Something Real (31 page)

I need them to watch it and then tell me that I’m not as crazy as I’m starting to feel.

“I have to see how Chuck’s going to spin the fight I had with my mom last week. Matt says Coach tells him that the best defense is a good offense. So I’m being offensive. Er, you know what I mean.”

Tessa scrunches up her nose. “I can’t believe you just quoted Coach Hardwick.”

“Desperate times…,” I say. I turn up the volume on the TV. “All right, let’s do this.”

Mer hands me my Pepsi as if it’s a beer I really need, and they sit on either side of me, like bodyguards.

“This is so cheesy,” I say, when our opening credits come on.

The upbeat, canned song our show has had since my childhood plays as our individual pictures fly by the screen. There’s some of the footage from the studio where they made us all run and jump around, barefoot and goofy. It ends with a family photo of us all squished together on Mom and Kirk’s bed and the
Baker’s Dozen: Fresh Batch
logo, which looks like a recipe card.

“At least your picture looks good,” says Mer.

“Are you opposed to me throwing things at your TV?” I ask Tessa.

“Um, here.” She hands me a stress ball. “Just squeeze it.”

Mom:
“C’mon, kids, time for school. Let’s go!”

Mom turns to the camera and rolls her eyes.

Mom:
“I swear, those three act surprised every morning.”

It’s this past Tuesday. I can tell because I’m wearing Patrick’s Mammoth Mountain sweatshirt, which he’d given to me during gov after the heater broke. It smells like him, so I’d refused to give it back.

Tristan
™
:
“Mom, why can’t we go to school, too?”

Mom:
“You
do
go to school.”

Gavin
™
:
“At
home
.”

Mom:
“When you’re sixteen…”

She’s running around the kitchen, getting food for everyone. Jasmine™ reaches up to the camera, pulls it down to her level, and kisses the lens.

Jasmine
™
:
“I loooooove you!”

She giggles and runs away. Kirk walks into the kitchen, wearing Dickies and a Fresno State T-shirt.

Kirk:
“Hey, honey. I’ll be home by one.”

He gives my mom a peck on the cheek.

Mom:
“Okay, good, because I have to catch a flight to Chicago for the book signing.”

“Fun fact,” I say. “They made them redo their conversation because Chuck wanted Mom to set up that she was doing book signings. Originally she’d just said, ‘Great!’”

“So ‘reality’ TV,” Tessa says, making air quotes, “isn’t big on the reality aspect.”

I nod. “Not so much.”

I’m dodging the camera, letting my hair swing in front of my face. I’ve got spy hair—these are my incognito tresses. I grab an apple and a granola bar. Benny gets our coffee and Puma Guy follows us to the car. Then the shot changes to Lexie™ giving my mom a hug good-bye. At around that moment, Chuck and I were having an argument about the Bonnie™ and Benton™ cam, but the editors cut it out for obvious reasons.

Now, the focus is back on us as the camera gets in the backseat of our car. I glare at it, then get in the front and slam the door.

“Dude, you look
pissed
,” Mer says. It’s a little weird—a lot weird—to have someone say that to you while looking at you on TV.

“I was. I
am
,” I mutter.

Tessa reaches over and squeezes my arm. “Just think happy naked Patrick thoughts,” she says. I’m too tense to even roll my eyes.

The show cuts to the interview area in the basement. My mom’s on the couch, looking serious.

Mom:
“Bonnie™ is…”

She looks up, searching for the right word.

Mom:
“She’s still struggling with Andrew’s surprise visit. It’s definitely taken a toll on our relationship. She’s very distant.”

They cut to my bedroom. The camera is peeking over Kirk’s shoulder. I look awful. My face is really red from where Mom had just slapped me (of course, the camera didn’t get there in time for that). My hair’s all tangled, and I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweats that make me look fat.

Kirk:
“What’s going on in here? We heard you all the way downstairs.”

Me, talking over Kirk:
“Get out. You’re not allowed in my room.”

I had said this to the cameraman, but they edited it so that it looks like I was talking to Kirk.

Mom:
“I’m not going to live in a house where my seventeen-year-old daughter throws things at me.”

The camera zooms in on the notebook on my floor, then goes back up to Mom and me, facing off.

Me:
“Then don’t—” There’s a long beep covering over everything I’m saying.

“What the hell?” I shout at the TV. “I didn’t curse, I didn’t!”

I remember what I’d said (it was basically “Then don’t have cameras following me around!”). But MetaReel made it look like I’d up and cussed out my mother
on national television
. I squeeze the stress ball in my hand, but it’s not enough because my hands want to do ripping, tearing, shredding things.

“Can they do that?” Mer asks. “Just totally make shit up?”

“
Shhh
,” Tessa says.

Kirk:
“Bonnie™, don’t speak to your mother that way. You need to channel your anger into something more productive, like—”

Me:
“Who the hell are
you
? You’re just some dude hitching a ride.”

Okay, wow, that was harsh. My face reddens a little, but I’m still on Bonnie™’s side. I mean, my side. I blame the Heisenberg Principle—I’m not really sure I would have said that if the camera hadn’t come in. Guess I’ll never know. Mer and Tessa both put a hand on my knee.

