Almost Famous, a Talent Novel (15 page)

“Sometime this school year!” Señorita Lumley waved the maracas at Emily.

Reluctantly, Emily stood up very slowly, too aware of the ticking sound from the clock in the super-quiet classroom. She spotted Lukas Gregory watching her with a curious smile, like someone was about to tell him a good joke. She wondered if he recognized her as Mac’s friend. A girl next to him picked up her cell phone and surreptitiously began texting under her desk (cell phones weren’t allowed in class). Emily wondered how many other people were gossiping about her, or were planning to.

Finally she spoke, making sure to use her androgynous voice and Spazmo-lisp. “
Hola. Me llamo Eh-mee-lee-a
.” She stared down at her desk, kicking her Vans against each other. “
Venga de Iowa
.”

Señorita Lumley put down her maracas and looked at Emily sadly. The class was silent, and no one was laughing. Lukas Gregory had stopped smiling, and he looked bummed out. Surely the class knew this was a joke, right? Then Emily realized her worst fears had come true. These kids had never met her as Emily. They thought she really was Spazmo.

Kimmie cleared her throat from the desk next to Emily. She scribbled something on her pink notebook and turned her notebook so Emily could read. It said,
METHOD!

Emily took a deep breath and began again. “
Soy El Spazmo
,” she said, this time with even more of a lisp, so it came out
Thpathmo
. “
Me encanta Los Angeles
.”

Next to Emily, a tiny brunette whose name tag said MINKA smiled encouragingly at Emily. Thank goodness someone gets the joke, Emily thought. She winked at Minka, just to show that she was in on it. Minka looked a little startled but smiled back.

Suddenly the sea of horrified faces staring at Emily was too unbearable. She needed to escape this torture chamber. Emily raised her hand. “
Puedo ir al baño?
”

Señorita Lumley nodded somberly.

Emily walked quickly to the bathroom, not looking up. She raced into a stall and leaned her back against the door, staring up at the baby blue ceiling. She felt totally friendless and freakish.

Thankfully, she had her iPhone with her. She pulled it out of her Diesel jeans pocket and called the one person she knew would be happy to hear her voice. The phone rang once.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Lori Mungler spoke soothingly into the phone.

“Hi, Mom! Nothing’s wrong,” Emily said, so relieved to hear her mom’s voice.

“Oh, please! I don’t believe you’re calling dear old Mom in the middle of the school day because everything’s just peachy.” Emily imagined her mother standing over their honey-colored kitchen counter. She was probably on her fourth cup of black tea, watching
Dr. Phil
until her shift at the hospital began. Her mother was an emergency room nurse and she worked nights. “Are classes hard?”

“No. Classes are fine. It’s just that . . . ” Emily took a deep breath, ready to spill about Kimmie and Pax Rubana. Then her mom would tell her everything was going to be all right, and it would be.

Just when Emily was about to unleash her emotions, the bathroom door clicked and she heard that all-too-familiar singsongy voice.

“Method!” Kimmie Tachman called from the sinks.

“Is everything going okay out there?” Lori asked. “Because if it’s not . . .”

Emily closed her eyes, not listening to her mother. She felt like a fugitive who had just been caught. She could run but she could not hide from the Tawker.

“Thorry, I have to go,” Emily whispered into her phone. She could never explain this all to her mother with Kimmie eavesdropping.

“What? I can’t hear you!” Lori said.

“Thorry!”

“Why are you speaking with a speech impediment?” Lori asked.

“Creth Whitethrips!” Emily whispered, holding her phone close to her mouth.

“But why are you wearing them at school?” Lori sounded completely confused.

“I love you! Gotta go!” Emily said, and put her iPhone back into her pocket. She sat on the closed toilet seat in her jeans, not ready to face Kimmie Tachman.

As far as she could tell, she only had two options:

Her choices were lame and lamer, and she wasn’t sure which was which. All she knew was that, like the green gum on the back of the bathroom stall, she was
muy
,
muy
stucko.

Finally she heard the door close and she was sure that Kimmie was gone. Emily crept out of the stall and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. It was like looking at a stranger. Even she didn’t recognize herself behind the black frames, the huge shirt that made her look like a refrigerator box, and the headgear. She sighed, remembering Mac’s pep talk and Pax Rubana. If Coco, Mac, and Becks could lower themselves to work as assistants, then surely Emily could do
this
to pay her dues. She dabbed some water on her face and headed out.

