by Alex Flinn
“Would you like a donut?”
“Uh . . .” I look around, realizing the Boy Scouts are all wearing matching navy blue T-shirts and matching baseball caps. I’m wearing a navy blue polo. I could make this work.
“Yes, please.” I take a jelly, not looking up. I know from my siblings that little kids hate jelly. It would’ve been left anyway.
“Aren’t you polite!” The lady musses my hair.
As soon as she walks away, I scarf down the donut and head for the bathroom. I take out Kendra’s mirror. “Show me Kendra.”
She appears. I can tell she’s at the hospital. “How’s Celine?”
“The same.”
I want to ask to see her, but first I say, “Any updates on where Jonah’s staying?”
“He’s still on the plane. You could keep an eye on him in the mirror too.”
“I will. Can I see Celine first?”
“It won’t make you happy.” But Kendra turns the mirror away anyway. She’s wrong. Just seeing Celine’s peaceful face, knowing I’m helping her, at least trying to, helps. Maybe it won’t work. In that case, I’ll have plenty of time to be miserable. But, for now, I’m hopeful.
“Thanks,” I tell Kendra.
Before I leave the bathroom, I ask the mirror, “Show me Jonah Prince.”
It does, as if it’s a television. Dude’s in an airplane seat, first class. No—a private jet. He takes his gum out of his mouth and sticks it underneath the shiny walnut trim on the wall beside him. Gross. Even though he can’t hear me, I say, “Please, guy, please be everything she thinks you are, everything she wants you to be. It’s crazy, but you’re her only hope.”
I take my seat, which is next to one of the moms from the scout troop.
“I think you have the wrong seat,” she says. “Where’s your mom?”
I look up at her. “Back in Miami.”
“Oh.” She starts a bit. “Sorry. I thought you were from my troop. I had an empty seat next to me.” There’s an edge to her voice.
“I bought my ticket at the last minute. I’ll be quiet, though, at least quieter than this group.”
“You’d kind of have to be.” She eyes a group of boys who are playing soccer with a squashed Bavarian cream donut.
“Where are you headed?”
“Happiest place on earth. I need a drink.”
It’s eight-thirty in the morning.
“Kidding.” She must see my rising eyebrows.
I can tell she wasn’t. “Sure. Where are you staying? I mean . . .” I realize this sounds stalkerish. “Are you camping? Because you’d really need a drink then.”
“No, thank God. We’re staying at the All-Star.”
The All-Stars are the cheaper Disney hotels, which are still pretty expensive, but nowhere Jonah would stay.
I nod. “So you have a bus picking you up?” I’m forming a plan in my head.
“I certainly hope so.” The donut sails past us at eye level. “Guess I should do something about that, huh?”
My mom wouldn’t put up with that crap for one second, but I say, “They’ll get tired soon.”
“They never get tired.”
Finally, one of the other moms takes the boys to the lounge car. The mom by me follows her, probably to get that drink. I take out the mirror and set it up between me and the window.
“Show me Jonah Prince.”
They’re off the airplane now. Jonah’s surrounded by people, bodyguards, an older, balding guy I think is his agent, and a girl I recognize from TV, Allegra Kendall. She used to be on this show Isabella likes, What a Girl Needs, and she looks basically, like every other teen star, the Demi Lovato model, with long, dark, wavy hair, brown eyes, and a ton of lipstick. She teeters on high-heeled boots and waves at a group of people inside the terminal as they walk across the tarmac.
“Can you be a little polite?” she says to Jonah. “Like, look up at them.”
“I’m dead tired,” he says.
“It’s that pill you took on the plane. Live in the now, Jonah. They’re your fans.” She says it through her teeth, still smiling and waving.
“I have a concert tonight. I shouldn’t get stressed out.” He tugs at his pants, which are so low in the crotch he looks like he shit his pants. “You don’t know what it’s like to have all these people demanding things of you.”
“I don’t know?” She blinks at him and puts her hand on her hip. “Of course I know. But it’s really important to them. They camped out waiting for you. Can’t you at least look up?”
He rolls his eyes and looks up. Through the windows, I can see girls jumping up and down and screaming. Allegra gives him a kiss on the cheek.
“Quit it,” he whispers. He tugs at his pants again. I remember reading about this rock star who actually lost his pants onstage because they were so loose.
“Don’t be such a grump.” Allegra tries to smile as they walk inside the airport. Fans scream.
Jonah puts on a big, fake grin. “I’m not being a grump. You’re being annoying.”
This conversation is painful. I’m just listening because I’m waiting for Jonah or someone to say the name of their hotel. I know his concert’s at seven, and then, he’ll go back to the hotel. I just need to sneak into his room before then and beg him to go with me.
Just.
Just need to sneak into a rock star’s room.
Just need to get this jerkwad with pants down to his knees to do something out of the goodness of his heart.
They’re in the airport now. Girls are thronging to meet Jonah. His bodyguards and the airport police are trying to hold them back. I wonder if they purchased tickets just to get through security, or if this many random fans are just wherever he is. Allegra is trying to interact with them, but most want nothing of her, only him. And he’s ignoring them, talking to the balding guy, one hand firmly on his pants.
