Mirrored

by Flinn,Alex

  “How would the press find out?” Otto asks.

  “I’d tell them, of course. It would be right there on the cover of the Enquirer. I’m an actor. I love publicity. And then, it would be all your fault.”

  “He makes an interesting point,” Sherman says.

  “And, meanwhile,” I say, “it would be really good publicity if he visited a sick girl in the hospital. And couldn’t he use some of that after the thing with the bicycle last week? After his breakup with Allegra.”

  “He didn’t break up with Allegra,” Sherman says.

  “Oh, I think you’ll find he did. He was a total jerk and broke her heart. Even if my friend doesn’t wake up, he could take pictures, prove Jonah visited. We could call Extra. It would be a lot better than another story about him getting drunk and doing something stupid.”

  “He’s right,” Sherman says. “We could ask Harry. That’s his manager. And you seem like a really nice guy, um . . .”

  “Goose,” I say.

  “Goose. We should try to help Goose, Otto.”

  But, just at that moment, the door opens. And Otto picks me up and drops me again.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  12

  You know in old cartoons, when someone gets beat up and they see stars going around their head? That’s how it is. I literally see stars. Then, I realize it’s the last of the Disney fireworks out the window. Still, my head really hurts.

  Otto starts to pick me up again. Why did they turn on me?

  “Man, stop!” I scream. “Dwarf tossing’s been illegal in Florida since 1989!”

  An aside: This is actually true. In 1989, the Florida legislature voted to ban the “bar sport” of throwing little people against mattresses. This may be one of the best and least-stupid laws Florida has ever passed. Makes me proud to be a Floridian. It’s still legal other places. But there are actually people campaigning to bring it back, to “create jobs.” If that’s ever my job, just kill me.

  Sherman’s yelling at Otto to stop too. “Don’t go crazy, man! Dude’s tiny. God, this is gonna look really bad if the papers get wind of it.”

  And then, I understand.

  When Otto picks me up the second time, he whispers, “When I drop you, stay down and act hurt.”

  “Shouldn’t be hard.” It comes out a grunt.

  He drops me, and every bone in my body aches. But I get it now. It’s a show for Jonah.

  “I just wanted him to visit my sick friend!” I yell.

  “What’s going on?” A British accent. Jonah. Wearing purple diaper pants and a backward baseball cap. “You’re beating up a . . . a midget in my room?”

  “Actually,” Sherman says, “that word is considered offensive. I believe the preferred term is ‘little person.’”

  “Right,” I grunt.

  “But you’re beating one up. In my room. That’s my point, really.”

  “Otto is,” Sherman says. “I tried to stop him. I told him it would be absolutely horrific publicity if this guy went to the press.”

  Horrific?

  “He snuck into your room,” Otto says. “On the balcony.”

  “Ouch!” I yell, partly for show but partly because it really does hurt.

  “Stop it,” Jonah says.

  The guys back off. Behind Jonah’s back, Otto winks at me.

  “Who are you, and why are you in my room?” Jonah demands.

  “My name is Goose. Goose Guzman, and I want you to visit the most beautiful girl in the world in the hospital.”

  “Oh, brother.” Jonah sighs.

  I pick up Celine’s picture, which has fallen on the floor. “That’s her. She’s in Miami. She’s in a coma. And I think meeting you might be the only thing that will wake her up.”

  And then, I tell him everything else about Celine, how great she is. “I know you have a ton of fans, but this girl is special. And, what’s more, she’s an orphan.”

  “An orphan?” Jonah smirks. “Like Oliver Twist?”

  “Exactly like Oliver Twist,” I say, glomming on to the fact that he’s British and has actually heard of Oliver Twist. “In fact, that’s how we met, in a school play, Oliver! She sang, ‘Where Is Love?’ and that was how I knew.”

  “Knew?”

  “What a great person she was. Like no one else. And you have the opportunity to help someone like that. And, frankly, it would help you too.”

  “What? How would it help me? Why do I need help?”

  Is this guy for real? Does he have no idea that everyone thinks he’s a complete turd?

  “Well, after the pictures of you peeing on your neighbors’ lawn last week and practically running over that kid in your Maserati, not to mention your big breakup with . . .” I stop, realizing I’m probably not supposed to know about the breakup. “Don’t you think it would be nice to have some good publicity?”

  “Now listen here,” Jonah says. “It’s not my fault the press follows me about and reports on my every move—normal teenage stuff like—”

  “Like mooning a group of Catholic schoolchildren out the window of your limo?” I ask.

  “Nuns are so funny!” He giggles. “They look like penguins!”

  “Or when your monkey bit that waitress?”

  “She shouldn’t have tried to pet it.”

  “So you don’t care that you’re perceived as the biggest douche in the universe?”

  “Girls don’t think so.” He glances in the mirror and adjusts his hat.

  It’s true. Celine liked him a lot. I always figured it was a blind spot on her part, that she somehow didn’t see what he was like. It’s like on The Simpsons, how Lisa reads Non-Threatening Boys Magazine, that girls like unattainable, girlish-looking boys because they’re scared of real ones.

