Carter's Big Break (9 page)

“See, it still seems like you’re flirting.”

“Sorry, I do that.”

I clarify. “No, don’t misunderstand. You’re allowed to flirt with guys. I see girls around here doing it all the time. I’m just letting you know that they do not do it with me.”

She gives me a sly smile and says, “I will try to restrain myself.”

“Thank you.”

She says, “No-no, thank you.”

I smile because I’m officially flirting my ass off with Hilary Idaho. This is championship flirting, and I’m involved! I’m so cool, but how? I can’t stop to figure out what I’m doing or not doing.
Keep it loose and use your instincts, playa!
I want to keep doing this for the rest of my life.
Hit her with a question!

“Are you really dating Zac-Michael Wienus?”

She laughs. “No, we broke up. Don’t you read the tabloids?”

I shake my head, and she seems very happy that I don’t. She adds, “Well, I just read that I’m engaged to a Saudi prince, so that’s a new development.”

I nod and say, “Cool, so there’s still hope for that lost Princess Journal movie.”

She stops laughing and asks, “Do you have any questions for me, Carter? About filmmaking?”

A million of them fly through my head, but the one I grab on to is: “Okay, you and I are supposed to make out at the end of the movie, right? Do we need to rehearse that, or do we just wing it?”

She thinks for a second before she says, “Now who’s flirting?”

My mouth drops. “Oh, wow, I was, wasn’t I? I didn’t even mean to.”

She giggles. “Sure you didn’t. You’re a player, aren’t you?”

I shake my head like I don’t know what she’s talking about . . . but I do! My killer instincts are out and in full effect. I shrug like a pimp and say, “Must be that ‘raw talent.’”

She giggles, but stiffens up when a large softball coach of a woman stomps over to us from the costume racks. The woman’s voice is way deeper than mine. She murmurs, “Ms. Idaho, your Pilates lesson starts in four minutes. It’s time for Mr. Carter to go.”

Hilary stands up and screeches in the lady’s face, “MATILDA, how dare you! The director of this project has asked me to spend as much time with this boy as I can. For you to interrupt our meeting is totally unprofessional and unacceptable. Now go!” She stomps her foot and points to the bedroom, but Matilda just stands there and looks down at me with contempt.

I’m thinking that this is the bodyguard I was supposed to watch out for, but I may need to watch out for Hilary. That was a mood swing even my sister would bow down to.

Matilda calmly says, “We need to stick to the schedule. Perhaps he would like to do some Pilates with you so that he can experience some of your world before you rush off to embrace his.”

It seemed like she was listening to our conversation. And just so you know, if someone asks you if you want to do some Pilates, tell them NO! It’s worse than CrossFit, but in a totally different way. The costume ladies give me some shorts, and we go down to the hotel’s gym with this hot-ass trainer lady in black spandex. The gym doesn’t have any weights or fans or rock music playing. It’s just a few wooden medieval torture devices called “reformers” with pulleys, straps, springs, and harnesses that you lash yourself to and try to grunt and rip your body into these impossible positions. It’s all about your “core” and your pain threshold.

Hilary is going about this program as if she were born doing it. She ties her skinny body into a pretzel and then unties it over and over again with fluid motion and small changes. It’s beautiful to watch, but after a few minutes, I understand the machine’s name and I’m completely “reformed.” I’ll do whatever it asks. My hips are dislocated and my left leg is wrapped around my head. I’m looking directly at my own ass and supporting all of my body weight with two fingers. Every muscle in my body is trembling with pain, but I don’t dare release the pose for fear that this contraption will shoot me across the room! After an hour of this hell, the lady tells me that I’m through and I’ve done a great job. I know she’s lying, but I feel three inches taller and I’m as upright as an action figure. If my chest wasn’t twitching and flexing every few minutes, I might want to try this workout again . . . after a few weeks rest.

Next, Hilary and I take a shower together. . . . Not really, but in my head we do. I use a guest bathroom in the suite, and my shower takes longer than it should. Mostly I was trying to figure out the best way to help her get into character as a normal Merrian teenager. She can’t go to the mall because she’ll get mobbed. The pool is out because of her spray tan, and I can’t take her to the Merrian High weight room until my chest stops twitching. I decide to take her out to Grey Goose Lake for C. B.’s party.

