Star Power (6 page)

Becks stood on the Manhattan Beach boardwalk and inhaled the air, which was coconut-scented and salty. The sky was clear blue, and Becks could see all the way to the Palos Verdes Peninsula. Wood-shingled beach cottages dotted the sidewalk, where rollerbladers and skateboarders breezed past. Seconds later, the tennis player Maria Sharapova jogged by in a white Nike workout dress. Becks nudged Mac to point out one of her favorite athletes, but Mac was oblivious. She hadn't looked up from her phone since they left Malibu. The girls walked down the beach in silence.

Even though Manhattan Beach was less than an hour from home, Becks had never surfed there. When you lived on a private beach in Malibu, getting in a car to go surfing was like living on a dairy farm and buying milk from the 7-Eleven. But so far the five-foot wave swells looked good—maybe too good. Suddenly Becks felt the same nervous energy as when she'd tried to surf Pipeline that summer. Mac had convinced her she was actually good enough to try to become a Dixie Gal, but now Becks wondered if she was reaching for an impossible dream.

“Becks! Mac! Over here!” Liz Dixie emerged from under a giant blue tarp that said DIXIE, wearing the same sleeveless red Patagonia from the other day. At Liz's side was Chad Hutchins, in a black Rusty tee and camouflage cargo shorts. He was devouring a stack of what appeared to be pancakes topped with bananas and whipped cream.

When they were closer to the Dixie people, Mac finally looked up from her iPhone. “It's good to see you again,” she said, striking the perfect pitch of business and warmth.

“Great to see you girls,” Liz chimed. Her bleached blond hair was in a ponytail and her face was shrouded by a white visor and wraparound sunglasses. “We're stoked you could make it.”

“It's our pleasure.” Mac grinned. “Plus we couldn't resist pancakes.” Chad and Liz laughed.

“Let me tell you about how today's gonna work.” Liz spoke gently. “Tryouts are really simple. Each girl surfs in the morning—”

Just then Mac's phone rang. She looked down to see who was calling, and her face scrunched in worry. “Please excuse me everyone, I have to take this.” Then she turned to Becks. “Emily needs me. It's her first day of shooting—”

“Is everything okay?” Becks asked. Mac always had a lot going on, but today seemed even busier than usual.

Mac plastered on a smile. “It's all good. I just need to talk her through a few things.” Without another word, she headed back to the sidewalk, phone glued to her ear.

Becks gulped watching Mac walk away, swallowing down the sour feeling. Emily needed Mac as much as she did, if not more.

Liz put an arm around Becks and walked her into the shade of the tarp. “So, as I was explaining, each girl surfs in the morning. Then there's a lunch break, and we might ask you to stick around a little longer. The real point is to just have some fun out there. Treat this like you would any other day at the beach.”

Becks smiled nervously. Even though she had secretly pretended she was a Dixie Gal for years when catching waves in Malibu or San Onofre, she'd never actually expected to get a chance to try out for them. And now that she was
thisclose
—she could taste it like the salt in the Pacific—she was suddenly aware of how disappointed she'd be if she blew it. She took a deep breath and put her LeSportsac duffel down in a corner of the Dixie tent. She glanced around at the other girls trying out to be the fourth Dixie Gal. There were about ten girls, all muscular and pretty. Becks didn't recognize any of them.

But sitting in the middle of the tent, in royal blue beach chairs, were three girls whom Becks knew instantly: the Dixie Gals. Becks didn't usually spaz when Mac pointed out Hollywood celebrities, but these girls were like goddesses. In the pictures, it was hard to tell their age, but in real life they looked at least sixteen. They were sipping Charge-flavored Vitamin Waters (Dixie's sponsored drink) and holding Uno cards. They all wore royal blue polish on their toenails, Dixie's signature color. Becks smiled shyly, trying not to stare.

“Hey you!” the blondest girl called from her chair. “Are you Evangelina Becks?” She was wearing a yellow vintage
Star Wars
T-shirt, and her chin-length hair looked stylishly mussed, like she hadn't brushed it in days. Her name was Tully, and she was shockingly pretty in person: thin but muscular. Her dirty blond hair was dry like straw, and she had a ridge of freckles running across her nose.

“Yeah. Um, hey.” Becks smiled, proud that Tully knew her name.

“We know all about you,” said a brunette girl with a boxy body and well-defined abs. She had a gruff voice that was also a little bit masculine. Becks knew her name was Darby.

“You live in Malibu,” added the third girl, Leilani, who had French braids in her black hair and the perkiness of a cheerleader. She was from Maui and had moved to the mainland two years ago to join the Dixie Gals.

Becks nodded nervously. She could feel the other ten girls watching her, probably wondering why she was being singled out.

“I'm Tallulah,” the tall blond girl pointed to herself. “But don't call me that. Call me Tully.” Becks nodded and pretended she didn't already know. Tully pointed to the brunette with the amazing abs. “This is Darby.” Next she gestured to the girl with the French braids and insanely white teeth. “And that's Leilani. Lei loves meeting new people.”

