Not in the Script (36 page)

Her StarTV cameraman is also someone I don't trust. He's known for getting his video footage as unethically as he can get away with, and the only reason he isn't considered to be as scummy as regular paparazzi is because he works for a legitimate network.

Rachel joins me a few minutes later, and I introduce her as my best friend, as well as the one to watch on the upcoming season of
Stars in Their Eyes
. After a while, she catches another glimpse of Jake across the red carpet. “You said The Bod looks the same in real life as he does in photos, but he doesn't,” she whispers. “I mean, is that shirt and jacket really necessary?”

We both laugh.
Forgive me, Rachel. Please
.

Walking the red carpet is always awesome. I'm used to the work itself, on set, but the glamour side of stardom never feels even close to normal.

Six years of this, and I still can't believe it's happening to
me
.

Hundreds of people are crowded along the red velvet ropes, many screaming, waving, holding out objects, or even arms, for autographs. Others just smile, happy to be here like I am.

The first episode is thrilling to watch—as usual, it seems like a miracle that all of those bits and pieces we filmed came together to create not only a cohesive story, but compelling entertainment—and the audience is totally into it. Jake looks so unbelievably gorgeous on the big screen that, once again, I find myself wondering if he escaped from Mount Olympus to play this part. And his acting
is equal to anyone else's on the show. His comedic timing is perfect, and Jake's more serious moments make me wish he was sitting next to me so I could lean over and whisper, “You're
brilliant
. You amaze me.”

I'm hoping I can sneak away to say hello to Mark, Devin, and Sophie, and especially Jake's mom. I want to ask her how it went when she delivered the quilt we finished to her rehabilitation center.

As we walk into the ballroom for the after party, Rachel asks me, “Why is Jake's mom in a wheelchair? Do you know what happened?”

I'm searching for a way to answer when Sophie notices us, comes running, and throws her arms around me. I almost tip over in my heels. “I hope it's okay if we're on a hugging basis now,” she says. “I have a big surprise for you: Devin and Mark and I want to be your first foundation volunteers! We've even talked about starting a campaign for it on campus—I bet we can get a ton of students to sign up. What do you think?”

I pull back from her, stunned. “Really? Yes, definitely. Thank you!”

“No problem!” she says. “We can't wait. We're starting this week, by the way, with Jake's mom. We do things here and there for her, anyway, whenever Jake asks us to run over. But we're getting more organized about it now. Like, Mark is going to take her trash out Wednesday mornings, then Devin will bring it in that night. And they're both in charge of keeping her yard in good shape. And I'm going to quilt with her every Tuesday afternoon.”

I can't even speak because I'm so choked up with gratitude. I just keep smiling, nodding, and hugging her. And then I come to
my senses again and recall that Rachel is standing next to me, and now giving me a very strange look.

“Oh, you're one of Jake's friends?” she turns to ask Sophie. “And he told you about Emma's foundation?”

Sophie starts to speak, but then her eyes widen and she looks to me instead. I can almost hear the question she's holding back:
Why doesn't your
best friend
know that you hung out with us in Phoenix?
And then it seems to hit her—Rachel is Jake's date for tomorrow.

“Uh, yeah,” Sophie tells her. “Exactly. I guess the whole cast is getting in on it. Everyone wants to help out as much as they can.”

“Of course they do. Everyone always wants to help Emma.” For some reason, the way Rachel says this doesn't sound like a compliment. “But I didn't know that Jake was—”

“This is my best friend, Rachel!” I barge in, with all the grace of a socially challenged hippo. “She made an entire binder for me filled with ideas for fund-raising events. And she'll also be on the new season of
Stars in Their Eyes!
”

This changes both the topic and energy quickly, and Sophie and Rachel talk for at least fifteen minutes while I pretty much just stand there, smiling and holding my breath.

The live band is on the other side of the ballroom, drawing most of the crowd. Kimmi is here with a few of her friends, but I haven't noticed any of her family members. She seems perfectly happy tonight though, and was full-out grinning when the press junket material made it to the public a few days back, using words such as “charming” and “easygoing” to describe Kimmi during interviews.

