Reality Check (4 page)

“How do you know I wasn't on official
Cliffside Heights
business?” I ask Zac as I throw my messenger bag onto the floor and turn on the iMac next to him. The screen lights up the
room. Our office is windowless, but we did hang two posters that look like windows to spruce the place up—one shows a picture of the Caribbean, the other looks like a big green backyard with a swingset. The beige room also has several dry erase boards with upcoming story deadlines written on them, a large corkboard with newspaper policies and goofy staff photos, and a poster from
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen
that got sent to us when we reviewed the movie and gave it an A-minus. It's the first time a studio has ever acknowledged one of our requests, but then again maybe they sent them to every high school and college across the country. The film did make like a gazillion dollars.

“What kind of official business?” Zac wants to know. “Because if it's official, as features editor I should officially be in the know. I'm all about being official. Should I mark you down as being officially late?”

He's smiling at me and I try not to crack up. Zac makes me laugh. A lot. Which is good, because it cuts some of the tension I feel about working so close to him. I've had a thing for Zac all year, but it kicked into high gear in December when he switched out of AP calc and into regular eleventh-grade math, clearing his schedule for sixth period, which is the same free period I have. Now, instead of seeing him once a week and smiling weakly at him during meetings, I get to see him every day. Usually we're alone. Ms. Neiman is supposed to be in the office, but she takes these extended two-period lunches to grade papers. Everyone else on staff just floats in for five minutes and then leaves.

All this one-on-one time with Zac has only intensified my crush. Especially since Hallie thinks he's crushing me back.
I can't say she's entirely wrong. There's the mild flirting thing and the staring thing and the fact that neither of us spends sixth period anywhere other than in this office, even though we could be at the gym or the library for free study. I'd rather get a C in social studies than miss a day with Zac.

Today he looks particularly cute. Okay, I think he looks cute every day, but today he has on this shirt that I love. It is a royal blue T-shirt that says “Jesus Hates the Yankees.” Zac is a huge Mets fan and if you're a Mets fan, it's your job to hate the Yankees, which Zac does. (Not that the Yankees care what Mets fans think, but still.) Zac's wearing his pro-Mets shirt over a long-sleeved thermal with dark denim jeans. But it's not just his choice of wardrobe that causes my mouth to go dry. I'm itching to run my fingers through his slightly curly dark brown hair and stare deep into his blue eyes.

“Earth to Charlie. Come in, Charlie,” I hear Zac say.

“Sorry.” I pray I'm not blushing. “I'm sort of spacey today.”

“You're lucky we're not on deadline,” Zac scolds. “Otherwise I'd have to swat you with my leftover pasta salad.”

“I wouldn't want that.” I laugh. “It looks disgusting.”

Zac peers skeptically at the half-empty Tupperware container. “It's not
that
bad,” he says and pretends to sound hurt. “Even if is from Zorn's.”

I groan. Zac works after school at Zorn's and even he admits it is the worst deli ever. It's hard to have a bad deli when you live in New York, home of fresh bagels, real cold cuts, and decent pizza, but somehow Zorn's manages to butcher every dish they make, including grilled cheese (who messes up grilled cheese?). I glance at Zac's computer screen and see a Duke University logo staring back at me.

“Um, that doesn't look like official newspaper business either,” I say.

“Caught me,” Zac says. “I'm reading the admission application form again.”

“Even though we won't be filling one out till next fall,” I remind him.

“If I fill one out,” Zac says lightly.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. Going to Duke is one of Zac's favorite topics. His dad went, his brother went, and Zac practically has his bags packed to go.

“They raised tuition again,” he tells me. “We're talking almost forty-nine thousand a year. A year! Even if I get a small scholarship, how am I going to be able to swing that one?” He grins mischievously. “You think Zorn's would give me an advance on my paycheck?”

“I'm not sure the place is even worth that much,” I joke, but Zac still looks bummed. “You'll figure it out.”

He shrugs. “The school didn't cost anywhere near this when my brother graduated a few years ago and it was probably two thousand dollars a year when my dad graduated.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I don't know how these schools expect us to pay for college anymore. Unless my dad becomes a brain surgeon in the next year, I think I'm going to have cross Duke off the top of my list.”

