by Jen Calonita
Matty grins. “That will work.” Then his face clouds over with worry. “Are you coming back?”
Er… sort of ? “Yes. I just might be gone overnight. Or two.” Matty’s eyes widen. “You have to trust me.”
“I do trust you. This you, not the one before the accident,” he clarifies and fiddles with the key still in his hand.
I put the money in my red bag and look at him. “What do you mean?”
“You’re nicer, that’s all. And a little wacky.” He shrugs and scuffs his foot on the brown carpeting. “That’s okay, though. It’s fun to watch. I’ll cover for you today, if you cover for me sometimes.” His computer screen IM pings madly. He stares back at the laptop. “If I ever have someplace decent to go in the real world.”
Aww…I grab his chin and stare into his eyes. “You’ll have plenty of places to go in the real world, I promise. You just don’t realize it yet, but you’re going to be fine, Matthew Burke. And more popular than you can ever imagine. I love you for it, even if you do drive me crazy sometimes.” Matt blushes. “Can you do me one more favor?”
“Another one?” he asks incredulously.
“This one is easy. Tell Mom and Dad I love them.”
Because I do. I really do. This Mom and Dad are so… what’s the word I’m looking for?
Happy.
They’re happy to be with us and be part of our lives, and they worship each other rather than the scene around them. Maybe it’s living in Toluca Lake, or the fact that neither work in the industry, but they’re not consumed by Hollywood, and that’s a good thing. Dad needs to go back to working with cars. And Mom, well, I want a mom back. And when I get home, I have to figure out a way to make that happen.
Matt’s quiet. “You’re not coming back, are you?”
I mess up his hair some more. “You’ll see me again. I promise.”
“Do you want to see the flowers that just came for you before you go?” Matty asks and skirts past me into the hallway. Sitting on our black hall table is the most beautiful arrangement overflowing with peonies and sunflowers.
“They’re gorgeous!” I thumb one of the sunflowers carefully. “Who are they from?”
“Who do you think?” Matty says wryly. “Mom’s bestie, Victoria Beckham.”
I turn around so fast that I pull a sunflower out of the vase. “What did you just say?”
Matty looks at me strangely. “I said look at the card.”
“No you didn’t, you said Victoria Beckham,” I insist and start fingering through the arrangement, looking for the card.
“You’re getting weird again,” Matty warns just as I find what I’m looking for. The card is from Liz, not Victoria.
I’m more sorry than you can ever imagine.
—Liz
“I must be hearing things.”
“Doesn’t seem that unusual these days,” Matty tells me.
I hug him one more time, pick up my bag, and walk downstairs, taking a last look around before I go. Then I walk outside to a waiting cab and get in. I look back at the pretty yellow colonial with the maroon shutters, and I pray I’m seeing it for the last time, no matter how homey the house and the family inside really is.
* * *
An hour later, I’m at LAX and I have one hundred and ten dollars in my pocket. It cost me seventy dollars to get here! Geez, cabs in Los Angeles are expensive. Now what do I do? There is no emergency credit card in my wallet—Allison and Beth seem to have those, but I do not—and I need money. Fast. Even if I got hired at the local airport hamburger joint (and I can’t stand the smell of microwaved meat), it would take me weeks to make that cash.
“Kaitlin?” I turn around. “IT IS HER!”
Liz comes flying toward me, and she’s got… no. It can’t be. Is that Austin?
Liz throws herself at me. “Thank God we found you!” she gushes, and I catch a whiff of her lilac body mist. I see some people on the check-in line smile, thinking we’re having some long-overdue reunion. “I knew you’d be here. I said you’d never wait around. You get something in your head, and you have to do it right away.” She looks at me with her dark eyes, hopeful. “At least the old you did.”
I push her off. I’m still mad. New Liz, old Liz, whoever she is, it doesn’t matter. She’s not my friend. “What are you guys doing here?” I hold the duffel tightly and push the red sparkled purse deeper inside. I don’t want them seeing my notebook. I have tons of notes about where Nadine could be, things she’s said to me over the years about Boston and where she’d go if she lived there. I’m going to cover every lead I can. If I actually get there.
