Bewitching (38 page)

I closed my mouth and inhaled deeply. Finally, I said, “You’ve read
Vanity Fair
by Thackeray?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s my favorite book. I’ve read it, like, fifteen times.”

“Shut up. You haven’t.”

“It’s true. I had to buy a new copy because mine was falling apart. I can’t believe you read it.”

“Why not? Because I’m—”

“Because I don’t know anyone who’s read it.”
Not even Warner
. “I’m not even sure my English teacher has.” Though, to be truthful, he was right. I didn’t think someone like him would read
Vanity Fair
or anything but his lines. I figured he’d be out partying all night and going to the beach all day, like those kid stars you read about who are always in and out of rehab.

“Well, I did. I read a lot. It gets really boring on the set between shots, so I read all the time. I’m Travis, by the way.”

I looked down. “Yeah. I know.”

“So, I guess you’re not that into parties.”

“Ever read “Masque of the Red Death”? That was about a party.” OMG. I was talking to Travis Beecher, and I was quoting
Kendra
?

But he laughed. “I’m not a big partyer either. This was my agent’s idea, sort of a publicity thing. Say, do
you
have a name?”

Maybe it was because I was the only girl at the party who
wasn’t
trying to go out with him, but I was pretty calm. I said, “Emma.”

“I read that too—but only after I saw the movie. Oh, you were telling me your
name
. Nice to meet you, Emma.” He held out his hand.

When I took it, he pulled me to standing. “So, do you always read at parties?”

“No, I usually avoid them. This was my mother’s idea. She’s a little starstruck.”

“And you’re not?”

“Sorry.” My feet still hurt, but I could walk okay. I decided to take a good, long look at Travis while I could.

Man, he was cute. Just sayin’
.

“I’d love to be able to do that,” he was saying. “Just curl up with a book. But yeah, you do what your parents tell you—mostly.”

“Did your parents tell you to be on that show?”

“That show? I gather you’re not a fan?”

“It’s pretty good. I used to watch it all the time when I was younger.”

“Oh.”

Okay, I was insulting him. “No. I liked it. It’s just, I don’t watch much TV at all. I have too much homework.”

He shrugged. “I know it’s not Shakespeare, but when I’m older, too old to play a kid, I want to do Shakespeare.”

Gradually, I became aware of the rest of the room, the people in it. I saw other girls sneaking sidelong glances at us, and I knew they were wondering the same thing I was: How was he talking to me? Me? Yet they didn’t look scornful.

“I didn’t expect that, you liking Shakespeare.”

“You expected some dumb party boy?”

“No… I guess I didn’t think about it much, or know what to expect.”

“We all stereotype, I guess. I don’t usually expect to see pretty girls at a party reading Voltaire.”

He thought I was pretty.

I wanted to giggle, but I suppressed the urge. How was this happening? Had Kendra done something? Had she made me prettier so that Travis would like me? Was it some sort of trick to test my will?

I glanced out toward the ocean. There was a fountain over by the wall. If I could get to it, I could see my reflection, learn the truth. “It’s so nice out… Travis. Why don’t we take a walk around?”

He smiled, still looking at my face like I was the prettiest girl he’d seen, the way guys looked at Lisette. “Sure.” He took my hand again, and I almost forgot how much my feet hurt as we walked between two tall marble statues.

I tried to lead him around to the fountain, but before I even got there, I saw a table with vegetables on a mirror display. He saw me looking at it. “Would you like something to eat?”

I’d barely been able to zip Mother’s size-five pants as it was, but I said, “Maybe just one.” I moved closer to the table.

“Most girls I know don’t eat,” Travis was saying.

The display had been picked over a bit, and I found one of the empty pieces of mirror and looked at myself to see what Kendra had done.

I exhaled. It was my face, my normal face. She’d done nothing. Even the magic worked by Mother’s team of stylists had faded. My hair didn’t even look that great anymore after being in the humid night air, and my makeup had faded.

