Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home (15 page)

“I’m fine. Just getting wrapped up in the dialogue.” I choke back tears. “I’m still a little out of sorts. My head is so foggy
I can’t even remember my schedule.”

“You poor thing!” She quickly types something on her computer, and the printer next to it springs to life. “I can take care
of that. I’ll print you a copy of it right now.”

“Thank you,” I say gratefully.

“Do you need a tissue?” Principal P. passes me one and looks at me sadly with big, gray eyes. “I thought you might be a bit
weepy today. I may be principal, but I’m in tune with the student body and I know what everyone is saying.” She smiles sadly,
and I notice her red lipstick is on a little crooked. “I’ve already made an announcement to the student body about last week’s
accident. I want the gossip to stop. It was an accident and nothing more. Mr. Michaels is okay, and the other boys weren’t
injured. Austin Meyers will be fine, thank God, even if he can’t play lacrosse this spring. I’m hoping he’ll run our spring
carnival instead and that it will take his mind off sports. We’ll make a lot of money with the celebrity dunk booth Liz Mendes’s
father is helping us put together.”

“That is a big draw,” I agree. Liz made me do it last year, and I spent more time in that disgusting water than I did in the
dunk chair. “Thank you for making me feel better, Principal Pearson.”

“You’re welcome.” She blushes. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Have you heard anything intriguing on the set? I
know you’re interning at the show. That must be incredible.”

“Incredible,” I repeat, my mouth twitching at the irony.

The two of us are so busy talking that I don’t notice the first two periods fly by. Principal Pearson is fascinated by my
stories about the cast (“My
Family
fanatics group would flip if they heard this!”), and she “refreshes” my memory about new storylines this season. The whole
show seems to have been turned upside down, and I have to bite my lip really hard to keep from screaming when she tells me
what’s gone on. Aunt Krystal having an affair with my character’s dad? Paige leaving Dennis for a CEO at a rival empire? Sara
dating a teacher? BLECH. The Tom Pullman I know never would have approved these storylines. I can’t believe people are actually
watching this garbage! After we’ve talked
FA
, we move on to celebrities and Principal P. asks me—a studio intern—what I’ve heard about different stars’ plastic surgery
rumors, affairs, and money woes.

“That Melli Ralton is stunning. Just stunning!” she marvels about my TV mom. “I’ve heard it isn’t all good genes, though.”
She points to her nose and her chest. “But Melli says in every article that she’s never had plastic surgery, so I guess we’ll
never really know for sure.”

I know for sure.

HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER ELEVEN: Plastic surgery is still a taboo subject in Hollywood, especially for women. There are two
camps on plastic surgery: There are the Heidis of the world who use their time under the knife to get magazine covers and
generate watercooler topics. Then there is the rest of Hollywood, the ones that swear their skin is as perfect as a baby’s
bottom, even at the age of fifty-five. Aging is a worry for any star, but women tend to take the brunt of the burden. That’s
why so many get a little lift, a little tuck, disappear for a month, and voilà! They look as good as new! Well,
they
think so. Personally, I would never do plastic surgery. I hate that surprised look so many stars have after they’ve gotten
a face-lift. In Melli’s case, she has had work done, but she lies to protect her career. If Melli cops to a boob job or an
eye lift, some casting couches may not offer her a seat. Melli knows to keep her mouth shut if she wants plum parts.

Principal P. ’s jaw drops as I finish explaining my theory. “How do you know all this?”

Hmm… maybe that was a bit too much info for an intern to know. “I’m doing a paper on celebrity culture for my psychology class,”
I lie.

The intercom buzzes and the two of us jump. “Principal Pearson? Ms. Jasons says Kaitlin hasn’t shown up for her appointment.
She wants to know if she came to school today and whether she is in your office? You were supposed to take Kaitlin to her
appointment during first period.”