  My head hurts. In fact, my whole body hurts. My brain hurts, and I just want a ride to the train station so I can go home—after calling my mom to assure her I’m fine and apologize.

  “Fine,” I say. “I’m sorry I thought you’d want to help this girl, who’s a really big fan—and, incidentally, a really cool human being. My bad.” I turn and start for the door.

  “Actually, I think it’s a fabulous idea.”

  Before me stands the biggest, blondest woman I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing a pink suit and a matching hat with big white roses all over.

  I turn to stare. Jonah turns too. “Mum, what are you doing here?”

  “Allegra phoned. I’ve come to check on the mess you’ve made of your life.” She looks him up and down. “Pull up your trousers.”

  “Mess? I’m an international sensation.” But he does pull up his pants, which fall back down as soon as he lets go.

  “An international sensation with no soul.” She grabs his baseball cap. “Take that off. It’s disrespectful.”

  Jonah tugs at his pants and the cap at the same time. “Mum, what have I done?”

  “You spit at that crowd of fans last week. You wore those horrible trousers to sing the national anthem at a ball game. The whole country saw your crack, the whole world, maybe.” She gives them another tug.

  “Mum, quit it.”

  When you visited the Washington Monument, you said you were sure Washington would have told a lie to get to one of your concerts.” The roses on her hat tremble with each word.

  “He might’ve.”

  “And you haven’t been inside a church in a year. This is not how I raised you, Joshbekesha!”

  “Josh—what?” I say.

  “That’s not my name!” Jonah snaps. “I’m having it legally changed when I’m eighteen.”

  “But you’re seventeen now, and you do as I say. And I say you should do one nice thing for e
very ten rotten things you do.”

  Jonah nods. “Yes, Mum.” He looks at me. “Perhaps I can help you out after all.”

  Jonah’s Amazonian mother smiles at me. “Now, this looks like a nice boy who listens to his mum.”

  I feel my ears get hot, which literally has never happened. Between my olive complexion and my high threshold for embarrassment, I’m not a blusher. But I assume that’s what’s happening now. I say, “Usually, you’re right. I am a great son with a great mum—uh, mom. But I’m afraid today has been an exception. If you’d let me use the phone, I could make it up to her, though.”

  Two hours later, I am—as hoped—on Jonah’s private plane. We had to drive through what looked like a cornfield of teenage girls to get out of the hotel. I don’t know how they knew he was leaving, or maybe they just live in the parking lot. I called my mother on Josh’s mom’s cell phone, and she only slightly freaked out. I guess she figured out where I was and was happy I wasn’t dead or arrested.

  “Can you check with Kendra?” I ask. I’m trying to figure out what to say not to get her more worried. But I’m worried, so it’s hard. “Can you just . . . make sure Celine’s okay?” I don’t want to tell her about the evil nurse.

  “Okay,” Stacey says. “Just get home safe.”

  Jonah’s sitting in the seat across from mine. He has on khaki pants and a blue button-down his mother brought him and sort of looks like a waiter at TGI Fridays. He’s saying, “Yes, mum” a lot.

  “Yes, Mum, I did notice how Goose called his mum so she wouldn’t worry,” he says.

  “You’re right, Mum. It probably wouldn’t kill me to volunteer at a soup kitchen.”

  “Yes, I’ll get a haircut. It would look nicer.”

  “Of course I’m not on drugs.”

  His speaking voice, like his music, is sort of . . . soothing. It’s after 1:00 a.m., which means it’s been almost a full day since I’ve slept. And, even then, I barely did because I was so worried about Celine.

  I feel like closing my eyes.

  Maybe I will.

  Yes, maybe I will . . .

  I will . . .

  I feel a bump beneath me. I start awake. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. Across from me, someone is saying, “Of course, Mum. Of course I realize it should be about the music.”

  Jonah. Jonah’s plane. I’ve actually succeeded. He’s going to go to the hospital and kiss Celine.

  Kiss Celine.

  I push back all the feelings that causes. I can’t think about how much it’s going to suck to see him kiss her right now. Or ever. Celine is my friend, and I should want what’s best for her. And if this . . .

  “Really, Mum, how was I supposed to know I shouldn’t text at a funeral?”

  . . . if this idiot is what’s best for her, then that’s what I should want. At least he has a nice mom.

  I look out the window. The night outside is black. At least, since it’s 2:30 a.m., there shouldn’t be too many girls waiting in the terminal.

  Okay, I spoke too soon. As soon as we leave the secure area, there are hundreds of girls, crushing together, craning to see Jonah.

  “Is that him?” one yells.

  “Couldn’t be, in that nerdy outfit.”

  “It’s a disguise! It’s a disguise!”

  “Omigod! That’s his mom!”

  “I love his mum!”

  “Who’s the little guy?”

  “Are you famous too?”

  “Not yet,” I can’t resist telling them, “but I’m going to be.”

  Otto and Sherman and a bunch of other bodyguards I don’t know fight against the surging mob. How did they even know he was going to be here? Don’t they have mothers to tell them not to go to the airport at two in the morning?

  Oh, yeah. They probably blew off their mothers like I did.

  Finally, we make it to Jonah’s limo, one of three limos that peel off in separate directions. Ours goes to the hospital.

