Almost Famous, a Talent Novel (23 page)

Mac stood with her best friends by the food tables. They looked sadder than movie stars who’d overdosed on plastic surgery. Becks was twirling a Sprinkles dark chocolate cupcake in one hand, sticking her tongue out to lick off the icing. Coco sipped a strawberry mocktail, stirring her tall glass sadly. Emily stood next to them holding her stomach with one arm and chewing on a strand of her long cinnamon-brown hair. Mac never encouraged her friends to look too happy at parties, but looking this sad was even worse.

Mac clapped her hands, calling them to attention. “Girls, don’t worry. I’ve got it all under control.” Even though the rest of the I.C. sabotages hadn’t gone quite right, this was the one element of the comeback track that
she
controlled, and Mac had utter faith in her ability to make things happen. She’d run off earlier to make sure her plan was in effect, claiming she’d had one too many Red Bulls.

Coco smiled sadly, like she felt bad for Mac. “What’s to control?” She shrugged. “Tonight I became the biggest freak in the history of BAMS.”

“At least people here knew you before,” Emily whined. “I’m just Spazmo forever.”

“Austin haaaaates me,” Becks said. A mother in a black velvet dress gently pushed Becks to the side so she could reach for a cupcake.

“Girls, let’s have our pity party later, okay?” Mac said, channeling her inner Adrienne. She lowered her voice and the girls moved closer. “When Ruby blows it tonight, there’s a very good chance she’ll be overthrown as social chair. And this whole regime will crumble. Your life can change like
that
.” Mac snapped her fingers.

Coco stared at Mac like she had suddenly turned into an African elephant. “Why would Ruby blow anything? She’s been really, really good at ruining our lives.”

“I’d say she’s a world-class expert,” Becks chimed in.

Emily smiled encouragingly at Mac, trusting her scheming.

Mac shrugged impishly. “You just never know. I would just feel so bad for her if the song she is about to lip-synch was swapped with say, some really mortifying lyrics about how she hates BAMS, is half gorilla, and secretly loves the Shean twins.”

“Are you nuts?” Coco hissed, awestruck. Becks and Emily looked at each and then looked back at their alpha friend.

Mac was staring intently at the podium. She spoke in a toneless voice. “Let’s just say that I might have encouraged Ruby to record and lip-synch her song, and let’s just say that maybe what I gave the dude in the sound booth was”—Mac made air quotes—“
accidentally
the wrong CD.”

“Are you for serious?” Coco smiled mischievously.

“That’s why you’re my hero,” Emily said proudly.

“For reals.” Becks nodded.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Headmaster Billingsley’s voice boomed. “How about a big hand for the young lady who made this all possible? Miss Ruby Goldman!”

Mac shot a glance over to the other side of the room, where Ruby stood flanked by the Rubybots, who beamed as though their names had been called. Ruby was wearing a pink Calypso sundress and silver Charlotte Ron- son sandals. Ellie was wearing a teal Elijah one-shoulder minidress, looking slightly slutacious, and Haylie wore a pantsuit. Kimmie, who had changed into a pink Juicy Couture sundress, was sitting by her computer studiously, live-blogging the event for the BAMS intranet.

“Isn’t that your Calypso dress?” Coco asked Mac, eyeing Ruby’s ensemble.

“Apparently Ruby and I have the same taste.” Mac shrugged. “And by ‘the same’ I mean
mine
.”

Ruby hobbled to the front of the auditorium on her shiny crutches while the crowd watched silently, reverently. Mac surveyed the room, recognizing almost all the parents. Across the sea of tablecloths and tulips, she spotted her mother and father clapping politely and winced, wishing they were clapping for
her
social chair speech. “Get ready for Gettysburg.” Mac rolled her eyes. She did not want to have to see Ruby give the speech that should have been hers.
Was this how Hilary Duff felt when she saw Joel and Nicole?

Ruby made her way up the stage and took her place behind the podium. The room became quiet and the Inner Circle leaned in nervously, waiting for signs that Mac’s work had kicked in. “First of all, I would like to sing a song that I have written for BAMS. It’s a single from my upcoming album, to be released by BP Records this spring.”

