“Hal! Hal! Someone here for you,” a voice crackles over the intercom. We turn toward the Crab Shack window and see a cute guy wearing shorts (in April no less) and a hoodie, with curly blond hair, waving at Hallie.
“Whoa, who is he?” I have to ask.
Hallie's whole face flushes. “Patrick Waters. He goes to Greenport. He works here at the restaurant and—guys, do I look okay?”
“You look great,” Brooke tells her. “I dressed you so I should know. Go talk to him.” Hallie stands up but hesitates. “Why do you look so nervous? You never have trouble talking to guys, Hallie.”
“This one is different,” Hallie says shyly.
Addison appears again. “Oooh… who's that?” she asks Hallie.
“Hallie's crush,” Brooke teases.
“Do you think he'd appear on camera?” Addison asks wistfully. “If so we just need to ask him to sign a release.”
“Let me run and ask him,” says Hallie. Hallie talks animatedly for a few minutes and then we watch as Phil hurries over with a camera while Patrick signs the form. Hallie backs up and they tape her walking over as if it's for the first time.
Brooke sighs dreamily. “She's getting good airtime.” I hit her. “I know, we're all going to get it. I just wish mine was now. I really like being in front of the camera.”
“You?” I tease. “Never.” She swats me back.
“All this talking is making me thirsty,” Brooke says, holding up her empty Coke.
“Me too,” I realize. “I'll get us refills.” I grab our cups and head to the counter. Hallie's mom is always telling me to just walk into the kitchen, but I feel funny doing that when there are paying customers around. Instead, I wait in line, making sure to stay out of the way of the cameras taping Hallie. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around quickly, almost knocking the cups of ice into the person's chest.
“Whoa. I wanted a drink to cool down, but not that cool.” It's Zac, and we're standing so close, with the cups between our chests, that I can smell his minty mouthwash. His curly hair is damp and he's wearing a plain navy long-sleeved shirt and khakis. But it's his eyes, those awesome blue eyes that seem to pick up every speck of light in this place and reflect my image back at me, that make me want to drool.
“Hey.” I try to sound calm and natural even though I'm anything but.
“Hey yourself,” he says. “I have a confession to make: I thought I might find you here.”
“Really?” He came here looking for me?
Zac nods. “I didn't see you at the office at lunch, and someone mentioned you were heading here after school, so I decided to track you down.”
He tracked me down? Wow. “Here I am.” I try to smile. “Everything okay? They didn't kill my piece on the band's trip to Disney World, did they?”
“Nope, nothing like that.” Zac looks down at his dirty black Converse. “I just wanted to make sure we were still on for Friday night. I was hoping you weren't avoiding me.”
“I wasn't avoiding you,” I say quickly. God no. Never. It killed me not to go to the office today. “I had to get some homework done early since I'm…” Oh, yikes. I've never told Zac about the show.
Zac looks over to where Hallie is talking to Patrick. “Is there a reason why a camera crew is following Hallie?”
“Um…” Okay, this is awkward. How do I explain this in less than five minutes? “You see…”
“Charlie?” Addison has joined our little twosome. Her clipboard is in hand and she's smiling. “Who is your friend?”
“I'm Zac,” he says, extending his hand and shaking Addison's.
“Addison,” she says. “I'm Charlie's show producer.”
“Show producer?” Zac says with a cock of his head and a curious grin. “As in theater?”
“As in TV,” Addison corrects. “For The Cliffs, Charlie's new TV show.”
“Charlie is getting her own TV show?” Zac looks really confused now.
“Um… yeah,” I admit, feeling awkward.
Addison looks at me apologetically, but I smile. “Addison, could you give us two minutes so I can explain?”
Addison nods. “Sure, and make sure you explain this too.” She hands me a release. She walks away, dialing her phone again.
I stand there holding the release in my hand. “So.”
“So,” Zac repeats. “Let me guess, you're secretly Hannah Montana and you've never told me?”