I borrow a T-shirt and some board shorts from the costume department while the whole circus prepares Hilary for the change of venue. The makeup ladies descend on her like a NASCAR pit crew. Hot rollers, hair spray, airbrushes, nail files, and polish applicators all working at the same time. I don’t get to watch the bikini waxing, but I can imagine how it went down, and it was beautiful. I have to use the restroom (because I drank a lot of water during the Pilates session). I come out of the bathroom ten minutes later (I drank a lot), and Hilary is finally ready. Her little outfit probably cost more than my bike, but all I can see is the strings of her bikini poking out of the tops of her shorts and tank top.
Please, God, let me see Hilary Idaho in a bikini!

About ten of us make our way down to the parking lot. I realize why everyone was wearing sunglasses in the elevator, when the doors pop open and a gang of paparazzi start yelling, clicking, and flashing away. I can’t see a damn thing so Hilary grabs my hand and leads me through the chaos. We jump in the back of an Escalade, and I try to get my eyes to work again.

Three matching black SUVs roll out of the garage in tight formation with ours in the middle. I try to give a tour of Merrian, but it’s hard to tell the driver where to go because he has to radio the lead Escalade to makes the turns ahead of us. I’m used to riding my bike or being driven by someone, so I keep forgetting to give them enough notice to coordinate.

I ask, “Can’t we just take the lead?”

Matilda sternly replies, “Leave the security to us, Mr. Carter.”

It’s also hard to talk over all of the ladies on their cell phones, and her mom keeps interrupting me to say, “Oh, isn’t that quaint?!”

I cancel the tour and just tell them to go out to the lake. As we’re rolling along, a motorcycle keeps zooming up to our windows. There’s a guy riding on the back, taking pictures of us through the tinted glass. Matilda points at him and fires an imaginary finger gun at him as he passes. I laughed the first time she did it, but after the third, I realize that she’s actually practicing. She catches me watching her and points the imaginary weapon at me. “What happened to your face?” she asks, like I’ve done something wrong.

“Bike jump went bad.”

Hilary asks, “Are you in the X Games?”

I chuckle and am about to say “Yeah, right,” when I cut myself off and just say, “Yeah.”

The makeup ladies nod as if they’re impressed. Matilda just flexes her jaw like she knows I’m lying. She must be ex-CIA or something.

Hilary starts telling a story about how she used to date the skater Ryan Sheckler and what a dork he is, when I hear a call come into the driver’s earpiece: “We have a situation coming up on the right.”

I look ahead of the lead SUV and see my boys pedaling along in a big pack, screwing up traffic on the two-lane road. Hormone’s dad must have confiscated the CRX, because he’s riding his old GT again. J-Low is in front, and Nutt is riding in the drainage ditch. Bitchy Nicky is a passenger on EJ’s pegs, and she doesn’t look happy about it. Doc is riding on Bag’s pegs, and he seems okay with it. I ask the driver to pull up along side of them; Matilda nods that it’s okay. All of the cyclists stiffen as our big-ass truck slows down to match their speed. I roll the window down and their tense faces all explode with relief when I pop out and say, “S’up, bitches!”

Nutt rides out of the ditch and grabs the window frame as we roll along. “What the hell are you doin’, Carter?”

“I’m just chillin’ with my new friend, Hilary Idaho, here.” She sticks her head out the window and smiles at them. Their jaws drop at the same time.

Bag is only able to say, “Son of a . . .” before he drives off the road and crashes into the drainage ditch, sending Doc flying headfirst into the embankment.

The ladies in the car are obviously not used to seeing guys smash themselves into various states of brain damage, like I am. They scream, “Oh NOOOO” and “That poor boy!”

Doc just lies there for a second, but I assure them, “He’s fine.”

The driver has slowed down to a crawl but asks Matilda, “Should I stop?”

Hilary answers, “Yes, you asshole!” so he does. She and I hop out of the car and jog toward the stalled caravan of BMXs. Matilda follows us closely. By the time we get to them, Doc is holding his shoulder, and Nutt is waving his hand at him and demanding, “How many fingers?!”

I give a few high fives and introduce everyone to Hilary. It’s kind of weird because my boys and Nicky are all staring at Hilary’s boobs to see if they’re real or not, and a photographer is running around us, clicking and flashing away.

