“. . . leaving in a couple hours. She should be stumbling drunk by then.”
Finally, I stuff myself in, sitting on my feet, shoulders gathered around my ears. My left side aches bad, and I wonder if I dislocated my shoulder after all. In any case, I can’t move except to give the tablecloth a tug. I hope Caitlin will hurry.
“There we go.” I feel the thunk of a huge sundae above my head. “With extra whipped cream. I’m sort of excited to see her. Wonder if she’d let me take a picture.”
“They’ll kill you if you ask. Have some dignity.”
Caitlin pushes the trolley. It barely budges. “Wow, I need to start working out.” She gives it a big shove, and we’re on our way.
She drives me through the kitchen, where Caitlin manages to ram into every possible counter, and into the dining room, which is carpeted, so the thing will barely roll with my weight on it. Each bump and thump makes my shoulder ache worse, and I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. Finally, finally, we hit a marble floor.
It’s smooth skating for about twenty feet. Then, we reach the elevator, which is another death struggle as we get over the gap.
And off to the top floor. So I have a solid minute to sit and think about how much my shoulder hurts, how both feet are already asleep, how I’d love to clear my throat, scratch my head, burp, fart, or all four.
I try to remember that tomorrow, this will all be over. I’ll have succeeded or failed, but hopefully succeeded.
And, if I succeed, Jonah will wake Celine. Jonah Prince is as close to a prince as we have, and she loves him.
So they can fall in love, and she can live happily ever after.
With that asshole.
I really need to scratch my nose. Why am I doing this again? Oh, yeah. Love. True love. Unselfish love.
And a fascinating topic for college essays about an obstacle I’ve overcome.
If I don’t get arrested and can still apply to college.
Finally, finally, the elevator reaches the top floor.
I breathe out, though I have no idea why I’m relieved. It’s not like I can get out and walk around now. Rather, I’m going to have to wait until Allegra passes out or leaves or, at least gets drunk enough not to notice a guy walking around her room. Depending on her drinking habits, that could take a while.
I could come out of this experience a hunchback. Another good college essay topic.
I really want to crack my neck.
Caitlin wheels the trolley down the hall. I hear her explaining to the bodyguards who she is. They let her through. Finally, she knocks on the door.
“Room service!”
The door opens. “Thank God you’re here.” Allegra’s voice.
Silence.
“Well, aren’t you going to bring it in?” Allegra asks.
“Oh! Sorry.” Caitlin pushes against the trolley. “I was just sort of . . .”
“Slow?” Allegra says.
“Awestruck. My little sister watches your show all the time. She won’t believe I met you.”
Allegra seems to gather herself. “I’m sorry. That’s great! Can you bring the tray in now?”
“Oh!” Caitlin gives the trolley a shove, and I have to grip the bottom to keep from falling out. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Maybe set it by the bed.”
By the bed. That’s good because maybe I could sneak out and get under the bed.
In an hour or so.
Caitlin pushes the trolley across the marble floor for a long time, turning to get through a door or something. Finally, it crashes into the bed.
“Really, I’m sorry,” Allegra says. “That’s sweet that your little sister likes the show so much. Would you like a picture so she’ll believe you met me?”
“Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! Really? That would be so awesome. I can get a selfie of us together. Thank you sooo much!”
“No problem.” Allegra sounds happier. “It’s great to meet a fan.”
“You have so many fans,” Caitlin gushes.
“Obviously not enough for Jonah,” Allegra mutters.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Allegra says. “Do you have a phone with you? Okay.”
I wish Caitlin would leave so there’d be one less person to notice if I tumble out of this thing. My legs ache, and so does my stomach. I had a burger on the train. Obviously, a mistake. What if I . . . experience gastric distress? Just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt worse. Actually, there’s no part of my body that doesn’t ache. My arms, shoulders, even my head are pulsing, pulsing, pulsing.
I think of Celine, comatose, feeling nothing. I have to hold it together.
Last night, I printed out some photos of Celine, the one I took at Target, one from the house, and one of her in the hospital. I did it since I wouldn’t have my phone, so I could prove her existence to Jonah. They’re still in my backpack, flattened against my back. I wish I could look at them, see her face. Maybe it would inspire me. I close my eyes and visualize her. I don’t need the photo. Her blue eyes stare into my soul, and I see every detail, every eyelash, every freckle, every blush. Every time she smiled at me.
It works. I relax and can sit there on my sleeping foot while Caitlin snaps a dozen selfies and Allegra coos about Caitlin’s sister, asking how old she is and if she wants an autographed eight by ten. It takes at least ten minutes before Caitlin says, “Omigod! Your ice cream’s melting! I’m sooo sorry. Should I bring you a new one?”
“That’s okay.” Allegra’s feeling better, it seems. “But I guess I should eat it now.”
“Of course. Sorry. Thank you. I’ll get going. You’re the best!” She stumbles toward the door, and Allegra is left alone.
Almost alone.
I hear her taking the cover off her ice cream, then clinking the spoon. The trolley shakes as she digs into her sundae. Then, she burst into tears.
