Finding Forever (44 page)

“Trust me.” Peter guided Taylor back to Casa Bell. “This project is much, much more than just a music video.”

“I know, I've read the treatment,” Taylor said. “It's very dramatic. Dreamy.”

“So then you get it.”

“I think so. Like you said, it's basically a retelling of
Peter Pan
set to the ‘Forever Young' song. Two young lovers. A girl—me—who is turning sixteen and doesn't want to grow up, meets a boy who promises to make her wish come true.”

“Yes, that is the general narrative. But what I'm wondering is whether you get the
bigger picture
? Whether you understand why you've gotten the role of Wendy.”

“I understand it's promoting the values of the Program, if that's what you're getting at.”

“Not entirely. What I'm getting at is that you are the Chosen One.”

“The Chosen One?”

Peter took Taylor's right hand in his.

“Why me?”

“Because you're young. Because you're famous. Because you're intelligent. Because you're of sturdy body and mind, yet also elegant and beautiful. That makes you perfect for the role. I didn't choose you.”

“I don't understand.”

“I didn't choose you, Taylor.” He pointed past the Kensington walls. “They chose you! The public's fascination with you. And now fate has brought us together. Your troubles landed you here in my lap, but your rehabilitation through the Program will inspire the world. Because, just like Jesus, celebrities are symbols. You can use that responsibility to sell movie tickets,
to market a fragrance, or to sell shampoo. But that's not very godly, that's not befitting the Chosen One.”

The pair got to the front gate of the main house. Peter buzzed open the door and led Taylor to the front porch swing. “There's something so liberating about a swing, so childlike. In a small way, it's like experiencing the sensation of flight.”

“Like Peter Pan?” Taylor asked as she swayed.

“Yes, just like him, the man who lived as a boy. And when he taught Wendy how to fly, she felt that freedom. In a way, I suppose, all I am really doing is teaching you how to fly.”

“When will I be able to fly on my own?”

“Soon. But only when you've earned your wings. Tuesday is a big day. For you and Evan.”

“Where is Evan? I was hoping to rehearse a little with him before the shoot.”

“He's making a public appearance in service of the Program. He's on a mission to tie up some loose ends. Tonight he will earn
his
wings.”

“You look . . .” Holden's eyes bugged as he struggled to find the right word. “Like, um, a—”

“A girl?” Brooklyn finished his sentence with a grin.

Made up with heavy eye shadow, lipstick, and a tight-fitting black cocktail dress, she stood in front of Holden in her living room. Her silver cross necklace rested flat on the center of her chest while expertly curled hair cascaded down each shoulder.

“Soooo?” Brooklyn urged playfully. “What were you gonna say I looked like? And please don't say a hooker because I borrowed this dress from my mother.”

“You look like a celebrity,” Holden said. “You look famous or something.”

Brooklyn blushed. “Aw, thanks, Holdy. And you look very handsome in that tux.” She like-so adjusted his bow tie. “We're going to make quite the red carpet duo.”

“The
Deadline Diaries
duo,” he said.

“Okay, kids,” Brooklyn's mom said over-enthusiastically as she stepped into the room. She had apparently rushed home from work to take in the moment her tomboy daughter decided to play dress-up.

Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “It's a red carpet, Mom—not a prom.”

“But you guys look far too adorable not to document.” Her mother framed them with her phone. “Okay. Look here. What's a mouse eat?”

Brooklyn slung her arm around Holden and flashed a “
cheeeeeese
” smile.

“Drive safely,” her mother instructed Holden before wrapping Brooklyn in a tight hug. “And good luck, Brookie. I'll say a prayer for you.”

Brooklyn pecked her mom on the cheek. “Thanks. I'll do my best.”

Her mom waved goodbye from the front step as Brooklyn hopped into the passenger seat of Holden's car. Unlike Tamara and her beater Toyota, Holden and his father's BMW four-door sedan were much more trustworthy in her mother's eyes.

During the nearly two-hour drive down to Los Angeles, Brooklyn obsessively went over her questions for Evan Ryan, tapping them into her cell's notepad as she practiced them on Holden. Her strategy: Butter up Evan by asking him about the gala and why he was attending. Then she'd ask about his next movie project. She didn't want to begin with any touchy questions—like, say, about the whereabouts and condition of Taylor Prince. She had learned from her father the art of interrogation: avoid questions that could be answered with a simple “yes” or “no.” She planned on ending the interview with a simple question: “How is Taylor doing?”