I shook my head, looking for something besides anger in Steve’s face. I could barely speak. “Don’t make them take me to the guard station.”
The guard’s grip tightened around my arm. For a second, Steve’s gaze traveled from my face to the guard’s hand. I could tell he’d decided something. “Take her to my trailer,” Steve told the men. “I’ll deal with her after I’m done here.”
“To your trailer?” the first guard asked.
“Yeah. And make sure she doesn’t leave.”
The security guards looked at one another, and perhaps they would have said something else, but when they turned back, Steve had already left.
The security guards looked at each other again, and the first—a Pacific Islander who probably ripped trucks apart in his spare time—grunted in disbelief. The second shrugged and said, “So we take her to his trailer.”
The first guard pulled me by the arm, and we walked off the set. I tried to decide if it was a good thing that I was going to Steve’s trailer instead of the guard station. Probably not. Steve hadn’t looked like he wanted to sit down and have a friendly chat. He most likely just wanted to find out how I’d managed to find him twice so he could avoid future stalkers, and then he’d turn me over to the police.
We went out of the building at a fast pace. I had no choice but to keep up. The guard never loosened his grip on my arm. The second security guard had gray streaks in his crew cut. He was probably at least forty, but his biceps were as big as my head, so he was still quite imposing. He didn’t say anything at all, just kept nodding and grunting in approval as the first guard lectured me about trespassing, privacy, and how celebrities had the right to live normal lives without worrying about fans who didn’t have the sense to know when not to cross the line.
“I’ve learned my lesson,” I told them. “Really, you can let me leave now—”
But they didn’t. Crew-cut guy led me to a large green trailer.
So Steve’s was the green one. It figured. Robin Hood wore all green, and it hadn’t even occurred to me his trailer might be the green one.
The Polynesian guard released his grip on my arm. “How many people came with you when you decided to invade the set today?”
I was not about to turn Madison in. “Just me.”
“You’re lying.” He said this with an assurance that surprised me. Usually people couldn’t tell when I lied. “How many of your little friends do we have to round up—the truth this time.”
I didn’t answer him, even though he asked twice more.
This led the guards to have a minute-long conversation about how they needed to split up and continue searching the grounds. They decided the Polynesian guy would search through the trailers while the older guy stayed with me. He would stand guard outside the trailer so he could keep an eye out for other teenage encroachers and still make sure I didn’t run off.
Crew-cut opened the door and pointed inside. “Wait in there. And don’t touch anything. You don’t want to get yourself in more trouble than you’re already in.”
I turned away from them and walked up the steps into the Winnebago. The door shut behind me with a determined thud.
I guess I expected the inside of a star’s trailer to be glamorous. Maybe a hot tub, a fireplace, and a shelf full Of Oscars. Instead it looked like a cramped apartment.
The living room had built-in couches and a TV that pulled down from the ceiling. Behind it, cabinets lined a small kitchenette. A door stood behind the kitchen—probably leading into a bedroom and not outside. Mini blinds let light in through windows on either side of the walls. There was nothing glamorous about it.
The only really unusual thing about Steve Raleigh’s trailer was that it wasn’t empty. A middle-aged man sat on the couch directly in front of me.
Chapter
9
He looked nice enough, like a lot of people you’d walk by without giving much thought to. But he reminded me of a book: full of creativity inside. He stared down at his laptop, and I sensed him going through ideas like someone sorts madly through a laundry basket searching for a missing sock.
He looked up at me, deemed me unworthy of attention, and went back to typing.
“Um . . . who are you?” I asked.
His gaze stayed on the computer while his fingers clicked over the keys. “Jim Blasingame, one of the show writers. I’m waiting to talk to Steve about the next script. Who are you?”
“A nun who just got fired.”
“Oh.” He didn’t stop typing. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t think I haven’t asked myself that question.” I sat down on the couch in front of him but glanced over my shoulder. I could see the back of the security guard standing by the side of the door.
