Star Power (2 page)

“Talk to me!” she barked. Everyone in the car was quiet—you never knew who was going to call Mac. She shook her head impatiently. “N-n-no, this is
Mac
. . . . Yes, Davey.”

It was Davey Farris Woodward, aka Emily's costar, aka her lifelong crush and the reason she'd come to L.A. in the first place! Coco and Becks playfully nudged Emily in the ribs, knowing how much she liked him. Except she didn't just
like
him—she'd literally plastered her bedroom walls back in Iowa with his photos, ripped from
Star
,
People
, and
Us Weekly.
All Emily wanted in life was to a) act and b) make Davey Farris Woodward fall in love with her (and not necessarily in that order). Which was why she craned her neck to hear every second of Mac's conversation.

“My mom's at work,” Mac continued in her usual no-nonsense tone. Davey was Adrienne Little- Armstrong's biggest client. “Have you tried her office? . . . No, this is
my
cell phone. . . . Yep, that's the number. . . . Noproblemokaybyeeee.”

“Davey Woodward is a moron!” Mac announced as she ended the call. “He forgets everything!”

“Well,
you
forgot to tell him to fall in love with Emily on set!” Becks blurted. Coco, Mac, and Becks giggled appreciatively.

For the next two weeks of the shoot, Emily would have to look, dress, and act like a guy, opposite the only guy she had ever hearted.
Deal With It
was about a girl who disguised herself as a boy in order to attend an all-boys' prep school and play on the soccer team. Cute in theory, but not cute when the FLOHL (Future Love of Her Life) was going to see her in baggy shorts all day. Emily had made a new rule to look exceptionally cute when she arrived on set so that Davey could see her as his PG (Potential Girlfriend). Then they could fall in love and go for romantic hikes in Runyon Canyon with one of Davey's adopted mutt mixes, who would scamper onto rocks and bark at butterflies while she and Davey walked hand in hand, pausing occasionally to look at the clear California view and share their very first offscreen kiss with the Hollywood sign in the background. . . .

Emily was so busy fantasizing about her future love life that she didn't realize the car had pulled up in front of the giant iron gates to the Sony lot. Emily gulped. It was like being the new girl on the first day of school all over again—except that this was the coolest school in the world.

“Break a leg!” Mac chimed as she turned around and waved at Emily.

And then Emily realized: Mac was waving
goodbye.
As in: Mac wasn't going with her. “Aren't you coming with me?”

“Negative,” Mac said, slipping on her new Dita sunglasses. She gestured toward Coco and Becks, who had begun playing Guitar Hero on Tour on their DS. “We've got work to do.”

Coco blew one air kiss and Becks waved as Emily crawled out of the car. She shut the door dejectedly and watched the Prius drive away. Her heart began racing, the back of her neck went cold, and her leg started trembling so much it was hard to walk. Emily wondered if every day of her new life was going to be this nerve-wracking. And if so, was it worth it?

Before she could answer her own question, she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Miss Skylar?”

Emily spun on her baby blue Havaianas, wondering who in the world would be calling her “Miss.” She turned to face the tallest, skinniest boy she had ever seen. He looked about sixteen. Emily was pretty sure that he was a production assistant, because he was wearing a headset and holding a clipboard.

“I'm Chris Miller,” the boy said, extending a thin forearm. He wore baggy taupe corduroys, orange and yellow Pumas with green laces, and a faded black T-shirt that said FRANCIS FORD COPPOLA'S THEGODFATHER. His hazel eyes were the same shade as his hair, which flopped onto his long golden eyelashes. His right eyebrow was pierced with a tiny nail.

“You can call me Chris,” he continued. “Or you can be like all the other egomaniacs and snap your fingers in front of my face.”

“Hmm . . .” Emily pretended to think about it. “I think I'll go with Chris.”

“Cool.” Chris nodded. “You'll be the first person all summer to know my name.”

Emily laughed and Chris smiled like he was handing out a VIP pass into his good graces. “I'll show you to your trailer,” he said, adjusting his headset. “Follow me.”

They walked through the Sony lot, passing the other soundstages. It was like being at Epcot Center: Every soundstange was a mini universe built to look exactly like ancient Rome, or Mars, or New York City. And Emily kept noticing familiar people. In front of Soundstage No. 5, Selena Gomez was talking to a man in a business suit, while Emmy Rossum entered, clutching a coffee drink. In front of Soundstage No. 11, La Lohan herself walked by holding what appeared to be a . . . chinchilla. No wonder it was so hard to spot stars in L.A.—they were all here! Emily tried to remember everything so that she could give Paige a full report.

Emily smile-nodded. “I feel like I'm officially in Hollywood.”

“Easy, tiger,” Chris said, leading her to a set of double doors marked SOUNDSTAGE NO. 13: SCHOOL. “You know what they say—you're not in Hollywood unless someone's stab-”

“Oh no!” Emily pretended to cover her ears with her hands. “I've heard it already. It can't be true.”

“I feel ya,” Chris said thoughtfully. “But it's true.” With that, he flung open the doors to Soundstage No. 13. It was like that moment in the
Wizard of Oz
when everything went into Technicolor, but instead, Emily's world magically morphed into New England. There were various sets designed to look like boarding school interiors—one stage was a library, another was an oak-paneled classroom, and another held a dining hall with a giant table and stained glass windows.