My principal looks at her Timex watch. “Oh my! Look at the time.” She wags her finger at me. “I made you miss almost two periods,
and I still haven’t gone over what I needed to discuss with you. No matter. We’ll tell your teachers we had a lot to talk
about.” She winks. “Just don’t tell Ms. Jasons.” She clicks on the intercom button and asks her assistant to send Ms. Jasons
to us.

Who is Ms. Jasons? I take a shot in the dark, hoping Principal P. will give me a clue. “Is Ms. Jasons here to talk about the
accident?”

Principal P. fidgets slightly as she takes a seat behind her desk again and shuts off the TV. “No. We scheduled this appointment
with you before the accident even happened. To be honest, Kaitlin, she’s worried. You haven’t had one meeting with her about
college applications, and they’re due in a few weeks.”

I sigh and slouch in my seat a little. The college talk keeps coming up no matter where I am. “Oh.”

“We’ll sort it out,” she says and folds her hands across her large chest. I notice her red nail polish is the same color as
my sparkly bag.

There is a knock on the door, and Principal P. waves in a short, thin, strawberry blonde with wispy bangs and long hair. She
smiles at us both. This must be Ms. Jasons.

“Kaitlin, I hope you’re feeling better after your accident,” says Ms. Jasons kindly.

“Yes, thank you.” I shift awkwardly in my chair, and it squeaks.

“I apologize for doing this to you your first day back, but this is pretty urgent.” She drops a stack of folders on top of
Principal P. ’s desk. “To date, you have not handed in one college application. They’re nearly due, so I thought we could
discuss ones you’ve mentioned a passing interest in.” She fans a few out in front of me. “I’m happy to go over essay questions
if you want. If I give you a deadline of two weeks, we’ll have time to do revisions, if necessary.”

I wonder if Ms. Jasons is this reality’s version of Nadine. I stare at the large stack and my eyes glaze over. I guess the
me in this reality isn’t sure what to do about college either. “I’ll take care of them,” I lie and pick up the folder on top.
Boston University. Huh. Looks pretty. Austin likes Boston…no. No. I have to concentrate! What’s important is getting home,
not college applications. Besides, at home the problem is the same: I’m too busy to worry about this. When would I have time
to do any application other than the USC one I promised I’d do for Nadine anyway?

Ms. Jasons clucks her tongue. “Yes, well, you’ve said that before, and you still haven’t turned anything in.” She looks at
me sharply, and I’m slightly terrified. “I don’t want your applications to be late, Kaitlin. You’re the only student I have
who has failed to complete this assignment. As you know, Clark Hall has an unprecedented record for graduating seniors. One
hundred percent of the graduating class goes on to college. I would hate to break that record. I think we’ve been more than
patient”—she looks at Principal Pearson—“but I will be forced to call your parents if you don’t get your applications in.”

I feel my skin start to prickle. This is the same issue I have in the real world! I cross my arms defiantly. “I don’t mean
to be rude, Ms. Jasons, but going to college is
my
decision, no one else’s.”

“That’s true,” Principal Pearson says softly, “but don’t you want to go to college, Kaitlin?”

I look away. “I’m not sure.”

She sighs. “Not to get too personal, but I’ve spoken to your parents at length. They want you to have the best education money
can buy, which is why they saved so hard to send you and your brother to Clark Hall this year. They don’t want you to sell
yourself short.”

“I’m not!” I find myself insisting. “But I don’t have to go to college to keep that from happening. People can find great
jobs without going to college too, you know. If I find a craft I’m good at that doesn’t require a degree, say, like acting,
why should I take time away from that to go to school?”

“Going to college isn’t just about finding a career, Kaitlin,” Ms. Jasons explains. She plays with the silver pen in her hand,
clicking it open and closed. “It’s about finding yourself. ” She leans in closely, and I watch her whole face light up as
she talks. “College is your chance to study subjects that you might not otherwise. Philosophy, fashion, literature from the
1800s, Greek myths. There are courses you can’t even fathom! Then, of course, there’s the social aspect. In college, you’ll
meet people from all walks of life and backgrounds. You’ll learn perspectives you might never have if you hadn’t stepped outside
your own world.” She smiles. “You might learn a few things about yourself too. Maybe you’ll find that being a history teacher
isn’t what you want to do, after all. After a few semesters of psychology, you might learn that being a school psychologist
is actually more up your alley.” I see a blush creep into her cheeks as she nervously brushes her light bangs away from her
eyes. “At least I did.”