When I returned my attention to Mr. Blasingame, he had stopped typing long enough to consider me, but then he shook his head. “Oh, never mind, I don’t really want to know. I need to finish this script. Will Steve be here soon?”
“Yes.”
He waved a hand in my direction. “Good. Then do whatever it is fired nuns do, quietly.”
The sound of his typing—and then almost obsessively pushing the delete button—filled the room.
I sat on the couch and pulled my knees up to my chin. I couldn’t believe it was going to end this way. I had worried I wouldn’t be able to speak to Steve Raleigh;
I had even considered the possibility that he wouldn’t help me, but I had never imagined myself trapped in his trailer waiting for the police to haul me away.
I wished I could cry. I might have even garnered some sympathy from the writer—or from Steve whenever he came back. I’m not sure where the body keeps its reservoir of tears, but as always mine wasn’t there. It had been dammed up, frozen over, drained. I only had a huge empty space I occasionally wandered around in, kicking up dust.
I sat for a while longer listening to the tap of the keyboard while the feeling of doom penetrated down to my bones. I wanted to say a prayer, but I wouldn’t. My last official prayer had been before Jeremy’s first MRI. I’d said, God, if you love me at all, even a little, you’ll make it so the MRI shows everything is normal. When it came back as a tumor, I couldn’t pray anymore.
Part of me knew I was being childish. Bad things happen to people sometimes. And everyone dies sooner or later. But things like this shouldn’t happen to six-year-olds. They just shouldn’t. It felt like God had tossed my family aside, like he didn’t care what happened to us.
I got up, walked into the kitchenette, and leaned against the counter. I needed to call Madison and tell her what had happened. As I turned sideways for privacy I noticed a compound bow leaning against the wall. A Conquest Four. It was bigger and newer than mine but basically the same type. A quiver full of arrows sat on the counter. Steve must use them to practice with.
I touched the bow, running my fingers down the cable. It reminded me of my story for Jeremy and that I still needed to figure a way to get the two of us out of the underworld. Braided hair hadn’t worked—did they have rope lying around the underworld? How should we escape?
Before my mind could move on to the next thought, a feeling of icy darkness swept around me. I struggled to breathe. It was as if the Grim Reaper himself stood directly behind me. I could feel him leaning over my shoulder, could hear his hollow, grating breath near my ear. “You can’t escape,” he said. “You’ll never find a way.”
I gasped and spun around. “Stop it!” I yelled. But there was nothing there.
For someone who’d always put a lot of stock in my sanity, this wasn’t a pleasant experience. I put one hand across my eyes. “It’s no wonder I can’t sleep anymore.”
That’s when I noticed the typing had stopped. I looked over and saw Mr. Blasingame staring at me. I ran my hand through my hair. “I’m just working on some lines for an audition.”
“Oh.” He nodded and for the first time admiration crept into his voice. “You’re really good.”
“Thanks.”
He went back to his computer, and I leaned against the counter, trying to slow my heart rate. It felt like my insides had crashed through a window. I wondered what would happen if Jeremy didn’t recover from his cancer. Would I walk around forever with shards of glass cutting into my thoughts?
I pulled my phone from my pocket with still trembling hands. It had a message from Madison. I’d missed her call during my brief but eventful stint as an actress. I listened to it, mostly because I wanted to put off telling her I’d been caught.
On the message she said, “So do we look alike? Apparently the security people here think we do because when they came looking for a girl who’d sneaked onto the lot wearing a baseball cap and carrying a snake, they singled me out.” Which, I suddenly realized, was the reason the security guard knew I was lying when I told them I’d come here alone. They’d already caught Madison.
I could hear her disgruntled sigh on her message. “And don’t you dare tell me it was my fault for not looking like I belonged. I sat there with the rest of crew eating doughnuts. In fact I’m pretty sure I gained five pounds fitting in. But they caught me.” She sounded ashamed to admit this, and I wasn’t sure whether it was because she hadn’t been stealthy enough to avoid detection or whether the humiliation of being caught doing something wrong was just too much for her. Probably the latter.