Of course, this makes me think of the show. I haven't settled on anywhere yet, but I like Boston University and that costs just as much as Duke. My parents definitely don't have that much saved, but they've never pushed me to think about state schools that are cheaper. Maybe they're just as much in denial as I am.

Forty-eight thousand a year, plus inflation. Two hundred thousand-plus for the four years. TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND. How do you pass up the chance to make that much plus more? I'd be a fool not to go for this show. Zac would do the same thing if given the chance. Anyone at Cliffside would! Brooke is right. My friends and I have been close forever. I shouldn't think a TV show is going to tear us apart. And if that's my only big concern, then I have to get over it, pronto.

“I think someone spiked your Snapple at lunch,” Zac tells me. “You are anywhere but here today.”

“I'm sorry,” I apologize. “My head is ready to explode at the moment. I have a big decision to make and I have to make it by three o'clock.”

“Want to share?” Zac asks, and leans back in his swivel chair.

“It's so complicated.” I groan, looking at the clock. There is no way to explain it all in twenty minutes. “I'll definitely give you all the details when I have them, but the short version is that I have the opportunity to do something huge that would pay me a ton of money and give my friends a ton of money, but I'm not sure if I should do it.”

Zac looks at me skeptically. “Did you join the mob?”

“No!” I swat him.

“Are you selling stolen merchandise?” Zac's mouth begins to twitch.

“It's nothing like that.” I smirk. “But it is kind of far out there. And if I want to avoid paying college loans till I'm sixty, the smart thing would be to consider the offer.”

“Then what's holding you back?” Zac asks.

“I'm kind of scared,” I admit. “It's HUGE. So huge, you have no idea. It's a little overwhelming to wrap my head around.”

“You've got me so curious,” he tells me, and smiles. “I didn't mean to pull you down on this sinking college tuition ship with me. Let me throw you a life preserver. What are you doing next Friday night? We can get together and talk about this huge decision you will have made by then. I'd ask you to hang out this weekend, but my parents are dragging me to my cousin's baby's christening in Philly.”

Did Zac really just ask what I'm doing on a Friday night? Is he asking me out on a… date? “Next Friday I'm probably reviewing whatever awful indie Ms. Neiman is obsessed with and no one else will go see for next week's issue,” I say nervously and rock in my swivel chair to calm down.

“What if I suffer through it with you and we get dinner before or afterward?” Zac asks.

He
is
asking me out on a date! I tilt so far back on my chair I practically backflip over it. Zac catches the armrest and steadies me. I try to pretend like nothing happened. “That would be…”

Awesome? Amazing? What I've been hoping you'd ask all year?

“Okay,” I say calmly.

“Okay,” Zac repeats and grins. “We'll wait for your awful assignment and make plans after that.
And
celebrate you saying yes to that
huge
decision you have to make.”

“You don't even know what I'm making a decision about,” I point out. “How do you know I'll say yes?”

Zac smiles. “Because I know you—you wouldn't be obsessing over it this much if you didn't want to do it. It's like the time Ms. Neiman asked you to cover Z100's Zootopia concert. You freaked out about interviewing Taylor Swift, but you had the guts to do it anyway.”

“I asked her three questions before they whisked her out on stage,” I remind him.

“But you did it, didn't you?” Zac says. “Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith, Charlie. Ask yourself this—are you going to be more happy that you said yes and were a little scared, or more upset that you said no and always wondered what if?”

I pull my cell phone out of my bag and look at the photo wallpaper of Taylor and me. Covering the concert was worth it. I look at Zac. “I think you just made my decision for me.”

Two periods later, I'm practically floating through the hallways. Zac asked me out! Sure, I'm nervous about what will happen, but I don't want to miss out on something that could be amazing. The same goes for the show. I have to give it a shot.

When I see the girls standing anxiously by Hallie's locker, I can hardly get the words out, I'm that excited.

“Zac asked you out,” Hallie says the minute she sees me.

I stop dead in my tracks. “How did you know?”

“He did?” she shrieks, sending the others into near convulsions as well. “I was just guessing! I didn't really know.”

“I think you have a career as a psychic ahead of you, Hallie,” Brooke marvels. “Not that I didn't think this would happen eventually.”

Hallie waves her off. “Tell us every detail. How did it happen? What did he say? Where are you going? What was he wearing when he asked you?”