Wow. I have to admit I just got a bit swoony at that passionate speech. If she’s lying just to get me to fill out some applications,
then I should get her a job on
FA
right away.

But why would she lie?

Maybe there is more to college than just finding a career. I have always wanted to learn more about Greek myths and philosophy…
and when I think about it, my favorite part about being at Clark Hall eons ago was actually sitting at a desk surrounded by
people in the heat of discussion. When you’re one-on-one with a tutor your whole life, the only debate you have is whether
or not you can postpone a pop quiz to do a phone interview with
People
.

“A degree opens doors that would never open otherwise,” Ms. Jasons continues. “I think it’s great that you’re interested in
being an actress, but it’s a very hard profession to break into. Don’t you want to have a backup plan if it doesn’t work out?
That’s what a dual degree—in theater and another major—​could give you.” She pats the large stack again. “I’ll tell you what. Pick one application. Just one. Do that and I won’t
call your parents. If you get through that first application, maybe I can convince you to do more.” She grins. “I can at least
try.”

I stare at the folders. “Okay,” I agree. I blindly pull an application from the middle of the stack. When I look down at the
folder, my eyes widen.

University of Southern California.

That’s the school Nadine wants me to go to! And the folder looks exactly the same as the one Nadine gave me! How weird is
that?

“That’s a good school, Kaitlin.” Ms. Jasons nods approvingly. “They’d be lucky to have you. You’ll have no problem with this
application or the essay.”

“Is it ‘Does your life change you or do you change your life?’” I ask, holding my breath.

Ms. Jasons looks surprised. “Why, yes, how did you know?”

Here come the goose bumps again. “Someone told me.”

The bell rings and Principal Pearson looks at me. “We should really let you get to class, Kaitlin. I’ll tell your teachers
in the first three periods that I held you up.” I take the USC folder and look at Ms. Jasons.

“We’ll be in touch,” she says. “Come see me if you need any help, but I’m sure you won’t. Let’s aim to go over everything
next week, okay?” I nod.

When I leave their offices and head into the crowded walkway, I feel a little lighter somehow. The University of Southern
California application is tucked into my bag, and I rest my hand on it through the crutches.

I wasn’t lying about doing that application for Ms. Jasons. In the real world, I don’t have a single application done, but
suddenly I
want
to do them. I may not know how I’d pull off filming a show that tapes sixteen-hour days and going to college, but I want
to give it a shot. Nadine would be so ecstatic to hear me say this.

For the first time since I’ve gotten here, I feel…excited. I don’t know if it was hearing that
FA
speech about the future or Ms. Jasons’s rousing pep talk, but I feel positive somehow that there is a reason I’m here for
the moment. Even the dirty looks I’m getting from the people around me can’t get me down. That USC application has to be a
sign that I’m going to get out of here. It has to be. I never get signs. If anything, I’m the one that…

“OUCH!”

I was so busy talking inside my head that I forgot to look where I was going. Now I’ve accidentally planted my crutch on someone’s
foot.

“I’m so sorry. Are you…” I look up to apologize and inhale sharply. “AUSTIN.”

Austin. My Austin is standing right in front of me.

Austin is standing right in front of me, and my good foot is glued to the sidewalk in a mixture of panic, terror, and pure
adrenaline-fueled excitement.

I don’t know what to do. My initial instinct is to burst into tears, throw my arms around him, and sob “Thank God you’re okay!”
over and over along with “I’m so, SO sorry.” I want this Austin and the other one out there in the universe to know that even
more than I want to get out of here. But freaking out like that would be a little dramatic, even for an actress.

“Uh, could you take your crutch off my good foot?” Austin asks bluntly.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry.” I can’t stop staring. There are so many thoughts running through my head, like the one saying I should
kiss Austin as hard as I can and not let go. But that would be inappropriate.