  When we get there, it’s blissfully quiet. It never occurred to anyone that Jonah would go to a hospital instead of a club or a South Beach restaurant where you eat dinner in bed. We head for the entrance.

  “Where’s the photog?” Jonah’s manager, Harry, is griping. “The photog was supposed to meet us outside. Damn, there’s always paparazzi around when he’s pissing on a monument, but never when he’s doing something nice.”

  “Perhaps it’s because he’s so seldom doing anything nice,” Jonah’s mom says. “Go on, love.”

  “Maybe he could go up now and the photographer can come when he gets there, when Celine wakes up.”

  Oh, please, let Celine wake up.

  “I think we should wait for the photographer,” Jonah says. “After all, it’s the whole reason we’re—” He’s interrupted by the mother of all nudges from his mum. “I mean, of course I’d love to go up and meet the gi . . . young lady right now.”

  He looks to his mother for approval, and she pats his shoulder.

  “Come on, then.” I gesture for Jonah to follow me to the elevator. “It’s probably better if it’s just the two of us.”

  The elevator is one of those big ones that can accommodate a gurney. We stand far apart and don’t talk. Jonah’s probably tired from the tongue-lashing, and me, I don’t have anything to say. I don’t have anything to think. At least, nothing I want to think. If I was thinking—which I’m really trying not to do—I’d be thinking this is it. End of the line. If Jonah’s kiss doesn’t wake Celine up, maybe nothing will. Maybe Celine is really and truly gone forever.

  The hospital is so silent, which is bad because it allows me to be alone with my thoughts but good because it’s quick. Only one nurse gets on the elevator. She doesn’t seem to notice Jonah, and she’s going to the same floor we are, twelve.

  I watch the numbers. I don’t want to talk to Jonah. Celine thinks he’s so profound, but really, he’s an idiot. She’ll be disappointed.

  She’ll be disappointed if she wakes up.

  Five.

  This has to work.

  Six.

  It will work.

  Seven.

  What if it doesn’t?

  Eight.

  No point thinking about it.

  Nine.

  But what if it doesn’t?

  Ten.

  Stop it. Stop it!

  Eleven.

  I’ll know in five minutes. Two if we run. Almost there. At least the wondering will be over.

  The elevator jolts to a stop.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you boys off,” the nurse says.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  13

  “What the—?” Jonah yells.

  But I know. Of course it’s Violet. She looks different than the nurse I saw before, but I know her by the expression on her face. And, um, the fact that she’s not letting us move.

  The first thought that flashes through my head is that I must be right about Jonah. I must be close. Violet hasn’t bothered Celine until now. If she’s suddenly trying to stop me, she must know that Jonah is the handsome prince who can wake Celine.

  I lunge for the alarm button. It starts ringing. Jonah’s screaming, “Help! Help! I’m being kidnapped! I’m a rock star!” But then, just as suddenly, my arm, my whole body freezes. Jonah’s screams stop. I can see that he, too, is frozen, stone-like, like Medusa’s victims. I can only move my eyes, and with them, I see Violet push the button for the roof.

  “I’ll drag you up and throw you off. Falling from a great height is your destiny, dwarf.”

  I feel the elevator start up again. I can’t do anything about it.

  And then, there’s another person in the elev
ator. She looks like Violet. My eyes take in blazing red hair and high-heeled boots. “What are you doing here?” the nurse-Violet screams.

  “Saving them!” the other Violet screams, so I know it’s Kendra. “It’s too late to save you. Violet, you disappoint me.”

  The elevator again jolts to a stop.

  “Disappoint you? I always disappoint you,” Nurse Violet mocks. “I disappoint everyone.”

  “That’s not true. I thought you were the daughter I never had. It breaks my heart to have to stop you, to have to use tough love.”

  “Then don’t!” Nurse Violet screams.

  And suddenly, a ball of fire flies right at Kendra and me. I can move, and I duck to avoid it. Kendra somehow quashes the flame, but there is another, and another. Jonah is shrieking. The doors open, and Kendra screams at us to run, even as she uses a fireball of her own to hold Nurse Violet at bay.

  “How?” I look out the door. The elevator is several feet above where it’s supposed to be, hovering above the floor. The white linoleum floor looks slick and hard as ice.

  “Just jump!” Kendra/Violet says.

  And, amazingly, tugging Jonah behind me, I do.

  I fall hard, but I don’t die. Jonah lands neatly, and I yell, “Come on!” I don’t look back. I hear the door close. I think, hope, we’re on the right floor, Celine’s floor. I check the numbers on the doors, 1201, 1202. Yes! We skid around a corner and almost hit an oncoming nurse.

  “Slow down!” she yells.

  At least it’s not Violet. We slow. Jonah’s been making frightened, incredulous sounds, combined with lots of cursing. Once we pass the nurse, he says, “What the hell was that?”

  “A witch.” I don’t look at him. “I didn’t tell you because you’d have thought I was lying. Or crazy. But now you know. A witch put a spell on Celine to make her go to sleep. I want you to kiss her, so you can wake her up.” I keep walking fast, not looking at him. Eyes on the prize. Celine.