Audible Love: A Young Adult Romance

by Maggie Dallen

  The moment the words are out, I realize that I’m lying. I do have one thing to hide—the fact that I’m making money using someone else’s name and clout. But they won’t find that out, right? They can’t. Trent has just as much to lose as I do, if not more. He loves having that credit to his name, and he doesn’t mind the extra cash either. He’d look like an idiot. I’d look like a fraud. A user and a phony…but he wouldn’t look good either.

  He wouldn’t tell, and no one else knows my secret, except the sound guy who doesn’t care about anything but the money I give him for his time. We’re fine.

  When we get back to school, one thing is clear.

  We are not fine.

  The cop car plus our paparazzi entourage makes sneaking back onto the grounds impossible. We are, in fact, the least sneaky people on the planet. Still, I slide down in the cop car’s backseat and turn to Avery with a finger over my lips. “Shh,”I say in a stage whisper. “No one will see us.”

  She laughs softly in the dark and everything is all right. Everything is freakin’ amazing…as long as I can make this girl laugh.

  But neither of us is laughing as we make our walk of shame, led to the front door of our dorm with an armed freakin’ guard, who is still clearly a bumbling mess in the face of Avery’s star power.

  The fact that said star is currently keeping her head ducked down to avoid photos, has her mouth thinned into a line of discomfort, and is visibly trembling doesn’t seem to register for this guy. It’s like all he sees is her fame—every character she’s ever played.

  For a second I wonder if that’s all everyone sees when they look at her.

  Our RA is waiting in the lobby, looking cranky and disheveled as she’s clearly been dragged from her bed to meet us and deal with this situation.

  I give her a little wave. She and I have never had any issues; I keep quiet for the most part, and we get on just fine. But now she’s glaring at me and giving Avery a look of disappointment that rivals the cop’s.

  Our guard explains the situation and the two of them confer quietly about the paparazzi out front. It seems security is already on it and they won’t be hassling us anymore. They’re currently being kicked off the grounds.

  I sneak a glance at Avery and know exactly what she’s thinking by that resigned air about her. Too little, too late. I reach out and squeeze her hand and she flashes me a little smile. It’s sad and it’s small but it’s enough to let me know she’ll be all right.

  And the fact that she holds onto my hand even when I’m about to let go? That lets me know that we both will be just fine.

  Maybe even great.

  Chapter Ten

  Avery

  I know as soon as my alarm goes off that this day is going to suck. I know it in the way my head pounds and my mouth has this nasty taste in it. It’s like a hangover but worse. Way worse.

  I have three text messages and a voicemail waiting for me from my mother.

  “Fun night?” Charlotte gives me a sympathetic smile that tells me she knows everything. She’s at her desk, looking wide awake and hard at work on something.

  “Does everyone know?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “When cop cars show up, everyone knows.”

  I don’t know if she means cops raiding the party or our inglorious escort home the night before, but I quickly realize it doesn’t matter. Gossip around the dorms is the least of my worries.

  The funny thing is that even as I think that I have no idea how true that is. It’s not until after I splash water on my face and suck down some coffee that I suck up the nerve to call my mom that I realize the extent of the doo-doo I’m wading in.

  I start my explanations without a greeting. My mom is all business, and I need to be too. “It was just a party,” I say. “Not a big deal.”

  “Avery,” she says with a weary sigh. As if I’m some kind of troublemaker and not the least troublesome teenager I know.

  “I’m serious,” I say. “I barely drank, and I tried to avoid the police, but—”

  “I’m not worried about your silly high school party.” My mother’s voice drips with disdain, and I straighten on my bed.

  Charlotte is pretending to ignore our conversation, but I’m still keenly aware that she’s there. “You’re not?”

  See, here’s the thing. Untouchable divas are not seen getting caught by police on the side of the road. There’s a fine line between Hollywood brat and unworkable problem child. Neither of us wants me to be seen as the latter. The former gets respect, if not love. The second?