Darn.

“That’s better,” he says when I lift my crutch, and then he smiles. Smiles! “I was wondering when I’d see you,” he adds, as
if we’re friends. Are we friends here? “I wanted to talk to you before this whole thing spiraled out of control, you know?”

I’m not paying too much attention to what he’s saying because all I can think about is that after almost a week of imagining
this moment, Austin is
right here
! Standing in front of me! I take in every inch of him from the top of his blond head to his toes—okay, his cast. Ouch. His
whole left leg is in a cast, and he’s on crutches, just like me. I did that to him. I put Austin in a cast, both here and
probably in the real world too, and the guilt of that will never go away no matter how many times I apologize. The rest of
Austin appears fine, thankfully. His hair looks exactly the same—long bangs, sort of wavy locks—and his face has that sun-kissed
glow you get from spending hours on a muddy field. I don’t recognize the outfit he’s wearing, but I like it. He has on a red
Abercrombie pullover and navy wind pants that are rolled up on his left leg.

“I… I… are you okay?” I ask nervously.

“If you call being in a cast okay,” he says, acknowledging his leg with a small shrug. But the way he says it, it doesn’t
sound mean. Just matter-of-fact. This conversation is going better than I expected.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “I don’t know what happened!” Literally. “One minute we were driving, and the next the world
was upside down. The last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.” He looks at me curiously. “For anyone to get hurt,” I clarify.

“I know.” He exhales sharply. “You kept saying that when we were being put in the ambulance. Why would you want to run me
down? We’re sort of friends.”

We’re friends! This is a good sign, and yet, we’re
just
friends. Hmph.

Austin sighs. “At least we
were
friends.”

Ah. There it is. He’s friend-dumping me for running him over.

He runs his fingers through that blond mop of his and looks away for a second. “I want us to be friends, but it’s tough. I’ve
told you that. It’s hard.” I nod, even though I don’t know what he’s talking about, and he looks at me guiltily. “Don’t look
at me like that.”

“Like what?” I ask, surprised.

“Like you’re disappointed,” he says. “I know I have issues, but you do too, you know.”

Oh, I know.

“You’ve become as obsessed with being popular as I am,” Austin reminds me.

“I have?” Maybe he’s not dumping me. Maybe… this is a conversation that he and I started before I ran him over?

“Yeah,” Austin says. “You’re not in the in-crowd here, which makes it hard for us to hang out, but you’re still on the popularity
kick. All you and Liz talk about is getting into Hollywood parties and hanging with stars like Lauren Cobb and Ava Hayden.
You tell me not to get suckered into doing what’s popular, not to let the people at Clark Hall rule my life, but you’re doing
the same thing yourself. I don’t get you, Kaitlin Burke.”

Uhh… let me get this straight: Austin and I definitely aren’t dating, but there might be something between us that neither
of us can act on because he’s hugely popular and I’m not (not to mention, he has a girlfriend). And I turn him off with my
fascination with being a Hollywood wannabe.

Wow. My relationship with Austin in this world is much different than it was back home. “I don’t get myself sometimes either,”
I tell him, which is the truth. “Forget about all that other stuff for a minute. The important thing is that I’m sorry. About
everything.”

“I know that.” There is that smile I love! Sigh.

“Does that mean you’re not mad at me?” I ask hopefully.

Austin leans on one crutch. “I was. I mean, I wanted to be, but I can’t stay mad at you.”

Now what does
that
mean? What was our history before the accident? Were we secretly talking about wanting to be together, but he was afraid
of what his friends would say? I wish I knew the truth, but my heart thumps so loud I think Austin can hear it.

“
But
, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be on my way to a game against Southside in an hour,” Austin adds.

I look down at my feet—one is in a cast, and one is wearing a ballet flat. “I can’t believe you can’t play. Did they say how
long?”