I try to cough orders to my friends by covering my mouth and barking, “Whrr-raise the gaze!” That’s something our football coach came up with. If you see one of your boys staring at a chick’s breasts and he’s not aware of it, you’re supposed to pretend to cough the commands until they realize and finally “raise the gaze,” but there’s just too much going on around here.

Hilary finally crosses her arms and asks me, “Did you ride your bicycle to the hotel, Carter?” I nod that I did, and she motions to EJ and his hose beast. “I thought you were going to help me become a regular kid. I’m trying to get into character here. If this is how you guys get around, then that’s how I want to do it.”

Nicky jumps in. “Hilary, this is not how I travel!”

Everyone ignores her, and I shrug. “Okay. E, could we please borrow your bike? We’re going to the lake, so you guys can just ride in one of these SUVs.”

I was only offering a ride to EJ and Nicky, but I’m pretty relieved when everyone else piles their bikes into the front vehicle and jumps into the back two. The makeup ladies do not seem impressed by these sweaty boys climbing over and smashing into them. Matilda is the last one into the Escalade and shows me her finger gun, threateningly, before shutting the door. Hilary and I are left alone on the road . . . with this damn camera guy clicking away. Shouldn’t Matilda be intimidating him instead of me?

“Ever ridden on axle pegs?” I ask Hilary.

She smiles and says, “Zac-Michael has a Ducati; I’ve been on the back of that.”

I look down at EJ’s ratty old BMX that he leaves out in the rain, and say, “Pretty much the same thing. We may go a bit slower, for safety, but there’s no better way to take in the sights, and it’s a hell of a calf workout.”

She climbs on and grabs my shoulders as we get rolling. I’m pretty nervous that I’ll crash her into the ditch, but she’s ridiculously light. I wouldn’t even notice her back there if she wasn’t giggling and yelling, “This is so much fun!”

Zac-Michael and his Ducati can suck it!

I try to think of questions, but the only thing I can come up with is about me, so it probably doesn’t count. “Do you think I look like one of the Wienus Bros?”

“God, NOOO!”

“Jeez, no need to be rude—”

She replies, “You’re way cuter and about a foot taller.”

“I’m taller than the tallest Wienus?”

“Yeah, he’s about five foot three.”

The parade of Escalades is rolling along with us at a blazing three miles an hour and trying to choke me out with exhaust. I wish the photographer would stop zipping by us. The windows of the SUVs are tinted, but I can still see my boys flipping me off in there. I’m pretty busy with the pedaling, but I find the focus to fire questions back to Hilary and answer her when she asks what I know about Ms. McDougle and the Saur mansion. She seems pretty interested in Merrian and my friends and how we live. I tell her that she seems like one of those Nat-Geo chicks who goes into the jungle to study the monkeys. I try to explain what I know about my world . . . which isn’t much, as it turns out. I’ve never really thought about the reasons we talk the way we do or act how we do or why my dad wants to build his own deck as opposed to hiring a construction crew. I have no idea. I’m even more worthless when it comes to the female questions. “Girls around here are really a mystery to me, but you should talk to Abby. I think she’s going to be your stand-in.”

She replies, “Cool. Is she your girlfriend?”

I tell her that she
was
, and Hilary squeezes my shoulders before saying, “Her loss.”

I forget how to ride the bike for a second, but then I’m back. She even wants to know where I get my underwear, and I have to tell her, “I have no idea. New ones just show up in my drawer every once in a while.”

After about twenty minutes, I’m sick of the inquisition and feeling the Pilates workout in my legs. I’m happy to be rolling up to the Grey Goose security shack and not having to sneak in through the golf course, like usual. The lead driver talks to the old guard in the booth and he waves us all through, but stops the paparazzi motorcycle. I follow the lead Escalade past the awesome clubhouse and the diving boards and swimming beach. Everyone is staring at us as we roll by. I’d like to keep going to the rope swing, but about halfway around the lake I see a gang of crappy cars and C. B.’s Ferrari in the driveway of a super-modern house and hear music blasting. I see that my parents have lent my sister the Accord, because it’s parked beside the lake (the bumper is actually underwater). The entire roof of C. B.’s house is a deck that overlooks the water, and it’s filled with high school kids. The SUVs slow to a stop and the doors open. I hit the brakes and Hilary steps off of the pegs, laughing. “You weren’t kidding about the calf workout.”