There were some oohs and aaahs from the crowd.

Mac held her breath. She couldn’t wait for Ruby to fake-sing her song, and then have something embarrassing come out instead. It would be a cross between the Ashlee Simpson
SNL
tragedy and Mac’s own Slumbergate disaster—but on an even larger scale. Mac was filled with nervous energy, like when she watched Olympic gymnasts on the balance beam, waiting for them to fall.

Ruby’s voice crooned perfectly over the speakers.

Nothing about half gorillas, nothing about love for the Shean twins. What was worse—Ruby looked like she was having fun. She was really owning her performance, covering the stage, making eye contact all over the room, singing loud and proud. Mac checked the room for signs of nausea or disgust, but no one was smirking. Parents (even hers!) were smiling. A bald man at the table behind her parents was snapping to the beat, like a guest at an expensive, classy sing-along. Mac rolled her eyes.

When Ruby finished, the crowd applauded wildly. Mac felt sick.

Ruby beamed proudly. Then she bowed with her head like she was in yoga class saying
Namaste.
She walked to the podium and leaned close to the microphone. “I would like to thank all of you for being here tonight to support our great institution and the cause of saving Darfur.” If she was nervous about speaking in front of such a big crowd, she didn’t show it. “Though I must give credit where credit is due. I couldn’t have put this event together without the help of my assistant, Mac Little-Fartstrong. . . .”

There were tiny giggles, mostly from BAMS students. Mac stared straight ahead at the stage, refusing even to blink. She absolutely would not show how embarrassed she was by such a stupid joke or the fact that she had been outed as an assistant in front of all the families.

Ruby cleared her throat. “Armstrong. Excuse me. Her generous help in ways big and small—very,
very
small—has made this event the success it was.”

The Inner Circle exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Mac pursed her Chanel-coated lips together and searched the room to see her mother’s reaction. At that exact second, Adrienne turned to face Mac and their eyes locked. But Mac couldn’t tell what Adrienne was thinking—she had a natural poker face. She went back to listening intently to Ruby’s speech, leaving Mac feeling even more embarrassed. Her mother would
never
allow herself to be humiliated in front of a group of people.
How could she have played this so badly?

“Thank you all so much for being here.” Ruby smiled demurely. The crowd applauded politely and Ruby daintily hobbled off the stage.

Mac was fuming inside. She stared at her friends. They were in shock, like war victims. Not only had Ruby publicly humiliated Mac yet again, she’d managed to look humble and well spoken in the process. It was like throwing salt on their wounds and then wounding them again.

Ruby hobbled all the way back to the buffet, where the Inner Circle was standing. “Nice try, Macdaddy,” Ruby hissed through her fake smile. “I really did trust you and then you tried to blast me. Don’t worry—it’ll never happen again.” Then she went back to join the Rubybots, who were clapping excitedly, like Ruby had just won an Oscar.

Mac swallowed and realized she was experiencing a very uncomfortable sensation. It was the feeling of not getting what she wanted.
Was this how other people felt all the time?
Mac shook herself to ease the tension. All the AmExes and dues-paying in the world couldn’t buy back her reputation now.

Becks’s eyes were puffy when she woke up in her screening room the morning after ExtravaBAMSa to the sound of crashing waves and a barking dog. She checked her G-Shock watch: It was only 7:45 a.m.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes and remembered why she felt so exhausted: On the Sad Scale of 1 to 10, the Inner Circle sleepover had been a 200, culminating in a double feature of
The Notebook
and
Steel Magnolias
. They’d spent the whole night crying until they finally fell asleep.

Becks woke up while her friends were fast asleep in her screening room. Mac’s mouth was hanging wide open, her arm draped over her American Apparel track shorts. Coco, in Victoria’s Secret Pink pajamas, was snoring every third breath. Emily was curled in a ball on the couch, wearing her Harajuku Lovers pajama set.