The first person Emily spotted when she stepped into the hallway was Mac, thwopping down the hallway in her Havaiana flip-flops, her blond hair flowing down the back of her Nanette Lepore sundress. Emily smiled. They were both on a bathroom break at the same time! The first stroke of good luck all day.

Emily eagerly walked toward Mac, who stared ahead, ignoring her.

“Hi, Mac! Emily cried.

Mac smiled uncomfortably. It was the kind of fake, nanosecond smile that Mac flashed to non-Inner Circle people.

And then Emily realized: Mac didn’t even recognize her!

Emily grabbed Mac’s arm. “Hey, it’s me! Emily!”

Mac stared for a long time, like Emily was a puzzle she was trying to mentally assemble. “Wow,” she said finally. “You’re really transformed.”

“Oh no,” Emily sighed. “Is it really that bad?”

“You’re doing great! Stick with it,” Mac said, in full Adrienne mode. Just then, her gaze landed on something in the distance. She arched her shoulders. “I should go,” she said, turning toward the bathroom. “I’m missing class.”

Emily turned to see what had caught Mac’s attention: Lukas Gregory was walking toward them. And
she
was making Mac look like a loser by association. Emily looked like such a freak that her best friend in Bel-Air was embarrassed to be seen with her.

Emily hung her head and crawled back into Spanish class, wishing it—like her Bel-Air experience—would be over
pronto
.

Coco walked into the BAMS dance studio wear ing a Michael Stars V-neck Henley over Ksubi super-skinny jeans. She inhaled the lavender room freshener and sweat smell just as the Bam-Bams were beginning their stretches. They stood in a row, one leg on the barre, arms over their heads, wearing matching navy blue hoodies and Lululemon pants with a pink band around the hips. Spotting Coco, Haylie picked up a pile of clothes from the floor and walked over.

“I want you to feel like you’re part of the team,” Haylie said, hoisting the bundle at Coco. Haylie’s hoodie said CAPTAIN in lowercase letters. “I had this made for you.”

Coco opened the ball of clothing excitedly. All her hard work had paid off, and she knew that once she put on her matching hoodie, she’d finally feel like she was back on the team. But when she unraveled the bundle, her heart plummeted as she realized it didn’t match the other members’ outfits—it was a navy blue tracksuit jacket and giant pants. When she held up the jacket, the back read WATER BOY. Yes, WATER
BOY
, in giant Arial font lettering. There could be no mistaking Coco’s lame new title.

But it was only for one more week, Coco reminded herself as she put the enormous tracksuit on over her clothes. She headed to her water station in the corner of the studio. She reached under the table to retrieve a Voss bottle, her knees cracking as she bent down. A giant tub of industrial soap and a huge sponge had been placed on the floor, with a Post-it that said,
Coco, please scrub floor
. Coco rolled her eyes.

“All righty, girls! Water break!” Haylie bellowed to the room. “And we’re back in five!”

As the Bam-Bams trickled by to grab their waters, Coco felt totally invisible. When Eden Singer reached for her special-requested Voss, she didn’t even look at Coco, let alone say thank you.

“Good job out there, Eden,” Coco chirped. She meant it, but she sounded like a total suck-up. She was so desperate to have someone to talk to. “You looked like you were having fun.”

“Uh . . . thanks?” Eden said tentatively, looking around as if she didn’t want to be seen talking to Coco.

Coco jerked back in surprise. Since when did Eden blow her off? Coco was so scarred by that, she didn’t even bother trying to make small talk with the other girls, who certainly didn’t initiate conversation with her. Why did they have to hate her? Wasn’t she paying her dues by working this lame job? Or did that only make them think she was a kiss-up? She wondered if Haylie had instructed them not to talk to her . . . or if she was so far beneath them that they were choosing not to themselves.

Coco put her head down and went back to arranging the waters on the foldout table while the Bam-Bams rehearsed for ExtravaBAMSa, drilling their pirated version of Coco’s captain audition. Half curiously, half pityingly, she watched the train wreck that the Bam-Bams had become: Since they were all doing exactly the same dance (hers!), there was no one movement that took focus, and they kept almost colliding. They looked like the Slam-Slams
.
Coco cringed. It
almost
made her glad she wasn’t part of the team.

