Center Stage! (Center Stage! #1) (21 page)

My parents had been correct both when I was twelve and in the present. I didn’t want to leave home. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and have my friends over without the producers speculating about whether or not I was breaking show rules.

On the drive home, Mom pulled into the parking lot at the 24-hour Savon to pick up a few items. Once inside the store, I wandered over to the cosmetics aisle, which was always my primary destination. After contemplating shades of nail polish, I meandered over to the shampoo and conditioner aisle (another good place to imagine possible glamour for a few minutes while my parent sought out whatever weird, boring items we needed for the house). And there, unexpectedly—
especially
because it was, like, midnight—stood Oliver Teague.

The
Oliver Teague.

Looking as hot as ever, he stood in front of the array of hair gels. Before I had a chance to scurry around the end of the aisle, out of sight, he glanced up and spotted me with those dark, dark eyes.

“Hey,” he casually greeted me as if we were old friends. “You go to my school, don’t you?”

I felt my body melting like wax. My tongue refused to take orders from my brain. My mouth managed to mangle the words, “I used to.”

“Cause you’re on
Center Stage!
now, right?” Oliver asked, supplementing my outburst with the words I
wished
I’d said. “Everyone at Pacific Valley is all amped. I mean, you’re like, really good.”

“Wow,” I said, aware that I was blushing to the deepest, richest shade of crimson on the color wheel. “That’s nice of you to say. You’ve been watching?”

Oliver took a tube of fancy hair gel off the shelf and nodded. “Yeah, we’ve all been watching. I’m driving home from my friend Ronan’s house right now. He hosted a viewing party.”

Just then, as it was their custom of ruining every cool moment in my life, my parents joined me in the aisle and Mom smiled at Oliver. “Hi there. Are you one of Allison’s friends from school?”

I wished desperately for a bolt of lightning to strike me down in the aisle of Savon right at that very instant. Shockingly, Oliver replied in a very friendly voice, “Yeah. I’m Oliver. Everyone at school is hoping that she wins. She’s definitely the best one on the show, and it would be awesome for someone from Pacific Valley to get famous. See you around, Allison. Good luck.”

It was only as I recovered from the shock of Oliver Teague actually acknowledging my existence that I turned around and, to my great horror, discovered that my parents were holding the most embarrassing and gross household items for sale at Savon: a jumbo-sized tub of medicated hemorrhoid pads, a 12-pack of toilet paper, a huge bag of cat litter, and an economy-sized jar of a fiber supplement. “Well, he’s certainly handsome. I don’t recall you ever mentioning an
Oliver
before,” Mom commented in a knowing voice that infuriated me.

“He’s a senior, Mom,” I grumbled. “We’re not really friends.”

“Well, he seemed mighty friendly to me.”

The following night was Lee’s birthday party in Beverly Hills. I hadn’t seen many people from school since the show had started taping, so I was nervous about showing up. I feared that everyone from school would expect me to be hotter and more fascinating than the last time I’d shown my face in the cafeteria. Truthfully, nothing about me had changed much since the end of September. I didn’t own a single new article of clothing other than the fancy jacket from Marlene, which hung in my closet. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the least if even the band nerds at Pacific Valley gossiped right in front of my face that they didn’t understand what the big fuss was about me.

“Oh, come on, Allison! No one is going to say that!” Lee exclaimed when I expressed my worry to him on Saturday afternoon. There was no one in the world I’d dare to be so honest with other than Lee. “It’s not even going to be some big rager, alright? My parents are going to be home. I had to talk my dad out of hiring a magician to perform.”

“I don’t know,” I waffled. “I just feel weird about it. What if we just have brunch tomorrow at The Farmer’s Market to celebrate?”

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I really want you to be at my party.”

When I ventured out into the kitchen to request a ride over to the Yoons’ from my mom, Dad wolf-whistled at my outfit. After much deliberation and many outfit changes, I’d settled on a black skirt and simple black tank top. The skirt was shorter than I remembered it being when I had tried it on in the dressing room at Nordstrom.

“God, Dad,” I groaned.

When we stepped outside, it was still light out. Mom stopped talking mid-sentence about what a nice boy Lee was and how she hoped that when I was ready to start dating I’d choose a boy like him (embarrassing) when we both noticed in unison that there was a car parked in our driveway behind her Sentra.

It was a Ford Fiesta.

As soon as Elliott saw us, he started his engine. “I didn’t know you were expecting company,” Mom told me.

“I
wasn’t,
” I said, and then thought perhaps I’d better at least say hello. I rushed down the driveway intending to seem pleased to see Elliott even though I was surprised that he was there. We’d never even exchanged phone numbers, and yet this was twice that he’d shown up at my house unannounced. “Hey,” I said, bending over to look at him, eye to eye, through his driver side window. “How’s it going?”

“Sorry, I was just going to say hi,” Elliott said, nodding toward my mom to indicate he hadn’t known we were about to leave the house. “I didn’t know you have plans.”

“Oh, I’m just going to a friend’s birthday party,” I assured him. Only after I’d announced my intended destination did I realize that I sounded like kind of a jerk for not inviting him. “I mean, it’s not like, a
party
party. It’s like a bunch of kids hanging out and eating Zankou chicken. Maybe if things get
wild,
we’ll play Twister.”

Elliott smirked appreciatively. “That sounds kind of awesome.”

Before I thought through the full consequences of my offer, I blurted out, “You could come. If you want to, I mean. But trust me, it’s not going to be, like, a night at the Playboy mansion or anything.”