“We’re here to help you,” Austin says and smiles that smile that always makes me melt. God, he looks good today. He’s wearing a zip-up navy-and-green sweater over a white tee, and he has on distressed jeans. Even his cast matches his outfit. Oooh, must concentrate. Alter-crush and friend are bad. Real boyfriend and girlfriend are good!
“I don’t need help.” I walk toward the nearest ticket counter, pushing my duffel with one of my crutches. I don’t actually have the money to buy a ticket. I guess I’ll just pretend and eventually they’ll walk away.
“Yes, you do!” Liz insists, folding her arms across her chest and sending several gold bracelets on her arm into a landslide toward her wrists. She stares at me, determined, her face as dark as her purple Rebecca Taylor top. She has a funky plaid scarf wrapped around her neck, and she’s wearing skinny J Brand jeans with… are those the Jimmy Choo boots we bought a few weeks ago? Liz and I have been eyeing them for ages, and Mom finally gave me permission to buy a pair. We had them on hold at Fred Segal forever (not that they hold merchandise usually, but I asked very nicely).
“Where did you get those?” I point to her shiny black feet.
“At Fred Segal, with you, a few weeks ago. We both got a pair.” Liz taps her toes happily. “Don’t you remember? We had them on hold forever and the guy was like, ‘Are you taking them or not?’ but you didn’t have permission from your mom to get a pair because you still owe her money, and then finally she said yes.”
But that doesn’t make any sense! Alter-Kaitlin wouldn’t have money to buy those. “I don’t have those boots in my closet.”
“Yes, you do.”
I shake my head impatiently. “I don’t.” If I did, I’d be wearing them right now. “How would I have the money for those?”
Liz and Austin look at each other. “Forget it,” Liz says. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is we’re here to help you get to Boston. That is where you’re going, right? When you said Harvard I figured you were heading to Massachusetts. Either that or there was a hot new club in L.A. called Harvard that I didn’t know about… and I know about all the new hangouts in town.” She raises an eyebrow. “I won’t ask why you’re going to Massachusetts. I just want to help.”
The line inches forward. “I don’t need your help,” I say stubbornly. “Why are you here anyway? You’re not my friends. I heard what you said at the party, Liz. Don’t even try to deny it. And you.” I point to Austin. “I’m sure Lori doesn’t know you’re here. That would put you on the Tipster List right alongside me.”
Austin’s blue eyes lock on mine. “Actually, she does know,” he says, and I try to resist the urge to gape at him. “I told her that you and I were friends—or maybe more than that, I don’t know.” My face starts to flush. “I told her where I was going, and I said I wanted to be there for you, for once, the way you’ve tried to be there for me.” He grins. “Not counting the time you tried to run me over with a car.”
Does he have to keep bringing that up? “You really told her that?”
Austin nods. “I did.” The two of us stare at each other.
“I told Lauren and Ava I wasn’t going out tonight or the next night or all weekend,” Liz adds. “They weren’t happy, but I don’t need to be their plus one. I have my own invites.” She sighs. “Besides, you were right—they’re not so great. After you left I started listening to the
m talk, and I never noticed what airheads they are! Or how obnoxious! I don’t want to be like that, even if I have been lately.” She grabs my hand. “Can you forgive me?”
I squeeze her hand and feel the multitude of rings on her fingers. Just like real Liz. How can I say no? “Yes.”
So that’s it, then. Liz and Austin are changing, I have a meeting with Laney Peters, I told off Alexis Holden, I had a heart-to-heart with my mom for the first time in forever, and Matty is finally coming out of his room. I’ve started to fix this universe and make it feel more like my own.
But I don’t want to make it my own. Even if I have ten meetings with Laney and I get Austin to ask me out, this still isn’t my life. I miss acting, and my friends, and even my zany schedule. I wish I could take pieces of this life back with me—my family time, my downtime—and make it work in my world. But even if I can’t, I’m ready to go home.
Liz looks relieved. “Good. So that’s it, then. We can go home. You don’t need to go to Boston now, do you?”
