Perfect
By: P.L.. Jones
Lila Hills is a sixteen year old movie star who knows what it's like to be perfect.
After all, perfection is the only thing anyone has ever expected from her.
To Lila's surprise, she, all at once, comes face to face with one mistake after another!
Lila begins to wonder if, up until now, her "star quality" has only been an illusion...
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-LILA'S BLOG- return to homepage
Did you guys see my interview on "The Late, Late Show" the other night?
I wasn't terribly nervous, at least not as nervous as the first time I'd been on his show... but the real reason I'm posting this is to defend what I said about my best friend Shyla and her connection to my new movie, "Remember Our First Kiss" (set to hit theaters in less than 3 weeks- GO SEE IT!!!).
Should I have said it on national television? Probably not.
Did it need to be said? Yes.
Do I wish I could take it back? I honestly don't know...
All I know is that since it aired, everyone at school hates me.
My brother pretends not to know me (which is stupid because everyone knows we’re related) and even my friend Shyla is ignoring me.
That's what hurts the worst.
You'd think your best friend would have your back... My question is: Why is she even mad at me?!
She's the one always telling me to be honest and that's what I did. I was honest for her sake, I was trying to help her.
So, if it's wrong to be honest and help your friend out then I guess I'm VERY wrong.
Then again, a part of me does sort of understand why she's mad.
Obviously, I wasn't trying to hurt her. I'd never want to do that. You guys know me, I'm not a monster or anything.
If anything, I was trying to do what I've always done....find yet another way to protect her.
Mom says some people are too young, right now, to understand some of my decisions. She says when they're older and have families to take care of and bills to play, they'll totally get it. Of course she’s right. But it still hurts that some of my friends don't get me NOW.
That's one reason why I'm so glad to have my fans. If one thing is for sure, it's that a true fan will stick by your side no matter what : )
Thank you guys for always believing in me, even when I'm not perfect...
Email my fan club and you never know, I just may email you back!! : )
XXO Lila Hills
Chapter One- Mantra of A Falling Star
The lunch bell rang and I felt my stomach turn.
Lunch was the worst part of the day.
The food wasn’t terrible... not that my mom actually allowed me to eat any of it.
You won't catch me telling anyone this out loud, but every Monday through Friday I'd secretly delight in the greasy smells wafting from kitchen of our School's Cafeteria, once in a while I'd even sneak a single bite of those boat shaped pizza things they make. The fake cheese is heaven once you get past the mental block of, "this is fake cheese I'm eating, surely I will die."
Slowly picking up the $375 Louis Vuitton purse I’d recently bought (as a well-deserved consolation prize following the "Late, Late" show's fiasco), I played it cool.
You see, the secret to successful acting is to literally become the character in your head.
And I'm not talking about "faking it"... I mean you have to think like your character thinks...for example, my acting coach says every time you read a script that you're considering, you do more than read it like a novel.
When you get to your character's lines you have to pause and imagine the invisible lines, the unspoken phrases that aren't written but lay hidden between each printed sentence. This is called subtext. The subtext reveals what your character is really thinking.
Once you've read through enough of your character's lines to pick up on the rhythm of her subtext, you've figured out how she thinks and you're now able to
summarize her unspoken lines in a sort of two-sentenced mantra that constantly runs through the back of her mind as she moves along throughout the rest of the story.
I know... that's a lot of work isn't it?
Acting is a butt load of work, but I kinda like it.
So anyway, when I became Raleigh Wright in Remember Our First Kiss?, the indie-flick I’d recently wrapped, the first thing I did was read the script and realize that Raleigh’s unspoken lines were basically a bunch of phrases I'd heard my real-life best friend, Shyla Smith, say out loud at some point.
Raleigh is written as a shy girl with low self-esteem. She is the way she is (until she meets the boy who becomes the love of her life) because she's been abused by her insane, alcoholic step-father.
OK, that's the character I was playing...now back to reality....Shyla, my incredibly sweet and quiet best friend is basically silent when you first meet her. I swear, she doesn't say a word...this makes most people think she’s snobby. But the first time I met Shyla, I knew better.
Trust me, when you've been in this business for as long as I have, you can spot snobby from a mile away.
So, I totally got that Shyla was just shy, I gave her a chance, and after getting to know her I realized that she's quiet because she doesn’t trust herself enough to speak.
Here's the really bad part....Why doesn't she trust herself enough to speak? Because, just like Raleigh (the character I play in my new movie, Remember our First Kiss), Shyla lives with an idiot step-father who makes her feels worthless.
The guy is a complete jerk, I've even called the Cops on him twice, after which Shyla stopped complaining about him for the next couple of months...but I have a feeling she didn't stop complaining because he'd improved his behavior...
The thing is, my best friend Shyla-I guess I should say my ex-best friend- is scared to death of him and no matter what he does, she doesn't have the courage to stand up to him, that's why I do. I try to protect her. And protecting her was all I was trying to do yesterday when the whole stupid situation blew up in my face!
So anyway… to find my mantra for my character, Raleigh Wright, I guessed what my ex-best friend Shyla has running through the back of her subconscious 24/7 and this is what I came up with: If I open my mouth to speak, people will know how dumb I am. So, I’d better shut-up and make myself invisible.
Pretty depressing, right? I know! I can't imagine living every moment of every day with that thought in my head...well, actually, now I can imagine doing that, and let me tell you, it works.
I became the most believable Raleigh Wright known to man, everyone on set whispered about my acting chops, and the director fell in love with me, he even said he had another script he’d like me and my Mom to take a look at. (But my Mom's not biting yet. The director is undoubtedly awesome, he's just not a big enough fish for my Mom's taste...)
So, as I picked up my purse and tossed my hair over my shoulder, I became the untouchable character who I like to play when I’m at school.
Her name is Lila Hills.
Lila’s mantra is a little something like this: Star’s will always shine, and Star Gazer’s live to stare. I’m the star, and everyone’s gazing but ask me if I care. Here’s a hint: I don’t care. At all.
Yeah.... I know.
It’s not the catchiest of phrases, and it's definitely longer than two sentences but it works.
It puts me in a mental/emotional state that’s high above that of the juvenile delinquents by which I am, unfortunately, surrounded.
“Class, please come back here on time from lunch! If you’re late, I won’t give you your test!” Ms. Henderson warned as my classmates filed out of her room.
“Is that a threat or, like, a present?” Some girl behind me muttered.
I smiled and turned to her,
“Alex, I'll take present for $800.”
The girl looked at me with surprise and turned red as she slowly backed away.
Why is she backing away?
Assessing the ill-fitting, out-of-season outfit shoddily thrown over her chubby frame, I realized that on one of my “off-days” I’d probably called this girl whose name I couldn’t remember something like a ‘pine cone shaped tragedy of a fashion statement’.
Frightened by my success, jealous of my talent, and on top of it all, undoubtedly traumatized by one of my famous tongue lashings, this gerbil-like girl (she was round and on the hairy side, like a little gerbil) gulped as we locked eyes.
Now that I’d been swept up into some sort of staring contest, I couldn't just pretend to ignore her.
So, I silently repeated my mean girl mantra and gave her a steely smile,
“Nice outfit.”
A split second before I turned on my heel to walk away, I saw something similar to the rage Raleigh’s character felt the moment she’d finally let her abusive father have it, flash in gerbil-girl’s eyes.
And then, I felt her chubby arm on my back- pushing me!
Can you believe that?!
Stumbling forward, I grabbed hold of a nearby desk and barely prevented myself from falling.
Whirling around, I exclaimed,
“What’s your problem?!”
“Girls…” Ms. Henderson tentatively warned.
Silence fell over our classroom as the line of kids that had been headed to the cafeteria stopped in their tracks, watching.
We had an audience.
Actually, I had an audience...ha, what else is new?
Gerbil stepped forward, with anger still flashing in her overly protruding eyes.
I stared at her strange-looking eyes, they looked back, threatening to pop right out of their sockets at any given second. Upon closer inspection, she reminded me more of a fish than a gerbil, but it would have to be a really ugly fish...perhaps a blow fish is an adequate comparison.
As this went through my mind, I coolly took a step back and tightened my grip on my stylish Louis Vuitton purse, ready to aim the gorgeous weapon directly into the hideous face of my opponent, if necessary.
“Do you have some sort of a problem?” I asked with the flourish of a stage actress.
“Yeah, I do!” She spat out her words, as if pent up rage was just waiting to be unleashed on her victim, me.
“OK, Miriam, Lila. That’s enough girls. Miriam, stay here for a moment, Lila, you go on to lunch.” I heard Ms. Henderson’s heels tap-tap all the way across the floor as she hurriedly moved to where we stood.
“Why do I have to stay? This is her fault!” Miriam the Gerbil/Fish protested.
My fault?! I shook my head in disgust and gave Miriam one final look of disdain.
“Miriam, I know you’re upset but-" Ms. Henderson began.
“You know I’m upset but you don’t care because my parents didn't just make a huge donation to the School’s Theater Department! Everybody knows that's the only reason why she gets to go to lunch even though she made fun of my clothes, just like she did last week, and the week before!”
Prepared to turn away and follow the hesitantly-leaving crowd to the lunchroom, I couldn’t help but pause to defend myself,
“That’s not true! I didn’t make fun of her clothes! I never did! Why would I do that?”
Miriam banged her fist on a nearby desk causing me to jump in surprise,
“Then WHY’D you say “nice outfit”?” She yelled.
“Miriam!” Ms. Henderson warned, nervously looking from her to me and then back at her.
Increasing my already tight grip on my purse, I lied,
“It was a compliment.”
“A compliment?!” Miriam shook her head and uttered a sort of a …chuckle is what I guess you’d call it. Whatever the sound was, it was filled with enough sarcasm to sink my confidence, “Like the compliment you gave your "best friend" on T.V. yesterday? You know what…” Her voice trailed off and she seemed to calm down, “You’re not even worth it.”
Miriam finally broke eye contact with me and turned to Ms. Henderson.
I have no idea what the two of them said after that.
All I remember was feeling that unsettling nausea well up in the pit of my stomach to the point of making me sick.
The last thing I wanted to do was throw up in the middle of a performance, because that’s really all this was- a performance.
You might as well even call the entire ride that is high school, one outlandish performance…. I hurried out of the classroom and into the hallway.
Pushing past the tons of eyeballs that bore into me, staring at my hair, my clothes, my shoes, the expression on my face, etc...all I wanted was to get to a bathroom and lock myself in a stall.
Relishing a moment to myself, just a few minutes away from judgmental eyes, I finally spotted a bathroom and hurried inside.
Of course, as soon as I stepped in and heard the door swing shut behind me – I came face to face with the one person I desperately needed to see but was deathly afraid of being confronted by.
“Shyla?” I whispered.
She was standing, facing the bathroom mirror staring at me with shock.
She looked as bad as I felt.