“I hate you!” she screams. “I hate you, Jonah Prince! I hate you!”
With my unique view of the floor, I see her remove first one strappy sandal, then the other. I hear her hurl them against the wall.
I try not to move, to be very Zen-like, meditative, enlightened, planning my course of action. I’m in Allegra’s room. After Allegra either leaves or passes out, I’ll take out the mirror and contact Kendra. Hopefully, she’ll have figured out the relation between Allegra’s room and Jonah’s. Hopefully. Hopefully, they’re adjoining with a connecting door. If so, I can simply walk into Jonah’s room and talk to him when he gets back.
And hopefully, he won’t be a complete douche.
My neck hurts so much. So much. I try to adjust it.
And tumble to the floor.
For a second, time stops. I lie there, dazed, thinking—I don’t know—thinking maybe if I don’t move at all, Allegra won’t notice a guy lying on her floor.
But no, I can see her eyes. She knows I’m here.
And she’s winding up for a good scream.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
8
“No, please!” I stumble to my feet. “Please don’t be scared!”
It’s hard to stand with both feet asleep, and for a second, I think I’ll fall. Allegra gapes at me, mouth open but no words coming from it.
I say, “I am your biggest fan. I just had to see you in person. I’d never hurt you.” I stare at her like I’m starstruck. “Wow, you’re so beautiful!”
She really is. I see her decide not to scream. She closes her mouth, then opens it right back up again.
“You’re . . . little.”
You’re . . . observant.
But I say, “Yeah.”
“Sorry. My brother’s about your s
ize, my older brother. He’s away at college.”
Somewhere in the far recesses of my mind, I think I knew this, the way you just know things about famous people without actually knowing where you know it from. Probably, Isabella. Kid is a storehouse of completely worthless information.
Or maybe not that worthless.
I say, “Do you miss him?”
And her face sort of breaks. She starts to cry, dark hair falling over her face. “I miss him so much. Caleb’s his name. He goes to school in Louisiana, and he’s always saying I should just . . . chuck this and come home. I miss him and my mom and dad. I miss everyone. I want to go home!”
On shaky legs, I approach her. What is it about me that makes women burst into tears in my presence? Still, better than screaming. Being from Miami, I’m a hugger. But that’s out of the question. I keep my distance as much as possible, holding out my hand.
She reaches for it. “What’s your name?”
“People call me Goose.”
She shakes her hair away from her face. Her eyelashes are moist, with a bit of mascara under her eyes. “I’m Allegra. I guess you knew that. I’m so lonely I kept that room service girl here until my ice cream melted. I have no one to talk to, no one but Jonah, and he h-hates me.”
“I’ll talk to you.” She still hasn’t let go of my hand, so I squeeze hers. “Talking’s my superpower.”
She smiles. “My brother’s like that too.” Finally, she drops my hand. “You’re positively not going to kill me, right?”
I shake my head. “If I was, wouldn’t I have done it already?”
“I guess.” She inhales a huge load of snot. “I could use a tissue.”
I wonder if she usually has someone wipe her nose for her. “Let me get one. Which way’s the bathroom?” Her room is huge, and it connects to another room, a living room, which is why it took Caitlin so long to push the trolley through. There’s a balcony on one end of the room, but no connecting door. I glance into the living room. There’s another balcony, an entry door, and yes, a closed door—maybe it connects to Jonah’s room. I head into the bathroom and grab a wad of tissues. I hand them to Allegra. “Cry away, milady,” I say in my Cockney accent. “Sorry, I was in the school play, Oliver!, and we talked like that.”
Allegra sniffles into a second and third tissue. Her face is red and puffy. “I’d love to be in a school play. It sounds so . . . normal.”
“Most people in my school play would love to be on a TV series.”
“That’s because they don’t know what it’s like to have your career be over at seventeen.”
“You mean just because your show went off the air? You’ll get another.”
“No, I won’t. People hate me.” She picks up tissue number four.
“The girl who delivered your room service didn’t hate you. She said she was a fan.”
“No, she said her little sister’s a fan. People watched my show when they were younger, but then they outgrew it, so they hate me. Do you know there are ‘I hate Allegra Kendall’ Facebooks, Twitters, Instagrams, and Tumblrs? One of the Twitters is called DieAllegraDie. People post about what a whore I am, or how I can’t act. If I wear a bikini, someone takes a picture and says I’m a slut. If I wear a big sweatshirt, they say I’m getting fat. I optioned this book I liked, because I wanted to make it into a movie, and people said I was doing it because I had to pay to get roles. They hate that I date Jonah, so it should make them happy that he dumped me.”
“He’s kind of a jerk, isn’t he?”
“Yes!” Her eyes widen, and she nods. “He’s a total jerk. Cute only gets you so far. He’s rude. He loogeyed on his fans once. More than once. But they love him and hate me. They’re all just waiting for me to get drunk and do a sex tape. My agent thinks that wouldn’t be a bad thing, prove I’m not a baby anymore.”
