Sia (24 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Then, as quickly as it happened, it stops.

Kyle steps away from me. He looks upset.

What have I done now?

“
I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Okay. He’s just being chivalrous. I move closer again, smiling. “I’m glad you did.”

But just when I’m about to kiss him again, he stops me. “No,” he says. “We should wait.”

I’m lost. This seems like a perfect time and place to me. “Wait for what?”

“
Till your memories come back. I want to kiss you when . . . you’re more aware of who you are.”

I don’t understand for a second, but then I do. “You’re afraid I won’t like you anymore when my amnesia’s gone. Is that it?”

He nods.

I shake my head. I run one manicured finger along the line of his jaw.

His eyes flutter shut, then open again.

“
My feelings for you won’t change, Kyle,” I tell him, though I’m well aware I can’t promise that. Anything could happen. But I don’t want to lose him in the process of finding myself.

He steps away. “You don’t know that.”

What’s happening? Everything was going so well! The tingling I’d felt before has suddenly turned into a sickly panic. “Kyle, I care about you. A lot. Every day, I care more.”

“
I care about you too, Sia. That’s why I have to walk away.”

Tears swell in the corners of my eyes. “But—”

“
I’m sorry, Sia. I really am.”

With that, he turns and cuts through the crowds.

I watch him leave, and my throat swells with emotion. I don’t understand. Of all the pain I’ve suffered since I woke up on that park bench, none of it compares to what I’m feeling now. Without thinking, I take a step in the direction where he’s disappeared, but Alyz is there, holding me in place.

“
You’ll be all right, Sia. He is confused. Maybe tonight was too much for him. But you? You must be strong. I have a man here who wants to meet you. He is very famous writer. His screenplays won two Oscars tonight.”

I look at her, blank. I want to follow Kyle, to talk with him, to make him trust me.

“
He says he was meeting with your father tonight.”

That gets my attention. “Who?”

“
His name is Travis Dooley. He is just over there. Forget Kyle for now. We talk about him later, yes?”

“
Okay. Sure.”

My first impression of Travis Dooley is that he’s exactly what the boys at school would call a nerd. He’s bald, with a neatly cropped beard, and he wears big, round, black-rimmed glasses. Behind those thick lenses, I see a pair of intelligent brown eyes watching me carefully as Alyz introduces us.

“
Nice to meet you, Sia,” he says.

I smile, hoping I don’t look like I’ve just had my heart broken.

“
I wanted to say hello. I had a long meeting with your dad today, and he told me you’d be here.”

I know he has to be the writer Dad told me about. This is important—if not for me, at least for Dad. I give Travis another friendly smile. “Yes, he mentioned you today. I hope you two were able to come to an agreement.”

He gives a brief shake of his head. “Unfortunately, we weren’t. I had another offer I couldn’t refuse.”

My heart sinks. The man was Dad’s last hope. Without a deal, our family is probably going to lose everything. “I’m really sorry to hear that, Mr. Dooley,” I say.

“
Yeah. Me too, actually. But I’m sure he and I will work together sometime in the future.” He pauses, then squints at me. “You know, I was hoping I’d meet you tonight for another reason.”

“
Oh?”

“
Your dad told me about your recent experience. With your memory loss and all. You’ve been through a tremendous adventure.”

I chuckle. “It’s been something, anyway.”

I sense thoughts flying behind his eyes, but I don’t want to interrupt.

We stand looking at each other for a moment, saying nothing. Then he smiles very carefully, as if I'm a horse he doesn't want to spook.

“
Sia, would you ever consider . . . no. No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even ask. You’re going through so much right now.”

“
It’s okay. You can ask whatever you like, Mr. Dooley.”

He still hesitates. “Well, I’m just thinking about everything you’re going through and have gone through with this fugue amnesia. You were homeless, and now you’re turning it all around and channeling your energy into this fundraiser. It’s really quite an amazing story.” He taps his chin. “Amazing enough to turn into a movie, I think.”

I am
not
expecting that. I laugh out loud, certain he’s joking. But his expression says otherwise. “A movie? About my life? Come on!”

“
Absolutely. Actually, I talked with your dad about writing a screenplay myself, but he rejected the idea. He doesn’t want you to feel used or exploited. I can see that from a dad’s point of view, but personally, I don’t think of it that way. I told him it’d be more like taking lemons and making lemonade. Your story is the stuff blockbusters are made of.”

What a surreal idea. “You seriously think so?”

“
Yes.” He shrugs. “Granted, the amnesia theme has been touched on before. But not like this. Your story has so many different facets to it.”

I am thoughtful. “But we don’t know how my story ends.”

He shrugs again and I decide I like this man; he seems genuine. “The ending can be improvised. Main question is how you’d feel about doing it. About seeing your life on screen.”

My eyes travel across the room, over the sparkling celebrities and bubbling champagne, though I don’t really see anything in particular. My mind is reeling with the idea of my crazy life being out there for millions to see. For someone who doesn’t think much of the spotlight, this has been one heck of a night. Still, as unsure as I feel about my own story, I know one thing for sure. If Travis Dooley wants to write my story, it could save my father’s business and his reputation. I look back at Travis. “I’d be okay with that,” I say. “As long as the names are changed.”

He smiles broadly. “Really?”

I nod. “Yeah. You write the screenplay. I’ll talk to my dad.”