Jake isn't too far from me, and it's hard to resist running over.
I want to dance with him, and sappy or not, I wish we could just hold hands and walk around together.

Sophie nudges my arm. “You've
got
to introduce me to Brett!” she says. “He's coming over here! And … whoa! That's Payton Wilson! And …” As Brett and his wolf pack approach—some of them more notorious than anyone we've hung out with in L.A.—Sophie and Rachel take turns naming each one.

Hardly knowing each other, but neither seeming to mind, Rachel and Sophie grip hands and jump behind me, all giggles, like little girls standing in line for cotton candy. I'm tempted to ask Rachel if she's forgotten entirely about Jake, but would rather not remind her.

“Fair warning—they're
wrecked
,” Brett says, reaching us a few steps ahead of his buddies. The lights are just bright enough to see that his friends have obviously had their own party before they joined this one. I'd noticed about a dozen empty seats around Brett during the premiere and figured they must've been saved for the friends he invited, who never came. His parents were with him then—he introduced us on the red carpet—but they hurried off after the screening to catch a flight to Rome. And then these guys finally decided to show up.

It takes forever to introduce everyone, mostly because the boys are drunk and the girls are unbearably starstruck. I want to pour buckets of ice over everyone's heads. Never mind that the guys are slurring half of their words, can't Rachel and Sophie smell the alcohol that's practically seeping through their pores?

Rachel finally asks why Brett's friends missed the premiere. “Happy hour at Crazy Pete's!” Payton says, and both Rachel and Sophie continue to be mesmerized by his every word. Hollywood's
Hottest Bachelor is barely standing, but hey, he's still talking to them. “There are some seriously wild girls in Tucson! And after
we
showed up, they all called their friends, and things got awesome!”

“They tried to get everyone in here,” Brett tells me. “But go figure, not one of the thirty girls was on the guest list.” He seems truly embarrassed by the state of his friends. Or maybe Brett is just bummed that he missed the
real
party. “Unfortunately, these guys were.”

I laugh. “I wonder who invited them.”

They're lucky that only studio photographers are allowed into the party, for better control over which photos make it to the press. This behavior isn't all that unusual for most of them, I suppose, but it surprises me to see Payton like this. He's a pretty solid guy on most occasions.

Brett's friends dance like lunatics and hang all over us, and more than a few grab my butt, so ten minutes into it, I want to shower. Rachel is having a blast, though, and still forgetting about Jake. After Sophie and Brett dance for a while, Rachel ends up with Brett. I'm just a few feet away, trying to provide a buffer between Sophie and a couple of creeps who could be big trouble if she isn't careful.

Rachel turns from Brett to tell me, “No wonder you're in love! He's
so
cute.”

“Rachel!” I say, loud and rude, but she had been even louder.

Brett is still just on the other side of her, so I crane my neck to see if he heard what she said, but he's facing away from me, so I can't tell. “What's wrong with you?” Rachel snaps.

“I'm
not
in love with Brett,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “You know that.”

“Jeez, get a grip,” she says. “I was joking.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Brett's face is suddenly between us. “What's the deal with Jake? He just swept in, grabbed Sophie, and took off.”

Had
Jake
heard what Rachel said? I hadn't even noticed him.

Rachel whirls around and screeches, “Emma, he's dancing with Sophie!” She spins back. “And I was being
nice
to her. What a wench!”

“Ouch!” Brett says. “You must be the friend who Emma's setting up with Jake.”

“Do you see any other friends with me?” I ask.

Brett shrugs. “Guess not. Let's dance.”

“I can't,” I reply, and catch Rachel by the hand as she tries to storm off. “Jake doesn't like Sophie, okay? They're just good friends.”

“But he asked
her
to dance when I was standing right here!” she whines.

Then Brett lets loose a string of curse words, and says, “Payton is so wasted, he's hitting on
Kimmi
again.” He then runs after Payton, who is chasing after Kimmi, who is leaving the ballroom with her arm outstretched and a
talk-to-the-hand
signal firmly in place.