“At best, two months, at worst, not till next fall,
if
someone even wants me to play for their college team when they can’t see me this spring.” He grimaces. “And you? How long
are you going to be in—”

“Haven’t you caused enough damage, Tread Marks?” A guy appears out of nowhere at Austin’s side and pokes me hard in the shoulder.

I look at him and realize it’s Austin’s best buddy and lacrosse teammate, Rob Murray. “Murray!” I exclaim excitedly before
I can stop myself, which I should have because the look Murray gives me makes the Terminators running around in
T3
seem friendly.

“Who you calling Murray?” he asks, leaning into my face rather menacingly. I’ve never heard him so angry before, and I sort
of stumble backward. Austin reaches out to help me, but then stops. “Only my friends call me Murray, and you are not my friend,
Tread Marks. You could have killed us the other day! You better watch yourself. After what you did to my boy here”—he nods
to Austin—“you’re at the top of our Tipster List.”

“What’s the Tipster List?” I ask, even though I don’t think I want to know. The Tipster List sounds very bad, and the way
Murray’s normally wonderful smile is curled up into a snarl, I’m sure I’m right.

“Why are you even talking to her, man?” Murray asks Austin gruffly.

“I’m not,” Austin says to my surprise. “I was just telling her where she can stick her crutch.” He laughs awkwardly and puts
his hand up for a high five.

Wow. Austin’s so afraid of being unpopular that he’ll do anything to avoid being kicked out of the in-crowd himself.

“Nice.” Murray nods appreciatively, then scowls at me again. “A, I can’t even look at her, man. I’m outtie. See you in history.
Or not.”

“Not.” Austin laughs as Murray walks away. He looks around before talking to me again, and his face is pained. “I’m sorry.
You’ve got to understand, especially now, we can’t be seen together. I should go.” He sticks his right crutch in front of
my left one, but I’m too quick. Using one of my crutches, I block his path.

“Wait,” I insist. “Do you mean to tell me we’re covert friends?”

Austin sort of sighs and hangs his head, which is yet another thing I’ve never seen him do before. But then again, I’ve never
cost him a lacrosse season before. “Kaitlin, you know how things work around here. I have a rep to maintain.”

The real Austin has told me that before we met at Clark Hall he wasn’t always such a great guy. He struggled with doing the
right thing versus maintaining his popularity. If alter-Austin has been with Lori the whole time we would have been together
in the real world, then the pull of being popular is that much stronger. Still, he must want to change, a little, if he’s
friends with a “loser” like me. I may not be here long (I hope), but while I am, I’ve got to help him.

“What are you more worried about?” I ask. “Your rep or where you’re going to be a year from now? You won’t even see these
people then! You’ll be back on that field before you know it and you can still wow the scouts at Boston College. In the meantime,
can’t we both stop worrying about what’s popular? I don’t think the real you cares about rep that much.” Blech. I sound like
his mom. I stare at the sidewalk because it’s less scary. Concrete is nice even if it is covered in gum. Haven’t these people
ever heard of garbage cans?

“How do you know about Boston College?” Austin asks. “I haven’t told anyone that BC is one of my top picks.”

“You told me,” I lie. “Remember? The morning of the accident.” Austin seems to think this through.

Shoot. I have to be careful about spoiling secrets real people have told me. This makes me think of HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER
TWELVE: TV show spoilers are sometimes leaked on purpose. George dying on
Grey’s Anatomy
. Charlie coming back for
Lost
’s final season. These types of secrets are too big to be kept under wraps till the episode airs, so the network is savvy
enough to take care of matters themselves and beat the gossip rags at their own game. Creators and producers may not come
out and tell you exactly what will happen, but they will tease that “something monumental will change the lives of all the
characters.” An actual spoiler, of course, is a specific plot point, which no TV person in his or her right mind would give
away on purpose. But a teaser is okay. Sometimes they’re a thank-you to fans who are so obsessed with their favorite show
that they can’t wait another millisecond to know what will happen next.

What I just did to Austin wasn’t a tease. It was a spoiler that the real me knows, but obviously alter-Kaitlin and the rest
of this universe is not supposed to.

