How else am I to explain how I went from being a Brainiac Nerd to ending up here, in this bizarre otherland where I’m the most famous teen in the world?
I mean, one minute I’m approaching death by hypothermia, and the next some insane Christmas trolley is hauling me off to Tinsel Hills…and…
And…
And…when that crazy driver asked me where I wanted to go, I said, “To a different, better, much cooler life.”
And that’s when Plum’s candle blew out.
Plum!
She brought all this about!
She gave me that dumb birthday cupcake with its stupid candle that, even though I don’t understand it, served as some kind of portal that landed me here.
And didn’t she practically force me to make a wish?
Didn’t she say something really pushy, like “And choose your wish carefully—sometimes they really do come true!”
Which means the wish—not the candle—was the portal.
Only, the candle made the wish possible.
Whatever. One thing’s for sure: Plum set this in motion. She conjured up the conditions that brought me into this world.
Question is—why would she do that?
Is it so I could find myself in a place where the tables are turned and she thinks I’m the biggest dork/loser/sellout?
If it’s revenge she’s after, then I’m afraid it’s going to backfire.
Why would I give a flying flip about Plum when I’ve been ordered to spend the next week in a recording studio with Tinsley Barnes as part of my punishment?
And if I really am in an alternate dimension, and what that trolley driver said was true, then I have four days left to enjoy this life to the fullest before the return ticket expires.
One minute past midnight.
Christmas Day.
My dream deadline.
I head into the closet to confirm that the ticket is still stashed in the pocket of the hoodie I arrived in. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I realize what a fool I was to drink so much caffeine in an attempt to go back.
I’ve been acting so dumb I can hardly believe it.
Seriously. Talk about some major bonehead activity.
I mean, wasn’t my image as a Brainiac Nerd a full-time job back in Greentree?
At least here I have an image worth keeping.
Not to mention how worked up I got after seeing Tinsley with Mac Turtledove, acting as though I couldn’t possibly compete, which, in retrospect, is hilarious.
Just because Mac is still taller than me—has bigger muscles than me—is better looking than me—doesn’t mean he can compete with my International Superstar status.
Tinsley deserves someone better than Mac.
Someone like me.
Besides, what exactly would I return to?
A life as an invisible nobody, where Tinsley Barnes literally walks right over me without slowing down?
A mean, bratty sister and completely stressed-out parents worried about back taxes and year-end financials?
Why would I ever want to return to that when I can stay right here in Tinsel Hills and live out my life as the hottest, most celebrated star in the world with the kind of family and friends I’ve always dreamed of having? I mean, it may take some doing to get used to the new version of Sir Dasher Dashaway, but with Holly acting so nice and my parents so happy and relaxed and letting me do whatever I want, it’s definitely worth the trade-off.
I’ve got four days to decide, but really, the choice is already made.
I zip the pocket shut and make my way downstairs, where Plum’s mom, Lisa, catches me on my way out the door, trying to hand me a glass filled with something that looks like green slime.
“Ezer said you’re not feeling well. I thought this might help.”
I eyeball it suspiciously, making no move to take it.
“It’s a—hangover cure.” She shifts uncomfortably when she says it. Like she’s embarrassed for me that it’s come to this.
“I’m not hungover.” I wave it away. “Never felt better!” I add, directing the words to where Plum watches me from behind the cover of a book that looks as serious, dark, and boring as she is.
For a second I consider pumping her for some info—seeing what she might know about the cupcake, the wish, and how I ended up here. But then I think: Who even cares? I’m here. It’s awesome. And I have no plans to go back to my former life as an invisible loser. Also, I’m positive our conversation would be just as painful as our last one, and I’m definitely not up for that this morning.
Once I’m settled in the limo, Tinsley texts me a photo of her insanely beautiful self, grinning as she holds two red Starbucks cups in her hands.
They won’t stay hot forever. Better hurry! she writes, completely unaware of the irony behind her words.
I won’t stay hot forever.
Tinsley won’t wait forever.
I need to hurry.
Still, I take it as a sign that I’m on the right track, tell Sparks to make it quick, then slam the divider shut and sprawl across my seat, feet propped on the window, as I stare at the picture of Tinsley until the limo pulls up to the curb.
DECEMBER 21
3 Days, 6 Hours, 23 Minutes, and 12 Seconds till Christmas
COOL LIKE THAT