Uh… “I’m glad we made up, but I still have to go to Boston.”
“But why?” Liz whines.
“I feel it in my gut.” I pat my belly, hidden beneath the two sweaters I have on—one a sage green turtleneck, the other a thick, chocolate button-up. I’m wearing skinny jeans and the cutest navy wellies I found in my shoe rack. Hey, it’s cold and snowy in Boston! Even if people are looking at me oddly in the airport, it will work where I’m headed.
“That’s not an answer,” Liz says, sounding more like the Liz I know. “What’s the real reason you’re going there?”
“I…” I look at their curious faces. I can’t tell them the truth. They’d never believe me. Sometimes I don’t believe it myself. And if Nadine can’t get me home, I don’t want to come back to Los Angeles and have everyone here think I belong in a box of my favorite cereal, Froot Loops. “I’m visiting a friend, and I need to get there right away,” I explain. “I think she can help me figure some things out.”
“Next! Counter five!” A Delta attendant standing at the front of the line makes crazy arm motions, pointing to the next available attendant. Austin grabs my duffel bag from the floor, and Liz walks alongside me as I make my way to the attendant. It really is helpful having someone with you when you’re traveling on crutches.
“Can I help you?” the tall, dark-haired woman behind the counter asks me.
“Yes, I need a ticket to Boston for today,” I say clearly, and try not to side-eye Liz and Austin.
“I have a flight leaving in an hour. The ticket costs six hundred and eighty-four dollars.”
Um… do you think she’d settle for one hundred and ten instead?
“Kate, what are you doing?” Liz shakes my arm, which is sweaty, thanks to the double sweaters. “You don’t have that kind of money!”
“You just said I had the money to buy Jimmy Choos,” I counter.
“You don’t own Jimmy Choos.” She sounds puzzled. “Are you talking about liking mine?” She looks down and poses. “They are pretty snazzy, aren’t they?”
But she just said… I am so confused!
“Miss? Do you want the ticket?” The attendant is starting to get impatient.
Liz slaps down her American Express card. “She wants the ticket. She wants three tickets.”
The attendant goes to take the card, and I swipe it from her.
“No,” I say and hold the Amex above my head. “You are not buying my ticket! And you guys aren’t coming with me. I have to do this alone.”
Liz’s shoulders drop. “But why? Why can’t we come?”
“Because you don’t really want to, you just think it’s the right thing to do.”
“I do want to.” Liz stares at me earnestly, and for a moment I feel like all the sounds of the airport have been sucked out. “I want to make things right between us, Kaitlin. We’re best friends, or at least we were before all this Hollywood stuff came between us. I can be a good friend if you let me.”
“Let her pay,” Austin urges. “Aren’t you the one who is always saying how important it is for friends to help each other?”
“You know you need help,” Liz says confidently. “You’re just stubborn! I know you don’t have the money to buy that ticket. Or the money to get around town. Let’s face it.” She grins mischievously. “Like it or not, you need my plastic.”
I just realized who this Liz reminds me of: Sky. My Sky. And my Sky, as grating as she can be, is usually right.
“What do you say, Kaitlin?” Austin encourages me.
The four of us (the fourth being the attendant) are momentarily distracted by yelling and an annoying clicking sound that has taken over the departures area. Alexis and her entourage are heading toward the security area. The paparazzi are hot on her trail, which seems to annoy her to no end. That’s probably because she has bed head and is wearing a velour tracksuit. Hee hee. It’s tough to hide from the paparazzi, even if you do have a disguise. Most stars don’t even bother with one. The paparazzi will figure out it’s you anyway.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER FIFTEEN: It’s not easy to evade the paparazzi when you’re white-hot. And white-hot is what the paparazzi want. If your name is Robert or Kristen and you’ve been in a little film called Eclipse, then good luck. I can’t help you. My best advice would be to act annoying and hire a P.U.H. (personal umbrella holder). A P.U.H. can keep the paparazzi from getting a clear shot. The other choices you have are tougher: You need to act boring. Be in a long-term marriage, move to Texas, stay away from scandal. Or drop out of the public eye completely. If not, you’re fair game, and quite frankly, what are you whining about? You’ve got money, fame, and the world at your feet. Get over yourself.