“Not exactly,” I tell him sheepishly. “Remember how we were talking last week about paying for college? Well, the short story is that I was approached to do my own reality show on the Fire and Ice Network. If I do this for even one season, it will probably pay off all my college and then some.”
“What kind of reality show?” Zac looks interested. We've moved off the line now and I'm still holding the empty cups, which are freezing my hands thanks to all the ice.
“One about me and Keiran, Brooke, and Hallie,” I say, knowing how silly it sounds out loud. “This executive from the network was watching me at work and she approached me about the show. Today is our first day of taping.” I glance over at the table where Brooke is talking to Hallie and Patrick. Addison motions for me to hurry up.
“Do you they follow you all the time?” Zac wants to know as he watches the taping.
“No, they have to get our permission to tape things beforehand, which is why I'm holding this release,” I explain, feeling embarrassed. “If I talk to you on camera, you have to sign this saying you're okay with being on the show.”
“I think I'll leave the spotlight to you today,” Zac says and winks. “I want to hear more about your new career tomorrow though. See you at the office? Without the cameras, of course.”
“Of course! I'll see you there,” I tell him. Okay, that didn't go so badly.
When I walk back over to the girls, Addison is eagerly waiting. “Charlie, he's adorable! Did he sign a release?” She watches Zac closely and I see him grab a brown bag from the pickup window and take it to go. He gives me a little wave and I wave back. “Where is he going?” Addison asks worriedly.
“He didn't want to be on camera today,” I tell Addison.
“Oh, okay,” Addison says, looking dejected. “He's just so cute. He'd look gorgeous on celluloid.”
I giggle. “Back off, Addison, he's my crush.”
“Did you tell him Patrick signed a waiver?” Hallie asks me. I shake my head.
“Maybe he'll change his mind,” Addison suggests. “The more, the merrier! We want to feature you four and your larger circle. Patrick is a cute addition, and Brooke said she has some prospects that sound good. Zac would be perfect too. We want this show to cover your whole lives, not just pieces.”
“Understood,” I promise. I like how into showing the real us Addison seems to be.
“Okay then, let's get back to work.” Addison puts her headset back on and I feel a rush of excitement. “Hallie? Make sure you talk about Patrick now that he's gone,” Addison instructs us. “And Brooke, tell that story about the girl in gym class. I loved that. And Charlie?” She smiles. “You just be Charlie. Got it?”
“I think so,” I tell her, and sit down awkwardly at the wobbly table.
Addison grins. “Good. And we're rolling!”
six
Sometimes Life Really Is Like a Movie
At seven PM on Friday night, I'm standing anxiously at my front door, peeking every few minutes through the door window by standing on my tiptoes.
“I thought he said seven-fifteen,” my mom says, as she sits at the kitchen table doing her weekly scrapbooking. She's been into the hobby since I was a baby and we must have about fifty scrapbooks on the family room bookshelves that span my sister's and my whole lives. At the moment, Mom is working on Bella's freshman orientation weekend at Loyola College in Maryland, which shows you that she's a little behind because that happened last July.
“He did say seven-fifteen,” I tell Mom, “but what if he shows up early?”
?
??Then he'll ring the bell,” Mom says without looking up. She's gluing little flowers on the page and half the package spills on the floor. I leave my post to help pick them up. “I keep telling your dad I need a scrapping area,” she says with a sigh.
“Why don't you use Bella's room?” I ask. Mom gives me a look. “She's not home three-quarters of the year.”
I want to say it's either that or have Dad build you an extension. We certainly have the property for it. Right now our house doesn't have a room to spare. We live in a restored early 1900s farmhouse, which has big rooms, but not a lot of them. There are three bedrooms upstairs, a large kitchen and dining room downstairs, a family room, and an enclosed front porch, but no basement. Apparently they didn't build them back then. My parents have restored the house inside and out since we bought it, and most people can't tell how old it is. I only know because when something breaks, it costs a ton of money to fix it. We're in a historical section of Cliffside and in order to do any sort of renovation, you have to get permission from the town and the historical society to make changes to the structure. You also need permission when you're updating inside, which is a major pain.
