Stay With Me (6 page)

“I don’t think I should do anything with you when I don’t know who I am. That spells a recipe for disaster. We don’t know each other, so—”

“That’s why you’re coming out with me.”

“Is that your way of asking me out? I don’t think so.” I make my voice firm. “I’ll see you Saturday night at the party, but there won’t be anything more between us.”

“Gotcha.”

I frown at him. “I’m serious, Caleb.”

“I know you are.” He backs away from me, and my arms fall to my side. I keep them there and don’t reach out to him. “So you don’t want to pursue this.”

I don’t hesitate—a moment of pause would show that I want otherwise. And although my instincts are telling me that I’m doing something ridiculous, I know this is for the best.

“No,” I say.

“Okay, then.” He looks at me for a long moment. “I think you’re scared—for whatever reason. But I’m not going to change your mind.”

And this time it’s Caleb who walks away from me.

Chapter 4

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS PASS
by in a blur. I don’t see Caleb much around campus—not even on Wednesday right before my one o’clock class. So he’s obviously taking what I said to heart and not pursuing me.

It’s exactly what I wanted—what I asked for—so I could put all my attention where it belongs. But each time I think I’m totally fine, an image of Caleb will cross my mind—how his whole body tensed when I said he was a distraction, his mouth on mine. Then I’ll think that maybe he was right.

I am scared.

Scared that all of my dreams of what I’d once wanted were tied into my mother’s vision for me. I don’t want that any more, but I don’t know what else I’m good at—or what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. The unknown scares me.

I feel like I’m walking on shaky ground. I don’t have
anyone
. My mother . . . is not part of my life. And my former best friend, Alex Randall, is off in Hawaii and New Zealand making a movie that’s set to be a huge summer blockbuster. I haven’t spoken to Alex in months, and he’s the only one of my exes I’ve remained friendly with. Alex doesn’t get why I’m leaving the business, and we got into a big fight when I told him I was going to college.

And I know I should ignore everyone’s doubts about me, that I should just believe in myself and all that other stuff, but that’s so difficult and lonely.

How can I trust in myself when my judgment has been so crappy? How can I trust in others when they blab to the press? How do I know what I really want when the majority of my life was moving toward another goal?

I don’t know really, except I’m trying. I’m trying to figure out what I want and who I want to be. Getting a
real
education mattered to me. I’ve never even been to high school—no proms other than what I filmed in movies, no high school parties, no sneaking in after staying out past curfew. I never had a curfew, and my mother let me do what I wanted as long as I did what
she
wanted. Which doesn’t make sense but I could go out, have boyfriends, travel, buy my own house, do mostly whatever I wanted so long as I made movies, did the tours for my singing career, and kept myself in the public eye. And if I didn’t make it into the weekly magazines on my own, my mother would make sure I did.

I shake my head, irritated with myself, and decide to clear my head by climbing the four flights of stairs to my next class, which is up the road on North Campus. Intro to Drawing is located in Barnard Hall, and is my Tuesday/Thursday class at 10 a.m. It also fulfills a core requirement, and most of the other students are art majors.

I’m two flights up when I see a couple standing too close together and talking in whispered tones on the landing above me. The guy’s back is to me, and the girl looks a little older to me, with vibrant red hair that corkscrews around her face and down her back in a wild, careless manner. Different colors of paint mar her black leggings and ocean-blue tunic. Tears fill her whiskey-colored eyes and spill out onto her cheeks, streaking down over the splatter of freckles. She goes to wipe them off, but the guy does it for her and then hugs her tight to him.

I’m about to turn and head back down to give them privacy when the guy speaks.

“Steph, don’t cry.”

I know
that
voice.

Caleb.

I tighten my hand on the stairwell and swallow. Well, what did I expect? I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him. Clearly he moved on with this girl—and from the looks of it, it didn’t end well.

I need to get out of here before he sees me. I hastily turn, and my messenger bag hits the railing, making a dull sound that echoes in the hallway. The girl hiccups in the silence, and I slowly turn back around. Caleb has put himself in front of the girl and raises an eyebrow at me in question.