I wanted to say, "I'm sorry", get the whole stupid apology over with and then skip to the part where she asks me what's wrong before telling me, in her kind way, that yes Miriam is a Gerbil/Fish faced loser and she was completely wrong for pushing me.
Unfortunately, life is not a DVD and you cannot skip to the good part.
Life is more like the long, drawn out process of filming on the set of an over-budget film where cranky actors lurk about, slamming trailer doors and shouting in thick Australian accents at the idiot director who is also an idiot...wow, that was quite informative and yet...poetic. I ought to try writing memoirs more often.
Shyla moved away from the mirror, and in one shaky movement, grabbed a paper towel before turning towards me.
Realizing that she wasn't moving towards me to speak to me, but only to exit the room, I stepped to the side, moving out of her way and watched her walk through the bathroom door.
It swung shut behind her.
"Some friend." I angrily shouted at no one in particular.
The bathroom's ugly emptiness stared back at me and I wondered if it was time to take my mom's suggestion about hiring a tutor so I could work more and be in school less.
Dad was the one who wanted me to "go to public school and get a taste of normal life".
Mom hated the idea.
In her words, "Would you prefer our child be "more normal" or "perfect"?"
In any case, as I stood in the grimy bathroom thinking of how mad I'd made Shyla I didn't feel perfect, or even normal.
The pain in my stomach intensified and I ran for the stall...
Leaning against the cool brick wall, I plastered a nonchalant expression on my face and a good amount of Extra Shiny lip gloss on my lips, after which, I reached into my purse for my phone.
The lunch bell rang and I cringed as the sound of many footsteps, talking and laughter, moved from the front lawn and the cafeteria to the area where I thought I'd been safely hidden.
Gulping, I steadied myself for the wave of eyeballs.
"Did you watch the interview yesterday? I can't believe she said that!"
"I know. Oh...that's her..."
And, there was the wave.
Several girls from the History Class I should have been headed back to, passed and glanced at me with steely gazes as they pretended to ignore me.
I almost smiled, because high school kids have a lot to learn about "the rules associated with pretending to ignore someone":
Rule #1: Never stare at your enemy's outfit with envious admiration.
Looking down into my phone, I typed:
*Mom, I'm sick, need you to pick me up from school asap*
"Shyla!" I heard a familiar voice exclaim.
Before I could help myself, I was glancing up and my stomach lurched as my eyes settled on the faces in the crowd.
Pulling myself together, I focused on where the voice was coming from and spotted my little brother Ty.
He was running towards Shyla.
Egged on by curiosity, I watched Shyla glance at Ty with that usual look of thinly veiled fear.
Most people wouldn't peg it as fear, because it involves a sort of frown that is typically indicative of disdain.
But, Ty wasn't about to let her frown throw him off. My little brother is funny like that.
Most of the time he doesn't care about anything except eating pop tarts and being a gamer, but when he does want something (like a girl, usually, it's a new one every two weeks) he's an unstoppable little brat.
He put a hand on her arm, which she automatically jerked away from.
Embarrassed by her own reaction, Shyla took a slight step back and tried to smile but her "smile" was more nervous grimace than grin.
He spoke, and I made good use of my ability to read lips,
"Listen, I'm sorry about what my sister set, she though out he acid melting..." is what it looked like he was saying.
That's when I realized I wasn't so great at reading lips.
But what I did see was the surprise on Shyla's face, an unexpected genuine smile, and then my brother's blush.
Hm.
My phone vibrated and I looked down to check the text message from my mother.
*Sending Taylor, she'll be there in 15. She's bringing you to the doctor*
My mom.
Ever the warrior.
I knew that she knew I wasn't sick. She was just being difficult.
I typed my reply: *I'm not sick, I just need to go home. No doctors* and just as I was prepared to hit "send" I heard my best friend, excuse me, ex-best friend laugh.
Looking up, I spotted Shyla and my brother leaving the sea of High-Schoolers and heading, side by side, back to the school building.
From the easy way that Shyla was walking and based on the fact that she'd actually laughed out loud, like a normal teenage girl... I could tell she was already feeling more comfortable.
On the other hand, as I watched my little brother sheepishly try to figure out what to do with his hands, gesturing wildly as he spoke, becoming self conscious and placing them in his pockets before realizing he looked like a geek and letting them hang limply by his sides, I could see that he was still very nervous.
So... I thought to myself as I dismissed the text I'd planned on sending to my mother and stuffed the phone into my pocket, my best friend has ditched me for my sleazy little brother. Well isn't that fabulous....
Chapter Two - Life With Laila Hills-The Hit Reality Show
The School Nurse's Office smelled like Lysol.
Since "illness" had forced me to leave school early more than five times in one semester, I'd been ushered to her office.
They'd said it was "office protocol".
More like "a stupid-call" I'd wanted to say aloud.
But I kept my thoughts to myself.
What's the point in creating an unnecessary scene that will probably end up in an OMG post?
So, I'd walked myself to the Nurses office and instantly been thrown off by a near-hazardous cloud of Lysol.
After almost dying, I regained strength and asked the kid who looked like some sort of student worker where the school nurse was.
As he opened his mouth to speak, his embarrassingly squeaky voice seemed to startle both of us,
"Um...she's uh, I'll get her."
He colored, stood, stared at me as he tripped over a chair and then stumbled towards a nearby door.
I smiled, and still staring at me, he knocked on the door.
"You're um- are you Lila Hills?" He asked in a deeper voice.
Poor kid.
Sometimes I am so glad I'm not a guy.
All that voice-changing stuff must be utterly embarrassing, especially for the late bloomers.
"Yeah, who are you?" I treated him to a mysterious pout and he turned redder.
Nerd attraction activated.
I mentally congratulated myself, Mission accomplished Lila. You've still got it.
I don't know why I do that.
I know my looks aren't going anywhere for at least a good ten years and then after that, I can always buy them back through the hands of a capable plastic surgeon.
So, why I feel the need to constantly prove to myself that 'I've still got it" is beyond me.
Maybe because it's just so much fun to watch.
For example, nerdy-voice-changing-guy was still knocking on the door, completely deaf to the school nurse yelling,
"What is it Kyle?!" for, like, the third time.
"I think she's asking you a question." I said in my best husky voice.
He gulped and halted his knocking,
"Oh!"
Smiling to myself, I cleared my throat and silently prepped for Act II of "Adventures In Pretending To Be Sick."
When the nurse finally came out of her office, she barely looked at me as she briskly approached the receptionist desk where voice-changing-guy had been seated,
"Yes, may I help you?"
"I need to leave early because I'm sick, so I was told to come here." I explained in a slightly weak (but not too over the top) voice.
For good measure, I placed a hand over my belly and attempted to look like I was doing my best to not hurl all over my shoes.
Still ignoring me, she reached for a clipboard and said,
"You'll have to fill out a "Permit To Leave Early" form but before I give this to you I need you to tell me why you're leaving early."
"Because...I'm sick." I repeated.
Finally, she gave me a brief glance.
Instead of passing me the clipboard, she clutched it ever closer to her chest as if it was some sort of a precious child,
"Sick with what?"
"With an illness I'd rather not discuss." I gave her a look and nodded towards the student worker.
She didn't get it.
Crossing her arms, the woman stoically replied,
"I can't let you leave without a permissible illness."
Barely unable to stop from rolling my eyes, I took a deep breath and went for it,
"I'm on my period and it's horrible."
Voice changing guy, who had temporarily returned to his usual paleness was at once redder than Kathy Griffin's hair and I tried so hard not to laugh as the school nurse immediately nodded and passed me the clipboard,
"OK Miss Hills. Just fill this out."
A million years later, I was finally out of the nurses office and headed towards the school parking lot where my mom's assistant, Taylor was supposed to meet me and pick me up.
My phone buzzed to life and I whipped it out to find that Taylor had just sent me a text.
*Here!*
Just as I hit reply, the familiar sound of my mother's car rang in my ears.
I folded my arms and watched Taylor nearly crash into me (and the curb).
She really was a terrible driver.
And it probably didn't help that there was a camera man in the backseat with two cameras aimed at her.
Every time I rode with her, or for that matter, went anywhere with either Taylor or my mother during the filming of my mom's new reality show, "Life With Laila Hills" both of them were extra attentive to the sight of themselves in mirrors. Even hairs that weren't the least bit out of place were suddenly, "a mess" and "are we rolling yet?" was constantly on the tip of their tongues.
I didn't mind the cameras, honestly, by now I wouldn't have even noticed their presence were it not for Taylor and my mother prancing around and batting their fake eyelashes into every lens aimed in their general vicinity.
I inched towards the curb and slid into my mom's cherry red car.
"Hey!" Taylor chirped, giving me a kind smile.
"Hi Taylor." I smiled back. Lately she'd been in a really good mood.
She was pretty cool when she was in a good mood.
Otherwise, she was what I'd call lazy and conniving.
But this new version of "Good-Mood-Taylor" was just fine with me.
"So, are you not feeling well? Should we head to the Doctor?" Before taking off, she glanced at me expectantly.
For a moment, I paused to look at her.
Taylor hadn't seemed to care much about me before, but now...this was kind of nice.
"Uh..." A little thrown by her kindness and by the super intense way she was staring at me from under those giant fake eyelashes that my mom had probably let her have, I faltered and then replied, "No, I'm not really sick. I'm just tired of dealing with these kids. They're so...lame."
"What makes them so lame?" She asked with the air of someone who considered herself much wiser and more patient than I could ever dream of becoming.
OK Taylor, it's cool if you wanna play older sister with me just don't push it. I thought to myself.
Glancing at the steering wheel, I lowered my voice to a tone that my acting coach calls "Somewhere in the Realm of Sarcastic" and asked,
"Are you planning on putting the beast in drive sometime this year?"
She laughed so hard it actually kind of made me smile.
"Yeah, sorry." Putting the car in drive and speeding off in way that gave all three of us ( and probably the cameraman) whiplash, she went on, "It's just that I can totally relate to how you feel about High School. I mean, I'm sure you're more popular than I was but believe it or not, back then I had no friends."
I could believe it.
When Mom had first hired Taylor, she'd hired her for one reason and one reason only.
My dad would never, ever, ever take a second look at Taylor.
The girl's crow's nest of a head of hair was just ...a shame to look at and her clothes were...I can't even do them justice. Let's just say that if you've ever seen episodes of an old show called "Ugly Betty" then you've seen every one of the outfits Taylor used to wear.
But, since my mom's reality show had started filming, she'd realized that it was important for Taylor to look a little better so as not to misrepresent our family's fashion sense.
Believe it or not, the looks and air of an assistant says something about the taste of the celebrity s/he represents.
"Really?" I dryly asked.
She sped through a stop sign, pretended to look both ways and then took off before answering,
"Totally! I was such a dork. But, I don't want to make this all about me. Tell me what's going on with you. Talking about it helps you know."
"Yeah, I know." I quietly replied.
