The Tomboy & The Movie Star: A Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 3)

by M. L. Collins

  “I’m going to hang up your gown in the dressing room back stage and check out the competition,” Lacey said and left before I could tell her not to worry about the competition.

  Gigi just laughed because she wasn’t a pageant girl either.

  “Bernadette, no matter what happens tonight, this week has been a gift. Lolli took my hands and squeezed. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

  “I had fun, too. I love you, Lolli. I’m happy to follow in yours and mama’s footsteps. But I’m relieved you don’t care about me winning. Because that will never happen. Especially because I sort of changed my talent.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” She flashed me a relieved smile. “I didn’t want to say anything, but your accordion playing is atrocious. Now, I’m going to get us good seats down in front.”

  She rushed off more excited than I’d seen her in maybe ever.

  I turned a knowing eye to Grandma Gigi who stood there looking oh-so-innocent. Yeah, I wasn’t buying it.

  “You knew. That’s why you traded turns with Lolli. You knew Lolli needed help.”

  “I knew you both needed help.” Gigi reached out her palm and cupped my cheek. “Help I couldn’t give you. You two had to help each other.”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  Lacey came running over from somewhere backstage looking wild-eyed.

  “So, I have good news and bad news.” She placed a bracing hand on my shoulder. “Which would you like first?”

  “The good news.”

  “You know that perfect dress we spent three days looking for and it looks amazing on you? Well, some girl with big hair and a snotty nose just puked on it.”

  “How is that good news?” I asked, grossed out about throw-up on my turquoise gown.

  “The vomit only landed on the bottom part of the dress, so I cut the dress which means, you’ll be wearing a mini-skirt dress which is great because you’ve got amazing legs.”

  Oh boy.

  “I’m afraid to hear the bad news now.”

  “It’s bad. I just heard the MC say they got a celebrity to announce the winner.”

  “Please don’t tell me it’s—”

  “Kingsly Grant. They got Kingsly Grant.”

  Drat. And I thought vomit on my dress was bad.

  I was so not ready to deal with the world-famous movie star hiding out as an adorable fake nerd who had pretended to like me so he could research his next role.

  Grandma Gigi grinned at me.

  “I know, Gigi.” I sucked in a breath and put on my mental armor. “Sometimes you’ve got to live through an experience in order to learn life’s greatest lessons.”

  24

  Who Wrote This Script?

  Grant

  Have you ever had a jolt of intuition that you must do something, or else? You know, like a gut feeling that if you didn’t do this thing…

  I’d only had this spark of intuition happen three other times in my life.

  The first two times were life-changing. The first time—and the best—was when my parents asked if I’d like to be adopted and become a part of their family. The second time was when I was offered my first movie role—one so small that other actors had turned it down—yet that had been the role that catapulted me from TV to movie star.

  The third time…well, it was still undecided, but looking doubtful.

  Now, this fourth jolt of intuition—the one telling me to get the heck out of here before Bernie saw me—might be my most prescient jolt ever. Yet, I couldn’t do a thing about it.

  The studio had set this up. They wanted to keep the “Where in the World is Kingsly Grant?” momentum going. That’s how I ended up sitting in this small Texas auditorium waiting to crown this year’s winner of the Miss Armadillo Pageant.

  Who wrote this script? Not me.

  This was definitely not how I wanted to see Bernie for the first time since she found out who I was. I’d been stuck in L.A. taking care of necessary meetings and public appearances all week, so my only chance to explain everything and apologize to Bernie had been through texts and phone calls.

  Too bad she’d blocked me.

  I had to fly back to L.A. tonight for one more week of obligations before I could come back here. My hope was that these two weeks would give Bernie space to see the good things we had and let go of her anger. I was still trying to figure out a good way to show Bernie how I felt.