I want to scream until I pass out. Why do I feel like I'm babysitting toddlers?

Rachel and I stay where we are, and as she pouts and I inwardly groan, everyone else laughs and twirls around us. We're wallflowers planted in the middle of a room.

When Jake finishes dancing with Sophie, Devin dances with her, and Jake goes back to standing by his mom. But he keeps glancing over at us, looking like he would rather be at a dentist
appointment. He finally walks our way, and Rachel begins to hyperventilate again.

Jake makes brief eye contact with me before smiling at Rachel and asking her to dance. I turn away, not wanting to watch them walk off together, even knowing how much Jake would rather dance with me. This whole thing is beyond agonizing, and it's my turn to pout.

Here I am—Emma Taylor, big-time movie star—and I'm big-time alone at my own premiere. Where are the paparazzi when they could
really
catch me having a meltdown?

I fan myself as if I've been dancing and laughing with everyone else and make a beeline to the main foyer. Brett is walking into the ballroom as I'm walking out. He spins back around. “Killer party, huh?” he says. Sarcasm isn't usually his thing.

“It's okay,” I reply. There are only a few stragglers in the hall, so I don't have to put up too much of a front as I go straight for the dessert table.

“Oh, come on, Taylor. You're just as miserable as I am,” Brett says, following after me. “But at least
your
friends didn't show up smelling like a frat house.”

I offer a courtesy laugh and stack three thousand calories onto a small plastic plate. The ice has melted in the punch, watering it down, so I head for a drinking fountain instead. Brett waits until I pretty much drink the thing dry before he speaks again. “You've gotta see this cool room I found—it's an atrium, filled with huge fruit trees. It's crazy.”

The band is still playing the slow song Jake and Rachel are dancing to, so I shrug and head down the hall. Me, my cookies, and my fake ex-boyfriend.

The atrium is brilliant white, the lights so intense that it takes my eyes a minute to adjust. The peaked ceiling and three exterior walls are made almost entirely of glass. The windows look out to mostly darkness now—except for a silhouette of what appears to be hedges—but the daylight view is probably of the courtyard where we walked the red carpet.

“Check these out,” Brett says, motioning to the massive lemon, orange, and lime trees that are scattered around the atrium with their vibrant-colored fruit nestled in large canopies of leaves. The scent of citrus is almost intoxicating. And it's quiet in here, perfectly calming.

Brett was right about this being a good place to escape.

He ignores a
DO NOT TOUCH
sign and wraps his entire hand around an orange. I laugh, the sound echoing a little, and say, “I bet they put that sign there just for you.”

He pulls his hand back as if it requires all of his effort. “I've never been good at following rules. Until lately, I guess.” Brett turns to me, his eyes looking their brightest blue with this white room as a background. “I've changed a lot since we met, don't you think?”

Overall, he really has chilled out. “You've been calling girls by their right names all night. So that's
something
to be proud of.”

I pop a bite-size cookie into my mouth and wait for his reply, but Brett just drops his head and sweeps away a fallen leaf with his shoe. Maybe he's being serious.

“Emma, my friends in there, acting like that, being so stupid … that used to be
me
,” he says, his gaze still on the floor. This is such surprising sincerity coming from him that I step closer, kind of puzzled. “I was the guy in the center of it all, partying harder than
any of them,” he goes on. “You don't know how bad things got … I wouldn't want you to know. But I'm done. I'm sick of it. And my friends are just getting worse—getting into stuff even I wouldn't have tried.
Dangerous
stuff.”

He raises his head, and I get a shock down my spine when I see tears in his eyes. He's truly worried about them, which he should be. I've just never seen him this concerned about … anything, really. “Brett, you've made a lot of good choices lately, so maybe you—”

He cuts me off. “Payton is like my brother, you know? And Kimmi brings out the worst in him. He needs to grow up, like I'm trying to do. He needs someone … someone like you.”