“I don’t remember saying something, but if you know, I guess I did,” Austin says and then smiles again, just a little. “I
really have to go now.”

“Please don’t go,” I say before I can stop myself. I know this is not my Austin, but he’s still Austin, and I feel better
just being around him.

“Kaitlin—” He says my name like it hurts. But that’s the last thing he says before I get knocked sideways by his girlfriend,
Lori Peters. In the real world, he broke up with her a long time ago, right after he met me.

“God! Haven’t you done enough to my man already, Tread Marks?” Lori says. “Austin, why are you talking to her?”

“I’m not.” Austin shrugs. “I was just on my way to find you.” Lori smiles at me smugly.

Blech.

The alter-universe has been just as kind to Lori as the real one. She’s as beautiful as ever, unfortunately. Perfect platinum
blond pin-straight hair, Barbie’s proportions, height, and killer clothes. She’s wearing a Dolce & Gabbana black dress with
knee-high Jimmy Choo boots.

God, I really miss my clothes.

“Leave. Him. Alone. You cost him the upcoming spring lacrosse season and our school’s chances at being five-time champs!”
Lori points a long, pale pink nail in my face.

“I know that,” I counter. “I came over here to apologize.”

As soon as Lori opens her mouth, people start to gather round, like they’re watching a taping of
Ellen
. I bet they’ve been waiting all day for someone to tear into me like this. Austin looks as uncomfortable as I am, but he
lets her yell at me anyway.

“He doesn’t care about your apology,” Lori continues and crosses her arms defiantly. “It doesn’t change things. He still can’t
play lacrosse, and you’re still a loser.” She smiles at me wickedly. “Austin, from now on, Tread Marks is number one on our
Tipster List.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I snap. I can’t stand either version of this girl.

“Lori, let’s go,” Austin interrupts, not looking at me. “She’s not worth it.”

Even though I know Austin doesn’t believe that, hearing him say it still hurts.

“You’re right. She’s not,” Lori sniffs and hikes a Gucci backpack over her bony right shoulder. “She’s nobody.” Lori starts
to lead Austin away.

Someone snickers and I snap. No one talks to me—real me or alter-me—like that. Austin may not have the guts to say what he
feels, but I do. “I am not a nobody,” I tell Lori loudly. “I have a life, and a pretty good one, that doesn’t include the
likes of you.
You
are the nobody, Miss Head Cheerleader. You can’t even get a cheerleading scholarship from UCLA.” Ha! Pays to know stuff.
Liz told me about this last week.

Lori’s jaw drops. “How do you know that? No one knows, I mean, I haven’t even, she’s lying,” she sputters, but Austin is staring
at me curiously. I focus on him.

“You’re somebody, Austin,” I stress. “And you’re better than these people. Don’t stoop to Lori’s level.”

Lori looks at him angrily. “What is she talking about?”

“I don’t know what she’s yammering about.” He looks away. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, let’s,” Lori agrees and gives me a dirty look. She puts her arm around Austin’s back, staring menacingly at me as she
goes, and grabs his grubby navy messenger bag. “We are out of here,” she tells the growing crowd. “She’s Tipster List, number
one! Don’t forget it, people!”

Where is my guide? In the movies, whenever someone gets stuck in a coma or an alternate reality, there is supposed to be a
guide to help smooth things over. Where is my Glinda the Good Witch?

“God, you made things worse,” I hear someone say. It’s Liz, looking great in a Burberry headband, fitted red shirt, and a
tan Gucci skirt with Tory Burch flats. “I know we can’t stand Lori’s crew, but do you have to make things intolerable during
school hours?”

“Thanks for your support,” I grumble and take a huge step with my crutches to get ahead of her.

“I can’t believe you tried to talk to Austin,” Liz says as she catches up and walks along next to me. “We went over this—he’s
never going to own up to liking you, Kaitlin. You should move on.”

I stop short. “Austin really does like me?” Why does this make me so happy? It’s not like this is the
real
Austin.