I So Don't Do Famous (27 page)

I
t's lunch, and our first meal back at home in Phoenix.

The Ruler cooked my favorite dish and invited Grandma over to celebrate our return and my
Hollywood Girl
award and how I broke up the Beverly Hills Bandits. Grandma's finally getting out and about a little since her hip surgery. She's moving slowly with a walker.

Sam pulls out her chair, and Grandma plunks down.

The Ruler sets a steaming glass pan on a hot pad in the middle of the table. I close my eyes and inhale. Überdelicious. Melted cheese with spinachy stuff, organic brown rice, and some unidentified junk thrown in there too. Cheesy chard.

I count silently in my mind, waiting for my dad to bust out his same lame-o pun. One, two—

“Cheesy chard, Paula?” Dad sticks his nose close to the casserole, like he's inspecting it. “I hope it's not overcooked. Or we'll have to rename it charred chard.” He cracks up.

Sam cracks up too.

And even though The Ruler's heard this excuse-for-a-joke several times, her cheeks pink up and she smiles. She flits around the table, checking our water glasses and offering us bread. When she nears my dad, she clasps his shoulder. Like she can't quite believe he's home for real.

They grin big at each other. Watching my dad and The Ruler with their gaga eyes makes me realize I should add another line to my essay. True love can strike more than once in a lifetime. I hadn't really thought that far into the future when I wrote the essay.

“Sherry, could you grab the salad dressing?” The Ruler asks.

I meander over to the fridge and notice a balding bird with ratty wings perched outside on our kitchen sill. Grandpa! I quietly crack the window. The air-conditioning is on, and I'm not up for a lecture about energy and bills.

“Thanks,” Grandpa croaks.

“No prob,” I say quietly, then head back to the table with a bottle of ranch and a bottle of Italian.

“Let me get a close-up look at your necklace,” Grandma says.

I slip it off and hand it to her.

“It's beautiful.” Grandma holds the chain up high and the diamond dangles, catching the light. “You know, if you ever have any questions about true love, come to me. Your grandfather and I had a very special, long-lasting relationship.”

Grandpa caws.

“Is that the bird from my backyard?” Grandma shakes her head in disbelief, and her short gray hair bounces. “Did he follow me all the way over here again?”

“It's definitely him,” Sam says. “I'd recognize his sticky-out belly anywhere.”

Poor Grandpa. I don't think Grandma is ever going to make the connection that he is who he is.

Suddenly I smell coffee.

“I'm out here with your grandfather,” Mom says.

I raise my fork in a subtle hello.

“Sherry, I'm so very proud of you.” The Ruler spears a lettuce leaf. “You win a contest with an essay, and you manage to solve a case that was baffling the police.”

“It's like you're a magnet for mysteries,” Sam says.

Sam's a brainiac like Junie. I keep waiting for him to figure out about the Academy of Spirits and Mom.

“Whatever happened to those girls?” Dad says.

“Their parents chose to leave them in juvenile hall. They'll be going to school there in the fall,” Mom says. “David's in jail, waiting for a court date.”

I repeat the info.

“How do you know all this?” Sam asks. That guy is too smart.

“I'm just sort of in the loop since I was a big part of the case.” I sip some water, then excuse myself for a second.

I zip outside. “Mom, I'm dying to know. How did Real Time go with Dad?”

“It was nice,” my mother says. “You know I can't really give you specifics. But we got some closure. And it was good to sit down with your father and chat about you and Sam.”

Even knowing that small amount fills me with a warm glow like I just drank hot chocolate.

“Congratulations on wrapping up the Beverly Hills Bandits case,” Grandpa says.

At least I'm pretty sure that's what he said. Sometimes all I hear from him is consonants.

“I'll bring Leah to see you later. She's excited about telling you what classes she'll be taking at the Academy.” Mom gives me a light hug. “I wanted to stop by to make sure you got home okay.”

After lunch, I tramp upstairs to my bedroom. The
glitz and glamour of Hollywood already seems distant and far away, like last Thanksgiving. Even Mark is a fading memory; I can only vaguely remember the sound of his voice.

I stand in my room, staring at my aquariums. Yes, I now have two. In tank #1, Cindy and Prince zip around in a joyous game of silvery tag. Below them, nestled in the gravel, are a bunch of tiny fish eggs. As soon as they hatch, I'll scoop them up with a net and move them over to the new tank. Because while Cindy and Prince are beautiful and fun to watch, they are not particularly good parents and would actually eat their babies.