  She doesn’t get calls from her agent, that’s all I know. She becomes the butt of the jokes on late night TV and gets photos of her cooch splashed on the front page.

  I will never be that girl, I can tell you that much.

  “Oh,” I recover. “Well, good. Because I think we can spin this in our favor.” I gave this some thought last night as I was falling asleep. You know, in those few moments when I wasn’t reliving that epic kiss. “You’ve been saying how the public needs to get glimpses of the real me, right? Well, we can use this to show that I’m just like every other high schooler out there and—”

  Her sigh is loud and effectively cuts me off. “Avery, we have bigger problems than your little attempt to play hooky from boarding school.”

  My stomach sinks. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you read the news this morning, sweetheart?”

  When she calls me ‘sweetheart’ I know I’m in trouble. Also, it should be noted that when my mother refers to ‘news’ she’s referring to entertainment news, not those pesky topics like politics or global events.

  “Um…” I start. Of course, I haven’t. I woke up and drank coffee. End of story.

  I’m calling up my laptop as she speaks.

  “Now, I don’t want you to worry, sweetheart. I have this under control—”

  Her efforts to calm me only heighten my anxiety, and in seconds my panic morphs into full-blown rage.

  “He said what?” The words are right in front of me, but I can’t stop those words from hissing out of me like air out of a balloon. I’d gone to bed expecting to see my name on the gossip sites this morning.

  But I hadn’t expected to see it linked to that man. Or in that way.

  Henry Niven Speaks Out, the headline reads. Underneath is a picture of him…and me. I remember this day; he has an arm around me and our heads are ducked as we head off the set. This was taken before the Emmys debacle, back when we’d been friendly. Not friends, just friendly. The sort of co-worker relationship I imagine lots of people experience. The kind of camaraderie that grew out of long days spent in one another’s company.

  We’d parted ways minutes after that shot was taken. I’d gone one way, he’d gone another. He’d had his arm around me precisely because the photographers were there. That was back when he’d done chivalrous things like try and protect me from the press.

  And today? Today he was doing despicable things for who knows what reason.

  “Can we…can we sue?” I spit out, even though I know my mother won’t take it seriously. To sue would mean to give the rumors credence. But really…my skin crawls at the thought that anyone believes him.

  Shirley makes a tsking sound. She’s taught me to be smarter about things like this. “He doesn’t outright say the two of you are a couple or that you’ve slept together…”

  But it’s there. It’s implied with every well-chosen word. But the worst part—the thing that makes me want to hurl even though there’s nothing in my stomach—that’s the picture of his estranged wife that’s just below ours.

  She’s wearing sunglasses, but it’s clear that her eyes are puffy. She looks devastated. Sweet, kind, lovely Terri looks like her world is crumbling around her…and it’s all my fault.

  But it’s not! I know Terri and she knows me, she has to know this isn’t true. I take a deep breath and remind myself once again of all the ways I’ve had photos of me taken out of context; for all I know this p
hoto of Terri was from years ago after her dog died.

  No, the photos aren’t what I should be focusing on, it’s what Henry said that matters.

  “Why would he do this?” I ask. I can hear the desperation in my voice, and it’s then that I notice Charlotte watching me with wide eyes. I slide the laptop over so she can see and watch as she claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes sliding between me and the laptop.

  As if I wasn’t aware of it before, her horrified reaction confirms it. The message is clear without reading a word.

  I’ve officially been cast as a homewrecker.

  “I told you, I have a plan,” my mother says. She doesn’t exactly sound torn up about the fact that her daughter is Hollywood’s leading hussy. “Have you had a chance to take a look at the script I sent you?”

  I take a deep breath. She’s referring to the stripper role. “I’m not doing it.” I’m ready to fight tooth and nail. I don’t care who the director is, or how Oscar-worthy the part might be. I don’t want to be naked, I don’t want to play a stripper, and I don’t want to spend an entire press junket talking about what it’s like to perform staged sex scenes.

  Just…no.