Mom:
“That’s it! Do you want to go live with your father? Would that make you happy?”

Me:
“Oh, you mean with the guy who never wanted any of us in the first place? Sure, why don’t I go live with him? That’s a freaking
great
idea!”

Mom, turning to my siblings:
“Go to your rooms.”

The camera pans to the hallway, where my brothers and sisters are gathered looking shocked, worried, sad. Then it goes back to Mom and me.

Mom:
“You’re grounded.”

I start laughing like a maniac, which is unfortunate because it’s not very attractive.

Me:
“What do you call this?”

The show cuts to Mom in the interview area again. She’s dabbing at her eyes. Whatever.

Mom:
“I don’t know how to get through to her. I wish Andrew was more involved, but he’s pretty much dropped off the face of the earth.”

Chuck’s voice:
“Do you think she might try to hurt herself again?”

I grab the pillow I’m leaning against, stick my face into it, and scream.

Mom:
“I don’t know. Honestly. I have her seeing the school counselor, but she refuses to take medication. She isolates herself when she’s home and treats Kirk and me like her punching bags.”

She dabs her eyes again.

Mom:
“I love my daughter, but she’s tearing our family apart. Again.”

“Shut it off,” I say.

Tessa grabs the remote, and the screen turns black. We sit there in the middle of her bedroom for a minute, staring at one another.

“Chlo, this is…” Tessa shakes her head.

“Seriously screwed up,” Mer finishes. “I wish there was a way you could, like, defriend your family.”

“Yeah.” I feel totally unhinged, like I’m free-floating in space with nothing to hold on to. “I can’t believe she would say that about me,” I whisper.

My voice hitches a little on “me,” but I close my eyes and take a deep breath and count to ten. I exhale, imagining the panic flowing out of me on the tide of my breath. It’s thick and gray, sick-looking. I don’t open my eyes until the tight feeling in my chest crumbles.

“If it makes you feel any better, I am officially renouncing all ambitions to be famous,” Mer says.

I give her a wan smile. “My friend, if you didn’t, I’d think you were crazier than I am.”

Tessa stands and starts pacing around the room. “Chloe, this has to be illegal. You have to fight them.”

I hold my hands out. Empty. I’ve got nothin’.

“How? Every time I try to talk to my mom or Chuck, they brush me off. I’m ‘too dramatic,’ or I need to ‘go with the flow.’ I mean, you saw what happened when I tried to tell my mom I didn’t want the Bonnie™ cam.”

We marinate in awfulness for a minute or two, but then my phone vibrates, and the sound breaks the spell. I look at it—Patrick. He promised he would never watch the show after that first live one, but he knew I was watching tonight and that I was freaked about it.

Everything all right?

No.

What can I do? Anything up to and including assassinations.

I’ll keep that in mind.

Need a ride home? (That’s code for I really want to see you.)

Benny was supposed to come pick me up at a gas station a block over so that we could avoid the Vultures finding out where Tessa lives.

Can’t. I wish I could … too many Vultures. TTYL?

Yes, please.

I text Benny to tell him to come pick me up, then put my phone back in my pocket and start gathering my stuff together.

“Chloe, maybe there’s someone you can talk to or—” Tessa begins, but I cut her off.

“Tess, I have no one. Seriously. My dad is a total dropout, I don’t really know any of my relatives, and you saw my mom. There’s no getting through to her. I just have to deal.”

“But—”

I zip up my bag and head toward her door. “I love you both. But I really need to be alone for a bit before Benny comes to get me, okay?”

They nod, and I see myself out, giving Tessa’s parents a quick cheerful good night before I leave. Most of the houses on her street are decorated for Christmas, but the lights and blow-up Santas just depress me even more.

She’s tearing our family apart. Again.

So Mom
does
blame me for the divorce. Nice to know. Is she right? Am I the place where all the problems in my family begin and end?

“Five more months,” Benny says, when he picks me up ten minutes later. “Then we’ll graduate, and we’re free.”

But that doesn’t make me feel better. I’m beginning to think I can’t hold out that long.

*   *   *

When we get to the house, Chuck is standing on the porch, smoking a cigar. Like he’s celebrating screwing me over.

It’s now or never.

“Chuck, can I talk to you for a sec?”

He raises his eyebrows, but nods. I’m lucky to catch him before he leaves for the night. I stay on the porch while Benny heads inside.

“What’s up?”

“I saw the episode tonight.” I wrinkle my nose against the stench. His cigar smells like body odor and too-strong potpourri.

He takes a long drag and the ember glows a menacing orange. “The ratings were great. They just eat you up, Bonnie™.”

A sharp wind cuts through the driveway, and I rub my arms. I wish we could go inside, but I can’t have this conversation with my mom around.

“That’s the problem,” I say. “I
feel
eaten up. I’m not comfortable with being talked about on the show. What my mom said about me in the interview was … wrong.”

He laughs and puts a meaty hand on my shoulder. I involuntarily flinch, and his eyes darken.

“Listen, Bonnie™, you’re like a daughter to me.”

I don’t say anything, but this is total BS.

“When you get a little older, you’ll see that all this stuff is no big deal. All teenagers fight with their moms. Trust me, kiddo, you’re no different than every other seventeen-year-old girl in America.”