Glancing out of the window, I watched the scenery fly by and was on the verge of asking Taylor how fast she was driving when she shut me up with,
"You know, I never told you this before but I think you're too good for the kids you hang out with."
I mulled this over.
That's what my mother always told me, in so many words.
She said my friends (all two of them) didn't understand what it was like to have a business or a reputation to think of. They were still kids, I was...different.
"No." I muttered, "I'm not. It's more like...the other way around."
"Why do you say that?" She asked.
I watched a baby squirrel hop into the road and cringed.
We swerved.
The squirrel lived.
Once my heart attack subsided, I finally gave Taylor my answer,
"I'm the one who screwed Shyla over. Didn't you see my interview yesterday?"
"Yeah, I did. You didn't say anything wrong. You were beautiful and honest and, it was fine."
I turned to Taylor.
Surely she was lying.
I'd completely blabbed Shyla's worse secret to the entire world.
But the look on Taylor's face was innocent.
Confused, I turned back to the window.
"You don't think it was wrong for me to say all that about her step-dad?" I whispered.
Realizing that I was whispering, I cleared my throat and folded my arms.
The car was cold.
Reaching over to turn down the AC I turned back to Taylor and caught her giving me an almost... dirty look as she exclaimed,
"You're cold?! It's like ninety degrees outside!"
"Yeah, I'm freezing."
There was a pause, during which she cleared her throat and made some sort of effort to wipe the annoyance from her face.
Wow, she must be undergoing some sort of therapy, I mused, well, whatever she's doing, it's working.
"No. It wasn't wrong. You did it because you wanted to help your friend, right?" She asked, in a much softer voice.
Her tone was the one my acting coach called "Sing-Songy", this was typically reserved for bad actors who are forced to play the role of "The Wise Stranger" in a made-for-TV movie that can often be found on Lifetime at two a.m.
I let this slide because I knew Taylor was only doing the best she could at being nice.
After all, so was I...and Shyla hadn't let my error slide...
"I thought if other people knew, it would, like, give her strength. I thought she'd be able to stand up to him, you know what I mean?" Turning away from the window to gauge Taylor's reaction, I watched her nod.
A tiny bit of hope unfurled in my mind...if Taylor understood what I meant, then maybe Shyla would too.
"Do you think I should talk-" I started to ask, but Taylor interrupted me,
"I think the two of you need to have a deep and open conversation. But not alone. You need a neutral third party. Someone who's clear-headed and won't take sides."
"Yeah?" I thought about that.
I did want to talk to my best friend.
I missed her...and obviously she was also desperate for friendship if she'd gone running to the likes of my little brother.
"Yeah, talk to her this Friday. I'll be around, I can be your neutral third party." She said with a shrug.
I pictured Shyla walking into our home, as she'd so often done before, my dad looking at her with surprise as he poked his head out of his recording studio to see who'd popped in,
"Hey Shy! How's it going girl? Are you here to see that lunatic we keep chained in the basement?"
He always said something cheesy like that, and she'd always sheepishly pretend to laugh.
Shyla was terrible around men but she'd grown slightly used to my dad.
She knew he wasn't a threat.
I felt something in my heart melt.
I had to talk to her...even if it meant that Taylor with her "sing-songy" voice would be our neutral third party.
"Thanks Taylor, that's a great idea. I just hope Shyla agrees to it."
Chapter Three- My Mom Made Me Skip School
"LILA!!! ARE YOU AWAKE!"
Liam Hemsworth faded out of my head and I woke to the sound of my mother shouting at me to get up.
What a beyond fabulous way to wake up. One minute you're Katniss and Liam Hemsworth is about to kiss you and before you know it-
"LILLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAA!!! SPEAK IF YOU'RE AWAKE!!"
Her voice reverberated through my solid oak door.
"Birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and my mother's screaming at me." I groaned as I threw the sheet over my head.
"WE NEED TO GO FOR A JOG BEFORE YOUR SHOW WITH TRACY AND BRAD THIS MORNING!!!"
Show...?! I panicked.
Pushing the sheet off of me and jumping out of bed so quickly that I almost fell flat on my face, I ran to the door, threw it open and nearly whacked my mom in the face.
"Watch my nose, it's new!!" She screeched, shielding she and Dr. Baldwin's precious work of art with the palm of her hand.
In my peripheral vision, I spotted two camera men hovering near my mother and was thankful that I hadn't forgotten to throw on a robe.
"Mom, what are you talking about?! I have school today, I can't go do another interview." Looking at her, I tried to recall any mention of my having been scheduled for a promo interview.
"I forgot to tell you last night, your agent called because Selena Gomez was scheduled for Tracy and Brad but she got sick, had to cancel and guess what that means for you Lila?" She grinned and clapped her hands, "America's most watched morning show want's you!!!"
I gulped.
I'd really wanted a moment to talk, face to face, with Shyla at lunch that afternoon.
There was a much better chance she'd agree to coming over if I asked her in person, as opposed to by text.
But mom took my silence as evidence of my being in shock.
Forcing herself to momentarily appear sane, she gently took a hold of both of my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes,
"Don't be nervous. Lila, you're perfect, you're a star! That's how I know you're going to rock this interview!"
And then her sanity evaporated.
Giving me a violent shake (the kind that's in those "What NOT to do to your baby" books), she screamed and grinned broadly,
"Now let's work off as much sleep-fat as we can with a half hour run okay? You need to be in tip top shape for Tracy and Brad!"
Only my mother believes that sleeping causes fat build-up.
"But mom," I shouted, to make her hear me, "I really need to go to school today. I almost got in trouble for leaving earl-"
Dismissing my protests, she waved her hand in my face and began walking away,
"Don't worry about that Lila, I'll talk to your teachers and anyway, they'll see you on TV so they'll know what's up. The only thing we really need to do is convince your Dad to pull you out of that school and get you a tutor."
As she made her way down the stairs followed by one of the cameramen, I wrapped my robe around me tighter, briefly wondered what Shyla was doing right at that exact moment, and turned back to my room only to come face to face with the lens of a camera.
I wanted to push it and the dread-head guy who was holding it, out of my way as I yelled,
"Do you know the meaning of the word PRIVACY?!!! This isn't my show, it's my mother's, follow her you idiot!!"
Unfortunately, some of us can't afford to make such scenes.
So, I gave the camera one of my perfectly dazzling grins, entered my room, and quietly shut the door.
Though Tracy and Brad had been on air for about fifteen years, their set still smelled new.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent.
My mom gave my back a pat.
I scowled.
"Don't frown Honeyoat." She replied.
That's right...Honeyoat.
When Mom was proud of me, I became a nutritious brand of granola such as "honeyoat".
When she was semi-okay with me, I was reduced to being average, just a plain old "sweetheart".
When Mom was out and out mad at me, I became some character in a non-existent fantasy computer game she'd created, "Dragon-Face".
"Mom!" I muttered my protest.
"What's with you? Don't pull out your Dragon-Face act. Tracy and Brad don't want an interview with a Dragon-Face do they?"
I looked at my mother.
"Why do you do that?" I whispered.
I was keeping my voice lowered because you never know if the greenroom is rigged with a microphone and/or hidden camera.
My mother, though, had no such concerns.
After all, to be a reality star, the more drama one made the more popular one became.
"Do what?" She demanded in a voice that made one of the assistant stage manager's give her a look.
"One minute you're telling me I'll do great and acting like you're proud of me and then two seconds later you're calling me a dragon face?" I quietly shouted.
(Yes, quiet shouting is a skill. It's the fat sister to the more popular "stage whisper.")
My mom rolled her eyes and paused dramatically.
I guess she forgot that her camera crew had been asked to wait outside.
"Lila, I'm always proud of you. I just want you to do your best. That's all. Would you be a star if I didn't give a push every now and then?" She turned away and I thought she'd let it rest, but no...there was more.
Turning back to me, she exclaimed,
"Would you rather I didn't say anything when you frown or do something you shouldn't? Is that what you want?"
Embarrassed by the octave and volume of her voice, I simply shook my head and turned away.
But did she stop?
Of course not.
"...If you had spinach in your teeth Lila dear, would you rather I keep my mouth shut and let you walk around looking like you'd gone to the bottom of the ocean and feasted on a pile of seaweed?! I say nothing and let you be a loser, oh I'd hear about it, I would! But, I speak up, you become a successful star, beyond perfect yada yada and what do I get? I get the exact same complaints!"
Frustration rose in my chest and I could feel it quickly morphing into the feeling that I'm pretty sure The Incredible Hulk would know a thing or two about.
I couldn't afford to lose my temper.
Not now.
"Excuse me." I hoarsely whispered before making my way to the headphone-clad assistant Stage Manager who'd been frowning at my mother for her tone.
"Lila, where are you going!?" My mother's voice called after me.
The woman pressed the earpiece of her headphones and turned to me, I was surprised to find an apologetic look on her face.
"Um, do I have time to go back and use the restroom?"
"Yes Miss Hills." Smiling, she pointed towards the hallway that we'd initially come from, "Just go back to your dressing room and use the one in there. You have twenty minutes."
Nodding, I whipped out my cell phone and made my way into the dressing room.
Once inside, I didn't go to the bathroom.
Instead, I flopped into the comfortable red velvet chair that was set before my dressing room mirror.
I stared at myself in the mirror for a good five minutes and then I stared at the phone in my hand.
What would Shyla's reaction be?
Well, what am I going to do, sit here and think about it forever... or just do it?
This thought pushed me to send her my text:
*Shyla, I'm so sorry for what I've done. I thought it was the right thing and I was wrong. Will you come over tomorrow after school and maybe we can talk about it? Please?*
Slipping my phone into the pocket of my Juicy Couture dress ( I know! It has barely visible pockets, which I loooove!) I stood, took a deep breath, marched out of the dressing room, and back to the greenroom.
My mom gave me an annoyed look and proceeded to grandly ignore me by burying her head in her phone.
"I'm so nervous, how can you be this cool?"
The voice startled me and I nearly tripped over my own feet.
Several new additions to the Greenroom were stashed in the left hand corner.
My jaw dropped.
A sleek crew of five guys, about my age, obviously English, and obviously, part of a boy-band, looked at me with the same "jaw-dropped" expression.
"Aren't you Lila Hills?" The one who'd been nervous asked.
I nodded and came out of my stupor.
He was cute, blonde hair, nice hazel eyes.
Gifting him with a Lila Hills grin, I strode their way and was displeased to find that he and I were the exact same height.
Oh well...you can't have it all.
"And you are?" I asked, in my best Marilyn-Monroe voice.
His hazel eyes sparkled with the mischief that I know all too well,
"I'm Derek, that's Scott, Brian, Luke, and Cole."
Scanning the rest of the band, my eyes stopped on the last one.
Whoa...
Tall, jet black hair, striking blue eyes.
Whoa.