  I wait for Shirley to argue, but the fight never comes. “Agreed,” she says. “At a time like this, we need to focus on restoring your image, and having you cast as a sexy harlot won’t help matters.”

  I open my mouth to explain that that’s not the reason I’m saying no, but I stop. What does it matter? For the first time in forever, she and I agree on something.

  “I have another script coming your way,” she says. “It’s a voiceover role for a new Pixar film. It’s hyped to be the next…ugh, whatever that fish movie was called.”

  I can’t help but smile a little at her frustration. For a woman who lives and breathes Hollywood, she has no idea how to actually enjoy a movie.

  “You want me to do a voice for an animated movie?” It’s not that I hate the idea—I don’t. I just can’t believe my mother is suggesting it. She’s mentioned on more than one occasion that sex symbol starlets need to make hay while the sun shines.

  This is her supremely coy way of saying I need to wear the hottie outfits before the boobs start to sag and the wrinkles set in. The last thing she wants is for me to hide away in a sound booth.

  She sniffs, her only acknowledgement that we’ve had this conversation before and that she’s officially flipping sides. “Yes, well, things have changed.”

  “Things?” I repeat. “You mean the fact that my lovely co-star is going to drag me down into the mud?”

  She ignores that. “There’s a difference between admired and hated, Avery. You know that.”

  I wince at the words. Hated. Is that what I am?

  “Between this little stunt of Henry’s and now photos of you being arrested—”

  “I wasn’t being arrested,” I interrupt. “He wanted an autograph for his daughter.”

  She ignores me. “Your reputation has taken a dive and we need to fix it. Fast.”

  I take a breath, but she keeps talking before I get a chance to say anything. “We need to use the fact that you’re at a new school. You’re starting over, you’re changing. Everyone loves a riches to rags story.”

  She goes on and on and on. But she’s not talking to me; she’s talking to herself. She’s brainstorming, crafting the way she’ll spin my life into something more palatable.

  Machiavelli had nothing on my mother.

  “What we need is to find you a nice boy,” she says. “How are things going with that Wagner kid?”

  I stiffen. “No.”

  “I’m just asking—”

  “Mother,” I say in a low warning tone. “Do not drag him into this.” I’m already regretting the fact that I gave her this ammunition. It’s not like she and I talk about boys often, but in a fit of giddy nerves, I’d told her about my crush, about the fact that he goes to Trudale. It had been…unwise, to say the least. I’ve learned the hard way that the less my mother knows about my personal life, the better.

  There’s no way I’m going to use Trent to save my image. Not only is that not fair to him, it’s definitely not fair to Seth, my…boyfriend?

  Maybe?

  I suck in a deep breath as butterflies explode into action. And just like that, all thoughts of Henry are shoved to the side and memories of a magical kiss are back in the foreground. I’m grinning like an idiot as I temporarily avoid reality.

  “Trent would love it,” my mother is saying. “I’ve already spoken to his father and—”

  “You’ve what?”

  “Oh relax, Avery. I’m not arranging your marriage. I’ve known his father for years. We were just chatting about how we might form a mutual alliance.” She had that sing-songy tone going on, the one presumably meant to imply that this was no big deal, that it’s a common occurrence for her to reach out to people on my behalf about forming an alliance.

  An alliance.

  Oh man. Maybe it is a common occurrence. How long exactly has my mother been treating my life like an episode of Survivor?

  Ugh, I feel gross. That happy feeling is a memory again as I process the fact that my mother has been manipulating the relationships in my life for who knows how long.

  “Shirley,” I interrupt. “I have to go.”

  “Of course, sweetheart,” she says, back to being the motherly manager…or the managing mother? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. “And don’t worry about anything. Like I said, I’ll handle this.”

  She hangs up, and I’m left staring at my phone. Charlotte gives me space, but I can feel her eyes moving over to me every now and again. “You okay?” she finally asks, her voice quiet.

  I nod.

  No, not really, but you know…what are you going to do?

