Reality Check (3 page)

“Yes,” says Brooke, her breath short, but her answer quick.

“I kind of lied before,” Susan admits and looks at me. “Especially to Charlie. I do know this area. I've vacationed here before, and I'm actually in town scouting a new TV show. I've been all over the country doing it and I've been let down everywhere I've gone.” She looks at me. “Except here.”

“What kind of show?” I want to know.

“A reality show about regular everyday teens. Nothing flashy and overdone, just as real as it can get,” Susan explains. “I've been looking for my next stars and having a tough time.”

“Shut up!” says Brooke and Keiran nudges her. “Tell us more.”

“It gets better,” Susan adds, pulling her umbrella out of her bag. I notice it is Louis Vuitton. She pulls a twenty from her wallet and hands it to me as a tip. I try to protest but she waves me off. “I think I've found my star.”

“Who is it?” Hallie wants to know.

“You've got to tell us,” says Brooke, leaning across the table anxiously. “Is it Marleyna Garrison?” Hallie groans. “We know every teen in this town and we can tell you if you've made a huge mistake.”

Susan looks at me. “It's Charlie.”

I audibly gasp. Hallie squeals. Keiran just looks stunned.

“Charlie on her own TV show?” Brooke practically stutters and looks at me in shock. “That's… I mean, wow, Charlie! How cool!”

“Me?” I feel dizzy. “You're joking, right?”

Susan shakes her head and smiles. “You're exactly what I've been looking for, Charlie. You're vibrant and real and sweet and you have great friends.” She looks at the girls. “With them at your side, I think you could have an amazing show and hit home with our viewers.”

Brooke practically cries. “You want us too?” The color flushes back to Brooke's face. “You want all of us?”

Susan nods. “Charlie's Angels.”

“That's what Charlie's mom calls us,” Keiran marvels.

“I always thought it should be Brooke's Angels, but it doesn't have the same ring,” Brooke says with a smile.

Susan laughs. “I want you all. Obviously there's a lot to discuss together and with your parents. So if my proposal sounds at all interesting, maybe we can meet before the party to chat. Lunch on me?” We're all still too stunned to respond. “Anyway, I'll talk to you, Charlie. Call me tomorrow and I'll have invitations messengered over.” Susan looks at me. Brooke nudges me and I finally manage a nod. “I know this is a lot to process,” Susan says. “I'm going to give you guys some space to think about things. I really hope we can make this work. This is an opportunity you don't want to pass up.”

Susan gets up and gathers her coat, Hermés bag, and umbrella. The rest of us can barely move, let alone squeak out a goodbye. Is this woman for real? Does she really want me to be the star of a show on the Fire and Ice Network?

The bell on the door jingles and snaps me out of my fog. I look up and Susan's already gone, leaving the four of us behind, our mouths hanging on the floor.

two

Trust the Ones Who Know You Best

 

Three minutes after the bell rings we've already claimed the lone picnic table in the student-run garden outside the cafeteria. Brooke, Keiran, and I unpack our lunches while Hallie hits the lunch line to test out today's Philly cheesesteak. The air is breezy and I button my spring coat before sitting down.

The weather is still crisp during the first week of April—barely sixty degrees—but since we didn't want anyone learning about our TV show offer till we'd decided whether to take it, we needed a covert meeting place. I guess the garden was probably the right spot. We're the only people here. I'm sure everyone inside the cafeteria thinks we're freaks.

If my friends knew what I was thinking right now, I'm sure they would think
I'm
a freak. It's been five days since Susan dropped her bombshell on us, and the girls are ninety-five percent on board. I'm the holdout. The sun suddenly pokes its head through the clouds as if to listen in on mydecision.

I wish I had one. I can't sleep. I can barely eat. I don't know what to do! I pull a small spiral-bound notebook out of my messenger bag and place it on the table, opening it to the appropriate page. It says
Reality Show—Pros and Cons
. Pros are obviously the money (duh), the chance to impress college admissions offices (How many applicants can say they've already starred on their own TV show?), and—I'm ashamed to admit this—I know we are all thinking of the fame. My cons column says the invasion of privacy, the lack of time to study, and the effect the show could have on our friendship. Not to mention my future journalism career—how will I ever be the next Diane Sawyer if I've done a reality show? I've scribbled notes all over the pros and cons and I jotted down questions for the others. I spent last night doing my list instead of watching
90210
.

I know what Brooke's response is going to be to my cons. No one in their right mind would give up the chance to have their own TV show. And she's right. I know she's right. But I still can't get myself to say “yes” yet. I have too many questions.

A TV show about me? ME? Brooke, I could see. Or Hallie. But
me
? What was Susan thinking?

Brooke pulls a sparkly purple flip pad out of her Burberry bag (an off-season purchase with an 80% markdown price. Shh!) and places it on the table. She looks at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say, staring at her. “Did you write notes too?”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “Char, you're not the only one who can come up with a pro and con list, you know.”