Tearing my eyes away from Cole, I turned back to Derek and pleasantly replied,
"Oh...so, why were you saying you're nervous? These kinds of interviews are shorter than the late shows, this'll be easy."
I heard my mom cough.
Ignoring her unspoken comment, I looked at Derek and waited for his reply,
"Easy?! Maybe for you! You're a big star around here. No one in the states even knows who we are. They might hate us! What if we get booed off stage?"
"You won't." I laughed, "Just remember to breathe and you'll be alright."
"Then he might need an oxygen tank." Luke spoke up.
"Yeah, him and me." Agreed Scott.
The one called Brian stepped forward and nodded towards me, his cell phone in hand.
I wondered if he was planning on asking me for my number.
Although I would've much preferred sharing my digits with the tall, blue eyed one named Cole, I prepared an appropriately "come-hither" response that would hopefully result in all five of them fighting over who would be the first to give me a call.
I nearly heard my ridiculously large bubble make a whooshing noise when Brian smiled at me and said,
"Sorry to interrupt Lilly-"
"It's Lila." I sniffed as I corrected him.
"Of course, Lila. Would you mind terribly if I show Derek this tweet from one of our um...favourite fans? I think he'll want to see this."
The guys gave each other a look and Derek rolled his eyes as he, without even waiting for my response, moved towards Brian and the phone.
Humbled, I took a step back and was pleasantly surprised when the cute one, Cole, weaved in and out of the small cluster of his buddies as he made his way over to where I stood.
"OK." I mumbled, attempting to recover my dignity.
Humbled, I took a step back and was pleasantly surprised to find the cute one, Cole, stepping forward, before weaving in and out of the small cluster of his buddies, as he made his way to where I stood.
"Hi." He smiled, "I didn't get to properly meet you. It’s Lila, isn’t it?”
I gulped and cleared my throat.
For a moment, I was flustered…Wait a minute, what is my name?!
Fortunately, I recovered from my slight stroke and was able to return his smile,
“That’s me. And you’re Cole?”
He nodded, leaned back on his heels and looked around the room,
“So, you’re used to this sort of thing aren’t you?”
“Being a circus freak? Oh yeah.” Glancing at my mom and seeing that she was busily checking tweets or something on her phone, I lowered my voice as I went on, “When you’re the daughter of a Class A Stage Mom, you get used to this stuff by three.”
“Oh.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked at me with interest.
He’s really cute I heard myself think.
Again, clearing my throat I opened my mouth to speak and then, surprised, closed it again.
Why can’t I think of anything to say?!
My mind, suddenly blank, sputtered like an old car that didn't want to start, it was as if my command of the English language had suddenly vanished!
The only thing I knew was that I was standing in a greenroom next to a beautiful guy named Cole .....and my heart was beating way faster than that one time I'd tripped on the Red Carpet at the Tony's and Hugh Jackman had kindly reached out to help me.
Yeah, I know.
If Cole could make a, "Jazz-hands ladies, jazz-hands!" singing/when-not-grimacing Wolverine hunk look like my fat Uncle Ned, then Cole was-
“Do you like doing this?” He suddenly asked, interrupting my nonsensical thoughts.
“Doing what?” I asked, startled by the sound of his voice.
“Um…” He put his hands in his pockets and briefly looked up, as if the definition he searched for was hanging out in the air above his head. Finally, he glanced back at me, “I suppose I’m referring to the whole "being-a-celebrity schtick". Not just the interviews, but the craft, the fame, the whole nine yards. Is it worth it?”
I took a deep breath and had to not look at him so as to concentrate on answering his question,
“Good question.” I dared to give him a look as I joked, "Not a fan of small talk, are we?"
He smiled,
“I’m just curious. I’ve been thinking about that ever since we got here, it's really been sort of bothering me, you know? I want to know what someone like you, who’s got it together and who's been in this longer than I have has to say about all of it. You know, it’d be nice to hear an honest answer.”
I nodded, glancing down at my shoes,
“Hmm…”
What are you doing Lila? I heard myself think, This is the cutest guy you’ve ever seen or spoken to in your entire life and all you have to say is “Hmm”?!!
As quickly as I possibly could, I looked up, forced myself to meet his lovely eyes and put on my best cute-girl voice,
“How about I answer that and any other questions over dinner tomorrow night? I think better with food.”
Cole's face registered surprise, and then ...there it was a smile topped by an adorable blush.
“Sure, Lila, I’d like that.”
I loved the sound of my name coming from his lips.
Trying not to grin excessively, which is difficult to attempt when your day has just been made, I replied,
“Great, I’ll give you my number so we can talk time and place later.”
“OK.” He nodded, reaching for his phone.
I gave him my digits, got his, and just as I was ready to treat him to another saucy line from Marilyn-Monroe-101, my cell phone vibrated.
Annoyed, I glanced at the buzzing phone, and saw that it was Shyla.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, it’s my best friend, will you excuse me?”
“Certainly, of course.” He agreed, taking a step back.
Moving out of earshot, I answered,
“Shyla?”
“Excuse me.” A tap on my shoulder distracted me and I turned to find the Assistant Stage Manager looking at me quite seriously, “You’re on in eight minutes, so you’ll probably want to turn your phone on silent in the next two or three minutes.”
I nodded and turned back to my phone,
“Shyla?” I repeated.
“Yeah, it’s me. Can you hear me now?” Her voice was weak in a way that told me something was wrong.
“I hear you, what’s going on?” I asked, trying not to sound alarmed.
What else could possibly go wrong for her? She’s already been beat up by her step-dad, abandoned by her mother, and now betrayed by the snobby rich girl who's supposed to be her best friend…Sometimes I just wish life would give Shyla a break.
“I got your message and yeah, in fact um…” Her voice trailed off.
“What is it?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the Assistant Stage Manager, who was eying me and my cell phone.
“Lila, you need to turn your phone OFF!” Said my mother, in a voice loud enough to wake the dead.
I caught a glimpse of Cole looking, thoughtfully, at my mother.
I hoped he wasn’t comparing the two of us and wondering if that’s what was in store for me.
I simultaneously wondered what was going on with Shyla,
“I’m listening Shy.”
“I have to ask you a favor, a huge favor, if you don’t mind.”
My heart skipped a beat.
Favors, I can do!
Jumping at the opportunity to once again win, if not her complete trust, her favor, I eagerly replied,
“Anything, just tell me what it is.”
“I need a place to stay for a little while- and they want me to go with-well, I have this Aunt but I don’t want to move so far away and…it’s the end of the semester so, it wouldn’t be a good idea to stay with her-I mean, if I could just stay with you, if your parents don’t mind. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long, just until my dad is cleared.”
I frowned,
“Cleared? What do you mean cleared?”
“Lila!” Barked my mother.
“Excuse me, we do need your cell phone off sweetie, and if you could just make your way over here.” Said the Assistant Stage Manager, beginning to look a bit panicked.
I glanced at Cole, saw the pity in his eyes as he quietly hung back, separated from his band mates, who remained clustered around Brian’s phone.
“The Police heard what you said about my dad and they took it seriously so he’s under investigation for …abuse.”
Shyla’s voice was quiet in my ear.
I almost dropped the phone.
After one shaky breath, I managed to whisper,
“Are you mad at me?”
There was silence on her end and all I heard were the sound of my mother’s footsteps hurriedly walking towards me.
Finally, Shyla answered,
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry Shy, you know I love you right?” I whispered.
“Thanks, um, I better go. OK?” She said, and from her end of the line I heard loud voices talking.
“OK, just let me know if we need to pick you up or something.” I said.
“I will.”
At that moment, my mom grabbed my phone and turned it off.
I looked at her, too upset by Shyla’s situation to be upset with my crazy mother.
Noticing the expression on my face, her eyes widened and she quickly pulled herself together, apparently determining that she must also, pull me together,
“Lila, don’t do this now. I need you to take a deep breath, and own this moment. This is your moment. Whoever that was on the phone means nothing in comparison with this moment. Repeat after me: I will own this.”
“Mom,” I shook my head.
“One minute!” Called the Assistant Stage Manager.
Mom rolled her eyes and took my hand.
I let her pull me along,
“Mom, that was Shyla.”
She paused mid-step and turned to me for further explanation.
Seeing that I had her attention, I quickly went on,
“Her dad was arrested because of what I said. She doesn’t have a place to stay. He’s in jail and she needs us.”
Tiny little puddles began to form in the corners of my eyes.
Mom gently pulled on my arm,
“No tears. No Lila, stop it. Don't cry.”
I nodded.
She was right.
If I walked onstage with raccoon eyes and a runny nose, Tracy and Brad would never ask me back.
I had to pull it together.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to forget what was happening to my best friend, tried to forget that it was all because of me.
“That’s a good girl.” My mother said, her voice quite serious, “This is your moment, own it.”
Chapter Four- It's Friday, Friday, Friday...
I, like most of America, woke up to the sound of Ryan Seacrest's voice,
"Glad to have you here with us..."
My mom typically lets my alarm clock radio do it's job on the days that I don't have anything important going on.
(And in our house, going to school, isn't even on "The Important Stuff List", it's written somewhere on the back of a half-torn receipt from Whole Foods that Taylor forgot to throw away.)
I'd gotten home pretty late the night before because after my interview Mom wanted us to be seen shopping and hanging out together.
So, as anxious as I was to see Shyla, I submitted to my Mom's wishes.
Even though I still felt a little guilty about telling Shyla that Taylor , instead of my mom and I, would pick her up from the Police Station, I must confess that I did feel slightly better after Mom treated me to a dazzling pair of Tiffany earrings.
In any case, as sad as her situation was, the fact that Shyla was now safe and sound under our roof made me feel a lot better.
Maybe she was mad at me, but at least she was safe.
Ryan Seacrest's cheesy jokes went in one ear and out the other as I sat up, stretched and thought about everything I'd have to do that day.
First, I'd have to go to school and act like I was peacefully oblivious to everyone's complete hatred of me.
Fabulous. That''ll be fun... I thought, automatically pausing my stretch to let my arms drop at my sides.
Then, after school I'd have to meet with Shyla and Taylor and apologize with even more sincerity than a busted politician.
I sighed, flopped back onto my bed, and began to stare at the ceiling.
Maybe now that I've given her a place to stay she'll be less mad at me...maybe now she'll even realize that this was for the best.
After all, it's the first step in getting that alcoholic loser out of her life.
Then again... I closed my eyes and imagined Shyla yelling at me,
"You didn't do this to help me! You did it because you wanted attention by turning yourself into some kind of a savior!"
I cringed.
Well, hopefully our conversation wouldn't take that route...
Next, after smoothing things over with Shyla, I'd have to quickly get ready for my first date with Cole.
As I thought of Cole, with his lovely blue eyes and awesome Brit accent, butterflies made their way into my stomach and I wondered what he'd thought about my near-breakdown in the Greenroom. I hoped he hadn't seen me almost cry.
