I So Don't Do Famous (2 page)

Brianna squeals.

“Awesome!” Junie says.

“I can't believe I was just talking to Dear Elle. I just can't believe it.” My hands are a flapping blur.

The people at the table next to us pick up their trays and move.

“So, you're like a love expert?” Brianna says. “Tell me something from your essay.”

“Like what? It's five hundred words long.” I chew
on my lip. “How about this?” I clear my throat. “ ‘Love shows up when you least expect it. Like a pop quiz.' ”

“Ooooh, that's heavy,” Brianna says.

“Thank you.” My hands settle on the table.

“Too bad you didn't think to ask Dear Elle about your relationship with Josh,” Brianna says. “Perfect opportunity. You wouldn't have to wait for the answer to be published.”

“What?” I stare at her. Brianna has a way of tossing stuff into a conversation like she's throwing a ball through a window. “Why would I have questions about Josh?”

She shrugs.

“I vaguely remember reading about the contest when I borrowed a stack of your magazines.” Junie sips her drink. “What's the prize again?”

“A trip to Hollywood for a week! For me, a parent and a friend! And I get to go to an awards dinner with Dear Elle!”

“A trip to Hollywood!” Junie's eyes flash with excitement.

“I wonder what diamond she'll wear at the dinner.” Brianna pops another fry in her mouth.

“I wish I'd asked her that,” I say. Dear Elle always wears a diamond when she's out in public because a diamond is the universal symbol for true love, and she's the ambassador.

“Who'll take you?” Junie asks. “The Ruler or your dad?”

“The Ruler, I'm assuming. In a million years, I can't see my dad missing work for Hollywood and an award about true love.”

“Too bad you can't take two friends.” Brianna stares down at her nails, picking at the polish. “Anyway, I committed to this dumb babysitting job, and it goes the whole way to the end of August.”

“For me”— Junie's face is flushed—“the Hollywood trip is perfect timing. Stars! Fame! Fortune!” She holds her hands up, framing each word.

I nod, waiting for her to make sense.

“Exactly what the students want to read,” Junie says. “Exactly.”

“What students?” Brianna and I ask together.

“At school.” Junie picks up her deep-fried cheese on a stick. “Where I'm the new editor of the online paper.” She waves the cheese. “I'll kick off the school year with stories and photos from our trip to Hollywood. I'll research L.A., Hollywood, Beverly Hills, celebrities, tourist attractions, trivia! I'll know everything there is to know before we leave! This will be the strongest September our paper has ever seen!”

I've never heard Junie talk so fast. Or with so many exclamation points.

I watch while she nibbles along the edge of her cheese. I am not feeling good about what I'm going to
say next. I'm feeling a little guilty. Maybe even a lot guilty. But Junie is a good friend. Surely she'll understand where I'm coming from. If not today, then tomorrow.

“Junie”—I reach across the table and place a hand on her shoulder—“the essay is actually about true love. Not true friendship.” I take a deep breath. “When you look at it that way, don't you think this would be the coolest, most romantic trip to take with Josh?”

U
p in my bedroom, I flip open the lid of my aquarium and sprinkle in fish food. My two beautiful bala sharks, Cindy and Prince, zip to the flakes. Their scales glitter and gleam. They're happy and well fed and in love. Sometimes I envy their simple life.

My chest feels tight, like a huge rock is squishing it. At the mall, when I said I was taking Josh to Hollywood, Junie's face turned white and splotchy. Even Brianna lost her chattiness.

I called Josh while I was walking home, but he didn't pick up. I didn't leave a message, because I want to hear his reaction to the big news. I'm guessing polo practice ran over. Josh is already working out with the high school team. He doesn't miss a
chance to stay late to help clean up the deck. He's trying hard to make a good impression on the coach.

I flop down on my bed. Lying on my stomach, my chin resting on crossed elbows, I text him.

No reply.

I stare at the fish. “Maybe Josh's phone is charging,” I say to Cindy as she whisks by. “He's bad about letting the battery run down.” Her scales gleam and glisten. “What should I do?”

With a flick of her almost translucent tail, she chases Prince through the little castle at the bottom of the tank. I can tell she's thinking what I'm thinking.

Call his house phone.

“Hello?” Vicki, Josh's mom, answers. She's a hairdresser with hip highlights, the best nails and a talent for walking in three-inch-high heels. She's super friendly and gabby.

“Hi, it's me. Sherry, that is.” And then my words trip all over themselves in a hurry to let the world know about my amazing prize. “I just won a trip to Hollywood! By entering an essay I wrote!”

“Cool beans!” Vicki says. “Does Josh know?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me give you to him. He's right next to me. That is so exciting, Sherry.” Her voice fades a little, but I can still hear her clearly. “Josh, stop playing games on your phone. It's Sherry with great news.”

“Yeah?” he says.

In that one word, I can tell Josh isn't in a great mood. I'm very in tune with people and their emotions. This is probably what helped me write an intelligent, intuitive essay on love. Lucky for Josh, I have the news that will completely change his mood.

“Are you sitting down?” I ask. “You will not believe this.”

“What?” Josh says.

“So, I wrote an essay on true love for a magazine contest. A couple of months ago. I never for a second thought I'd win. I mean, think how many people enter. But I totally did. I came in first!”