“I know that,” I say, indignant. I should mention that I'm the only one who takes the initiative to do one when we're
all
indecisive, but I don't. I also wish I could remind Brooke of the time Hallie's mom decided to take us all away for Hallie's sixteenth birthday and we had to figure out where to go. Or when we were debating being camp counselors for the summer at this camp called Whispering Pines (which was vetoed because we'd be too far from the beach). But I don't want to set Brooke off. “I didn't think you had a con list.”

“I have cons,” Brooke insists, then smirks. “Okay, they're not really cons, but…”

“Let me guess,” I say as I unwrap my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “ ‘Con: Peggy Pierce's job is the one I want and it's already taken.’”

Brooke giggles. “Exactly!” She snatches my sandwich, forcing me to look at her. “Char, tell me the truth—do you want to do this? I know you get stressed out easily and the last thing I want is for this to send you over the edge. If you want out, just say so.”

I lose my voice for a second. I know Brooke wants this more than any of us, and her saying that shows me she still puts our friendship first. She can be tough sometimes, but she's also amazingly thoughtful. Sometimes when Keiran is pulling a six-hour babysitting gig, Brooke will drop by with food. And when I'm dealing with boy stress, Brooke is the first to offer up a makeover or a sweater from her wardrobe to cheer me up. “I can't tell you how much it means to hear you say that, but I do want this,” I tell Brooke. “And I know how badly you do too. I
want
to say yes.” I hesitate. “I think.” Brooke sighs.

Hallie walks over carrying a lunch tray piled high with a Vitamin Water, Baked Lays, a Philly cheesesteak, and pudding.

“Eww, Hallie, pudding and cheese?” Keiran pulls a face.

“They both looked good and I couldn't decide.” Hallie shrugs. “And besides, Bobby bought me the chips and Joe insisted on getting me the pudding, so it didn't cost me anything extra.”

“I need to stand next to you in the lunch line and whisper what I want in your ear,” I tell her.

“People, this is a serious lunch today.” Brooke pretends to sound stern. “We have a big decision to make and very little time to make it.”

“Twenty-five minutes to be exact,” Keiran seconds.

“Brooke's right,” I agree and feel my stomach flip-flop. “Let's get to business.” Everyone pulls out notes. I thought I'd be the only one, as usual, but I guess this is a huge decision, and I'm not the only one with concerns.

It gets quiet except for Hallie's chip munching and the sound of a lawn mower in the distance.

“I think we can all check ‘parental concerns’ off our list, right?” Keiran asks, holding her pen.

“They want to adopt Susan,” Hallie tells us. “She's been so accessible. My mom has called her twice already and she always takes her call.”

“Mine too!” Keiran says. “My parents can't wait to meet with her later this week—
if
we say yes.” Keiran looks at me. Susan suggested we all meet for dinner Friday night to discuss some of our questions.

“No problems with mine either,” says Brooke. “They know how much I want this.”

I nod. Mine seem to be on board too. They have concerns, obviously, and I know they'll be watching every move the show makes with us, but I think they're okay with the idea of their daughter going Hollywood. “I was surprised mine didn't have more to say, but I guess that's because they don't watch the Fire and Ice Network.”

“Mwn don't ev know wha Fir and Ice is!” Brooke says happily with her mouth full. “Which is prob why ey said yes.”

I look down at my notebook to avoid seeing the turkey sandwich roll around in Brooke's mouth. “Okay then. So to the pros and cons—”

“Char, we already know what they are.” Brooke swallows the last of the sandwich and looks at the others. “This meeting is really for you. You're the one Susan wants. We want to do it. We just want to know if
you
want to do it.”

I shift uneasily in my seat. My butt is cold on this metal bench. “I do, but there are some cons you probably didn't think of.” I look down at my notebook again. “Like—”

Brooke cuts me off. “I know you're going to say school, but if we're not shooting at school, then school won't really be a problem, right?”

“Susan told my mom we're only shooting a few days a week, so yes, some days will probably be long, but other days will be regular days and we can get more work done then,” Hallie suggests.

“True.” I cross “school” off the list. Crossing a con off gets me excited. And more nervous. This could really happen. I don't know whether I should scream or throw up.

“Besides, how long could a shooting schedule actually be?” Keiran asks. “Three months? They're only taping twelve or so episodes, right?”

“Yes, but each episode takes more than a day to shoot,” I explain as if I actually know (which I don't).

Brooke leans over and scribbles all over my list with black marker. “HEY!”

“Charlie, this is crazy!” Brooke says. “We can ask these sort of specifics
after
we say yes. The question is: What will it take to make you say yes?”

I look at all of their hopeful faces and sigh. “Am I the only one who is scared of us losing
us
in all this?”

“What do you mean?” Hallie is doodling flowers on her own list.