Not that I don't love this house. Mom and Dad's taste is pretty traditional when it comes to furniture and paint (“It has to feel like the rest of the house, Charlie,” Mom is always telling me when I pick something that doesn't gel with her vision), but the country vibe is cozy. We have lots of hand-painted wood signs that say things like “Long Island” or “Dust is a country accent” and a ton of knickknacks in some variation of a rooster or an apple or a sailboat. Nautical is a big theme in the Reed household. Living so close to the water, there is not a room you can enter without seeing a seashell. Still, no matter how cute I think this place is, I'm not ready for Mom to give Zac a tour. Or let him be subjected to a lengthy conversation with her. Thank God Dad went from the ferry to his fantasy baseball draft pick tonight.
“Did you call Bella and tell her about your date?” Mom asks, after we've found the last of the gold flowers and placed them back in their container. She's trying not to smirk, but I can tell she wants to.
“No,” I say, not looking her in the eye. “It's not like this is the first date I've ever been on.” Okay, so maybe it's the first date I've had in months after my short-lived relationship with Ethan Prose. It went south when he told me that whatever “this thing was” it would have to end by summer because he was always single in July and August. I saved him the trouble and dropped him in January.
“I'm surprised the girls aren't here to send you off,” Momadds.
“They all have plans,” I tell her. “Plus, it would look weird if I had an entourage waiting for him when we're going out alone, don't you think?”
Not that my friends weren't excited. Brooke was so thrilled she brought three outfits to school that I could borrow. We talked about my date all day since this was our day off of taping. I settled on my own jeans and Brooke's red peasant top, which bunches at my waist and has loose sleeves. My hair is down and wavy, per Brooke's instructions (“Leave it wet and put product in it, then dry it an hour later.”) and I'm wearing makeup, but not so much that it looks like I'm trying too hard (Hallie's words, not mine).
“You've been talking about Zac for months,” Mom says. “I just thought you would be a bit more worked up about tonight.”
“It's no biggie,” I lie again. Wow, my third lie in less than an hour. What is wrong with me?
The phone rings and we both jump. I get to it first and see from the caller ID that it's Brooke. “I'll take it inside,” I tell my mom. I race into the family room, which is the farthest from the kitchen I can get without going upstairs, and pick up. “Hey,” I whisper.
“Are you ready?” Brooke asks. “How did your hair come out? Did you do your nails? Don't bite them. We finally just got them to grow back. How is your makeup?”
I laugh. “I did everything you told me to do, Yoda.”
“Good,” Brooke says. “She says she's ready,” she adds to someone else.
“Who's over?” I ask.
“Hallie,” Brooke says. “My brother is going to the crash-up derby in Riverhead tonight, so he's going to drop us off at Boulder Creek Steakhouse.”
This is what happens when you live this far out on the fork. The closest chain restaurant you can go to is Boulder Creek in Riverhead, which is about twenty-five minutes away. What I wouldn't do for a Chili's.
“Good luck, Charlie!” Hallie yells from the background.
“Are you nervous?” Brooke asks.
“A little,” I admit. “What if I can't stop talking? Or I trip? I'll be mortified.”
“You won't trip,” Brooke says firmly. “Not tonight. This isn't Milk and Sugar. You're going to be calm and funny and act like the Charlie we know and love.”
“Okay,” I say as my breathing starts to get more rapid by the minute. Fine, I am nervous. Very nervous! I have liked Zac for months and I can't believe he actually asked me out. Me. That never happens. At least it's never happened to me before now. It happens to Hallie all the time. And it has always happened to Bella. But me? The boy I like usually never likes me back. “I think I'm going to throw up,” I say weakly.
“You can't,” Brooke insists. “You'll smell bad all night! No nerves. You didn't eat, did you? So then you have nothing to throw up.”
“You're right,” I squeak. “But Brooke?”
“No! No freak-outs, Charlie, you can do this! We know you can, and call us on one of our cells afterwards, okay? We want every detail,” Brooke says.