And yet, my face didn’t look bad. I’d been used to thinking of myself as, if not ugly, at least below average in the eyes of the mean girls at school, or compared to Lisette. The girl who stared back at me wasn’t ugly at all. She was pretty, pretty enough at least, with hazel eyes and high, arched brows. No, she wasn’t the thinnest girl in the room. She wasn’t a model. She didn’t look like Lisette, but she wasn’t bad at all. She was perfectly fine. Something had changed, maybe; maybe when Warner had loved me or maybe even before that. Or maybe nothing had changed, and I’d always been pretty. The girl Travis was seeing wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty enough to stand next to anyone.

Maybe Mother had been right. Maybe I was special.

He… Travis was handing me something, a cracker with cheese on it. I took it. “Oh, thank you. What Shakespeare play would you want to be in, if you were doing that?”

He thought about it. “I like the histories a lot,
Richard III
or
Henry VIII
, but they’re not performed much. Plus, I don’t think anyone is going to buy a former child star as a hunchback. If I were choosing a popular one, probably
Hamlet
. They do that a lot.”

I nodded. “I read once that it’s the most-filmed story after
Cinderella
.”

Cinderella
.

“But I wouldn’t want to do it on film. I like the idea of being onstage. I’ve done concerts and stuff, and I remember when I was a kid, before I was on TV, we did a play in school. I had the lead, of course, probably because of who my dad was…”

“I’m sure you were really talented.” I hadn’t watched the show in years, but I remembered he was good in it.

“Maybe. But it’s different than doing television, having the audience actually there, being able to feel their energy. It was cool.”

“I bet.”

“We have a studio audience for the show, but they just scream because they think … never mind. It’s embarrassing.”

I nodded. Girls screamed because they thought he was hot.

“What’s your favorite Shakespeare play?” he asked me.

My first thought was, not
Macbeth
. But instead I said, “Oh, definitely
The Merchant of Venice
.”

“The strong female heroine, Portia. I approve.”

“Yeah, that, and well, my favorite part is how, when Bassanio is trying to gain Portia’s hand, he has to choose between the three boxes. He chooses the box that’s least showy, and that’s the right one, not the silver or gold, but the lead.” I liked that because of Lisette.

“‘So may the outward shows be least themselves,’” he said.

I laughed. “‘The world is still deceived with ornament.’ You know it!”

“My tutor and I read it last year.”

“But you memorized it. That’s awesome.”

“I believe it, that sometimes you have to look closer to find what’s important. Like, sometimes, the girl you want to meet is hiding behind a wicker basket, reading a book.”

I didn’t know what to say.

We walked out to the railing, toward the seawall. Over it, I could see the dark, churning water, but also the bright, full moon reflected in it.

“It’s beautiful here,” I said. “You’re so lucky to live here, at least part time.”

“But it’s isolated. I wish I had more friends. That’s part of the reason I agreed to let Dad have this party, to at least meet some people my own age who aren’t actually screaming.”

And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw her. Lisette. She was here.

Even in that room, she was the most beautiful girl there. The crowds seemed to part for her, and people turned to stare, like she really was Cinderella. Warner was with her, but far behind. She walked fast, to keep him at a distance. He looked pale, stumbling, and more than a little stupid.

Travis didn’t seem to notice either of them. “It’s hard to talk to people at parties, though. It’s so artificial.”

Lisette came closer. My feet ached again. This was the moment I’d waited for, the moment when she and Travis would see each other, fall in love, and she’d ditch Warner. Then, I could have him back.

So why wasn’t I backing off?

“I’m glad your mother made you come,” Travis was saying.

Lisette walked closer. She saw me, and she couldn’t hide the look of shock on her face, that I was talking to Travis.

“I guess parents aren’t always crazy,” I said.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

I saw Warner watching me too. Travis still didn’t see them, but I knew as soon as he did, he’d love Lisette at first sight. Everyone did.

But maybe not. I stood, literally and figuratively, on the precipice. Should I back off, or should I just see what would happen? It wasn’t like this teen idol was actually going to fall in love with me.

I glanced at Warner. He’d finally caught up with Lisette and tried to take her hand. She acted like she didn’t see him. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

A memory came to me. One time, in middle school, a famous author came to talk to our class and give a writing workshop. One of the things she told us about writing a novel was that the story should be about what the main character
wants
. Dorothy wants to go home to Kansas. George Milton wants a farm of his own. Amelia Sedley wants to marry her darling George and live happily ever after. The end of the story, according to the famous author, is when the character either gets what he wants or realizes he’s never going to get it. Or sometimes, she said, like Scarlett O’Hara in
Gone With the Wind
, realizes she doesn’t actually want what she thought she wanted all along.