“The security guards kept asking me what I’d done with the snake,” she continued. “I told them I had no idea what they were talking about. Which became a lot less believable when they escorted me to your van and saw the cages of rabbits and doves.
“Anyway, they made me leave and said they’d call the police if I came back. So I just returned the doves and bunnies to the pet store.” There was a pause, and I wondered if she’d ended her message but then she added, “I hope you’re having better luck. Give me a call when you can.”
I guess it had been too much to hope that she was somewhere near, or that she would have a great idea for rescuing me. When I called her, I knew she would insist on calling our parents.
But it was better if I broke the news to them. My cell phone clock read 1:52. I fingered the buttons on the phone and wondered who I should call. Would Mom be more upset or would Dad? And what was I going to say?
Dad, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is, depending on how things are edited, I may appear in an upcoming episode of
Teen Robin Hood.
The bad news is you have to come get me out of a jail in Burbank.
Or:
So, Mom, you know how you’ve always encouraged me to follow my dreams? Did it ever occur to you that some of those dreams might get me arrested?
No matter who got me, I’d have to face both of them knowing how horribly I’d failed.
I looked at my cell phone, but I couldn’t call. I sat there leaning against the counter and watched the minutes appear and disappear on the face of the phone until it went dark again. I really only wanted to talk to one person, Jeremy.
I debated this for a few moments. He was in school. I shouldn’t interrupt his class with a phone call, I shouldn’t bother him. But, then again, it was first grade—so what if he missed a few minutes of cutting or pasting? I wanted to hear his voice. Besides, I had to tell him I wouldn’t be home after school again.
I called the school, and they put me through to his classroom. The teacher told me the class was at music right now. I told her Mrs. Palson was picking Jeremy up after school and I needed to talk to him about the change in plans. I must have sounded desperate enough, because she told me she’d go get Jeremy.
A few minutes later, his voice came on, sounding older than he really was.
“Hey, Buddy,” I forced some cheer into my voice. “I’m going to be busy after school, so you’re going to Gabe’s house again, okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
He sounded like he was about to hang up, so I quickly added, “I didn’t get to see you last night. What did you guys do?”
“Mom and me started planning my birthday party,” he said. “Do you think they have birthday parties in heaven?”
“Um. . . .” Those kind of questions always caught me off guard.
“Dad says they do, but Mom started crying and wouldn’t answer me.”
“Well, they probably do, but I thought you wanted to have your next party at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Remember, you’re supposed to think positively. Envision seven candles on your birthday cake and a giant singing rodent standing behind you.”
I must have said this last part too loudly because Mr. Blasingame looked at me peculiarly. I turned away from him and lowered my voice so he couldn’t hear me anymore. “I, um, I’m probably not going to get home until late tonight, maybe not until after you’re already in bed—”
“Then when are you going to finish the story about you and me and the Grim Reaper?”
“I’m not sure I want to finish that one.”
“But you have to. We’re both stuck in the underworld.”
I knew he was right. I couldn’t end the story without getting Jeremy out.
I looked over my shoulder, as though this would prevent the Grim Reaper from popping up again. “Where did I leave off?” I knew very well where I’d left off, but I stalled in order to give myself time to think.
“We were trapped in the underworld,” Jeremy said. “But the dog liked me.”
“Right. Everyone liked Jeremy because so many grandparents live in the underworld, and you know how they feel about little kids.”
“What happened after the arrow wouldn’t work?”
“Annie felt so sad her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, and when she cried the little pieces flowed out of her tears and into the palms of her hands. They didn’t wash away, but instead crystallized into diamond dust.
“Birds always search for shiny things, and one little crow saw the sparkle of diamonds and flew back to the world and told all of his friends. Soon a giant flock flew toward them. When Annie saw them coming, she blew the dust on Jeremy until he sparkled—so of course the crows wanted to take him back to their home in the woods.”