The only time I want anyone to see me cry is when I'm on the big screen and my tears are 100% contrived.
A slight knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.
"Yeah?" I called, wondering why my Mom was up so early.
Normally, Taylor brought me to school as Mom needed to rest until about 11 A.M.
"It's me." Shyla's voice whispered through the door.
I could barely hear her, but I did hear her and the fact that she was actually talking to me was great!
Quickly jumping out of bed, I nearly skidded to the door, and swung it open,
"Hey! How are you?"
She took a step back and I realized that I'd almost hit her in the face with my door.
I briefly wondered if I ought to say something to my Dad about getting my bedroom door adjusted.
"I'm fine." Shyla's voice sounded purposefully poised and ...professional?
I watched her look somewhere over my shoulder as she quietly went on,
"I forgot my toothbrush, would you happen to have an extra?"
"Sure." Nodding, I moved past her and down the hall to one of the bathroom closets where Taylor normally keeps a billion toothbrushes for us because we hate having to send her to the store for something little, like one toothbrush, that's just stupid! Keep twenty toothbrushes in your hallway closet- duhr!
Heading back to her with the requested toothbrush, I handed it to her and watched her expression,
"Here you go!"
In complete contrast to my louder than life, "Lila on Disney" voice, she sounded bland as she, still refusing to meet my eyes, replied,
"Thanks."
With that she walked away and returned to the guest room, gently closing the door behind her.
"Well that's fabulous." I muttered, heading back to my own room.
Well, after that, my morning didn't improve.
Taylor drove Shyla and I to school (oh and two camera men as well...although, honestly I have no idea why they were interested in Taylor bringing us to school. Lame.) during which, we sat in complete silence.
Once or twice Taylor tried to bring up a subject that we could discuss, but Shyla's one word answers would've only made for fantastic conversation among the students of an English As A Second Language class on the first day of class.
My response was no better. I decided that if she wasn't going to talk, then neither would I...at least not until later that evening when we'd really hash things out.
We arrived at school, Taylor continued to sound peppy and look concerned as she dropped her off and I fended off an urge to ask her what she was on.
Once Taylor had pulled off, I turned around and Shyla was already gone.
It took a moment for me to spot her walking with...my...little brother.
Totally disgusting, right?
My first class was boring, some guy asked me for an autograph and I pretended I couldn't hear him which inspired him to begin telling everyone around him that I was stuck up.
He started throwing pens at the back of my head and needless to say, I didn't get a thing out of that class, except for a blue ink mark on the back of my favorite white top.
So, feeling especially hateful towards High School I spent the rest of my morning classes staring off into space, fantasizing about my future interview with Barbara Walters during which I would tearfully (contrived tears, not real ones!) name, one-by-one, every last one of the bullies who'd been mean to me in High School.
The lunch bell rang, taking me away from my tearful interview .
As I stood to gather my belongings and head for shelter somewhere out of the reach of the storming herd of teenagers, I came face to face with oops, I keep forgetting this girl's name! Oh well, let's just call it like we see it.
So, I came face to face with Gerbil/Fish face girl.
She was smiling at me.
A few girls behind her were snickering too.
I glanced at one of the girls, a short one who smelled bad (Seriously bad. I'm not lying when I say this girl smelled like she'd bathed in a knock-off version of a knock off version of an Exclusive Family Dollar perfume that had been re-bottled into a used container of athlete's foot powder and then to top it off, rubbed her clothes with a "Smell of Mothballs Dipped In Bat Guano!" air freshener, which was produced by "Smells That Repel!" Air Freshener Company, the Company that helps you keep people away) and wore a shirt that was at least three sizes too big for her.
This girl was outright laughing hysterically.
Not ...a...good...sign...
"Problem?" I asked, crossing my arms and attempting to look fiercer than Tyra Banks.
Her nostrils flared as she smiled gleefully,
"I think you left something on the desk behind you."
Confused, I watched them saunter off.
I then, slowly, turned to glance at the desk behind mine.
On it, sat... my ponytail!!!
Cringing, I took a deep breath and counted to seven.
Trying not to think too much, because if I thought I'd get angry and if I got angry desks would fly (if you think Theresa Giudice is bad, try getting me upset) and if desks flew, then I'd get bad press, and if I got bad press, I probably wouldn't get that Spielberg movie offer my mom had been craving for the last five years, I reached into my purse for my phone and called Taylor.
She answered on the first ring,
"Please don't tell me you already got in a fight with Shyla!"
"What? No-" I replied.
"Oh good." I heard the relief in her voice, "Just try and keep it together while you're at school, this evening we'll talk it all out."
It was nice that Taylor's happy pills had also inspired some sort of empathy within her, but I didn't have time for a therapy session with Ugly Betty,
"Taylor I need you to pick me up as soon as you can, it's an emergency."
"For what?" Asked Taylor.
"No cell phones on school property Miss Hills." My teachers voice droned from somewhere behind me.
Rolling my eyes and trying to count to seven once more, I picked up my purse and stormed out of the classroom as I listened to Taylor exclaim,
"What?! What happened? Are you hurt?!"
"No. Some girl - a bully! A fat bully who looks like the freakish love child of a blow-fish and a gerbil cut my hair off! She cut my hair! I need you to pick me up now!" I hissed.
" OK, OK, calm down. We'll fix everything, that's what I'm here for. OK?"
The kindness in her voice almost got to me and I had to choke back a stupid frog in my throat as I bit down on my bottom lip and told myself to pull it together,
"OK."
I hung up the phone and that is when I heard and saw it...Glancing around, you would've thought that I was on the red carpet.
I was in the middle of the hallway and nearly surrounded on either side by small crowds of my classmates, all of them looking at me and laughing.
"Look! She really cut it all off!"
"She looks terrible!"
"Aw, that's so mean, but it's hilarious!!!"
For a moment, I was stunned.
Are they really laughing at me? I thought, as I turned every which way and came face to face with yet another person who was pointing and laughing or staring and giggling.
Well, the frog in my throat disappeared and was replaced with pure anger.
Never in my life, had I been more determined to hold my head high, look straight ahead and silently repeat Lila Hill's mantra: Star’s will always shine, and Star Gazer’s live to stare. I’m the star, and everyone’s gazing but ask me if I care. Here’s a hint: I don’t care. At all.
That phrase carried me all the way to the end of the hallway, downstairs and into the school parking lot, where, hidden between two large SUV's I finally sat down on the concrete, covered my face with my hands, and cried.
Teake clipped away at my bangs and I kept my eyes glued to the People magazine I'd been pretending to read.
No way was I planning on staring in the mirror as he chopped off the remainder of my hair.
"Lila, you're going to look so hot when I'm finished. Trust me, you'll run up to the brat who did this, and you'll say- wait what's that brat's name?" Asked Teake.
Still staring at the picture of TomKat walking hand in hand with little Suri between them, I muttered,
"Gerbil Face Loser With The Eyes of A Fish."
Teake paused, scissors in hand, and I could feel him giving me an odd look.
Taylor, sitting (with one of my mom's camera guys) in the empty seat beside me, felt the need to explain,
"Lila's a little upset right now."
Teake, resuming his snip-snap of my once flowing locks, smacked his lips as he quickly retorted,
"Really? Thanks, Taylor, for that desperately needed clarification."
Teake's voice is generally in "friendly mode" around me and to hear his tone drenched in sarcasm was kind of a shocker.
So, glancing up from my copy of People, I stole a peek at him in the mirror.
His lips were pursed as he over-concentrated on cutting my hair.
"I was only saying that because sometimes we forget that celebrities are people too, they have feelings and when those feelings get hurt, it's rough to put on a pretty face for the world, to just keep smiling through the pain. So, since some of us practically live with famous people and see what they have to go through on a daily basis we feel the need to speak up in their behalf."
Once Taylor's dramatic monologue had come to an end, Teake's arched eyebrow came down and he quietly said,
"Taylor, It's amazing that in the two years you've been working for the Hills, you've never said more than two words to me and now, you've, overnight, suddenly blossomed into a talkative glamor queen. It makes me wonder what caused this sudden change."
Deliberately pausing and staring directly into the camera that I'd forgotten was present, Teake smacked his lips once more before spinning me around in the chair.
Before Taylor could open her mouth to defend herself and before I had a chance to give proper consideration to Teake's observation, he smiled at me and handed me a mirror,
"Here you are beautiful. I know you've been dreading this moment, but check out how gorgeous you are."
With butterflies in my stomach and images of Cole taking one look at my new haircut and stammering loads of excuses designed to send him far away from our date, I finally allowed my eyes to wander up and across the mirror to my face.
I gasped.
"Teake-" My voice almost didn't work.
He grinned like a Cheshire cat,
"Do we approve my lady?"
I was so happy, I feared I'd start crying again.
So all I could do was nod.
The hair, perfectly cropped, was a messy-chic style I'd once seen on Jessica Alba, briefly envied, and then forgotten about.
The only difference between Jessica's cut and mine was the way Teake had trimmed my bangs to accentuate my cheekbones and bring out my eyes.
Finding my voice, I grinned at him,
"You're right, I think Gerbil Face almost deserves a thank you card."
"Or at least one less punch in the face." Teake laughed.
"As if you'd ever punch anyone Taylor, you are so not a bully! You never support bullying." Taylor spoke up, laughing loudly.
Teake gave Taylor a dirty look before rolling his eyes at the camera.
"Thanks T, you're amazing." I gushed and turned to give him a hug.
"With a face like yours, amazing is easy. You're beautiful!"
I smiled and thought about Cole...hopefully he'd think so too.
"Mom!" I shouted.
"Laila!" Yelled Taylor, closing the door behind us.
"Ma!" I shouted again, heading towards the stairs.
So excited to let Mom see and be jealous of my new haircut, I almost didn't catch sight of the horrid thing sitting on my mother's couch.
Of course, I love my brother.
And Shyla, well, she's one of the best friends I've ever had.
So, separately, I love the both of them.
But, together, sitting on my mother's couch kissing?!
NO.
That's just disgusting!
At school, my brother's nickname is "The Player".
He's a grubby little two-timer who's fast-food eating, Wal*Mart's-child-section-rack-sale wearing girlfriends are normally none of my concern, but when he starts going out with one of my friends (or maybe I should say my one friend)...NO, absolutely NOT happening!
"What are you doing?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
Shyla, jumped straight in the air (and I'm not exaggerating) while my brother, with a look of guilt slid away from her.
"Are you insane?!" I moved towards my brother, not sure what I was going to do, but positive that it would involve a bit of violence, "Don't you think she's been through enough you freak?"
"Lila!" Exclaimed Shyla.
I looked at her in astonishment, why was she yelling at me?
My brother jumped to his feet and I immediately pushed him back onto the couch. Ready to throw one of my mom's couch pillows at him, I suddenly halted in my tracks.
The look on his face stopped me.
"No Lila- you're insane." He quietly declared.