Please just say where you’re staying before Drunk Mom comes back and I have to put away the mirror.
“Will the hotel be like this too, Harry? ’Cause I’m planning on breaking up with . . .” He nudges his head toward Allegra, who is hugging a little girl. “. . . so it would be nice to have some privacy in case she screams her head off.”
The guy—Harry—shrugs. “I don’t think there are any leaks, but these girls tend to find out.”
“They’d better not,” Jonah says. “Get extra security.”
“I’ll alert the Cornwallis.”
Bingo. The Cornwallis is a fancy non-Disney hotel on Disney property.
“The Cornwallis?” Jonah shoves past the fans. “Nice British name. Will it be private?”
“We have a floor all to ourselves, you, Allegra, your staff.”
What floor? What floor?
“What floor?” Jonah asks.
“The top floor,” Harry says. “The floor below is a health club. People make all sorts of noise. She can scream as much as she likes.”
“Good. I need to be rid of her. The stress is affecting my voice.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Harry says just as a fan breaks through and touches Jonah. His bodyguard pushes her away.
A few of the kids who didn’t go to the lounge run past me. A blond boy is holding a handheld game, and a redhead tries to get it back. Just as they get to me, the redhead tackles the blond, barreling into my legs and almost knocking the mirror from my hands.
“Hey, watch it,” I say.
“Sorry.” The redhead stares at me. “Hey, how old are you?”
“Seventeen?” I say. “You?”
He ignores my question. “So you’re, like . . . ?”
“A smaller-sized adult? Yes.”
“Cool. I thought maybe you were from one of the other troops.”
“How many troops are there?”
“T
hree, I think.”
“Come on,” the blond kid says.
“Okay.” And they run off.
I notice a blue baseball cap lying under my feet. I pick it up and start to call after the redhead who lost it. But they’re gone.
I have an idea.
It’s one when the train pulls into the Orlando station ahead of schedule. Thirty little boys in thirty blue T-shirts and twenty-nine blue hats are herded as neatly as you’d expect out of the car. I follow them to their bus and put on the thirtieth hat. I make sure to move around, not stand by anyone in particular. I pull the hat low. I’m guessing no mom here knows all thirty kids.
“Hey, you!” One of the moms grabs my shoulder.
I freeze.
“Stay with the group.” She pushes me forward into the line.
I follow the others onto the bus and sit in back. I keep my head down.
It’s not a short ride, but I know if I make it, I’ll be on Disney property. I can use their transportation to get to the Cornwallis.
Of course, getting to Jonah himself will be another story.
When we reach the All-Star Sports Resort, I find the red-haired kid and hand him his hat. “Hey, you dropped this.”
Then, I run in the opposite direction.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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7
An hour later, through a maze of transportation, I have gone from the All-Star to the Magic Kingdom, the Magic Kingdom to the Cornwallis Hotel’s own shuttle. I let myself close my eyes on this one. I picture Celine, the way she looked that day we went to Target, smiling at me. I want her to smile again, even if it’s not at me.
“That boy fell asleep,” the kid next to me says.
“He must have had a fun day,” his mother replies.
And it’s not over. I open my eyes, and we’re pulling into the Cornwallis Hotel. Parking attendants dressed like Cinderella’s footmen, with powdered wigs and purple hats with giant plumes greet the shuttle. I step out, and they bow with a flourish.
I glance at my watch. Two-thirty.
So far this was easy, too easy.
I’m sure it will get harder.
I take the elevator to the twentieth floor. There’s no lock, no restriction. But when I get off, a guy who looks like an extra on Game of Thrones—two feet taller than I am with a scar on his cheek that looks like it was made by a sword—comes at me.
“What are you doing here?” he growls.
“Just heading for my room. Twenty-fifteen.” That’s Harry’s room. I heard them discussing it one of the ten times I checked the mirror while on the bus.
“Wrong!” the guy growls. “No one on this floor but Jonah Prince’s people.”
“I know. I’m with him. Harry, his manager’s my dad.” I start forward. One good thing about being my size. You can get away with stuff because you look nonthreatening.
“Hey, Otto,” the guy holding me says. “You remember Harry having a kid who looks like this?”
He grabs my waistband and drags me over to another, even bigger guy. The disrespect is mind-boggling. He lifts me up. I almost have a clear shot at kicking the guy in the nose, but I’m thinking that might not be a wise choice. Instead, I yell, “Put me down!”
“Pretty sure I’d remember him,” the bruiser says.
Of course, the bad thing about being my size is, I’m also very memorable. I had one shot to walk off the elevator, and I blew it.
The guy turns around and shoves me into the elevator. “Bye-bye, little guy.”
Sighing, I press the button to go down to the eighteenth floor.
Time for another plan. Or a plan at all. Since I didn’t know which hotel he’d be at, I hadn’t been able to research the layout or anything. I’d thought maybe luck would be on my side. Like I could go up with a housekeeper. But even the minute I spent on Jonah’s floor let me know there was no housekeeper there. They probably cleaned his floor first, so he could check in early.