Hmm. Where did that come from? That sounds like something Nadine would say to me when I border on bratty celebrity territory. And she’s right. Right now, I’d kill to have the paparazzi trailing me.
“I do need you,” I admit to Liz. I try not to let my mouth twitch into a smile. Two heads are better than one, and if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t want to do this alone. I’m scared. If I make it to Boston and I don’t find Nadine, or I do find Nadine and she won’t help me, then what do I do?
I don’t even want to think about that.
I look at Austin. “Are you coming too?” Part of me wants him to. I always want him there. Even though he’s not who I want him to be. Just being near an Austin of any kind is intoxicating. It could also be distracting.
Austin shakes his head. “I can’t miss class. I want to get those grades up. Try to get into a better school. Maybe even one in Boston?” He winks at me. “I think you two have this covered. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ll see you when you get back.” He touches my shoulder. “Good luck, Kaitlin.” He disappears into the busy airport crowd while Liz pays for our tickets.
I hear the attendant asking for my photo ID and whether we have any bags to check, but I’m not paying attention. I drop my red bag and zip through the crowd on one crutch, calling Austin’s name. When he turns around, I plow right into him. I wrap my arms around his neck, lean up on my good toes, and kiss him before he can even react, sending all our crutches clattering to the floor.
“For good luck,” I say.
And to kiss him one last time, in case the next time never comes.
“Good luck,” he says softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Me too.” I unwind myself, feeling sort of sheepish as I lean over to pick up his crutches for him, and then back away slowly, afraid to turn around and for him to be gone. Who knows who I’ll be seeing next time—my Austin, or this one, or no Austin.
I’m starting to get a headache.
“Kaitlin!” Liz is yelling and jumping up and down at the counter. The attendant looks peeved. “We need your ID. NOW!”
I hobble over and don’t look back.
Even if I want to.
SIXTEEN: The Magic Maker
I was too tired to loo
k at my watch to see what time we landed at Logan International Airport in Boston. All I know is it was late. Too late to check into a nice hotel like a Westin. We stayed at the airport motel, paid cash, and shut our phones off because they were ringing nonstop. Liz said she was extremely achy from flying coach, but she thought if she bought two first-class tickets her dad might have flown to Boston and escorted her home personally. I hit the pillow so hard I could have gotten a concussion, and before I knew it, the sun was up, Liz was pulling on a North Face jacket and me a Gap parka, and we were walking to the T to take the ride to Cambridge. Harvard is smack in the middle of beautiful, brick-lined streets and historic buildings, and Nadine is hopefully there too.
We just needed to find someone who would tell us for sure.
We spent two hours at the Harvard registrar’s office trying to convince them to tell us whether Nadine was registered there, but even with my best acting skills, I couldn’t get the girl behind the counter to open up. (Apparently it’s against the rules to give nonstudents information about actual students.) Liz tried to pay a student to find out for us, but he said it was unethical. Do all these Harvard types have to be future politicians?
Finally Liz was able to bribe a cute guy in a navy peacoat and a striped beanie cap to check Nadine’s registration. “There’s no one by the name of Nadine Holbrook registered at Harvard—past or present,” he told us, covering his mouth with his coat to fight the cold.
“Did you check undergrad?” I questioned, wiggling to get warm. It had to be twenty degrees here, and I could see my breath as I talked. The sky was gray and sort of gloomy, which was just how I was starting to feel. “What about part-time? Future registrants? She has to be here! I know she is!”
“Thank you,” Liz said and dragged me away before I could cause a scene. The last thing we needed was the cops wondering why two eighteen-year-old high school girls were this far from home alone the week before Christmas.
“How do you know your friend Nadine goes to Harvard?” Liz asks me a short time later as we sip mocha lattes in Peet’s Coffee & Tea in Harvard Square. I remembered Nadine telling me about liking this place when she came to Boston to check out the campus.