  Since I was hiding out up in the lighting booth until it was time to crown the winner, I had an eagle-eye view of the pageant. First up was the evening gown competition. All twenty girls walked across the stage, one at a time, striking a pose in the center before spinning once and then taking their place in line upstage. There were the typical rhinestone-studded sparkling gowns with mermaid trains, some with layer upon layer of ruffles, a few with skirts covered in downy faux feathers. There was one contestant in a mini dress and I knew by her lose-limbed athletic walk it was Bernie. The mini skirt was a surprise, but she had long athletic legs, so maybe Lacey had talked her into it.

  Next came the interviews. Each contestant was called downstage to talk with the Master of Ceremonies. The MC asked each contestant the same question: why is your platform important to you?

  There were girls with platforms for world peace, women’s rights, anti-bullying, literacy, the need for vocational training in schools and others. All great. Guess which one was Bernie’s?

  Everyone needs a skilled mechanic or plumber or electrician they can count on. Over in Germany, they respect blue-collar jobs and sixty percent of their high school graduates choose vocational training. But here in America, our public high schools continue to cut vocational training from curriculums. We look down on blue collar work and push every high school student toward college. One third of all college students drop out entirely without a degree and burdened with student loan debt. Yet there is a growing shortage of skilled labor and millions of jobs going unfilled. Who are you going to call if a pipe bursts in your house or your daughter’s car breaks down on the side of the road? That’s why I believe vocational training is important.

  Good answer, right? I loved everything about this girl. Except that she was too stubborn to talk to me. But I was working on that.

  Next up was the talent. This would be interesting because the last time I’d heard Bernie practice her song on the accordion, it sounded like a cat fight after the cats had swallowed harmonicas. Painfully bad.

  But before Bernie’s turn there was a baton twirler, a piano solo, a reading from Romeo and Juliet, more than a few tap dances, a lot of solos including a gutsy performance of “Defying Gravity,” and then Bernie was up.

  I sat up straight when she entered the stage without her accordion and wheeling out a large, tarp-covered object.

  Bernie raised her hand to quiet the polite applause and cleared her throat nervously.

  “I was originally going to play a song on the accordion for you, but I’m against torture so decided against it. Instead, I’m going to demonstrate how to quickly change a flat tire.” She pulled the tarp off to reveal a tire attached to a wheel on a stand. She had the spare tire and her tool box hanging on the back side of her stand. “Emphasis on quickly. I believe strongly this is a skill everyone should know for their own safety.”

  With a nod to the sound man in the booth, her music (The William Tell Overture) started and Bernie was off and running. Her movements were precise and confident. So smooth it could have been done by a professional NASCAR pit crew. She pried off the hubcap, loosened the lug nuts, jacked the tire up off the ground, removed the lug nuts, hoisted the tire off, replacing it with the spare and then did it all in reverse, finishing before the music did.

  “That’s all there is to it. Don’t forget to check your tire pressure and rotate them approximately every six-thousand miles. Thank you, and hug your mechanic!”

  She got a loud round of applause as she left the stage. Maybe even the loudest of the night.

  “While the judges tabula
te their votes, let’s bring all our contestants back out on stage. Come on out, ladies!” The girls reentered dressed again in their gowns, lining up behind the MC. Bernie slid into her place at the end a little after the rest since she had the least time to change. “Let’s give them all one more round of applause, shall we?”

  The crowd clapped and whistled.

  “We’d like to introduce our special guest tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from Hollywood…”

  Whoops. I’d been so busy watching Bernie, I’d forgotten they wanted me in the wings right after the talent. I told the sound guy to have the M.C. stall for a few minutes and rushed out of the booth, down the stairwell, weaving my way through the corridor to the stage door while I slid on my suit jacket and straightened my tie.

  I nodded to the stage hand, who whispered into the mic attached to the earpiece in the MC’s ear that I was ready.

  “It’s an honor and a thrill to introduce actor Kingsly Grant all the way from Hollywood to crown this year’s Miss Armadillo! Kingsly Grant, everyone!”

  I stepped into the spotlight to huge applause and screaming girls, but all I could think about was Bernie standing behind me. If this were an action-adventure movie, I’d swing onto the stage on a rope, scoop her up, and climb up onto the lighting catwalk, holding her hostage until she gave me a chance to explain.