"What?! Shyla is vulnerable right now! Don't you know what she's been through? Don't yo-"
I was interrupted by Shyla bolting from the couch and tearfully running out of the room.
"Shyla?" I called after her.
"See what you did ?!" Ty shouted as he jumped to his feet and started after her, "Shy, wait! Wait..."
I turned around and watched him run after her, over his shoulder, he yelled,
"This is your fault Lila!"
Shaking my head at his stupidity, I started to follow him and nearly knocked over Taylor and her camera crew.
"Can you move please?" I asked in between waltz steps with Taylor.
"What's going on?!" She shrieked, "Is everything OK? I just saw Shyla run out of the house crying and was that your brother running after her?"
Looking at my mother's once Ugly Bettyish P.A., Teake's assertion flashed through my mind.
" Oh, Lila...are you going to cry Lila? Don't cry, it's not your fault." Taylor's voice dripped with honey, and her hand went to my shoulder.
Teake is so right, I silently realized.
One of the camera guys moved in closer and I forced myself not to pull an Alec Baldwin.
Instead of turning into a miniature version of the Hulk, I quietly counted to seven and made myself politely request,
"Would you excuse me Taylor?"
Leaving Taylor in her momentary spotlight, I dashed to the front door.
"Whoa!" I exclaimed, running almost directly into Ty and Shyla.
He had his arms around her and she was still crying, her face buried in his shoulder.
"Go away." He whispered, giving me an evil glare.
"Why are you telling me to go away? She's my friend, not-" I glanced at Shyla.
"Lila, if she was really your friend you wouldn't have used her life as a plug for your dumb movie! You don't know how to have friends, the only thing you know how to do is use people. " He retorted.
Appalled, I just stood there.
I couldn't say anything because...what if he was right?
What if I had, subconscioulsy used Shyla's situation to my own advantage?
I'd known her for three years, known that her step-dad hit her when he was drunk and I hadn't said a word about it...until now, when I happened to have recently filmed a low-budget indie flick about a girl who's alcoholic dad hits her.
But, I'd never use my friend like that.
Still...
Words wouldn't come, no defense offered itself, and with my mind blank while my guilt steadily increased, I took a step back.
"Wait." Shyla, moving away from Ty, wiped her eyes and turned to me, "I don't think you used me."
"You don't?" I sputtered, too shocked to be relieved.
"No." She shook her head and composed herself, "I know you were trying to help, I get that. But-"
Her eyes widened and they darted to something behind me, just over my shoulder.
I spun around and of course, there stood Taylor with my mom's two camera guys.
"Seriously?!" I exclaimed, "Taylor, can you give us a minute?"
"Are you sure you can handle this without a neutral third party? I'm here to help." Taylor tilted her head to the side and spoke with a faked gentleness that even Ginny Godwin would find enviable.
"Taylor, we're not idiots, we know you're just using us for mom's show," My brother spoke up, "and the two people who are going to have nothing better to do than watch that garbage aren't idiots either, they'll see right through you. We do."
Taylor reddened and I took this as my cue to let my inner Alec Baldwin ...out.
It wasn't pretty.
I don't even want to write about it. So, I won't.
But if you want to check out my first ever, tabloid cover, well, have at it...CLICK HERE.
But, like I said, this is my memoir and I've decided to skip that part and get to what's important...so, after the cops (and our lawyers left), we all made our way back into the house.
Dad, especially nervous after having been called out of his studio, sat down on the couch and looked at my brother as if the whole problem was really his fault.
I must say, I felt a little bit guilty about that.
Ty gets blamed for a lot. Granted, the blame is usually merited.
But this time, it was entirely my fault.
So, I spoke up,
"Dad, I'm sorry. This was my fault."
Dad opened his mouth and Mom waved him into silence,
"No, Lila, you're not responsible for this, I am. I let my show cross the line. It was meant to be about me. Not you. Or you." She looked at Shyla,
who's expression was that of a girl who, at the moment, probably wished to be invisible," I apologize."
Astounded though I was to hear my mom utter an apology, I knew I couldn't let her take all the blame,
"No Mom," I shook my head adamantly, "This was all on me. I'm the one who brought up something Shyla told me, in confidence, on national television. I started this. It had nothing to do with you."
From the corner of my eye, I saw my little brother reach for Shyla's hand, and I stifled a sigh as she turned to give him an appreciative glance.
I guess I'll have to get used to that... I thought to myself.
Dad cleared his throat and began to speak,
"There's no reason to place blame on just one p-"
Mom stood and made her way to the center of the little accidental circle we'd haphazardly created in our seating choices,
"Darling, there is a reason to place blame. This nonsense that I started has gone to the media. People, the world over, will be talking about us and I'm not going to stand by and let them place all of the blame on my innocent daughter who was only trying to protect her dear friend Sasha! What I've allowed to happen in my home, by bringing in a camera crew and allowing them to film during such a sensiti-"
"Mom." Said my brother.
"What?" She stopped, glancing at him as if he'd interrupted an inaugural address.
"Her name's Shyla. Not Sasha. And..." He stood, still holding not-Sasha's hand, "There aren't any camera's here anymore so, you can chill out."
With that, he and an apologetic-looking Shyla headed to the back door.
Slowly turning to my surprisingly-silent mom, I saw that she was livid.
Uh-oh, I thought, here it comes...
"Of all the spoiled and selfish acts of a child, this is the worst! What kind of a son won't listen to his own mother's apology!" She charged the front door with surprising speed, until my Dad grabbed her hand, glanced at me and whispered something in her ear, which was too quiet for me to hear.
Sitting there on the couch, I momentarily zoned out, thinking about my mother, myself, many of the other actors I knew, and why we sometimes feel the need to "pull a Gwyneth" and do or say anything for attention.
If my guilt had been bad before, it was worse then.
I turned to my parents and saw that they were arguing.
Very quietly, I scooted off of the couch and left the room.
Perfect
He was perfect.
He held open doors for me.
He pulled out my chair.
He engaged me in conversation and then...he listened.
Plus that, he was hotter than the Sahara at high noon.
Disappointed, I set my fork down on top of my napkin.
The fork made a clanging noise as it hit the table...oops.
Cole paused and looked at me curiously,
"Was it something I said or...the salad?"
I smiled and shook my head,
"No. You're perfect."
"Then I take it, it was something ...the salad... said?"
Smiling again, I treated myself to a swim in those bluer than the Pacific eyes of his.
He blushed.
I sighed.
His face fell,
"Lila, what's wrong?"
It was weird, knowing that I had such an effect on this gorgeous, perfect, and once again unfairly perfect boy's feelings!
Me!
I, the daughter of a center-stage hoarding drama queen was seated before perfection and perfection had somehow, been fooled into thinking that we were two of a kind.
"Cole-" I started, and then took a deep breath.
"Yeah?" He slowly asked, freezing.
I looked at him.
The earnest body language of a boy who'd never been burned by a girl like me, the innocent anxiety in his lovely eyes... no, he deserved better than the Lila Hills' of the world.
"Its been a really nice night, but I'm sitting here thinking how perfect you seem," I quietly explained, "and most guys don't think this when they first meet me, but eventually they all realize that I'm like, about as far from perfect as your band is from recording with Weezy."
I cleared my throat as he leaned back in his seat and looked at me with...amusement?
"Is that funny?" I asked.
I wanted to sound threatening but my voice came out as an imitation of Minny Mouse on helium.
Breaking into a grin, he laughed and said,
" A bit. But, it's more intriguing than funny. So, despite the fact that you're criminally beautiful, what makes you as far from perfect as my mates and I are from recording with Lil Wayne?"
Feeling warmth rise to my face, as well as a hint of frustration which felt strangely like stage fright, I stammered,
"Well- it's- the-the thing is, Cole..." Pausing, I closed my eyes and steadied myself.
There's no way he's going to want to have anything to do with me after this. That thought almost brought tears to my eyes.
Almost...
"It's alright, take your time." He said encouragingly.
Feeling a gentle pat on my hand, I opened my eyes and saw that he'd reached across the table.
"The thing is, I come from a crazy family. Literally." I whispered.
He nodded, " I'm listening."
"I know everyone thinks their family's the worst, but mine...really is. Sometimes I look at my mom and I think, "Sweet Jersey Shore, her side of the family has to be related to Mel Gibson or at least Mussolini. Like, my mom thinks she missed her shot at fame and she's always pushing me to do movies and quit school and just act, act, act until I work myself to death. She doesn't even- one time, when I was eight I fell off my bike so I started crying and the first thing she did was run, grab her camera and ask me to work on a scene from Annie while the tears were still fresh. Do you know that's the only time, she's ever let me cry in front of her? She's crazy..."
He didn't say anything, but I looked at him and saw that he was avidly listening.
His eyes told me to go on, so I did,
"And I'm so much like her. I run over people to get what I want-I even...I betrayed my best friend, my only real friend, last week. Just so I could get more attention for this stupid movie I'm in and the worse part is, I'd fooled myself into thinking I wasn't betraying her. I told myself I was helping her...that's sick. I'm just like her and I see...like, I see how she's always fighting with my Dad. I see how she hurts him and he lets her push him around. I don't want to do that to anyone, especially not to you. You deserve better than that so..."
I paused and took a deep breath.
As I started to say,
"So, how about we work on being friends for now?"
Cole simultaneously spoke up,
"So, you're a self-centered, egomaniac, with a crazy-"
We stopped talking and looked at each other.
"What?" I asked.
Cole seemed slightly nervous as he leaned in and lowered his voice,
"I was saying, so you're a self-centered, egomaniac, with a crazy mother, and ...a conscience."
I nodded,
"I think that sums it up."
"No," He sighed, "It don't believe it does. Lila, you know that we've all got issues. No one's perfect, least of all me. Honestly, I knew about your Mum, I saw the way she was talking to you yesterday in the Greenroom, and that's nothing new in this business, stagemom's and dad's are everywhere. But you, girls like you are rare."
"What?" I looked at him with surprise.
"Yeah." He lowered his voice even more and looked deep into my eyes, "You think I'm perfect, right? Well, yesterday I was driving and I killed a kitten."
My hand went over my mouth and I cringed,
"I'm sorry, that's terrible."
He laughed.
I eyed him in outraged horror,
"Are you insane?"
"No! No! I was only trying to prove a point, if you were really some kind of sadist, you wouldn't have cared. But you did. See? Lila, you're a completely perfect version of yourself."
"A perfect version of myself." I repeated, unsuccessfully attempting to block out an image of him laughing as he aimed his car at a stupid, but tiny and adorable kitten.
