Not in the Script (30 page)

I had asked myself the same question. Rachel seemed as surprised as I was when this information was added to one of
Celebrity Seeker
's post–Labor Day articles, as an “online extra.” But Trina would have also known about my previous obsession with Brett, just by being around me for so long. And Brett himself knew, but I've never told him about my laptop wallpaper collection. The only fallout I really cared about, though, is that I'd then felt a need to tell Jake the truth.

It was awkward, and more than a little embarrassing, but he was cool about it.

“Mom,” I reply, “I'm sure I've told a lot of friends over the years. Girls talk about their crushes all the time without thinking about who's going to gossip about it.”

She sighs. “
You
can't afford to not think about what you say,” she reminds me. “There are too many people out there who could betray you for money and attention.”

“But what am I supposed to do, judge every person I meet by their potential to stab me in the back?” I ask. “I wouldn't have any friends at all.”

This ends our conversation because she doesn't have a good answer. Days later, though, I still can't stop wondering if Trina could be a source for
Celebrity Seeker
. I can totally see it.

But Rachel? No way. I'm the only traitor in our friendship.

Right?

Brett is messing with me. Whether or not he's doing it on purpose is still to be determined, but either way, he's pissing me off.

When Emma finally admitted that she'd had a decade-long crush on Brett, I had laughed it off as if it were funny—at least while I was with her. And it really wouldn't be a big deal if she wasn't going on all these California trips with him. But Brett always returns with stories that don't quite mesh with the way Emma repeats them to me.

What she doesn't know is that it was actually Brett who first told me about
Celebrity Seeker
's discovery of her “obsession” as they called it—a full two days before she did.

“See, dude, I told you!” Brett had said, pointing out the online article that he'd pulled up on his phone. I'd been studying in my dressing room that day, for a business management test, and it seemed like he tracked me down just for this. “Remember when
we went to dinner at
El Loro Feliz
, and I was convinced that Emma had a crush on me? Well, she admitted it the day we went to the motocross, but made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone. It's common knowledge now, though, so I can tease her about it all I want.”

I still figured it was all garbage, but I took his phone anyway and scanned the article, throwing in some laughter for good measure. “Isn't this written by the same tabloid that you called
total crap
just a week or so ago—something about Emma not going to Tahoe with you because you'd been cheating on her?”

“Well, yeah, that article was all lies,” Brett said, taking his phone back. “But when we're in L.A., Emma is a different chick. She's tempting me to break my number one rule—don't date your costars—and just go for it. Or at least I'm starting to ask myself, why not?”

Had his “why not” been more than a rhetorical question, I would have given him more than a few answers to it. That is, if I were actually allowed to talk about what's been going on between Emma and me.

Since we're not officially together, it wouldn't really be
wrong
for her to be flirting with Brett just as much as she flirts with me. Wasn't I the one who told her it was normal to play the field? But haven't Emma and I … haven't we already agreed that we're more than friends? That we like each other
a lot
?

Brett has to be exaggerating. That's all.

The one thing I know for sure is that I'll be in an eternal state of limbo with Emma if I don't do something to move things forward, right now. I come to this conclusion one night when I'm in New York, and I call her before I can think better of my impulse. “I
just finished my very last, totally humiliating modeling job,” I tell her, “which included enough hair gel to hold up the Brooklyn Bridge. So guess how I want to celebrate.”

“Go to Disneyland?” she asks.

“Close! I want to go on a date.”

Emma laughs. “Wow. That's … ambitious.”

“With you,” I tell her. “A real one, where we actually call it a date. This Friday, the night before the press junket. But don't worry, the same rules will apply. I'll be good.”

With only a week to go before the premiere, kissing Emma now could definitely mess everything up. I may not understand her concern for Rachel's feelings, but I'm doing my best to respect it. Well … the no-kissing part, at least.

“Oh,” she says, then there's silence while I wait for the verdict. Yeah, it's stupid to make her
call
it a date, since we've pretty much been dating for months anyway, but it's about time she recognizes that. “What do you have in mind?”

Sweet
. This might actually happen. “I want to pick you up, at your front door—not on your back porch—and I want to take you, in an actual vehicle, to somewhere other than the river that runs behind your house.”

“Hmm. Maybe,” she replies, which isn't exactly the enthusiasm I was hoping for. Why does everything have to be such a process with her? Why can't she just
go
? “There's a bit of a problem with that noble idea, though, because my mother thinks Rachel's mom is now a source for
Celebrity Seeker
. So if you and I are seen together before I tell Rachel about us, there will be heck to pay. And I—”

“Don't want to take that chance,” I say. “See, that's the part I'm having trouble with.”

“Jake, it's not that I don't want to,” Emma hurries to tell me. “I'm just afraid that—” She draws a breath. “Okay, you're right. I'm being stupid. This Friday?”

I'll take that as a yes. “Yep, Friday. I'll pick you up at eight.”

All right, so we've booked an official date. That's progress. But the next morning on my flight back to Tucson, I'm still a little ticked off that I had to talk her into it. More like
guilt
her into it. So with a wounded ego and my emotions in overdrive, I somehow get myself into a situation on the plane that leads me into a bit of a trap—with Miss Texas.