“Hi,” I say lamely. “I was . . . I was just on my way to class. Um . . . I’ll be going now.”

I hurry past them and up to the next flight of stairs. Only one more to go, and I’ll be at the top floor where my class is located. I’m running up the steps and cursing myself seven ways to Sunday for not taking the elevator instead.

Just as I’m about to pull the door open, a hand slams it shut. I don’t need to look behind me to know that Caleb’s followed me and isn’t going to let me escape so easily.

“I’m running late,” I say. Not exactly true. I have ten minutes to spare but Caleb doesn’t need to know that.

“Wait. I want to explain what you just saw.”

I tug at the door, still not turning around. “You don’t need to explain anything to me.”

“Hailey, it’s not what it looks like.”

“Got it.”

“If you—”

“Caleb, it’s fine. Totally fine.” I stare at the wooden door. “But you should get back to her. She seems really upset.”

“Steph said to go after
you
—that you looked like you were upset.”

“So you wouldn’t be here right now without her telling you to go after me?” The burn in my chest reaches to the pit of my stomach, leaving it aching. “I’m not upset. But I will be if I’m late to class. Professor Rodrigo deducts points for tardiness.”

He lets go of the door, and I finally pull it open.

“Steph’s only a friend, Hailey.”

I look at him then. “You don’t owe me anything, Caleb.”

I don’t even know why I care. Except he told me he wasn’t a player earlier in the week, but a few days later he’s in a stairwell with another girl. Maybe it was just him offering her comfort, and maybe there’s more to the story than what I saw.

I know I shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, and I also know I’m seizing on any excuse to further put up barriers between Caleb and me. I don’t want to let him get too close to me.

It’s too risky. He could hurt me.

Or he could end up hating me once he finds out my shameful secret.

Chapter 5

W
HEN I WAKE UP ON
Saturday, I decide I’m not going to the party. It’s not like I’ll be missed—and if I want to keep my distance from Caleb then the best way to do that is to not attend a party where I know he’ll be.

So instead I run to the market, where I grab a bunch of junk food and other unhealthy crap. I buy some nail polish and a facial mask. I’ll do a Solo Girl’s Night and have a John Hughes movie marathon. I’ll even get some homework out of the way. I failed the Environmental Science pop quiz, so I want to go over what I got wrong and make sure I know it for the next test. And I need to read five chapters of
The Sun Also Rises
. I’m thinking about all that I have to do when I pull my cart up to one of the checkout lines. I hit the market around lunch, so it’s pretty crowded. I try to ignore the people taking my photo when they think I’m not looking, but it really does annoy me.

I feel a tug on my light pink hoodie.

I look down. A little girl of seven or eight with a wide, gap-toothed smile, her hair in pigtails, is staring up at me.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hailey Bloom!” she says brightly. “You’re my favorite actress and singer ever. I love you so much.”

I kneel so I’m at her level. “Aw, thank you. You’re very sweet.”

“Thanks,” she says, her mouth lisping on the ‘s.’ “You’re so pretty. I want to be just like you.”

“That’s so sweet. But you’re awesome just being you.” I look around the area. “Where’s your mom or dad?”

“Over there. Mom’s going to be so mad at me that I ran off.” The girl giggles and points to a harried-looking woman who just ran out of one of the aisles.

“There you are!” the woman rushes out in a worried tone. “Persephone Willow Fox, how many times have I told you to stay close to me?”

“Sorry, Mom. But look! Hailey Bloom is here!”

The woman shoots me a glance, but I’m too caught up on the last name. Fox has to be a common last name, right? It’s too odd otherwise—that I keep running into Caleb, even if it’s through his family.

“Can you sign this and take a picture with me?”

“Sure,” I say and sign the girl’s magazine. Her mother takes a pic.

“I hope you and Ben live forever and ever and ever and ever.” Ben was the blacksmith in the movie that my character fell in love with, played by my former best friend, Alex.

“Okay, Percy, that’s enough.” Her mom gives her a look. “What do you say?”

The girl hugs me. “Thank you.”