I put my hands up to protest. “I'll tell you everything, just not here.” I glance around the crowded hallway. One thing about a small school is that all news—good and bad—travels at lightning speed. “And besides, that's not the only reason why I'm excited,” I blurt out and Brooke instinctively grabs her chest. “I'm in. I want to do the show.”

The girls throw themselves at me.

“You're not going to regret this.” Brooke hugs me tight. “This show is going to change all our lives.”

I squeeze her back. “I know.”

three

The Grass Feels Plush on the Other Side

 

Brooke lets out a scream so loud it could shatter the car windows. “Can you guys believe this? We're less than fifteen minutes away from being at a party with celebrities! Someone pinch me.”

“I haven't seen her this happy since Marc Zeaman dumped Sara Meyer in tenth grade so he could take Brooke to the spring carnival,” Hallie quips.

I laugh. If anyone is ready for a TV close-up, it's Brooke. Her hair is a trifecta of cool—smooth, shiny, and curly at the ends after spending hours in foam rollers this afternoon. Brooke said we had to go all Blake Lively, so she's wearing a black-and-white strapless mini she scored at the Off-Fifth outlet. It's just like one we saw on
Gossip Girl
a few weeks back.

Brooke insisted we meet to prep at her house three hours before we had to leave. We did each other's hair and makeup and basically let off steam—all four of us were so giddy and so freaked out that we couldn't stop talking about tonight. Brooke even
got her mom to call Keiran's mom and beg her to let Keiran get out of babysitting so she could do some primping with us. Brooke is usually pretty good at swaying the parents on things.

Yesterday that job fell to our new boss, Susan. Once we said we were on board for the show, she called our parents to thank them for saying yes and to invite them to dinner with her and a few executives in Greenport on Friday night. Our parents accepted and, of course, they had a ton of questions: What kind of show is this going to be? How do we film an episode? Will this interrupt our schooling? How were they going to keep us from becoming overindulged reality TV brats (yes, they're thinking of you, Paris Hilton)? Since Susan's vision revolves around me—something that still seems surreal and disconcerting—my parents were especially concerned about my schedule and how I would manage my job at Milk and Sugar, work as entertainment writer for the school paper, study for exams,
and
shoot a TV show at the same time.

Susan wowed every last one of them, including Hallie's parents, who were more than a little skeptical about having their daughter spend all her time filming something without them. Susan explained in painstaking detail how our filming schedule would work, what kind of commitment we'd be making, what our paychecks would be like, even though she'd be discussing that with each of us privately—you name it andSusan had an answer. Our parents were so chill by theend of dessert that they even agreed to let us go to the Fire and Ice party without them (which is great because who wants to meet the Jonas Brothers with their mom?). Susan promised to keep a close eye on us and to meet with all of us again next Wednesday to go over any new concerns we might have. She's hoping we can sign contracts as soon as the end of next week.

Everything is happening so quickly that I feel like I've dropped into a Disney princess movie and found my happily ever after in twenty-four hours! I can't believe it was a week ago that Susan dropped the bomb on me and now we're zipping along in Brooke's brother's banged-up Jeep Cherokee to go to some swanky eatery in the Hamptons for the Fire and Ice Network soirée. (Susan offered to send a car for us, but since Todd was going this way anyway, we declined. Mom said it wouldn't be right for us to take advantage of Susan's generosity when we weren't officially employees yet. I guess, but it would have been nice to show up in a Hummer limo.)

“We're going to be home by midnight, right?” Keiran sounds nervous as she chews on a strand of her hair. Brooke insisted on giving Keiran a full makeover for tonight's party. Keiran has on bronzer, smoky eye makeup, and flat-ironed hair. Brooke also made Keiran wear one of her own ensembles—she's always letting us “shop” from her closet—so now Kiki's in a cute black halter top and sparkly heels that go well with her skinny pants. “If I'm home even
two
minutes after midnight, I'll be grounded for a month.”

“Would you stop worrying?” Hallie leans over and hugs her, smacking Keiran in the cheek with her dangly silver earrings. Hallie has her hair up tonight, and little wisps hang down her neck. She opted to wear Brooke's super-short multicolored sundress, the one Brooke wore to her cousin's wedding last month. The dress barely fits Hallie, who has more curves than any of us, but the look works. “We will not let you miss curfew, okay? Todd is picking us up at 11:15.”