“
Excellent!” he says. “I know you won’t regret this decision. And since I have you here, I’d also like to make a contribution to your fundraiser. Would you take a check?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Life returns to normal—or maybe even worse than normal, if that’s possible. I am no longer the golden princess, shimmering among the celebrities; I have reverted back to the unpopular, awkward girl who no one wants to claim as a friend. Not even Kyle.

Sure, he talks with me, but only when we’re talking about the fundraiser. He’s all business all the time. He shows no sign at all that he remembers kissing me last night. None. He looks straight through me.

I can’t do that. When I close my eyes, I can still feel his lips on mine. I can still sense the energy that raced through me, knowing he wanted to kiss me as badly as I wanted to kiss him. Now I try not to close my eyes, because it hurts too much. Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything will change when this amnesia is finally gone. Maybe I’ll hate Kyle and want Duke back. I really can’t imagine that, but it could happen. I could easily become my old selfish self again.

On the positive side, the entire school is getting more involved in the fundraiser lately. More people are bringing canned food and bottled water to Kyle’s table every day. Between the constant television and Internet images, people are keenly aware of the victims’ needs.

Even Stacy comes by to drop off a box of canned ravioli. She kind of hides it under her sweater and slips it out onto the cardboard box; she just doesn’t want Amber to catch her interacting with me, the plague.

Kyle isn’t impressed by her sneaky donation. His head snaps up before she leaves.

“
What’s wrong?” he asks in a snide tone. “Afraid your boss will fire you for making a donation?”

Stacy’s eyes pop open. It’s kind of funny. On the night of The Oscars, when Kyle had turned up looking so svelte and handsome, she had lit up like a Christmas tree. Now that we’re back in school, she seems surprised every time he says anything to her. She starts to answer him, but I defend her, whether she needs defending or not.

“
Leave her alone, Kyle. At least she’s doing something.”

He gives me a stony look, but he doesn’t scare me. What’s he going to do, hurt me more than he already has? Fat chance. I give the glare right back. See how
that
feels, Kyle.

On Tuesday at lunch, Roberta comes running out to the table. From the look on her face, she’s about to share the biggest surprise. In fact, she’s carrying a copy of
The L.A.
Times
. When she opens it to the front page, she points at a picture—of me! The headline reads “Local Teen Hero,” and although I’m really psyched to see it, I feel awful about the headline. It’s a fantastic promotion for the project, but I’m definitely not the hero.

“
They should be talking about Kyle,” I say. “This was his idea.”

“
It says here that you talked with this guy, this reporter, at the party,” Roberta says.

I nod. “He was nice. Even made a big donation.”

“
Well, you must have really moved him, Sia. It’s a long feature!” she says. “And look at this photo. You looked like movie star.”

“
Yeah, she did,” Kyle says quietly from behind me. He’s leaning forward, looking at the picture.

I’m unsure how to feel. I’m torn in all different directions. His comment suggests his affection for me, yet he won’t even be civil to me. And me? I don’t even know who I am anymore. It’s too much.

“
You wanna keep the article, Sia?”

I shake my head, suddenly sad. “Kyle can have it for his scrapbook.” With that, I get up and leave. I don’t care what any of them are saying. I’m so tired of drama. If only everything could just settle down and be normal. Would that be such a bad thing?

Maybe somebody’s listening up there because I catch a break when I get home after school. I hear voices in the living room. I walk in on Mom and Dad, holding hands and talking. Both of them are smiling.

Mom has a coffee on the table beside her—not a vodka bottle—and she looks great, all bright-eyed and clear-headed. I had no idea she was coming home today. The hand that isn’t connected to Dad is holding a copy of
The
L.A. Times
. She’s marveling at the picture of me on the front.

“
Mom!” I say.

They whirl in surprise.

Mom leaps from her chair and hugs me tight. “Sia, we are so proud of you!”

“
Thanks, Mom.” I say, still holding on. Seeing her here and being held by her is exactly what I need. “But I'm just glad you're home.”

She lets go. “Me too, honey.”

Beatriz brings some water, and the three of us sit and talk for about an hour. It’s the strangest thing: I know, based on what I’ve pieced together, that we’re not a family who does this. Yet sitting with them, laughing about little things and catching up, feels like medicine to me. For the first time in a long time, I am able to completely relax.

“
I met Travis Dooley the other night,” I tell Dad.

He nods. “Yeah, I thought you might.”

“
He told me it didn’t work out with that screenplay you wanted. I’m sorry about that.”

His smile wavers only a moment. “Something else will come along.”

“
Uh, about that,” I say. “Travis talked to me about my story. He’s very interested in writing it, but he said you turned him down out of concern for me. I hope it’s okay . . . but I told him to write it. I have no qualms about it.” Suddenly, I recall my mother’s personal struggles. She might have some reservations of her own. “Mom, what do you think?”

She is serene. “I think we should do it,” she says, surprising me. “It could be kind of healing. And maybe our story can help other families who’ve lost their way.”

Dad looks even more shocked than I feel. “Really? I didn’t think you girls would be interested. It seemed, well, so . . . personal.”

Mom shrugs. “People respond to honesty. If Sia’s okay with it, I say we do it.”

“
All right.” He stares straight ahead. I can almost see his mind going, sorting through everything this could mean. Then he turns to us, his eyes brighter than I’ve seen them in a long time. “Well, I guess I’d better call Travis, then.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The doorbell rings and Beatriz’s shoes tap across the front hall. Next thing I hear is someone’s loud cries echoing toward us. My parents and I look at each other, bewildered. Beatriz arrives to tell us what’s going on. Stacy has shown up, and she’s inconsolable.