My story began with wanting Warner. I wanted him and wanted him, then got him for a little while, then lost him, partly because of Lisette. But just partly. The other part was, he was a jerk. I gave him my heart, and he threw it away. He didn’t trust me, or himself.

Just then, I realized what could go wrong with Kendra’s plan, with
my
plan: I could change my mind.

It wasn’t being fickle, not really. Warner may have been the love of my life, but I wasn’t the love of his. If I had been, he wouldn’t have left me for anything.

I looked over at Lisette. Warner had taken her hand against her will. She shook it off. I smiled.

She could have him.

I turned back to Travis. “So you were saying you never met a girl you liked at a party?”

He shrugged. “First time for everything, right? Look, my dad’s going to kill me if I don’t dance with someone—hopefully you, if you’re willing. But maybe tomorrow, you could come over when it’s not so crowded, and we could just talk?”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you want, I mean. You could wear something more comfortable.” He glanced down at my shoes. “Like flip-flops. We could take a walk on the beach.”

I smiled ruefully. “I wish I had some flip-flops right now. I’d love to dance with you, but my feet hurt.”

“There’s a solution for that,” Travis said.

“Hmm?”

Then, right in front of Lisette and everyone, he knelt on the floor beside me like Cinderella’s prince, and he said, “Your slippers, milady?”

I knew what he was asking now, and I pointed my toe. He slipped off first one shoe, then the other. He didn’t cringe at my big feet. Maybe they weren’t
that
big. At least I’d gotten a pedicure so my nail polish wasn’t chipped. “It’s ridiculous that women have to wear these things.” He walked over to one of the little tables, the type they have around at parties for people to put their used-up drinks on. The table happened to be right near Lisette and Warner, and when Travis came close, Lisette tried to greet him, but he just nodded. He dropped the shoes on the table. I knew Mother wouldn’t mind. “Now, are you ready to dance?”

I nodded. He held out his hand and led me to the floor.

“Wear something comfortable tomorrow,” he said, “and bring a bathing suit.”

There are all these clichés about first dances with that special guy, that you forget yourself and dance as if on a cloud. I never forgot myself, but it was wonderful anyway, especially when Travis said, “I never meet anyone at parties because, usually, the girls who show up are like that one over there. All dolled up and fan-girly, like they think I’m going to make them a star or something.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re not like that, though.”

He was gesturing at Lisette. She’d followed him back into the room. I nodded. I wanted to drop the subject, but I remembered what had happened with Warner, so I said, “Okay, I have a confession to make. That’s my stepsister.”

“Oh.” He looked embarrassed. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t be. We’re not close or anything. She’s sort of … like you said. I just thought if you found out later on, it would be weird that I hadn’t told you. Not that I expect… I mean, you’ll probably just fly back to LA, and I’ll never see you again.”

He frowned. “Is that what you see happening?”

“No. I mean, that’s not what I
want
to see happen. I just thought—”

He lifted his fingers and placed them over my lips. I knew he was trying to tell me to stop talking, but the gesture had an intimacy to it that felt warm despite how short a time we’d known each other. “Want to know one of the really cool things about being on television?”

“What?”

“The money. They pay you enough that if you want to fly to Miami for the weekend to see this girl you like, or invite her to visit you on your movie set in Italy over the summer so you’ll have someone to talk to about books or Shakespeare or whatever, you can.”

“Really?” Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “That
is
a cool thing.”

“Yeah.” And then, he kissed me, just a bump on the cheek, but enough that I felt the warmth of his lips, smelled his cologne, which was like sand and citrus, got the feeling in the pit of my stomach, like the bottom dropping out of a trapdoor, and for a second, we were shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. Cameras flashed, and I wondered if it was just a photo op, but he said, “Of course, the sucky thing about being on television is, you can’t kiss a girl without there being pictures. Really kills the spontaneity.”