disrespecting Mac was one thing. Disrespecting the Inner Circle was another. “At least she didn’t get a dance contract and then blow it. Have a good day!”

  With that, Mac spun around on her Mary Janes and clicked down the hallway. Without looking back at Ruby and her minions, she threw a little skip into her step.

  Just because she knew Ruby couldn’t.

  CHAPTER SIX

  emily

  Wednesday September

  6 AM Wake up

  6:35 AM Give up on trying to style my hair per Xochi Dawn

  7:05 AM Breakfast at Polo Lounge (!)

  7:55 AM Le Strut (do we do this every day?)

  AT SOME POINT TODAY: Still need to figure out where everything is!

  2:55 PM School’s out

  6:30 PM iChat Paige (iChat is a pain)

  Emily stared at her egg-white frittata, sliced pink grapefruit, and flourless toast, debating which would be the least messy to eat. Not that Adrienne Little-Armstrong or Mac would notice if Emily spilled on the pastel pink tablecloth.

  They still hadn’t even noticed Jake Gyllenhaal in a booth in the corner, tucked behind a copy of Variety. Maybe this was just a typical breakfast at the Polo Lounge, but Emily was not us
ed to seeing A-list celebrities before school started, and she really wasn’t used to taking power breakfasts with Hollywood’s top talent agent, aka Mac’s mom. Who, at that exact moment, was checking her BlackBerry with her right hand and stabbing her egg-white omelet with her left. Mac sat next to Emily taking notes on her iPhone and sipping her papaya-banana breakfast smoothie.

  Emily decided the frittata was the safest choice, and relaxed when it broke apart quite cleanly in a dainty, non-attention-grabbing bite.

  “So how do you like BAMS so far?” Adrienne asked absentmindedly. She sounded like she was reading off an e-mail.

  By the time Emily realized Adrienne was talking to her, it was too late. Adrienne had already moved on. Like her daughter, Adrienne had a charming/scary way of firing information at someone.

  “She needs acting lessons. Let’s call Larry Moss,” Adrienne said, tapping Mac’s phone with her polish-free fingernail. Mac nodded politely to show that she’d heard and tap-typed Larry Moss into her iPhone. Mac was being oddly, enthusiastically obedient at this meeting, Emily noticed. It was the Adrienne Effect—she made people behave. “Don’t take it personally, Emily,” Adrienne added. “Everyone in this town has a coach for everything.”

  “I’d love to meet Larry Moss,” Emily said, not letting on that she knew he’d worked with Leonardo DiCaprio and Hilary Swank and Helen Hunt. All Emily wanted was to avoid saying anything that would remind Adrienne that she had way more important (as in: already famous/successful/proven) careers to plan.

  “It’s all about making you more you,” Adrienne said, pointing at Emily with a forkful of egg white. “What you’ve got besides talent is authenticity. People respond to that.” Mac nodded again, typing authenticity into her phone. Adrienne continued. “It’s your essence.” Emily didn’t know why Mac and Adrienne put so much emphasis on something that was invisible. But according to Mac and Adrienne, an essence was just as obvious as hair color or height, the second you walked into a room.