His eyes met mine—that turquoise!—and I knew even though I was about to regret deeply ever suggesting that he come with me; it was too late to rescind the invitation. Worlds were about to collide. Pacific Valley School people were about to overlap with
Center Stage!
people. I was about to break my personal vow not to introduce Elliott to Nicole. “That would be cool,” he said slowly. “Are you sure your friend wouldn’t mind?”

I told Mom in a low voice that Elliott was going to give me a lift to the Yoons’ house. She squinted and did this annoying knee-bend thing to try to get a better look at him through his windshield before agreeing to this change in plans. “Home by ten,” she commanded me. “And don’t get angry if I call Lee’s mom to make sure you arrive at the party within the hour.”

“Geez!” I growled before walking back down the driveway to Elliott’s car, carrying the gift I’d poorly wrapped for Lee. It was super mortifying that my mother obviously thought I’d lie to her and drive off with Elliott to embark on a life of crime instead of going directly to the Lee’s house.

On the drive to Lee’s, I made small talk with Elliott about the broadcast the night before and how my songs had been switched. Inside my head, I was freaking out. The boy of my dreams was sort of stalking me, which was a good thing, I thought. He was a real celebrity (if I could be considered one, as well). And we were about to arrive at a party together where all of my friends and acquaintances from school were sure to gossip that I’d shown up with a
date.
As soon as
that
occurred to me, I started sweating. Surely either the night we’d gone out for ice cream or this drive over to Lee’s house counted as my first date. Somehow, the major milestone had passed without my even having marked it.

We pulled up to the cute fake stone wall around the Yoons’ house and buzzed in through the security system. Elliott groaned when he saw the arrangement of all of my friends’ first cars: Lexuses, brand new Toyota Sonatas, and Mini Coopers. “Wow, your friends are pretty well-off.”

I unbuckled my seat belt and said, “Not as well-off as Chase Atwood. And by the way, yours truly doesn’t even have a car, so please don’t think all of my friends are snobs. Some of them have rich parents, but some of them go to Pacific Valley on a scholarship.”

When Lee greeted us at the side door of his parents’ insanely big house, he simply said, “Um, hi.” His displeasure at seeing Elliott standing beside me was palpable.

“Happy Birthday, Lee!” I cheered, truly hoping I hadn’t hurt his feelings by bringing Elliott unannounced. I thrust my gift toward him. “I hope it’s okay that I brought Elliott.”

“Sure, yeah, it’s fine. Come on in, man. The more, the merrier.” If Lee had been offended by my gaff, he did a good job of acting unconcerned.

We followed Lee into the house and kicked off our shoes in the hallway, adding them to the giant pile that had formed just inside the door.
 

There are definitely perks to being the son of a software tycoon, and Lee’s birthday party was evidence of that. His father had rented a bunch of old-fashioned pinball machines and arcade games, and the entire basement looked like a retro arcade. There was even skee ball. While Elliott and I tried to take in all of the beeping, flashing, and mechanical jingles that greeted us at the bottom of the stairwell, Lee announced, “Hey everybody. Allison’s here.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing to gawk at us. As expected, several of Lee’s band geek friends were in attendance. There was Patrick, the bespectacled second chair flutist, Andrew, the only oboist at Pacific Valley, and Hector the cellist, who was obsessed with comic books. There were also a bunch of guys that Lee had dubbed his “Asian crew,” guys he knew from his mostly Korean church who all went to another private school. A few unexpected faces of popular girls who I didn’t know Lee even hung around with were present. Courtney Von Haas, the editor of the yearbook, mingled with the band nerds in a crop top. Just as I started taking a visual inventory of guests, I was nearly tackled to the ground by Michelle as she threw her arms around me.

“Oh man, your hair looks busted,” she said. Michelle was never one to sugarcoat the truth.

“I know,” I admitted. “They hacked it off the first week of the show and it’s only looking worse as it gets longer.”

With her most deadly smile and her eyelashes fluttering, Nicole slithered past the band geeks with a hand extended. She didn’t even look twice at me; she just moved in for the kill. “Hi. I’m Allison’s friend, Nicole,” she said, sliding her hand into Elliott’s and locking eyes with him as she greeted him. She wore skinny jeans and a fitted lumberjack plaid shirt, and I was sure the moment we walked in she regretted not wearing something sexier.

Elliott turned to me with an expression of pure panic, and in that moment, he probably saw my horror at my friend’s aggressiveness. The pain of a thousand times when Nicole had intercepted hot guys in my presence was probably painted all over my face.

“Uh, hi,” he managed. “Nice to meet you.”

Nicole led Elliott away from me, toward the absurd buffet of Armenian chicken that Mr. and Mrs. Yoon had ordered from a famous restaurant in Hollywood. Kids from school surrounded me to ask questions about what it was like to be on television, if Chase Atwood was nice, if Jay Walk had a girlfriend, and whether or not I was going to win. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Nicole giggle and flirt with Elliott. I seriously hoped he wasn’t falling for her little act.
 
Colton noticed that I was annoyed and offered me a
whadya-gonna-do
shrug. After a lifetime of being primarily ignored in social settings, I felt awful about being given the third degree while Lee twiddled his thumbs. It was, after all, his seventeenth birthday.

Andrew, the oboist, challenged me to a game of Ms. Pacman. He creamed me because I was so distracted watching Elliott assist Nicole in playing pinball (at her insistence, of course). He stood behind her with his arms shadowing hers as she played; his hands placed over hers on the flipper buttons. They were
very
close. Close enough that his lips could have easily grazed the side of her face or kissed her earlobe if he’d been so inclined. He was probably suffocating in vapors of Billionaire Boyfriend perfume wafting off her neck.