Coco double-checked herself to make sure she wasn’t being a bitter captain-turned-water-boy, but it was pretty clear that Haylie wasn’t helping things. She’d placed herself in the center of the group: a huge, pale eyesore who really didn’t move well. She was always a beat off from the other girls, which in turn made everyone else doubt their counts.

“Good job, girls, you’re really getting this!” Haylie said. She stood in front of the group, pulling her wifebeater down over her belly so no skin was exposed. She turned her baby blue Von Dutch trucker hat sideways.

Coco looked around the room. Judging by the disillusioned looks on their faces, the Bam-Bams knew they weren’t getting it. Eden Singer was staring down at the wood panels on the dance floor. Maribel and Lucia’s icy blue eyes looked like they were fighting back tears. Ames and Taylor seemed nervous, their faces scrunched up in confusion. Even though Haylie was trying to be inspirational, no one could take her dance opinions seriously. It was like taking fashion advice from Bai Ling.

“Girls, we’re gonna rock!” Haylie grunted to the group. She seemed slightly unhinged by the steely eyes staring back at her. Her voice was defensive. “Look, girls, Ruby is in charge of approving the ExtravaBAMSa lineup, and this is the dance she wants,” Haylie said threateningly. “It’s this or nothing.”

Coco checked the group for some reaction, but the girls were frozen in place on the dance floor. No one wanted Haylie as dance captain, but no one was brave enough to say anything. Coco sighed. She could never understand herd mentality.

“Coco, don’t forget to leave my water near the stereo this time!” Haylie said gruffly. “I don’t have time to keep running over to your corner.”

Coco clenched her teeth into a fake smile that didn’t fool anyone. But she didn’t snap anything nasty back at Haylie. She didn’t want to blow it for the I.C. when they’d already invested so much time in Pax Rubana.

“And another thing, Coco,” Haylie said. She didn’t even try to sound nice. “Get a notepad—you might want to write this down.”

Coco obediently reached into her oversize zebra-stripe bag and pulled out a green gel roller and a pink Hello Kitty notebook, making a silent vow that if she were
ever
in a position to boss anyone around, she would always say
please
and
thank you
and speak in a sweet voice.

Haylie put her hands on her hips. Coco couldn’t stop staring at how white Haylie’s hands were or how exposed Haylie’s muffin-top was. “We’re going to need you to tape practices, and then you can upload them and e-mail them at a good file size. Lucia and Maribel need Vitamin Water citrus flavor,
not
whatever you’ve been getting. Taylor has requested Pellegrino,
not
Fiji. Eden wants a Diet Coke in addition to her Fiji, which she would like chilled—but not with ice—and we’re gonna need at least four Red Bulls and three kombuchas. Also, we’d like some dried Bing cherries, two Strawberries Wild Jamba Juice smoothies with a shot of wheatgrass in one and an immunity boost in the other, and a medium plain Pinkberry for everyone on the team. I’d like some potato chips, and I don’t care what kind you get as long as they have antioxidants.” Haylie smiled. “Oh, and we’d like everything served on an eco-friendly bamboo tray within the hour.”

Coco fake-smiled. “No prob,” she lied. The only thing that gave Coco the strength to fake-smile was the knowledge that the Inner Circle was suffering with her. She knew that Mac had been Ruby’s whipping girl, that Becks had been struggling with Ellie, and that Emily had to be Spazmo. If they all had to play those parts, then Coco could handle some obnoxious speed-shopping.

“See you in an hour!” Coco smiled and headed out of the room. The second she stepped outside the dance studio, she called her mother’s butler, Pablo, who zoomed up the hill. He promptly drove her down to Beverly Hills, where she ran like a lunatic through town crossing off half her list while Pablo took the other half.

Fifty-eight minutes later, Pablo dropped Coco off in front of the BAMS gates, and she returned breathlessly to the dance studio, her right shoulder aching from lugging so many snacks and drinks. She was pleased that she’d managed to fill a next-to-impossible request in the allotted time. And she’d already taught herself how to tape and download dance routines, because she’d done that with Marcel this summer in London.