Her mother sighs and mouths a thank you to me. “Now, let’s leave Hailey alone.”

I watch them go and turn back around to wait in line. And that’s when my gaze lands on the magazine rack and all the covers for
People
,
US Weekly
, and
The National Enquirer
, which have my mother’s picture and variations of a headline:

LORRAINE BLOOM TELLS ALL!

THE REAL REASON HAILEY BLOOM LEFT HOLLYWOOD.

I snap up the magazines, throw them in my cart, and then check out.

I can’t believe she did this.

I can’t.

She said she wouldn’t.

She
promised
.

I should’ve known better.

And now everyone is going to know what I did and hate me for it.

Chapter 6

I
TURN OFF MY CELL.
I’ve changed the number too many times to count, and I’ll be changing it again today after this story. All I can hope is that my mother didn’t tell
everything
and is just merely selling some random story for money. That particular option doesn’t make me feel any better, but it’s what I expect from her and who she is.

I really hope she hasn’t told the one secret I don’t want to get out, but I’m not holding my breath. The best thing for me to do is not play into her games—no response, no fighting back. If I attempt to defend myself, then she’ll think I’m trying to spin the story my way and that I’ll be back in her grasp and under her control. That is so not happening, ever again.

As soon as I’m in my car, I take the magazines that I had bagged separately, and tear through them. I breathe a sigh of relief that she hasn’t told them the big secret. But that relief is short-lived when I get to the article in
People
.

My mother reveals that she found me snorting cocaine and having drug and sex parties at our house. There’s even a picture of me with Alex, lines of coke laid out on a mirror. And she worries that I won’t be able to handle college and all the temptations there, and that nothing is kept secret for long.

I feel sick. Like someone just punched me in my stomach.

I’ve never tried coke. I was offered it many times, but I know doing drugs is a fast path to nowhere. It was the one thing my mother and I always agreed on: No drugs to mess up the career, image, or me. She knows I never did them—that I’ve been trying to get Alex to stop using.

She
knows
this, but she’s more than willing to lie to paint the picture of me she wants them to see. And she doesn’t talk about how I threw that mirror across the room when Alex brought it out, or the fact that was the night of our big fight, and the night our friendship ended.

Alex’s drug use has long been rumored about but never confirmed. He doesn’t have a problem, though; he’s just like any other rich kid who reached fame too soon and has too much money to spend. His older costar and ex got him hooked on them; the costar knew better but didn’t give a fuck about him.

My mother can hurt me all she wants, but she has no right to hurt someone I care about—even if we don’t speak anymore.

I have to reach out to him. Even though we’re not talking, he used to be my best friend. I have to try. I send him a text.

Me: Alex, it’s me.

No response.

Me: I know we’re not friends anymore.

God, typing that still hurts.

Me: But . . . but I thought . . . you’d want to know.

Me: You probably already know.

Me: My mother . . .

Me: She sold pics. Of you using. Alex. I’m so sorry.

Me: I’m going to change my number, but . . . I’ll send it to you.

Me: Please. Alex. Just . . . call. Text. Something. I miss you.

He never responds. This will give Alex even more of a reason to hate me—to not want to talk to me. My mother ruins everything.

I know how to fight back, though.

I turn my cell on, and there are a ton of missed calls, most of them from my former publicist asking that I consider doing interviews and, if so, he’d be more than happy to set them up. Don’t think so. I erase the messages and make a call to my bank, and am able to close the account I had set up for my mother years ago.

I’m not paying for her anymore. I should’ve stopped long ago, but I still foolishly thought my mother wouldn’t cross this line. And if she is so willing to do this, then what’s going to stop her from revealing my big secret? Clearly my mother knows how to make money on her own—but she’s not going to get another penny from me. And she’s not going to get anything else she wants from me.
Ever again.

T
HE BEST WAY I LEARNED
to act like something doesn’t bother me is to actually believe it. I never hide when scandals break, and I act like I don’t care when a past boyfriend talks about how I am in bed. So I’m not going to act all depressed and hide from this party tonight. I’m going to attend and have fun. If I see Caleb, I see Caleb.