Darby smiled. “That's what—”

“—she said!” Tully finished.

All three girls laughed.

Tully smiled at Becks again. “Sometimes we—”

“—finish each other's sentences,” added Lei.

“That's. . . .” Becks trailed off, wishing there was someone nearby to finish hers. She peered up at the boardwalk, hoping that Mac might be watching from one of the benches, but she couldn't see her anywhere.

“Anyway, good—” Lei started.

“—luck out there,” Tully finished with a wink, before the girls went back to Uno.

 

Three hours later, Mac still hadn't shown and all the girls were taking an official break in the shade of the Dixie tarp. Becks was sitting on her yoga mat, sipping a Vitamin Water. She'd given every wave her all, she thought, squeezing the last sip of her water. Now she was almost too exhausted to be nervous—her arms were aching, and her skin felt windburned—but she wanted to be a Dixie Gal more than ever.

Chad Hutchins came by to thank everyone for a great day. Becks watched as the others in her tryout group nodded and began packing their things. She held her breath, hoping that the Dixie folks weren't done with her.

Chad glanced over at her. “We want to keep you for just a little bit longer—do you mind?” Becks's heart pounded with excitement. She nodded enthusiastically. As if she needed convincing!

She reapplied some SPF 45 and reached for her board. Then she bounded into the water where the three Dixie Gals were already waiting. They'd paddled out past the breaking point and were perched like swans in the ocean, eyeing the swells. The Dixie catalog always featured glossy shots of the gals surfing in a line, so Becks knew group alignment was key. She sculled her arms underwater so she'd be ready to sprint when the moment came. Would they call out what wave they were going to take? Or would she just have to take a chance and trust her instincts?

Soon Tully's arms wound up, and even though it wasn't the wave Becks would have picked, she just
knew
it was time to make a move.
I have no idea what I'm doing and I just don't wanna be the last one to shore,
she thought as she dug into the water. There was no turning back now. She stood up and twisted her body into the wave, powering herself forward. The breeze whipped through her as she barreled to shore, and she felt light and powerful. When she stepped off her board seconds later, she saw she'd timed it perfectly with the Dixie Gals.

The girls plopped their boards in the sand, unstuck their ankle straps, and ran over to Becks. To her surprise, they
hugged
her. They were a tangle of long limbs and shiny bikinis, jumping up and down.

“We knew you could hang with us!” Tully exclaimed.

“Yay!” cheered Lei. “We totally wanted you!”

“Totes!” Darby's voice was gruff but happy.

Becks giggled. Normally she was the only one who used the word
totes
. Before Becks could say anything, Chad Hutchins sauntered over. “Good news and good news. Rock on, Becks, you're the fourth Dixie Gal.” He smiled and dabbed royal blue zinc on her nose, while the other three Dixie Gals whooped. “And the second good news is that your first shoot is in a week.” He held up his right hand to Becks and they high-fived.

Giddily, Becks glanced around the beach to find Mac. Good news didn't officially count until she shared it with her BFF, and she couldn't wait to hear what Mac would have to say about
this
. Especially since she owed everything to her. Becks scanned the beach in every direction but she couldn't spot Mac anywhere.

Becks and the Dixie Gals strolled into the tent to grab their things. “Later, skater!” Tully said. “We gotta head out, but see you next week!” Becks smiled and noticed her phone was blinking from her bag. Mac had sent her a text:

BRKA LEG BBE! HAD 2 GET2 SET. I KNOW YOU'LL DO GR8.

Becks's shoulders fell. She couldn't believe Mac had missed it—all of it. But she was too thrilled to stay upset.
It had really happened.
Over the course of a few hours, she'd gone from everyday eighth-grader to professional surfer, calendar model, and official Dixie Gal.

She inhaled her favorite scent—the combination of surf wax and sunblock—and dove into the blue ocean water. Mac had been saying it all along, but now Becks was a believer: Nothing felt better than success.

mac

M
ac waltzed onto the
Deal With It
set, positively buzzing over how much she'd accomplished in so little time: By now, Becks was probably the fourth Dixie Gal; Coco's career was taking off; and Emily was shooting a major Hollywood movie. Mac happily recalled one of Mama Armstrong's many life rules:
Life is what you make of it.
Mac Little-Armstrong was making it a VIP party.

“Ciao bella!” she exclaimed to Emily as she barged into the trailer.

Emily was nestled in a white chair with a canvas back, surrounded by a bevy of stylists. Tina Stella (one of the best makeup artists in Hollywood) applied foundation to Emily's face with white sponges shaped like triangle blocks. A round man named Robyn (the winner of four Daytime Emmys for hairstyling) was flat-ironing Emily's wavy, cinnamon brown mane. He was about sixty, with high cheeks and pouty lips. His blond hair was shaped like a helmet around his head.