The housekeeper on this floor is still working. A door stands open. I hear vacuuming. I wonder if I can talk her into sneaking me upstairs. Doubtful. I try the stairs, but the door to the twentieth floor is locked, so I come back down. The hallway is empty.
I pull out the mirror.
“Show me Jonah,” I say.
The mirror does. He’s in a fancy room, talking on his phone, alone.
“I’m seventeen, and I have a hundred million dollars. I don’t need you telling me what to do.” He holds the phone away from his ear to avoid what I’m sure are her shrieks. “Yes, I suppose I do want to break up. After tonight. Let’s just get this tour over with. You’re still coming to the concert, right? What? What?”
He paces back and forth, tugging at his pants even though no one’s there to see him. “Is that a threat?” He nods. “All right, then. Call my mum. She’s in New York, and she won’t care, but go ahead and call her. Oh, stop crying. You know you never really liked me. It was all a publicity stunt. What?” Again, he pulls the phone away. “Just come to the concert tonight. We leave at six-thirty.”
He hangs up. Then, he walks to the window and stares out, shaking his head. “Call a guy’s mum, why don’t you?” He must notice a crowd outside because he backs away and flops down onto the bed.
“Show me Allegra,” I tell the mirror.
It does, switching to a similar-looking room. Allegra is collapsed on the bed, phone in hand, crying, saying, “He broke up with me. He’s so out of control! He’s not the guy I used to know. I had to stop him from giving these little girls the finger.” She stops talking and sobs. “I know. You’re right. Thanks.”
She puts down the phone and sobs some more. I feel bad, watching something so private. Still, I don’t know what else to do. Also, I feel like I know this girl, having watched a gazillion hours of What a Girl Needs with Isabella.
“You’re better off without him, sweetheart,” I say aloud but, of course, she doesn’t hear me. A minute later, she sits up and looks at the phone on her nightstand. She crawls across the bed and looks at it, reading the instructions, then picks it up and dials.
“Hey.” She sniffles. “How do I get room service?”
A few seconds later, she says, “Hello, this is, um, Mrs. Kendall, room 2016. Can you send up, um, a bottle of wine . . . white wine . . . what kind? Um, I don’t know. Whatever you recommend. Oh, and a hot fudge sundae.”
This gives me an idea. I tell the mirror. “Show me the room service person she’s talking to.”
As the mirror melds into the person she’s talking to, I start toward the elevator.
“Yes.” It’s a girl with dyed-black hair and a white apron over black shirt and pants. She rolls her eyes. “I understand it’s an emergency. I’ll send up the 2008 Didier Dagueneau Silex right away . . . and the sundae . . . my name. It’s Kasey. With a K. Yes, I understand. It will be there in twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes. I have twenty minutes to work if I’m going to be part of Allegra’s room service order.
“Isn’t that a cliché,” Kasey says when she gets off the phone. “Little teeny-bopper star wants to get drunk. And stupid room service is going to buy that it’s her ‘mother’ calling.”
The second the elevator hits the ground floor, I’m off and running toward the restaurant. I figure the kitchen’s probably behind there. It’s a dead time of day, after lunch, but way before dinner. When I stroll in, there’s only one woman manning the maître d’ station. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for my sister. She works here. Kasey? The kitchen’s through there?”
She nods and goes back to the game she was playing on her phone.
I keep my back against the wall as I enter the kitchen. The room has an island with
high, stainless steel counters. I hide under one near a wheeled room service trolley that is already topped with a bottle of white wine. Kasey’s standing by it. A tall red-haired girl is bringing over wineglasses. “How many?”
“Just one, I suppose.” Kasey makes a tsk-ing sound with her tongue. “Poor little Allegra, drinking alone.”
“And ice cream,” says the second girl. “She got dumped for sure.”
I peek over the counter. Kasey snaps a photo of the wine bottle. “Got dumped, and now, she’ll get drunk.” She takes a business card from her apron pocket. “This guy, he’s a paparazzi . . . paparazzo . . . photographer, he told me to call with any tips. Said he’d make it worth my while. He’ll love hearing about Allegra getting faced.”
I feel a twinge for this girl I don’t know. Well, like I said, Isabella loves her. I notice the trolley’s about the width of the TV in my parents’ bedroom, with a tablecloth over it. I could fit under it if I could get there. Then, if they pushed me up to Allegra’s room, I’d at least be on Jonah’s floor. Maybe they even have adjoining rooms. But right now, both girls are standing by the trolley. If only one would move.
“That’s really mean,” the tall one says. “Kick her when she’s down.”
“You have such a soft heart, Caitlin. How ‘down’ can she be, spoiled little starlet.”
“My kid sister loves her. She’ll be so disappointed. Why do they always turn out to be crazy, drunks, or sluts?”
Kasey shrugs. “Not my fault. Hey, make that sundae. Her majesty said she needed it quick.”
Caitlin moves away. Kasey takes out her phone, starts to call someone. I make my move, sliding under the counter, which requires some knee bending, even for me. I get into the trolley, which requires more. It’s tight. I’m short, but I have shoulders, and I’m not a contortionist who can dislocate them. At one point, the trolley starts to move. I hear the wineglass rattle against the cooler. Kasey doesn’t notice. She’s too busy talking.