Knowing she’d never be able to fall back asleep, Becks decided to sneak out to catch some surf. It was the only thing that could make her feel almost normal again. At that moment, she just felt like a tall, mean person with really jittery nerves.

She grabbed a Daisy May longboard from her rack and slipped out to the beach, breathing the salty, windy air. It was such a clear day that in the distance she could see the cliffs of Palos Verdes Peninsula and its red-tiled houses. Down the sand, Ellen Pompeo, Becks’s neighbor, was splashing her feet in the water. She gave Becks a cute wave as she headed down the beach. Becks waved back and inhaled the coconut sunscreen and saltwater scent that was Malibu.

Becks had barely stepped onto the sand when she spotted a familiar red and black plaid blanket and a goldendoodle. Down the beach about fifty yards, Austin was tossing a red Frisbee to his dog, Boone.

Becks paused at the end of her backyard. Austin Holloway was at the top of the list of People Becks Did Not Want to See. She could forge ahead to the beach, hold her head up high, and pretend like nothing had happened, or she could sneak back into her house and avoid another uncomfortable moment with Austin. He knew too many embarrassing things about her: the Pinkberry Slobber, sabotaging Ellie, the fact that she’d even had a crush on him in the first place—there was only so much humiliation a girl could handle. She was tired of strat- egizing ways to win his heart.

And then Becks realized: No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t make someone like you. All the scheming, hoping, wishing, conniving—no boy was worth that much energy. And it didn’t work anyway. Becks was too sad to care.

She tiptoed back into the house and into the kitchen. Her father was at the emerald green granite countertop, holding down the top to the blender while a pink concoction whizzed inside. He was off the total body cleanse but not yet on solid foods. Becks waited until the whirr had subsided. Spotting Becks, he smiled
.

“Hey, you! What a day yesterday, huh?” he said, as he poured the strawberry-banana concoction into a tall clear glass. “How’s your friend Ellie? She took quite a spill.”

Becks looked down at the slate floor in shame, actually feeling worse than she had just seconds ago.

“She’s fine,” Becks said, hoping to end all Ellie talk.

“What a trooper,” Clutch said. Becks rolled her eyes that yet one more person in her world thought Ellie was great.

“You okay, Evie?” Clutch asked, looking at his daughter in concern. He only called her by that nickname when he was serious, which wasn’t very often.

“Hey, Pops, do you think you could drive me to Zuma today? I’d like some new scenery,” Becks said
,
twirling her Inner Circle ring at the end of a short silver chain.

“What’s wrong with our scenery?” Clutch asked, looking out the sliding glass screen door and staring at the stretch of empty white sand. Becks followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of Austin waxing his board.

“Everything,” Becks sighed.

She’d finally accepted it: No matter how well she surfed, she couldn’t surf her way into Austin’s heart. Evangelina Becks, the girl who never quit, had officially given up.

Coco got a ride back to the King Bel-Air Hotel from Erin and Mac and lazily dragged her knee-high Uggs (which, for the record, she only wore to slumber parties or when the temperature was below 70 degrees) into the Living Quarter. The first thing she saw when she opened the front door was her mother, sitting on the couch. Cardammon was sipping what looked like a mimosa, and petting Coco’s French bulldog, Madonna, who was curled in her lap, wearing a black dog tee that said RUFF. They were bathed in sunlight pouring through the French doors.

Coco looked at her mom with her tired eyes. Even though it was Sunday, Cardammon was wearing a black satin tube dress with a zipper down the middle. She was surrounded by tiered trays of mini scones and thin sandwiches, like she was having a tea party all by herself.

“Are you okay?” Coco asked, wondering what in the world this was about. She already felt bad enough about embarrassing her family at ExtravaBAMSa—she didn’t need any more surprises.

Cardammon raised her champagne flute. “It’s for you! We’re celebrating!” Madonna yelped from Cardammon’s lap.

“Celebrating what?”

“You’re dee-lish just the way you are,” Cardammon declared, sounding very much like she’d rehearsed every word with her life coach, Dee Dufflin.