  Once again, I had to remind myself life wasn’t a movie. No happy endings guaranteed.

  “Judges, do you have the envelope?” The MC leaned down, accepting the envelope from a matronly woman in a pink chiffon gown. “Last year’s reigning Miss Armadillo, Bobbi Jo Isles, will be helping King make the presentations. Here we go…”

  Bobbi Jo handed me a bouquet of flowers and a small silver trophy of an armadillo.

  “Our second runner up is…Wendy Bosch! Congratulations, Wendy!”

  Wendy stepped forward as the other contestants congratulated her and the audience cheered.

  A quick glance at Bernie showed happy relief, which made me want to laugh, but I quickly moved to hand an excited Wendy her flowers and trophy.

  “Congratulations, Wendy.” I bent and bussed her cheeks like we do in Hollywood and France.

  “The first runner up is…Elena Ruiz! Everyone put your hands together for Elena!”

  I handed Elena her trophy and flowers, but before I could bend down for the cheek kisses, she squealed and threw her arms around me with an “I love you, King!”

  I laughed and extricated myself, moving back to get the crown for the winner.

  “Here we go. The moment we’ve been waiting for. This year’s Miss Armadillo is…Bernadette Jewell!”

  “Wait, what?” Bernie said, looking like they’d just announced her name in the Hunger Games lottery on reaping day. She was so shocked (possibly appalled) that the other girls had to push her out to the center of the stage while people laughed and cheered.

  That’s my girl. Only she wasn’t.

  “Congratulations, Bernadette.”

  “Don’t even start,” she growled at me. “Just do your movie star part and slap the crown on my head, okay?’

  Ooookay. So she was still angry with me. Understandable.

  I placed the crown on her head while she avoided looking into my eyes. When I leaned in for the cheek kisses, she stepped on my foot with the heel of her shoe. The sharp heel of her shoe. Ow.

  But…it gave me hope. By my reasoning, she wouldn’t be angry if she didn’t care. I was going to cling to that while I figured out a way to show her how much she meant to me.

  25

  An Intervention

  Bernie

  “Grady says he thinks King really is a great guy.” Lacey stood next to me as I attached a bolt in the Mustang.

  “Then tell Grady to date him.”

  “Sorry, Grady’s already taken. It’s my job as your best friend to tell you that you’re being stubborn and bratty.”

  “I know I am. Why do you think I’m hiding out here by myself in the garage?” I puffed out a breath, attempting to get a loose curl off my face. “So I don’t have to make anybody else suffer until I’m through this.”

  “You’ve been out here almost a week. How much more time do you need?”

  “I don’t know. Six months. Maybe a year.” How long did broken hearts take to heal? The garage had once again become my refuge. Only this time, instead of working on Earl, Tammi was saving me.

  Tammi had gone from being hidden under the tarp for years to being my touchstone; the place I’d go to talk to Mama. For years, I would buy a part for the Mustang when I felt the loss of my mother too keenly.

  Things had changed.

  Now, instead of buying parts—I was installing parts when I felt the sharp loss of Grant. The loss of what we had together. The loss of the future I sort of thought we’d have. I mean, who says he’s planning a fourth date if he doesn’t mean it?

  “Okay. That’s it. Let’s go.” Lacey took the wrench from my hand, tossed it into the tool box and dragged me from the garage and into the house. “It’s time for an intervention.”

  “You’re not serious,” I said.

  “I absolutely am. First, we’re watching a Kingsly Grant movie and you will sit here and watch.”

  “Lace, I don’t care that he’s a famous actor.”

  “That’s not the point. You know how you’re good with cars?”

  I raised an eyebrow at her and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Stop. You are. Just because your sensitive side—shut up, you have one—felt sorry for Todd and you threw the competition doesn’t mean you aren’t a great tech. Now say it: I’m a great tech.”

  “You’re a great tech.” I snickered when Lacey frowned. Hey, I thought it was funny. “Okay, I’m a great tech.”

  “Right. Well, guess what? Grant is a great actor. He’s really good at his job.”