Todd grunts in agreement. Unlike his sister, Todd is anything but a fashionista. He spends all his time working on cars in the family's barn, so he's always covered in grease from head totoe. Underneath all that dirt, he's kind of cute in a scary, bad-boy kind of way, with his short dark brown hair and big brown eyes and his biker-chic wardrobe. He skipped college and works at a local mechanic's shop. It's just one more thing Brooke doesn't like to talk about.

“Kiki, you can't be grounded for a month,” Brooke yells from the front seat, where she's just turned up the radio to party mode. “We'll be filming by then.”

“We could be filming in a month!” I repeat in awe. I anxiously thumb the bottom of my bright blue strapless sundress. My hair is down and curly, per Brooke's instructions, and I'm wearing more makeup than my usual lipgloss and eyeliner, so my pale skin feels itchy under all this foundation. “Do you think this is really going to happen?” I wonder aloud. “Maybe they're talking to a lot of different girls about this show.”

“There is no way they'd sweet-talk all of our parents like that and spring for a pricey dinner if they didn't want us,” Brooke insists. “We are so in!” Her eyes are practically dancing in the glow of the streetlights.

“You really think so?” I ask. “This sort of thing never happens to me. Or us. How did we wind up being the ideal girls for a Fire and Ice reality show?”

“We were meant to shine.” Brooke smirks. “I keep telling you guys that we're too good for this cheesy little town! We're going to be famous and get so much free stuff.”

“Imagine if they start writing about us in
Us Weekly,
” Hallie shrieks. “I will die.”

“That would be awesome,” Brooke agrees. “As long as we're not fashion don'ts. I mean,
I
won't be, but you know…”

“This is all great, I know, but it is a little scary to think they'll be taping every second of our lives,” Keiran reminds us darkly. “I don't think I want to shoo a cameraman out of my bathroom so that I can shower.” She frowns.

I shake my head. “Susan said we'll have a schedule. We'll have days off and the cameras won't always be running even when we're working. It's going to be fine. They couldn't pay someone enough money to be taped twenty-four-seven.”

“I can't believe we're going to get paid to do what we normally do,” Brooke says with glee. “Hang out, shop, and talk. We're getting paid to talk!”

I keep replaying what Susan told us at dinner: “It won't be all games. This will be a lot of work. You'll be making an ironclad commitment to the network to shoot a full season's worth of episodes, with the option of the show continuing. But with that commitment comes a lot of perks. As I also mentioned, the paycheck will be better than anything you're collecting at Milk and Sugar. I'm talking enough money by the end of the season to pay for college and then some. A car, maybe more. On top of that, we'll be helping you with wardrobe for events and publicity; there'll be TV appearances, red carpet events. You'll be networking with Hollywood. Doors will open that you never could have imagined.”

My brain still can't compute everything Susan promised, and every time I try to process it, my head spins some more. College paid off? Networking with Hollywood's royalty? This sounds too incredible to be true.

“I feel like I'm going to throw up,” Hallie says hoarsely. “Our whole lives are going to change for the better if this really happens.”

We look at each other and start to laugh. Giddily. This is how we've been for days—on a permanent sugar high. The possibility of becoming famous can do that to you.

“Guys! I'm trying to drive here,” Todd grumbles. He brakes hard at a red light and the engine revs loudly. “Where is the invitation for the party? It should be on the next block.”

“You can drop us off here,” Brooke says quickly.

I know what she's thinking. She doesn't want to be seen in this car.

“Nah,” Todd peels away quicker than Brooke can unfasten her seatbelt. “We're practically there.”

I feel my stomach lurch. I can't believe how nervous I am. I'm about to go to a party I would normally read about in
People
! Our car begins to slow down as my pulse races faster.

“Everyone take a deep breath,” Brooke says, just as much to calm herself as to calm us. “We want to seem like smart, sophisticated, self-assured young women.”

“Especially you, Charlie,” Hallie adds.

“Why me?” I ask.

“Because you're going to be the star of this grand production if it happens,” Hallie reminds me. “And because you tend to get really nervous during stressful situations and, well, trip or spill something on yourself.”