I eye the bottle of wine which, I notice, is open but still full. “Is that what you think too?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know why I ordered it. I guess because my boyfriend broke up with me, and you’re supposed to get drunk. But I don’t really like drinking. I like being in control of myself.” She looks at me, like she wants my opinion.
“I think that’s smart.” This goes against my plan to wait until she passed out. But I guess that went out the window when she saw me anyway. Besides, I feel bad for her. I remember the room service girl, Kasey. If Allegra gets drunk to go out with Jonah, the paparazzi will take pictures and make her look bad. I can sneak into Jonah’s room after Allegra leaves—if she trusts me.
And I’m trustworthy. I say, “If you get drunk and the press gets photos, won’t it hurt your chances of getting into college?” She stares at me like I’m crazy. “Sorry. My mom’s always worried about college.”
She laughs. “Yeah, college. What a joke. I could never go to college.” She takes the last tissue.
“Why not? Lots of kid stars go to college. Jodie Foster was a kid star, and she went to Yale. Natalie Portman went to Harvard. Emma Watson started at Brown, but she quit because she was working too much.” More stuff I know without knowing how I know.
“High class problems.” She sniffles deeply.
“Let me get you more tissues.” I go back to the bathroom and, this time, remove the whole Kleenex box from its holder and hand it to her.
“Thanks. You are so nice.” She blows her nose. “I could never get into a college like that. I’m not smart enough.” She starts picking up the pile of used tissues.
“I bet you are. Or just go to a normal college. Where’s your brother go?”
“Loyola.” She sighs and tries to stuff the tissues into her pocket. “Back home. God, I’d love to go to school with Caleb. I miss him so much.”
“You should go. I bet you have a ton of money saved up. Then, if you still wanted to act, you could come back afterward, when you don’t have to get drunk or pose nude to prove you’re a grown-up.”
“I would never pose nude,” she says. “But you’re right.”
We talk like that for maybe an hour, maybe more. I tell her about the classes I take in school and how it’s my ambition to play Boq in Wicked on Broadway. She tells me about her family, the TV show, and how everyone pushed her to date Jonah, to be part of Jollegra. But then, the teen girls hated her even more because she “took him” from them. “I really barely know him. We never once talked the way I’m talking to you right now. I have no friends. This is the longest conversation I’ve had in a year, and you’re some guy who snuck into my hotel room.”
I shrug. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“No, no. Don’t be. I’m glad you did. You kept me from doing something really stupid.” She glances at the clock. “Oh, gosh, I have to get out of here soon. Command performance with his highness. I bet I’m a mess.”
“No, you’re beautiful. Your eye shadow’s just smeared. Here, let me help you.”
I get the makeup I saw in the bathroom and help her clean up. Then, we tackle what to do with the wine, and with me. She’s worried that, if someone knows about the wine, they’ll think she drank it, and if they know she has a guy in her room, they’ll say she’s a slut. “I haven’t done one slutty thing ever,” she says. “They don’t care.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll sneak out after you leave.”
“Are you sure?”
“I snuck in. And maybe you can give the wine to the maid, like a tip.”
So we write a note to the maid and put it on the wine. Allegra takes a picture of the bottle with her phone, to prove it.
“Do you want a picture of us?” she asks me.
“Huh?” Then, I remember, I’m supposed to be her biggest fan. Also, if my parents don’t murder me, I could show it to Isabella. “I forgot my phone. Can you take one with yours and send it to me?”
“Good idea. Then, I’d have your phone number,
and you’d have mine. We could talk sometimes. You could tell me about high school.” She crouches down beside me to snap the photo.
“And you could tell me about high school, when you go back to Louisiana.”
She squeezes my shoulder and takes another shot. “I think I might actually do that. I mean, yeah, the press will assume I’m pregnant, but I’ll know the truth.”
“So will I.”
She looks at the photos. “It would be so cool to be friends with you.”
“That’s me, every girl’s BFF.”
And no one’s true love.
She sends the photo to the number I give her. Just as she does, there’s a knock on the door.
“That’s Jonah. Gotta go.” She looks at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod. “I’ll think of a way out.” I already have.
She leans and kisses me on the cheek. “You’re an incredible person, Goose. You’ve really opened my eyes.”
“I’m glad.”
I hide behind the curtains as she opens the door. I hear Jonah’s voice. “So, I suppose we’re doing this,” he says in his British accent.
“I suppose we are,” Allegra says. “Look, I’m sorry about before.”
“I don’t want to get back together.”
“No, neither do I.” Her voice is calm, even happy. “I just want to get along and stop fighting and everything.”
A pause. “Sounds good. Shall we?”
“We shall.”
I hear the door close behind Allegra. I wait a minute, then two, before I move from my spot, in case anyone comes back. No one does, so I check out the living room.
The connecting door is locked from the other side. If Jonah’s room is on either side of Allegra’s, there’s only one way to get to it.
Climb over the balcony.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
9
Did I mention I’m afraid of heights?
After Allegra leaves, I contact Kendra through the mirror.