Tank #2 is filled with water at seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit and nicely decorated with plants and blue and pink gravel. And a partial rhinestone that was dug up many years ago from the cement in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre.

Ms. Monroe gave the rhinestone piece to Mom after confessing that she tried to dig it up from her own stone for publicity. She also shared some of the details of her mysterious death with Mom, but swore her to secrecy! Why? Marilyn wants the mystery surrounding her death to remain. We aren't about to argue with her.

My cell pings with a text message.

It's from Josh.

Before I have a chance to answer, another text pops up.

My favorite smoothie.

Wow.

Double wow.

I type back. I want a clear brain when I see him. We have too many memories floating around the juice bar, and I'm afraid they'll latch onto me and cloud my thinking. Plus, he was just there with Olivia.

It's a tiny restaurant at the west end of the mall. Private. Delicious. Quiet background tunes.

Before I have a chance to reply, another text arrives.

And I type back one little letter.

I gaze at myself in the mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door. Plaid shorts, a white tank under a peach shirt, matching peach lip gloss, dark eyes, a hint of mascara, wavy brown hair.

Do I need to change?

Do I need to redo my makeup?

Do I need to mess with my hair?

No, I'm fine just the way I am.

I let The Ruler know I'm going to the mall, and I step out into the hot, baking Arizona afternoon. Each flip-flopped step takes me closer to Josh. And closer to some kind of decision. I'm tingly all over, like I just scrubbed with citrus bath wash.

The mall's air-conditioning hits me with an arctic blast. As I approach Desserts R Us, I'm a weird mixture of nerves and calm. I can't even describe it.

Josh is already at a table. His skateboard is propped up in the corner. A rectangular box, wrapped in tissue, sits next to his elbow. He's looking at the menu. Josh glances up, like he senses my presence. Our eyes meet. He sets down the menu and stands. I move toward him. He opens his arms and I walk right into them.

Everything feels so right in that tight hug. From the familiar scent of chlorine mixed with laundry soap to the beat of Josh's heart.

Everything also feels so wrong. He did break up with me. He did choose polo over Hollywood. He did
come to the mall and hold hands with another girl. A hug and a wrapped gift don't make all that disappear.

We both sit. The waitress arrives and pulls a pad and pencil from her apron pocket. I order mango cheesecake drizzled with tropical-fruit sauce. Josh orders a banana split.

He pushes the package across the table. “For you.”

I unwrap it, slowly. From the shape, I know it's a video game. “Lifeline!” I've been wanting to get this game for a while. “Josh! It's so expensive! How did you ever afford it?”

“I traded some games in.” He smiles, all proud, like he invented trade-ins.

I pull the Camel's Breath CD from my purse. “I got you something too.”

“Where?” he sputters. “How?”

“Camel's Breath was the band at the awards dinner. They did an exclusive CD for
Hollywood Girl.
”

He runs his fingers across the case. “Wow. Thanks.”

Josh sets the CD down, then gazes at me with his blue, blue eyes. “I'm really sorry. Can we just get back together?”

“I don't think it's that easy. Stuff happened.”

“About Olivia. I never wanted to go out with her. A varsity guy from the team set us up. I never met her before that day. We have nothing in common. I was thinking of you the whole time. She actually said,
‘Gross,' when I suggested Video World. Then she took my hand. Then Brianna was there, and it all got messed up.”

My elbows on the table, my chin is resting on the bridge formed by my hands. I don't say anything, just listen.

“And I am kind of freaked out that I'll be in high school, and you won't. But you're still the same person. Does it really matter where you go to school?”

Still listening.

The waitress arrives with our desserts. She glances first at me, then at Josh. She leaves. No doubt the air is charged with love and tension and indecision.

Josh digs into his ice cream. “You're right, Sherry. It's not that easy.”

With the side of my fork, I carefully slice off a wedge of cheesecake. “Why don't we start with a video game? Lifeline. My living room. Saturday afternoon.”

Josh's eyes sparkle like holiday lights. “Okay.”

A fuzzy happy feeling, like a dandelion wish floating on a summer breeze, drifts up from my stomach and wafts past my heart. Whatever happens, I'll be fine. Even more than fine.

I raise the fork to my lips and my mouth fills with sweetness.