“You see it in
Us Weekly
all the time,” I explain. “People feud when they are on these TV shows. Look at Heidi and Lauren! Lauren and Audrina! The folks on
Survivor
! I don't want us to be like them.”

“We won't,” Brooke assures me. “Is that what you're so afraid of, Charlie? That's not going to happen to us! I won't let it!” She sounds so determined, I sort of believe her. “Stop thinking of the negative things that won't happen. Think of the good stuff. All the great places we'll get to go, the clothes, the celebs we'll meet. We'll be dating the Jonas Brothers in no time.”

“So you're over Justin Timberlake?” Keiran asks.

Brooke grins. “I'm keeping my options open. Marleyna Garrison is going to be so jealous.”

Hallie moans. “Her again?”

“What?” Brooke asks innocently. “If she happens to find out that I'm rich and dating a Jonas, I'm just saying I wouldn't be broken up over it.”

“Stay on track, people! We don't have much time.” Keiran is more focused than I've ever seen her. “Do you really think this show could tear us apart?” she asks me nervously. “I never even thought of that.”

“We all fight sometimes and if they catch us saying something and then it's aired, we could wind up mad at each other,” I worry. “I don't want our friendship shredded for some TV show. You guys mean more to me than Justin Timberlake does.”

“We won't let the show tear us apart,” Brooke insists. “We'll make a pact to remember that what one of us says on camera could be taken out of context. We're not the type to let fame go to our heads. We'll still be the same people.”

Hallie and I look at each other and she raises her right eyebrow. I want to believe Brooke, but somehow I think she's going to be the first one booking the cover of
People
.

“We know each other better than some TV show can portray us,” Keiran agrees. “We're not going to fly off the handle with each other.”

“You think?” I question. I've seen Brooke when she's mad at one of us and being subtle is not her strong point. I'm sure I'm not that great in a fight either. I don't shut up till I've said every last thing I want to say. I'm our group's Judge Judy.

“Charlie, I think we're going to be fine,” Brooke insists. “How could we ever get mad at each other when we're making so much money?”

Susan hasn't said exactly what we'd be paid yet, but when Mom called her yesterday she hinted that it would be in the $10,000-an-episode range. That's more than I'd make at Milk and Sugar in three years and the show's paycheck is for a week or two of work! “I'm still so blown away and it's all happening so fast,” I admit. “Don't any of you think this is happening a little too fast?”

Keiran snorts. “You think too much.”

“I do not!” I protest.

“Do too,” Brooke agrees, and takes a bite of celery. It's not school lunch if Brooke doesn't have some sort of crudités set up. “You pro and con yourself to death until you can't even make a decision. One minute you're singing with your mop and cracking jokes and the next you're Ms. Serious. Now, what's it going to be? We're supposed to call Susan and tell her whether we're meeting with her for dinner on Friday. She's too important to be kept waiting. What's your answer? The clock is ticking and I have a long walk to gym.”

The bell rings before I answer. Everyone groans.

“Charlie, after school you have to have a final answer,” Brooke demands. “You know you want to do this. Just relax and say yes! Think of how much fun we're going to have.” She throws an arm around me. “The four of us together are unstoppable. We're not going to get ripped apart, I promise. And don't forget the best part of all this.”

We look at Brooke expectantly. “We're going to be paid to hang out.”

We all laugh. The girls begin grabbing their bags and throwing away the remains of their lunches, but I move a little slower. I have free period next, and no one is going to care if I show up at the newspaper office five minutes late. I need air and sun for this decision. If I could go to the beach that would be ideal, but I'm stuck with the school's dead garden. Guess this isn't the best place to ponder my decision either.

“We'll meet at my locker at three,” Hallie yells as she heads back inside.

I head indoors and I hike my heavy messenger bag higher on my shoulder. I turn down one of the long, dark halls. There are no windows, which is sort of depressing, and every hall is painted the same shade of blah beige (just like the brick walls and the lockers). The only things brightening the landscape are fluorescent flyers taped to the walls reminding students about spring play tryouts, Friday's pep rally, and the dance committee. The Cliffside school halls are crowded—well, if you call about a hundred students per grade at a high school crowded. We have three minutes to get to class between bells and sometimes you can get knocked over by a freshman making the mad dash from the gym on one side of the school to the English cluster all the way on the other. I slide right to avoid one such girl, brow sweating, biting her lip, as she zips by.

I round the hall corner and enter the large storage room that once housed kitchen supplies and now has been transformed into our newspaper office. There's one long row of computers, a large table, and a sad-looking couch in the back. Zac Harris is waiting. I stop short. This is the best part of my day.

“You're three minutes late. I'm going to have to report you to Ms. Neiman.” Zac is sitting in one of the reclining desk chairs chewing on a pencil while he stares at me. This is what the two of us have been doing formonths—staring at each other and making mildly flirtatious comments.