“No, I’m making sure he’s at the studio today. I don’t want any pictures of you two for at least a few days. We want the tongue thing to die down first.”
“Jeez, it was just a kiss.” I’m starting to think everyone in Hollywood is insane. Then again, if Claudia’s this worked up about it, what will W say?
I order myself not to worry about it. W will understand. He already knows that this is all for show. At least, I hope he does.
“It was not just a kiss. You’re supposed to be the good girl. Not the good girl gone bad!”
I wince. Claudia and I must be reading the same websites. I try to turn the conversation back to Oakley’s mom. “Does Oakley know I’m meeting his mom?”
Claudia takes the bait. “I’m about to call him and fill him in. It shouldn’t be a problem. And I already spoke to Katrina—she’s excited to meet you.” A slew of commands proceed to fill my ear. “Wear something nice and conservative. Nothing too racy. Some makeup is okay, but not a lot—Katrina doesn’t like being upstaged. Oh, and do not mention Dusty.”
“Dusty?” I ask stupidly.
“Dustin Ford—Oak’s dad. Katrina loses it every time someone mentions his name. Amy’s emailing you some talking points right now. A car will pick you up in an hour.”
She hangs up, and less than a minute later my phone beeps with an email notification. I click to open the message.
Don’t mention graduating early from high school. K’s touchy about education—dropped out at 16, got her GED at 20.
Do NOT mention Oakley’s father.
Don’t bring up plastic surgery—K’s touchy about it. Swears she’s never gone under the knife. They all do.
Don’t discuss: politics, the economy, her childhood (K grew up in a trailer park—touchy about it), her last two movies (bombs), the environment, her...
My eyes almost bug out. The list goes on and on, and either I’m dumber than I thought, or there aren’t any actual talking points here. It’s just bullet points of all the things I shouldn’t say. And there are so many of them.
I scrub my hands over my eyes and try not to scream in frustration. It seems like Oakley’s mom is touchy about everything. And why can’t I talk about the environment? Does she have traumatic memories associated with climate change?
My phone rings again, and I can’t ignore it because it’s Tyrese. That means Oakley.
I wonder which Oakley is on the line, though—the one who’s funny and sweet, or the jackass who forced his tongue down my throat last night.
“Claudia says you’re seeing my mom today.”
“Hello to you, too,” I mutter. Jackass, then. “It’s a beautiful day, don’t you think?”
He ignores my sarcasm. “I’m sure she’ll have lots to say about what a selfish, awful son I am—”
“Why does she think you’re an awful son?”
“Because I had the nerve to file for emancipation when I was fifteen.”
Oh, man. I’d forgotten that Oak had divorced his parents. No wonder they never call him. “Why’d you do that?” I ask cautiously then prepare myself to get snapped at.
But he doesn’t snap. “Because we had differences over where my career was going. Specifically, Dad wanted me to end it and I didn’t.” His tone is bored. “Anyway, just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m sure you’ll enjoy hearing her bitch about me, but take it with a grain of salt, okay? Ever since the emancipation she only calls me a few times a year, and that’s only when she needs something.”
“Okay.” I pause. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else to say to me?”
“Like what?”
Um, an apology? “I don’t know... I thought you might have something more to say. Something to do with last night, maybe?” I prompt not so innocently.
“Nah.” His voice takes on an edge. “You got something you want to say to me?”
“No. Should I?”
“Well, then I guess we’re done here.”
He disconnects before I can respond, leaving me equal parts confused and pissed off. Does he really believe what he did last night was cool? I know I’m supposed to put on a show for the cameras, but that doesn’t give him the right to stick his tongue in my mouth and mock me about it.
And was he calling to warn me to not believe anything his mom says? Since when does he care what I think about him?
Argh, and why did the hurt, bitter note in his voice make my heart ache? He’s got the kind of life people can only dream of. He has zero need for my sympathy, especially after his “What’s my name?” bullshit from last night. Which he didn’t even apologize for!
Sighing, I walk over to the closet and search for something “nice and conservative” to wear. Eventually I settle on a knee-length yellow sundress with tiny green flowers along the hem and a denim jacket. I stare longingly at my Vans, then pick up a pair of brown ankle boots. Then I drop the boots and put on the Vans. I don’t care if it’s a faux pas to wear sneakers with a dress. I’ve always chosen comfort over fashion.
I’m brushing my hair when one of the twins pops into my bedroom. I think it’s Shane, but I’m too focused on doing my hair to look at him.
“Are you seeing Oak?” he asks in excitement. “Is he coming over here to get you?”
Ugh. He calls him Oak now?
“No, I’m going to lunch with his mom. A car is picking me up.”
Disappointment fills his face. Yeah, it’s Shane. Spencer is better at hiding his emotions. “Oh. Okay. Did he say when he’s coming over again?”
Never, if I can help it. It’s one thing to fake-date Oakley in public. It’s another to have him in my house. This is my happy place.
“No,” I answer.
“But he’s still gonna take us to his friend’s house, right? The one with the halfpipe in the backyard?”
I frown, because I literally have no idea what he’s talking about. So I say, “What are you talking about?”
“He said on the phone the other day—”
“When did you speak to him on the phone?” I demand.
“The other day,” Shane repeats. “Keep up, Vaughn. It’s not that hard.”
Smart-ass. “Oakley called you? Why?”
He nods animatedly. “He wanted to know how the boards were working out, if we got wheels yet. I said yeah, we did, and then I said it was a bummer he can’t go to skate parks anymore, ’cause then he coulda showed me and Spence some tricks. So then he said that he’s friends with a pro skater who has, like, an actual halfpipe and vert ramp at his house and that maybe he’ll see if we can go there sometime to skate.” Shane finishes in a rush.
I’m confused again. Oakley hadn’t mentioned that he’d spoken to my little brother.
“Can you remind him next time you see him?” Shane begs.
“Yeah, sure,” I agree, because it’s nice to see Shane so animated. The twins shut down after Mom and Dad’s deaths, Shane more so than Spencer, so a huge part of me is grateful.
But I’m also wondering what kind of game Oakley is playing now.