Before Dougall can respond, another one edges in. “What will you do, now that your former best friend has turned his back on everyone, you included?”
I freeze, unsure what to do. I had every intention of knocking Dougall down to get my hands on that ticket, but now, seeing the way the photogs harass him, I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I hadn’t done what I did, said what I said—if I hadn’t called him out as an insincere fake on TV, he wouldn’t find himself at the center of a paparazzi feeding frenzy.
All I wanted was to return home to Greentree, and in my desperation I went completely overboard with the insults.
Dougall holds his skateboard before him, wielding it like a shield, as his eyes dart frantically in search of escape.
He looks trapped.
Scared.
A little confused.
He looks like a kid who wanted a crack at the spotlight with no idea of the cost.
A kid just like me.
I check the time on my cell. With only thirteen minutes to spare, it’s not looking good. And yet there’s no way I can go, knowing I’ve left him to deal with this mess on his own.
I speed toward them, fighting like heck to stay upright, and it doesn’t take long before Dougall sees me and shouts, “Hey—Nick’s the one you really want, and he’s right behind you!”
In less than a second, they surround me in a hail of flashbulbs and taunts, and now that the focus is off him, Dougall hangs around to see how it plays out.
“Nick! Nick—over here!”
“Why did you do that, Nick? Why’d you make a fool of yourself on TV?”
“Do you really hate your family that much?”
“Is Dougall really as phony as you claim?”
I push through them until I’ve reached Dougall. “No,” I tell them. “Turns out I had it all wrong.”
Dougall frowns, rolls his eyes. He’s distrusting and wary, and I can’t say I blame him.
“Nice try.” He makes a face, hocks a loogie that lands just shy of my feet. “But it won’t get you that ticket.” His face is red, his expression hectic, but there’s no doubt he means every word.
“Maybe so,” I tell him. “But with or without you, I’m boarding that trolley.”
“Good luck with that.” He chases the words with a laugh. “You’ll be stuck here forever—only now, instead of being an International Superstar, you’ll be known as the infamous loser who had everything and threw it away.”
His words nail me like a brutal game of dodgeball. It’s true that I did have everything, even if it wasn’t perfect, and yet I couldn’t wait to turn my back on it all so I could come here.
“I was wrong about a lot of things.” I angle the board under my foot. “Still, we had some good times, mostly thanks to you.”
He screws his mouth to the side, his expression transitioning from hateful to skeptical, which is probably more than I deserve. So without another word I push past him, hoping I’ll find my way to the trolley before it’s too late.
The paparazzi chase alongside me as a bunch of cars screech to a stop, the drivers all reaching for their cell phones in hopes of capturing a celebrity meltdown in the making. I decide to bail on the board and settle for running instead, hoping for a Christmas miracle that’ll send me in the right direction. And once I really get going, my arms and legs pumping, I start to believe I just might pull this thing off. Until my left heel comes down wrong and I’m fighting to keep my balance, my hands windmilling wildly before me, as the photogs close in, capturing every embarrassing moment.
Somewhere nearby, a squeaky horn bleats, followed by a voice shouting, “Move it, losers! Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?” I turn and see Plum, cutting off an old bald guy driving a Ferrari as she jumps the curb and sends the crush of photogs running and screaming.
“Why are you just standing there?” She pulls up beside me on Holly’s pink Vespa. “I thought you were in a hurry.”
It takes a moment to process, but once I do, the next thing I know I’m hopping on the back of the scooter.
“Ezer let me go just after you left, and I found this abandoned outside.” Plum gives an affectionate tap to the side mirror. “Apparently Holly didn’t like it as much as she pretended on TV. And if she doesn’t want it, I figure I might as well keep it.”
“You do know it’s pink?” I gesture toward her all-black ensemble.
“Yeah. So? Just because I dress like this, you think that makes me antipink?”
I start to say yes but, knowing better than to assume, I swallow it instead.
Seemingly satisfied, she grins and says, “So tell me, Nick Dashaway, where are we going? I assume you found the ticket?”
It doesn’t take long for the photogs to regroup and resume taking pics. And when the continuous flash of their bulbs captures Plum’s image too, that’s when I decide I can’t let her do this. It’s bad enough they’ll ruin Dougall. I can’t let them destroy her as well.
I mean, first she gets caught going through Tinsley’s purse because of me, and now she’s stolen Holly’s Vespa in order to help me—all of it documented in a way that’ll haunt her for eternity.
It’s too much.