A familiar song makes me jump. It's our doorbell, which is as old-fashioned as everything else in this house. I hear footsteps and know Mom is heading to the door.
“It's him!” Brooke freaks. “GO! Before your mom tries to show him her rooster collection.”
“Talk to you later,” I say hurriedly, then hang up and throw the phone on the couch.
“So, Zac, you're a junior?” I hear my mom say and I pick up my pace. Oh no. Oh no. Please don't let her ask something about his SAT scores or where he wants to go to college. “What made you choose there?” she says next. Shoot! I dart around the dining room table and slow down before they can see me in the entranceway. Unfortunately I slow down too late and my foot slips on an area rug. I fly forward and Zac catches me mid-fall.
“Hey,” he says with a soft smile. How come I never noticed the freckles on his nose?
“Hi,” I say back, feeling myself blush. Zac still has his arms around me. I'm vaguely aware of my mom watching this whole exchange with much amusement. Zac lets go, but the two of us stand there staring at each other. He looks good. His hair is damp, probably from a recent shower, and his curls are super shiny. He's wearing jeans, just like me, but he also has on a dress shirt that is half open, revealing a navy tee. But it's those blue eyes, once again, that stop me dead in my tracks. I still can't believe they're looking at me right now.
“Charlotte, I keep telling you not to run around the table like that,” Mom scolds. “That's how she knocked out her two front teeth when she was seven.”
“Time to go,” I say and Zac laughs.
We head toward the door and Mom yells out, “Have fun! Nice meeting you, Zac. I hope we see you again.”
“I hope so too, Mrs. Reed,” Zac says as he closes the door behind us.
The night air is cool, but not cold, and my spring trench coat is all I need to keep warm. I got it at the Gap outlet just last week and have been dying to wear it. Navy is one of my favorite colors, and I love how the coat makes me look sort of like a college student. I awkwardly stick my hands in the pockets.
“So, which movie do you want to see?” I ask, even though I know. I checked the times myself. 8:10 or 9:45. It's rare to find anything starting after 10:30 around here. I have to file my review for the paper Monday morning.
“I thought we'd try to make the eight-ten,” Zac says as he opens the car door for me. He's driving his parents’ Nissan Maxima and when I
slide inside, I get a whiff of vanilla. “I hope the scent doesn't make you sick.” He reads my thoughts. “My mom had the car cleaned today so I could use it and they sprayed something that smells like baked cookies.”
“It's making me hungry,” I tell him and pray Zac can't hear my stomach growl.
“One large popcorn with butter coming up,” he says as he shifts the car into drive.
Ten minutes later we're at the packed Cliffside Theater and Zac is buying two of the last tickets for the movie. When you live in a town like ours, all the theaters are small, so even though they have four movies playing, the total seating is really only equal to one major stadium theater. You're so on top of the small screen that it's only a step up from watching it in your living room. The two of us fight the crowd to get through the ticket line and inside to the small concession stand.
“We'll be lucky they even have popcorn left,” Zac jokes.
“You're not kidding. Maybe we can duke it out with the guy in front of us for a pack of Twizzlers.” The place is loud and the two poor guys behind the counter, whom I recognize from school, look harried as they try to keep up with the orders.
Zac makes a face. “I'd rather starve. How about Sour Patch Kids? Or Raisinets?”
“Either,” I say. “Even if I have to dive over the counter and swipe them myself.”
I thought it might be weird coming up with stuff to talk about with Zac, but it's not. It feels just like when we're in the newspaper office. We've talked about everything (next week's cover story) and nothing (the latest wedding dance video on YouTube) and didn't stop talking all the way to the theater. Brooke said to come up with topics to discuss ahead of time, but I didn't need to. With Zac it's easy. But that also makes me worried. Is it supposed to be this easy? Maybe this means we're more friends than anything else.
At that moment, Zac's hand brushes against my side and the hair on my arm stands up. No, definitely not just friends. At least not on my end.
“Hey, Charlie,” I hear someone say, and turn around. Bridget Eaton from my Spanish class is in line behind us. We've barely said one word to each other since the eighth grade.