Brooke groans. “Please don't spill anything on my dress, Char! I've only worn it once.”

“Guys, about this whole star thing,” I say uncomfortably. It's the first time I've ever really addressed it, but it's true. I feel strange being singled out from the rest of them, as if I'm somehow better than them, when I'm not. “You know I don't care about that, right? I don't want to be treated any differently from either of you. I'm not star material.”

“You are with us standing right beside you,” Brooke tells me and squeezes my shoulder. “Not that I ever like to play backup, but I guess I can try.”

“This is killing her, you know,” Hallie says to me. “Brooke would rather be doing
The Brooke Show
.” We all laugh.

“I admit it.” Brooke shrugs, her red hair flying around as the wind whips through the open windows. “I wish I were the lead, but I'm still glad to be here. Without Charlie we wouldn't have this chance to get out of Dodge. Thanks, Char.” She smiles gratefully and I blush. I know it took a lot for Brooke to say that.

We roll to a stop and I look out the window. We're in front of a restaurant called Nick and Toni's. The sign out front says
closed tonight for a private party
. The restaurant sounds familiar, but I'm not sure why. It's not like I spend much time in this part of town. The north shore we live on is mostly made up of farmland, wineries, and small towns, while the south shore has morphed into a mini-Hollywood. In the summer, celebrities flock to Amagansett, Sag Harbor, and the Hamptons as if they're giving away free face-lifts. Cover charges to get into clubs are high, Jimmy Choos are part of the dress code, and party invites are tougher to come by than Justin Timberlake tickets.

“Oh my God, I know this place!” Hallie tells us excitedly as it comes into view. “It's a huge celeb eatery. I see it all the time in
Star
. It's supposed to be impossible to get in here. I can't believe they closed it down for a party.”

Brooke practices her yoga breathing. “Everyone act like the stars we know we are,” she instructs us. “And Kiki, stop biting your hair! It's gross.” Keiran lets the blond strand fall from her mouth and colors slightly. Satisfied, Brooke closes her brown eyes, takes another deep breath, opens her car door, and steps out. The rest of us follow like cattle.

“Have fun, girls,” Todd tells us with a wink. “I'll be back at eleven-fifteen. That is, if I remember to check my watch.”

Brooke approaches a young guy in a perfectly pressed suit and a wireless headset who is holding a clipboard. “Brooke Eastman,” she says confidently.

The guy looks at his list, scanning the first page with his thumb and then the second. “Sorry, miss. You're not on the list.” At the same moment, he lets two people by him with just a nod of his head.

Brooke waves the invite in front of him. “Check again. I have an invitation. Susan Strom herself gave it to me, I mean us, personally.”

He doesn't seem to care who gave Brooke the invite. He gives a small smile. I think. “If you're not on the list, you're not on the list.”

“That's impossible,” Brooke snaps.

“Calm down.” I whisper and pull her out of the way. I give the guy a huge grin. “Hey there. Can you check again? I'm sure she's on there.” He shakes his head. “What about Keiran Weber?” Nope. “Hallie Stevens?” Nada. “Charlotte Reed?” I try.

After checking page two, he looks up at me and unclips the rope. “Charlotte Reed plus three. You're all set.”

“Figures,” says Brooke and Hallie nudges her. “What? I'm just saying that it's no shocker that Charlie's name is the one that's on there.”

“She probably put us on the list when she only knew my name,” I tell Brooke as I pull open the door. “She knows mine from work, remember?”

That's the last thing I'm able to say without straining my voice. As we enter the restaurant, the four of us stop and look around. Whatever Nick and Toni's usually looks like, I'm sure this isn't it. You can tell the restaurant is used to more restrained affairs. The walls are stark white, covered with folk and kiddie art, and there are tons of windows that don't have curtains. In the center
of the main dining room is a large wood-burning stove that is
covered in mosaic tile. One room of the dining area has been cleared to make way for a DJ, and through the window, I can see an outside patio that has Christmas lights on the canopy. Instead of people eating quietly at tables, the place is jam-packed. There are several large TVs playing music videos, and Fire and Ice shows, like
Firing Up!
, Peggy Pierce's countdown program that Brooke loves, and
Surf's Up
, this new reality show about extreme surfing starring all these hot guys, one of which I'm sure just brushed past me.