#famous(71)

ME: I wonder how that happened.

RACHEL: trying not to grin) What a strange coincidence.

IN THE LIMO NOW:

ME: Did you leave something under the seat?

RACHEL: No. Is it for a segment? They’d tell me about it if I needed it, right?



She looks worried. Mary and crew have gone on ahead to set up at the high school entrance.

ME: I dunno, I can just see something sticking out. You should check.

RACHEL: (pulls out a box of cupcakes from Sweet Tooth and can’t even hide her groan of pleasure)

ME: You like them, right?

RACHEL: I would film an extra three hours for one of these. With Mary watching. And the whole school in the bleachers.

ME: So . . . yes, then.

RACHEL: Don’t get smug.



“I’m going to explode all over the dance floor in a rain of frosting. It’ll be grisly.” Rachel swiped the frosting off a cupcake and stuck her finger in her mouth. Watching her pull it out slowly, sucking off all the chocolate: torture. Good torture.

“That’s definitely covered by the show. I checked our contracts.”

“We should split this double-fudge, just in case.” Rachel grabbed the plastic knife next to the box and cut the cupcake in half. “Why go to all the trouble? When did you even sneak these in here?”

I could feel my cheeks getting warm.

“I just . . . wanted to make sure you had a good night. Not just for the cameras, like, actually.” I looked at the floor of the limo. “Also, Mo helped. There were big stretches of time when the limo was parked.”

She smiled at me for real, dimples and eyes like lakes of velvet and all. It was like someone opened a cage I hadn’t known was padlocked around my chest. It felt . . . easier.

Someone knocked at the window as the door to the limo opened.

“We’re ready,” the woman said quietly, smiling blandly at me and Rachel.

I think her name was Annie? Even though I’d met her, like, four times already, she was so unassuming she was hard to remember. But she was Mary’s right-hand woman in Apple Prairie, so she must be memorable to someone.

“Kyle, get out first, then hand Rachel out, okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” My stomach went jittery. I was starting to like these jolts of nerves, how alive they made me feel. If I could get this way for lacrosse, I’d be all-state.

“Rachel, take his hand, and the cameras will follow you down the carpet and into the school, okay? Once you’re indoors, we’re done for an hour or two. We’ll bring a couple cameras inside for action shots, but you can just have fun. We’ll probably set up one last shot toward the end, but we’ll find you for that.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice small and tight. I reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers in mine. My skin: buzzing, like someone had dialed up the power even higher. She turned to me, trying to smile. Her eyes were nervous, though, and she was breathing fast and shallow, chest heaving up and down. Stop looking at her boobs, Bonham. Staring at girls’ boobs: never a smooth move.

“Okay, Kyle, we’re ready for you. Count off ten, then start.”

“Okay.” I nodded, breathing deep.

The assistant closed the door, and I started counting.

Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

I gave Rachel’s hand one last squeeze.

Seven . . . six . . . five . . .

Reluctantly, I let go. I could still feel where her hand had been, like I was missing a part there. I scooted over to the door, ready to spring. Was this going to work?

Four . . . three . . . two . . .

Here goes.

One.

I opened the door.





chapter forty-nine


RACHEL

SATURDAY, 8:47 P.M.

I was glad I was looking down as I got out of the limo; now that it was legitimately dark out, all the lights the camera people had set up to capture our “grand entrance” were blinding.

I blinked a few times, trying to get my bearings, but there was no time; Kyle had grabbed my hand and was leading me down a red carpet—literally, a red carpet—into the main entrance of the high school.

The cameramen dropped off at the doors, but just past the ticket table—a fake-wood cafeteria model with bunting around the edge; I wonder what Mary thought of that—another one was waiting.

Also, we were thronged.

The commons had been taken over by the pictures people, a lot of velvet rope organizing everyone into lines, effectively barring anyone not buying photos from spreading into the wide-open space in front of the auditorium, so we had nowhere to turn. Sea-green lockers on the left wall, people making another on the right. Guys from Kyle’s lacrosse team were high-fiving him and slapping him on the back, like they were best friends. Their dates pressed close, fingering the fabric of my dress, commenting on my hair. Once they’d edged away, a new rush of people showed up—acquaintances from a single class, popular girls from other grades who had never spoken to me without a camera hovering, even one of the chaperones, a new math teacher a lot of girls had a crush on, ’cause he was just out of college. The only relief was knowing the cameraman probably couldn’t catch what I was saying—or more like sputtering awkwardly.

Kyle got pulled into a kind of bro huddle almost immediately. He gave me a helpless look and dropped my hand, looking at me even though I could see guys talking at him. I tried to smile, like I didn’t care, but it felt like a physical absence, like someone had disappeared a few of my fingers. He couldn’t know that, though.