“Wow,” Josh says. “Congrats.”

“Guess what the prize is?” But I'm too excited to wait for his guess and barrel on. “You. Me. Hollywood. Palm trees. The Walk of Fame. The wax museum.” I pause for a breath. “Well, all that and The Ruler, too.”

“Uh, when?”

“We need to leave in about a week. To be there for the awards dinner,” I say. “We are going to have the most fabulous time!”

“I don't know, Sherry—”

I stop him right there because I have a bad feeling, like too much of The Ruler's heavy, bricklike wheat bread is digesting in my stomach. I don't want Josh to say anything about how it might be
impossibly tough to talk our parents into the trip. No. That kind of negative thinking is better left in your head and not given a voice in the outside world.

“Josh,” I say, “let's meet at Jazzed-Up Juice and come up with a strategy for getting our parents on board. My treat.”

Good thing I hung on to that twenty dollars.

I brush my hair, reapply lip gloss and walk back to the mall. Over the years, it's like I've worn my own personal path from our front door to the entrance of the Phoenix Mall.

Once inside the big glass doors, I head to Jazzed-Up Juice. It's a smallish restaurant close to Video World and across from the food court. Pretty popular with the middle-school crowd, it's sort of our date place. Josh and I have shared gallons of smoothies here. We even have our table, in the back corner.

Josh beat me, probably because he skateboarded over. He's already seated, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, staring off into space.

Just watching him, my heart expands until it's bumping against my rib cage.

He looks up. His azure Camel's Breath band T-shirt picks up the blue in his eyes. He sees me. And offers up a wan smile. Yikes. He really is in a crummy mood. I wonder if something went down at polo. Well, one thing's for sure. He'll be feeling way
better in a few minutes. Most problems in life can be fixed with a smoothie, my sense of humor and a trip to California.

I smile big and point to the menu.

He nods, and a lock of his shaggy hair falls across one eyebrow.

Once I've got a large Orange-Banana Workout and two bendy straws, I pick my way through the tables and chairs and plunk down across from Josh. I poke the straws into the thick liquid, and we both take a long slurp.

Leaning back, I stretch out my legs. “Tough day?”

“Not particularly.” Josh crosses his arms.

“A trip to Hollywood. Isn't it just too incredible?” I say, trying to cheer him up. “I'm gonna start talking to The Ruler tonight about you. Sort of work her up to it.” I take a long drink. “What about your parents? Will they be cool with it?”

“With what?”

I lean forward and place my hands on either side of his face. “Earth to Josh. Earth to Josh.”

“I'm listening.”

I drop my hands. “Will your parents be cool about you coming to Hollywood with The Ruler and me?”

“I don't know.…” Josh looks down.

“Let's do this. I'll talk The Ruler into it first.” I sip. “Then we'll have her call your mom.”

“No, I meant I don't know that I want to go.” Josh
pulls his phone from his shorts pocket and starts spinning it on the table.

“What? Josh! We're talking Hollywood, California,” I screech. “How could you possibly pass up a super fun opportunity like that?”

“Polo.” Josh watches his phone turning and glinting. “I might get to be on taxi squad. And practice with the varsity team. As a freshman.”

Taxi schmaxi. “We're talking
one
week of summer vacation.” I cross my arms. “Hollywood always trumps polo.”

Josh looks up at me. “Not in my world.”

M
y last view of Josh is him striding out of Jazzed-Up Juice, hitching up his sagging jeans, which drop right back down to his hips.

I sit quietly, swirling my straw around in the smoothie. It bumps into Josh's straw, which I pull out and drop on the table. A splash of pink lands on the front of my T-shirt.

I can think of a million things I should've said. Like I'm actually more important than water polo. And do you even want to read my winning essay? People would give their right arm to win an all-expenses-paid trip to Hollywood!

Tears pool in my eyes, and a golf ball–sized lump
lodges in my throat. How did something so right turn so very wrong? Guys!

I toss the rest of the smoothie and head to the Naked Makeup kiosk where Junie's seventeen-year-old cousin, Amber, works part-time. Amber is the only real-life boy expert I know. She's not always nice to me or Junie, but I'm hoping she'll help me make sense of today's strangeness with Josh.

From a couple of stores away, I can see Amber perched on a stool by the cash register, filing her nails. Her well-behaved shoulder-length straight blond hair swings slightly with her hand movements. She looks like a poster for Best-Put-Together Teen.

I'm practically standing on the toes of Amber's cute slingbacks before she notices me. She stops filing. Her emery board hovers above a nail. “You here to buy product, Sherry?”

“Actually, I need advice,” I say, making sure I sound humble.

Amber returns to filing. Her right ring finger, to be exact. “Uh-huh.”

“I can't figure Josh out.” I tell her about winning the contest and Josh not answering his cell and then refusing to go to Hollywood.

The emery board falls to the counter. “You won the true-love essay contest? And I didn't even help you.” She high-fives me. “Way to go!”

“Thanks,” I say, a flame of pride flickering in my chest.

“Dear Elle is like a goddess,” Amber says. And she starts reminiscing about all the Dear Elle columns she read and how they related to this or that boyfriend.