By the next day, I know I'm in trouble. And by that night, when Emma apologizes to me for “being so paranoid,” I realize I've made a serious mistake.

When Friday finally comes around—the day of our date—I completely zone out, thinking everything is over. We're shooting outdoors at a high school football field, and even though it's now October, today is so hot it feels like fire is falling from the sky. The principal cast is taking cover under a production tent, and I'm stuffing my face with rocky road ice cream.

“What's up with you today?” Kimmi asks Emma, who also seems distracted.

Emma jolts as if she's been asked something too personal. “Um. Well … the junket is tomorrow. And the premiere is only a week away. I always get nervous before this kind of stuff.”

Or maybe before she goes on a date with a guy she's not supposed to be seen with?

In a skintight peach tank top and black running shorts, Emma has her feet propped up on a small table and looks impossibly delicious as she rolls a cold water bottle down the back of her neck. I'm starting to think self-control is overrated.

“Why?” Kimmi asks, chucking her full bowl of ice cream into the trash. “You've seen the rough cut of the first episode. And even in that state, it was good. Amazing, actually.”

“But it's impossible to predict audience response,” Brett says. “Are you nervous, Jake?”

My head whips away from Emma, and I know he's caught me staring at her. “I wasn't until I had a crazy dream last night,” I say, grasping for the only reply to hit my brain.

“Interesting,” Brett says. “Spill, dude.”

Emma sits straight up in her chair. “Cool, a dream! Let's analyze it.”

I wipe my mouth with a napkin and say, “It's kinda lame, but have you ever had one of those dreams that for some idiotic reason, you forget to get dressed, but you keep walking around anyway, while people gawk at you?”

Everyone nods with understanding smiles, even Kimmi. “When I finally wake up,” she says, “I always try to figure out why I spent the
entire day
being laughed at, and didn't even
think
about putting clothes on.”

Brett gazes at her in wonder. “Wow, you dream? I thought only humans did that.”

She gives him an appropriate-for-the-moment hand gesture.

I glance around at the crew members in the tent with us and lower my voice. “But this dream was different. I showed up at the studio—
au naturale
, remember—but instead of people staring at me, they just acted like I was supposed to be that way for the scene, even though everyone else was completely dressed. And when I freaked out, McGregor said, ‘Deal with it. It's your job. We need this for ratings.' Then the episode aired, and there I was, in all my glory on national television. The censors went crazy—fining
the network millions—so the series was canceled and everyone blamed
me
.”

My audience laughs, but I don't think the dream is all that funny.

“I know exactly what your dream means,” Brett pipes up. “You're afraid people will see you for who you really are—that soon, all your faults will be exposed to the world. And you can totally count on it. I mean, I made a few mistakes that the tabloids blew out of proportion, then within a matter of months, my job offers were cut in half. It's as if everyone thinks I can't act anymore just because I haven't grown up as fast as I should have.” Brett shakes his head, glancing to where McGregor is planning out a shot with the director of photography. “That's why
I'm
nervous about the premiere. I don't want critics to say that McGregor's ‘risky hire' was just as dumb as they thought it would be.”

The surrounding mood has taken such a sharp turn that the rest of us are speechless. Brett stands and scans our faces. “Jeez, who died?” he says. “And why is this taking so long? We're roasting out here.” He leaves the tent and treks over to McGregor.

“Uh … how did my dream inspire those deep thoughts from Brett?” I ask.

“Deep thoughts from Brett? What an oxymoron,” Kimmi says with a curt laugh. “He's asked for the attention he gets—good or bad. There's no such thing as privacy when you're in this business. I knew that when I started acting, and he should've thought of it too.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “He was four. I doubt he considered paparazzi.”

Kimmi is getting ripped to shreds in the tabloids right now, so
I don't get how she can defend them. Since Payton ended up with someone else in Tahoe, the rumors are that Kimmi threw a major hissy fit, then tried to get back at Payton by hanging on
several
other guys. So in the worst kind of way, Kimmi is getting all the A-list attention she's ever wanted.

“That reminds me, Emma,” she says, “I need something to wear for the junket tomorrow. Want to go shopping after work?”

Emma's jaw literally drops. “Um … sure,” she replies, nice and slow.

My own shock and instant agitation would be hard to miss. Emma and I aren't leaving on our “real date” tonight until eight, and we're scheduled to wrap by four, so she has plenty of time to shop. But Miss Texas told me something about knowing Kimmi, or knowing
of
her maybe? I wasn't really paying attention, but now I regret that. Should I try to get a few minutes alone with Emma to explain things before Kimmi does?

Then again, maybe she needs to hear a rumor about
me
once in a while.

Kimmi and Emma finalize their plans, and we're called back to first positions. We all go to our marks on the track, joining a group of extras playing other students in our gym class. But before we even rehearse the scene, McGregor leaves his monitor and comes over. “This needs something more,” he says, roughing up his wiry red hair. “Mr. Elliott, your shirt's gotta go. That'll add some heat.”