  “Yes, I know. I had a front-row seat to his performance. Remember?”

  “Sit down, be quiet and watch.” Lacey waited for me to sit before she sat next to me and clicked on the TV and one of his movies.

  It only took one movie to see what Lacey was saying. Kingsly Grant was an amazing actor. Of course, first I had to get over seeing him with blue eyes. The lightest blue eyes I’d ever seen. They were beautiful and breathtaking. His long hair was gone too, cut short like some Navy Seal which he had the body for, too. Weird to think he hid that muscled body under his baggy “cool kid” hoodie and other nerd outfits for three weeks.

  Lacey hit pause when the credits rolled on the screen. “Well?”

  “He’s an amazing actor. I’m still not sure what the point of this is.” That wasn’t true. I figured Lacey knew that the longer I watched King on TV, the deeper I’d fall for him. I narrowed my eyes on her, realizing she was as diabolical as Lolli when she wanted something. “Ha! You’re Lolli right now and Kingsly Grant is a blueberry pancake. He still lied to me.”

  “I was prepared for you to say that. Not the pancake part, but come on.” Lacey pulled me up and walked me back into the kitchen. “Welcome to Intervention Part Two.”

  Lacey wasn’t kidding about the intervention. This wasn’t some impromptu idea. She’d planned this ahead of time. Lolli, Gigi, and Grant’s mom were all sitting around the kitchen table waiting for us. They had snacks. Which meant they were serious.

  “Hello, Mrs. Stutterfield—I mean, Mrs. Grant,” I said, giving Lacey serious side-eye about her inclusion.

  “Please, call me April. Don’t blame Lacey, dear. I wanted to help,” she said, sending me a smile. “And I’ve never been part of an intervention before, and Lacey made it sound like so much fun.”

  “Yay.” Fun for who? I sat at the table ready to get this over with. “So, just so we’re all on the same page, so far we’ve established that Kingsly is an amazing actor—which I already knew without watching one of his movies. He lied to me about who he is, and he’s had a girlfriend the whole time he pretended to like me. I’m aware that I’m being very b
ratty—sorry. As soon as I work through this anger, I’ll stop. Or at least, that’s my plan.”

  “I don’t blame you one bit, Bernie. I’d be angry and hurt too if some movie star came along, flirted with me and didn’t tell me about his girlfriend.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. If it were true…which in Grant’s case—it isn’t. He and Talia grew up in the industry together. We’re friends with her parents. They’re like brother and sister. The studio didn’t know about you—so when the story about Kingsly being missing caught fire, they saw it as free publicity. And asked Talia to play the worried girlfriend. She didn’t know about you either, or she wouldn’t have done it.”

  Hmmm. Lacey nudged her elbow into my arm and nodded at me.

  “I told you Grady said he thought Grant was too nice to do that.”

  “He should’ve told you who he was, but he didn’t mean to hurt you, Bernie.” April pushed the plate of cookies toward me. “Coming to Texas—trying to live a regular life like a regular teenager—was about having people like him for himself instead of his celebrity. That’s what you gave him, Bernie. He’s rarely had that. It meant so much to him that he was afraid to ruin it.”

  “But he knew me. He should’ve trusted me.”

  “Did he tell you about his brother?” April asked.

  “A little. He said his younger brother was adopted by a different family. And that he finally met him but it didn’t go very well. That’s all he said.”

  “Grant wanted to find his brother since the first day we brought him home. It took years to track him down and get his brother’s family to agree to meet. You probably already know that Grant has a huge heart. He was sure that finding his brother would fill a hole in his heart. But once his brother realized who Grant was, he was resentful. Angry over the life Grant had compared to the life he had.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lacey said.

  “I agree. Still, he asked Grant for money and other things and Grant gave it to him because he loved his brother. But his brother never loved him. It was all about what Grant could give him and being seen in public with Grant. Eventually it caused Grant more pain than he could handle, so he walked away. When you’re a celebrity, being used for your fame and fortune isn’t new. But he thought it was going to be different with his brother.”