“Pretty fun, yeah?”

She smiles and says, “Absolutely.”

I look up to the roof deck and see two hundred eyes peering down at us. A guy’s voice yells, “Carter’s a tool!” and then a girl pukes over the railing, almost hitting the Ferrari.

Reluctantly, I lean the bike against a retaining wall and sigh, “So, this is a high school party.”

She grabs my hand and says, “Let’s do it.”

You can tell Matilda and her mom don’t want her to go inside. But it’s for her work, so they allow her a few feet of freedom, for research sake, and hope that the monkeys don’t throw too much crap at her.

EJ and Nicky walk in ahead of us, but everyone is gawking at Hilary. She squeezes my hand like a little kid who’s just entered a scary place, but the house is beautiful. She whispers in my ear, “This place is straight out of
Dwell
magazine.”

I nod like I’ve got a subscription to this magazine I’ve never heard of. There are big awesome paintings everywhere and sculptures on stands. It makes me nervous to think about my past experience with high school parties and whole houses getting torn apart by drunk dickheads, but the walls are intact, so far. I’m staring at a statue of a man’s head with a hole drilled through it, and trying to figure out what it means, when I catch my sister looking at me. She points to Hilary and angrily mouths the word, “Focus!”

There’s a staff of people cleaning up after everyone, and we’re told that there’s a bar and a chef working on the rooftop grill. All of the kids are staring at us as we ascend the stairs. I can see the redness in Hilary’s cheeks and feel how uncomfortable she is. I try to think of good questions, but all I come up with is, “Is this like an L.A. party?”

Sadly, she says, “Yeah.”

We’re headed toward the railing to check out the awesome view of Grey Goose Lake when I feel Abby’s tractor beam being fired at me. I turn and lock eyes with her. Seeing me standing here, holding hands with the girl who got her part in the movie, seems too much for her to deal with. Tears fill her eyes, and she retreats down the stairs.

I try to let go of Hilary’s hand, and say, “I’ll be right back.”

But she won’t release my digits, and demands, “No! You can’t leave me, Carter.”

I see Abby’s ponytail disappear into the house, and I give Hilary a forced wink.

C. B. weaves his way over from the bar and greets us with hugs. “Good, you two are getting along?”

Hilary seems to relax for a second and tells him how much fun she had riding out here, and I tell him about Pilates being worse than CrossFit. He stops a waiter and asks what we’d like to drink. Since Hilary is studying me, she waits to see what I’ll order, and I know it would seem cool to ask for a beer, because everyone else is boozing, but I’m dying of thirst, so I ask, “Do you guys have any Gatorade?”

C. B. smiles, and Hilary asks for a Diet Coke. The waiter goes to hook us up, and C. B. wants to know if I’ve seen Ms. McDougle. He seems disappointed that I haven’t, but he better hope she doesn’t show up and find all of these high school kids drinking at his house, because she’ll bust his ass. But I don’t want to sound like an after-school special, so I keep it to myself. A few girls have asked Hilary for her autograph, and she poses for a bunch of cell-phone snapshots. The party keeps getting bigger and bigger, and everyone is just watching her . . . except her mom, who’s settling in with her third martini. The makeup ladies are doing shots with Nick Brock and Lynn. I’ve only known Hilary for a few hours, but I really like her, and I know that she’s a superstar, but I kind of feel sorry for her. She keeps squeezing my hand tighter and tighter. When I look down at her kung-fu grip, she tries to play off her discomfort with a fake smile. I know that she just wants to blend in here and study everyone else for her character, but it seems kind of impossible, so I ask her, “Hey, do you wanna do somethin’ cool?”

She nods, and we slowly work our way back down the stairs. “Do we have to tell your entourage where we’re going?” I ask.

She gives me an ornery look and says, “Let’s not.”

I glance around, but don’t see Abby anywhere, and can almost feel Matilda’s finger gun pointing at the back of my head as we cut through the kitchen and duck out a side door. We run around the house and surprise Nutt, who’s peeing onto a fancy bush. I give him a push that sends his legs into the urinated branches.