"Yeah, you're not perfect, no. But no one is. Which, by the way, reminds me of something I'd like to address. You accused me of being perfect, and..." He shook his head dramatically, "No. I'll be honest with you, I don't wash behind my ears regularly. I try, but I often forget. I have a horrible relationship with my father, I'm often accused of talking too much, and worse of all I once punched my best friend in the nose. There's more, but I can't go on forever. So, I'm not perfect, you're not, no one is but we're all here, in this moment, working at being better and that's what makes us the perfect version of ourselves for now. Lila, you're smart enough to realize things about yourself that half the girls in this town don't have the brain cells to figure out on their own. They have to get themselves in Celebrity Rehab to realize they're not perfect. I like you. Even though you're selfish and -"
The more he spoke, the more I was falling for him and the more that annoyingly dead kitten kept bothering me, so I held up my hand and shusshed him.
"What?!" His eyes widened in surprise.
"Did you really kill a kitten?!"
"No." He smiled and reached for my hand, then he nodded at something over my shoulder, "But I might kill that paparazzi who's trying to snap pictures of us at the next table."
"Oh no..." I grinned, "Leave that to me."
After that little kink in our evening conversation, dinner was perfect.
He drove me home, walked me to the front door and kissed me good night.
As I opened the door to my house and caught sight of the people I loved, Ty, Shyla, and even my crazy parents sitting down talking (or, actually...kind of yelling) with each other, there was warmth in my heart.
I'm not perfect, life isn't perfect, but in the end, everything's going to be okay.
The End
-LILA'S BLOG- return to homepage
Did you guys see my interview on "The Late, Late Show" the other night?
I wasn't terribly nervous, at least not as nervous as the first time I'd been on his show... but the real reason I'm posting this is to defend what I said about my best friend Shyla and her connection to my new movie, "Remember Our First Kiss" (set to hit theaters in less than 3 weeks- GO SEE IT!!!).
Should I have said it on national television? Probably not.
Did it need to be said? Yes.
Do I wish I could take it back? I honestly don't know...
All I know is that since it aired, everyone at school hates me.
My brother pretends not to know me (which is stupid because everyone knows we’re related) and even my friend Shyla is ignoring me.
That's what hurts the worst.
You'd think your best friend would have your back... My question is: Why is she even mad at me?!
She's the one always telling me to be honest and that's what I did. I was honest for her sake, I was trying to help her.
So, if it's wrong to be honest and help your friend out then I guess I'm VERY wrong.
Then again, a part of me does sort of understand why she's mad.
Obviously, I wasn't trying to hurt her. I'd never want to do that. You guys know me, I'm not a monster or anything.
If anything, I was trying to do what I've always done....find yet another way to protect her.
Mom says some people are too young, right now, to understand some of my decisions. She says when they're older and have families to take care of and bills to play, they'll totally get it. Of course she’s right. But it still hurts that some of my friends don't get me NOW.
That's one reason why I'm so glad to have my fans. If one thing is for sure, it's that a true fan will stick by your side no matter what : )
Thank you guys for always believing in me, even when I'm not perfect...
Email my fan club and you never know, I just may email you back!! : )
XXO Lila Hills
Chapter One- Mantra of A Falling Star
The lunch bell rang and I felt my stomach turn.
Lunch was the worst part of the day.
The food wasn’t terrible... not that my mom actually allowed me to eat any of it.
You won't catch me telling anyone this out loud, but every Monday through Friday I'd secretly delight in the greasy smells wafting from kitchen of our School's Cafeteria, once in a while I'd even sneak a single bite of those boat shaped pizza things they make. The fake cheese is heaven once you get past the mental block of, "this is fake cheese I'm eating, surely I will die."
Slowly picking up the $375 Louis Vuitton purse I’d recently bought (as a well-deserved consolation prize following the "Late, Late" show's fiasco), I played it cool.
You see, the secret to successful acting is to literally become the character in your head.
And I'm not talking about "faking it"... I mean you have to think like your character thinks...for example, my acting coach says every time you read a script that you're considering, you do more than read it like a novel.
When you get to your character's lines you have to pause and imagine the invisible lines, the unspoken phrases that aren't written but lay hidden between each printed sentence. This is called subtext. The subtext reveals what your character is really thinking.
Once you've read through enough of your character's lines to pick up on the rhythm of her subtext, you've figured out how she thinks and you're now able to
summarize her unspoken lines in a sort of two-sentenced mantra that constantly runs through the back of her mind as she moves along throughout the rest of the story.
I know... that's a lot of work isn't it?
Acting is a butt load of work, but I kinda like it.
So anyway, when I became Raleigh Wright in Remember Our First Kiss?, the indie-flick I’d recently wrapped, the first thing I did was read the script and realize that Raleigh’s unspoken lines were basically a bunch of phrases I'd heard my real-life best friend, Shyla Smith, say out loud at some point.
Raleigh is written as a shy girl with low self-esteem. She is the way she is (until she meets the boy who becomes the love of her life) because she's been abused by her insane, alcoholic step-father.
OK, that's the character I was playing...now back to reality....Shyla, my incredibly sweet and quiet best friend is basically silent when you first meet her. I swear, she doesn't say a word...this makes most people think she’s snobby. But the first time I met Shyla, I knew better.
Trust me, when you've been in this business for as long as I have, you can spot snobby from a mile away.
So, I totally got that Shyla was just shy, I gave her a chance, and after getting to know her I realized that she's quiet because she doesn’t trust herself enough to speak.
Here's the really bad part....Why doesn't she trust herself enough to speak? Because, just like Raleigh (the character I play in my new movie, Remember our First Kiss), Shyla lives with an idiot step-father who makes her feels worthless.
The guy is a complete jerk, I've even called the Cops on him twice, after which Shyla stopped complaining about him for the next couple of months...but I have a feeling she didn't stop complaining because he'd improved his behavior...
The thing is, my best friend Shyla-I guess I should say my ex-best friend- is scared to death of him and no matter what he does, she doesn't have the courage to stand up to him, that's why I do. I try to protect her. And protecting her was all I was trying to do yesterday when the whole stupid situation blew up in my face!
So anyway… to find my mantra for my character, Raleigh Wright, I guessed what my ex-best friend Shyla has running through the back of her subconscious 24/7 and this is what I came up with: If I open my mouth to speak, people will know how dumb I am. So, I’d better shut-up and make myself invisible.
Pretty depressing, right? I know! I can't imagine living every moment of every day with that thought in my head...well, actually, now I can imagine doing that, and let me tell you, it works.
I became the most believable Raleigh Wright known to man, everyone on set whispered about my acting chops, and the director fell in love with me, he even said he had another script he’d like me and my Mom to take a look at. (But my Mom's not biting yet. The director is undoubtedly awesome, he's just not a big enough fish for my Mom's taste...)
So, as I picked up my purse and tossed my hair over my shoulder, I became the untouchable character who I like to play when I’m at school.
Her name is Lila Hills.
Lila’s mantra is a little something like this: Star’s will always shine, and Star Gazer’s live to stare. I’m the star, and everyone’s gazing but ask me if I care. Here’s a hint: I don’t care. At all.
Yeah.... I know.
It’s not the catchiest of phrases, and it's definitely longer than two sentences but it works.
It puts me in a mental/emotional state that’s high above that of the juvenile delinquents by which I am, unfortunately, surrounded.
“Class, please come back here on time from lunch! If you’re late, I won’t give you your test!” Ms. Henderson warned as my classmates filed out of her room.
“Is that a threat or, like, a present?” Some girl behind me muttered.
I smiled and turned to her,
“Alex, I'll take present for $800.”
The girl looked at me with surprise and turned red as she slowly backed away.
Why is she backing away?
Assessing the ill-fitting, out-of-season outfit shoddily thrown over her chubby frame, I realized that on one of my “off-days” I’d probably called this girl whose name I couldn’t remember something like a ‘pine cone shaped tragedy of a fashion statement’.
Frightened by my success, jealous of my talent, and on top of it all, undoubtedly traumatized by one of my famous tongue lashings, this gerbil-like girl (she was round and on the hairy side, like a little gerbil) gulped as we locked eyes.
Now that I’d been swept up into some sort of staring contest, I couldn't just pretend to ignore her.
So, I silently repeated my mean girl mantra and gave her a steely smile,
“Nice outfit.”
A split second before I turned on my heel to walk away, I saw something similar to the rage Raleigh’s character felt the moment she’d finally let her abusive father have it, flash in gerbil-girl’s eyes.
And then, I felt her chubby arm on my back- pushing me!
Can you believe that?!
Stumbling forward, I grabbed hold of a nearby desk and barely prevented myself from falling.
Whirling around, I exclaimed,
“What’s your problem?!”
“Girls…” Ms. Henderson tentatively warned.
Silence fell over our classroom as the line of kids that had been headed to the cafeteria stopped in their tracks, watching.
We had an audience.
Actually, I had an audience...ha, what else is new?
Gerbil stepped forward, with anger still flashing in her overly protruding eyes.
I stared at her strange-looking eyes, they looked back, threatening to pop right out of their sockets at any given second. Upon closer inspection, she reminded me more of a fish than a gerbil, but it would have to be a really ugly fish...perhaps a blow fish is an adequate comparison.
As this went through my mind, I coolly took a step back and tightened my grip on my stylish Louis Vuitton purse, ready to aim the gorgeous weapon directly into the hideous face of my opponent, if necessary.
“Do you have some sort of a problem?” I asked with the flourish of a stage actress.
“Yeah, I do!” She spat out her words, as if pent up rage was just waiting to be unleashed on her victim, me.
“OK, Miriam, Lila. That’s enough girls. Miriam, stay here for a moment, Lila, you go on to lunch.” I heard Ms. Henderson’s heels tap-tap all the way across the floor as she hurriedly moved to where we stood.
“Why do I have to stay? This is her fault!” Miriam the Gerbil/Fish protested.
My fault?! I shook my head in disgust and gave Miriam one final look of disdain.
“Miriam, I know you’re upset but-" Ms. Henderson began.
“You know I’m upset but you don’t care because my parents didn't just make a huge donation to the School’s Theater Department! Everybody knows that's the only reason why she gets to go to lunch even though she made fun of my clothes, just like she did last week, and the week before!”
Prepared to turn away and follow the hesitantly-leaving crowd to the lunchroom, I couldn’t help but pause to defend myself,
“That’s not true! I didn’t make fun of her clothes! I never did! Why would I do that?”
Miriam banged her fist on a nearby desk causing me to jump in surprise,
“Then WHY’D you say “nice outfit”?” She yelled.
“Miriam!” Ms. Henderson warned, nervously looking from her to me and then back at her.
Increasing my already tight grip on my purse, I lied,
“It was a compliment.”
“A compliment?!” Miriam shook her head and uttered a sort of a …chuckle is what I guess you’d call it. Whatever the sound was, it was filled with enough sarcasm to sink my confidence, “Like the compliment you gave your "best friend" on T.V. yesterday? You know what…” Her voice trailed off and she seemed to calm down, “You’re not even worth it.”
Miriam finally broke eye contact with me and turned to Ms. Henderson.
I have no idea what the two of them said after that.
All I remember was feeling that unsettling nausea well up in the pit of my stomach to the point of making me sick.