  My phone lights up with a text from Gabe.

  Gabe: OMG. You are such a slut.

  That’s followed quickly by, JK and a winking emoji.

  I let out a little huff of amusement despite myself.

  Gabe: Hang in there, Cinderella. I’ll call you during my break and we can talk about all the ways we will destroy that MoFo!

  I smile at my phone as I send back a heart emoji. Not exactly eloquent but it’s the best I can do. I get another text so quickly I think it must be Gabe responding, but it’s Bella Gable, my co-star on The Temptress.

  Bella: Ew. Tell me it isn’t true.

  I write back quickly, Of course not!

  Bella: Thank God. I mean, I knew it, but I had to ask.

  I can practically hear Bella’s valley girl accent as I read her texts.

  Bella: Don’t worry, no one believes him.

  No one, I presume, means our castmates and the crew since she’s still filming her last few scenes this week. I’d certainly hope they wouldn’t believe him. Everyone knows that he’s the perv on set while I’m well known for keeping a professional distance with my male co-stars. Still, it’s nice to hear.

  Thanks, I text back, I just wish I knew why he was doing this.

  Bella: I think I know.

  I wait for more, and when it doesn’t immediately come, I roll my eyes. Finally, I cave and send about a hundred question marks.

  She replies quickly.

  Bella: Word on set is that Henry’s the next to be killed off.

  This is followed by a slew of skulls and celebratory emojis. Death, bottle of champagne, death, balloons, death, etc. She sends another text that’s just more of the same.

  I blink at my phone in disbelief. Then I grin. Oh man, that would be the best news I’ve ever heard…if it’s true.

  Me: And he blames me????

  Bella: Dunno. But he’s pissed and looking for attention. Never a good combo.

  It’s times like this that I kind of like Bella. She tells it like it is, even if she does fall just short of crazy.

  Bella: Don’t sweat it, sweetie. Just make sure your hottie of the hour knows the truth. This is followed with some silly emojis of cats and two girls dancing.<
br />
  My hottie of the…what now?

  Then Bella sends me a photo of me and Seth holding hands by the cop car.

  Bella: You go, girl. I never knew you could be so bad. She adds one more winky face for good measure.

  It should not make me smile. I mean, I’m fairly sure this same photo is making the rounds with outlandish captions about my drug problem or my newly discovered issue with kleptomania.

  But still, I can’t seem to stop smiling as I look at the two of us, holding hands like a legit couple. We look real.

  We felt real.

  And now Bella’s message hits me in the chest like a bowling ball. I need to make sure he knows it’s not true. I don’t know what this is between us, but I don’t want it to be confused by the stupid lies Henry is spreading.

  I’m running around the room like a crazy person, madly searching for clean clothes and makeup and definitely stopping to brush my teeth. I might be in a hurry to see Seth, but I sure as hell am not going to scare him away with my morning breath before I have a chance to make this right.

  “Are you looking for Seth?” Charlotte asks just as I’m about to head out.

  I stop in surprise for two reasons. One, how did she know I was looking for Seth? The second, why wouldn’t he be in his room? I start with the first. “How did you know?”

  She blinks once and then points to the screen of her laptop.

  Oh, freakin’ hell. Another story? I hover over her shoulder and curse loudly. Too loudly judging by the way she winces and moves her ear away from my mouth.

  “It’s not a terrible picture,” she says quietly, sweetly, and as convincingly as possible.

  No. It’s not a terrible picture. Just a leading one. I look terrified of the cop, but hey…my hair looks great. Not a curl out of place. Shirley will be pleased. And Seth looks like a true tough guy standing there between me and the officer, his muscles looking toned beneath his T-shirt and his glasses reflecting the light, giving him a mysterious air.

  The caption leaves a lot to be desired. “Avery Sinclair spotted being questioned by police after wild party raided by police.” The story goes into more depth. My stomach sinks as I read it. No time has passed. None. This all happened last night, yet these reporters have already managed to get quotes from half the party from the looks of it.