Chris led Emily through the soundstages and then out the other side to a giant parking lot. Finally they arrived at a white trailer. Chris tapped the giant gold star on the front that said EMILYSKYLAR. “Home sweet home.”

Emily took dainty steps up the metal staircase to peer inside. The first thing she saw was a circular mirror dotted with big lightbulbs. Next to that was a kitchenette with a giant platter of chocolate chip cookies on the counter. A table by the couch was covered in gift bags from Marni, Gucci, Anthropologie, and Ron Herman. “What's all this?” Emily asked.

“They're start gifts for you.” Chris shrugged. “I sign for them every day. You got one from Adrienne Little-Armstrong, from the director, from your on-set tutor, the casting director, Davey Woodward. . . .”

Davey had gotten her a present?
Emily's heart soared.

“And I'm sure they all picked them out themselves. . . .”

“Really?” Emily asked, touched.

“No!” Chris scoffed. “That's what assistants are for.”

“Oh,” Emily's heart sank a little, knowing that Davey hadn't actually chosen her gift himself, but she tried to hide her disappointment. The last thing she wanted was for everyone to find out that she had a major crush on her costar.

Spotting the large closet marked WARDROBE, Emily walked over and cautiously opened the doors. She braced herself for flannel and other embarrassingly hideous boy costumes.

But as she peered inside the closet, she didn't see gross boy-jeans or boy-shirts or anything boy at all. Instead she saw a colorful assortment of Alice + Olivia dresses and Milly blouses and cute Rock & Republics. Tags from Nanette Lepore, Tibi, and Rachel Pally poked out. Even the closet floor was dotted with velvety shoe bags from Christian Louboutin and Loeffler Randall.

“Um . . . Chris?” Emily said meekly. “I think there's been a mistake.”

Chris rushed over. “Did we get you the wrong sizes?”

“No, that's not it at all. It's just that these are all
girl
clothes,” she said.
The most awesome girl clothes in the world,
she mentally added. “And I don't ever get to be a girl in the movie.”

“Uh . . .” Chris stammered. He looked terrified.

“Maybe I'm in the wrong trailer?” Emily suggested.

Just then a voice boomed, “
Change in plans, Dollface!
”

Emily turned around and faced her director, Shane Reed. He wore an all-white suit with his signature cream fedora, and was flanked by his assistant, Giselle, a tall supermodel-like creature who had been at Emily's audition. Giselle almost never spoke or showed emotion. She smiled coolly.

Emily felt dizzy: Of course there had been a change in plans. They'd probably fired her and replaced her with a real actress. Someone who had actually been in movies. Emily put her hand on the closet door to steady herself.

Shane put his hands on his hips and studied Emily like she was the last square in a sudoku puzzle. “Look how cute and nervous she looks!” he commented to no one in particular. “What are you worried about? Don't worry, we're not replacing
you
.”

Emily smiled with relief.

Shane scratched his neck. “We're replacing the
script
. Apparently this movie has already been made. It's called
She's the Man.
And
apparently
no one thought to tell me that when I agreed to direct this bad boy.” He shot a glare at Giselle. “So I guess He's the Fool.” He pointed at himself.

Emily nodded once to show she understood, but did not think Shane was the fool.

“You
did
get the revised script?” Shane asked. Emily wasn't sure if Shane was talking to her or Giselle.

Emily shook her head, and Giselle began muttering something about “new script to Emily.”

“Does anyone work around here?” Shane looked at Chris and snapped his fingers. “I need a water.”

Chris nodded obediently, went to the refrigerator, and wordlessly handed Shane a Metromint water.

“So we made a few tweaks to the plot,” Shane said. Emily crossed her fingers, hoping the tweaks hadn't affected her twenty-eight scenes with Davey or her 914 lines of dialogue.

Shane took a giant swig of the Metromint water and chucked it into the recycling bin. “So here's the pitch: Davey's a computer nerd from the wrong side of the tracks. All he wants is to study computers and rule Google. Problem is, the best facility in America is at a girls' school that just got an awesome grant. So
he
pretends to be a girl named Tiffany so he can follow his dream. And then he meets your character, Kelly, and you both fall in love over a keyboard, hijinks ensue, yada yada yada . . .”

“Everything Davey was doing—now
you're
doing. And it's great, 'cause no one's
ever
seen a guy trying to be a girl. Except
Tootsie
or
Mrs. Doubtfire
, but those were a thousand years ago, without hotties like Davey.”

Emily's heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. So she would still get her scenes with Davey, and. . . . “You mean, I'm going to be a girl
the whole time
?”

“Bingo, Buttercup!”

Emily suddenly felt like she was floating. It was like she'd already gotten the happy ending to her fairy-tale life. She had great friends in Los Angeles, a starring role in next summer's blockbuster, and now, thanks to Shane's change in plans, not only was she going to see her crush every single day, but she was going to actually
look like a girl
when she saw him, with her hair and makeup done by the best stylists in Hollywood. Now all she needed was a kiss from her prince charming and her story would be complete.

Emily looked at her reflection in the brightly lit vanity mirror and smiled. A romance with Davey seemed as inevitable as another Britney breakdown—all she had to do was wait.

mac