The last thing I wanted to do was throw up in the middle of a performance, because that’s really all this was- a performance.
You might as well even call the entire ride that is high school, one outlandish performance…. I hurried out of the classroom and into the hallway.
Pushing past the tons of eyeballs that bore into me, staring at my hair, my clothes, my shoes, the expression on my face, etc...all I wanted was to get to a bathroom and lock myself in a stall.
Relishing a moment to myself, just a few minutes away from judgmental eyes, I finally spotted a bathroom and hurried inside.
Of course, as soon as I stepped in and heard the door swing shut behind me – I came face to face with the one person I desperately needed to see but was deathly afraid of being confronted by.
“Shyla?” I whispered.
She was standing, facing the bathroom mirror staring at me with shock.
She looked as bad as I felt.
I wanted to say, "I'm sorry", get the whole stupid apology over with and then skip to the part where she asks me what's wrong before telling me, in her kind way, that yes Miriam is a Gerbil/Fish faced loser and she was completely wrong for pushing me.
Unfortunately, life is not a DVD and you cannot skip to the good part.
Life is more like the long, drawn out process of filming on the set of an over-budget film where cranky actors lurk about, slamming trailer doors and shouting in thick Australian accents at the idiot director who is also an idiot...wow, that was quite informative and yet...poetic. I ought to try writing memoirs more often.
Shyla moved away from the mirror, and in one shaky movement, grabbed a paper towel before turning towards me.
Realizing that she wasn't moving towards me to speak to me, but only to exit the room, I stepped to the side, moving out of her way and watched her walk through the bathroom door.
It swung shut behind her.
"Some friend." I angrily shouted at no one in particular.
The bathroom's ugly emptiness stared back at me and I wondered if it was time to take my mom's suggestion about hiring a tutor so I could work more and be in school less.
Dad was the one who wanted me to "go to public school and get a taste of normal life".
Mom hated the idea.
In her words, "Would you prefer our child be "more normal" or "perfect"?"
In any case, as I stood in the grimy bathroom thinking of how mad I'd made Shyla I didn't feel perfect, or even normal.
The pain in my stomach intensified and I ran for the stall...
Leaning against the cool brick wall, I plastered a nonchalant expression on my face and a good amount of Extra Shiny lip gloss on my lips, after which, I reached into my purse for my phone.
The lunch bell rang and I cringed as the sound of many footsteps, talking and laughter, moved from the front lawn and the cafeteria to the area where I thought I'd been safely hidden.
Gulping, I steadied myself for the wave of eyeballs.
"Did you watch the interview yesterday? I can't believe she said that!"
"I know. Oh...that's her..."
And, there was the wave.
Several girls from the History Class I should have been headed back to, passed and glanced at me with steely gazes as they pretended to ignore me.
I almost smiled, because high school kids have a lot to learn about "the rules associated with pretending to ignore someone":
Rule #1: Never stare at your enemy's outfit with envious admiration.
Looking down into my phone, I typed:
*Mom, I'm sick, need you to pick me up from school asap*
"Shyla!" I heard a familiar voice exclaim.
Before I could help myself, I was glancing up and my stomach lurched as my eyes settled on the faces in the crowd.
Pulling myself together, I focused on where the voice was coming from and spotted my little brother Ty.
He was running towards Shyla.
Egged on by curiosity, I watched Shyla glance at Ty with that usual look of thinly veiled fear.
Most people wouldn't peg it as fear, because it involves a sort of frown that is typically indicative of disdain.
But, Ty wasn't about to let her frown throw him off. My little brother is funny like that.
Most of the time he doesn't care about anything except eating pop tarts and being a gamer, but when he does want something (like a girl, usually, it's a new one every two weeks) he's an unstoppable little brat.
He put a hand on her arm, which she automatically jerked away from.
Embarrassed by her own reaction, Shyla took a slight step back and tried to smile but her "smile" was more nervous grimace than grin.
He spoke, and I made good use of my ability to read lips,
"Listen, I'm sorry about what my sister set, she though out he acid melting..." is what it looked like he was saying.
That's when I realized I wasn't so great at reading lips.
But what I did see was the surprise on Shyla's face, an unexpected genuine smile, and then my brother's blush.
Hm.
My phone vibrated and I looked down to check the text message from my mother.
*Sending Taylor, she'll be there in 15. She's bringing you to the doctor*
My mom.
Ever the warrior.
I knew that she knew I wasn't sick. She was just being difficult.
I typed my reply: *I'm not sick, I just need to go home. No doctors* and just as I was prepared to hit "send" I heard my best friend, excuse me, ex-best friend laugh.
Looking up, I spotted Shyla and my brother leaving the sea of High-Schoolers and heading, side by side, back to the school building.
From the easy way that Shyla was walking and based on the fact that she'd actually laughed out loud, like a normal teenage girl... I could tell she was already feeling more comfortable.
On the other hand, as I watched my little brother sheepishly try to figure out what to do with his hands, gesturing wildly as he spoke, becoming self conscious and placing them in his pockets before realizing he looked like a geek and letting them hang limply by his sides, I could see that he was still very nervous.
So... I thought to myself as I dismissed the text I'd planned on sending to my mother and stuffed the phone into my pocket, my best friend has ditched me for my sleazy little brother. Well isn't that fabulous....
Chapter Two - Life With Laila Hills-The Hit Reality Show
The School Nurse's Office smelled like Lysol.
Since "illness" had forced me to leave school early more than five times in one semester, I'd been ushered to her office.
They'd said it was "office protocol".
More like "a stupid-call" I'd wanted to say aloud.
But I kept my thoughts to myself.
What's the point in creating an unnecessary scene that will probably end up in an OMG post?
So, I'd walked myself to the Nurses office and instantly been thrown off by a near-hazardous cloud of Lysol.
After almost dying, I regained strength and asked the kid who looked like some sort of student worker where the school nurse was.
As he opened his mouth to speak, his embarrassingly squeaky voice seemed to startle both of us,
"Um...she's uh, I'll get her."
He colored, stood, stared at me as he tripped over a chair and then stumbled towards a nearby door.
I smiled, and still staring at me, he knocked on the door.
"You're um- are you Lila Hills?" He asked in a deeper voice.
Poor kid.
Sometimes I am so glad I'm not a guy.
All that voice-changing stuff must be utterly embarrassing, especially for the late bloomers.
"Yeah, who are you?" I treated him to a mysterious pout and he turned redder.
Nerd attraction activated.
I mentally congratulated myself, Mission accomplished Lila. You've still got it.
I don't know why I do that.
I know my looks aren't going anywhere for at least a good ten years and then after that, I can always buy them back through the hands of a capable plastic surgeon.
So, why I feel the need to constantly prove to myself that 'I've still got it" is beyond me.
Maybe because it's just so much fun to watch.
For example, nerdy-voice-changing-guy was still knocking on the door, completely deaf to the school nurse yelling,
"What is it Kyle?!" for, like, the third time.
"I think she's asking you a question." I said in my best husky voice.
He gulped and halted his knocking,
"Oh!"
Smiling to myself, I cleared my throat and silently prepped for Act II of "Adventures In Pretending To Be Sick."
When the nurse finally came out of her office, she barely looked at me as she briskly approached the receptionist desk where voice-changing-guy had been seated,
"Yes, may I help you?"
"I need to leave early because I'm sick, so I was told to come here." I explained in a slightly weak (but not too over the top) voice.
For good measure, I placed a hand over my belly and attempted to look like I was doing my best to not hurl all over my shoes.
Still ignoring me, she reached for a clipboard and said,
"You'll have to fill out a "Permit To Leave Early" form but before I give this to you I need you to tell me why you're leaving early."
"Because...I'm sick." I repeated.
Finally, she gave me a brief glance.
Instead of passing me the clipboard, she clutched it ever closer to her chest as if it was some sort of a precious child,
"Sick with what?"
"With an illness I'd rather not discuss." I gave her a look and nodded towards the student worker.
She didn't get it.
Crossing her arms, the woman stoically replied,
"I can't let you leave without a permissible illness."
Barely unable to stop from rolling my eyes, I took a deep breath and went for it,
"I'm on my period and it's horrible."
Voice changing guy, who had temporarily returned to his usual paleness was at once redder than Kathy Griffin's hair and I tried so hard not to laugh as the school nurse immediately nodded and passed me the clipboard,
"OK Miss Hills. Just fill this out."
A million years later, I was finally out of the nurses office and headed towards the school parking lot where my mom's assistant, Taylor was supposed to meet me and pick me up.
My phone buzzed to life and I whipped it out to find that Taylor had just sent me a text.
*Here!*
Just as I hit reply, the familiar sound of my mother's car rang in my ears.
I folded my arms and watched Taylor nearly crash into me (and the curb).
She really was a terrible driver.
And it probably didn't help that there was a camera man in the backseat with two cameras aimed at her.
Every time I rode with her, or for that matter, went anywhere with either Taylor or my mother during the filming of my mom's new reality show, "Life With Laila Hills" both of them were extra attentive to the sight of themselves in mirrors. Even hairs that weren't the least bit out of place were suddenly, "a mess" and "are we rolling yet?" was constantly on the tip of their tongues.
I didn't mind the cameras, honestly, by now I wouldn't have even noticed their presence were it not for Taylor and my mother prancing around and batting their fake eyelashes into every lens aimed in their general vicinity.
I inched towards the curb and slid into my mom's cherry red car.
"Hey!" Taylor chirped, giving me a kind smile.
"Hi Taylor." I smiled back. Lately she'd been in a really good mood.
She was pretty cool when she was in a good mood.
Otherwise, she was what I'd call lazy and conniving.
But this new version of "Good-Mood-Taylor" was just fine with me.
"So, are you not feeling well? Should we head to the Doctor?" Before taking off, she glanced at me expectantly.
For a moment, I paused to look at her.
Taylor hadn't seemed to care much about me before, but now...this was kind of nice.
"Uh..." A little thrown by her kindness and by the super intense way she was staring at me from under those giant fake eyelashes that my mom had probably let her have, I faltered and then replied, "No, I'm not really sick. I'm just tired of dealing with these kids. They're so...lame."
"What makes them so lame?" She asked with the air of someone who considered herself much wiser and more patient than I could ever dream of becoming.
OK Taylor, it's cool if you wanna play older sister with me just don't push it. I thought to myself.
Glancing at the steering wheel, I lowered my voice to a tone that my acting coach calls "Somewhere in the Realm of Sarcastic" and asked,
"Are you planning on putting the beast in drive sometime this year?"
She laughed so hard it actually kind of made me smile.
"Yeah, sorry." Putting the car in drive and speeding off in way that gave all three of us ( and probably the cameraman) whiplash, she went on, "It's just that I can totally relate to how you feel about High School. I mean, I'm sure you're more popular than I was but believe it or not, back then I had no friends."
I could believe it.
When Mom had first hired Taylor, she'd hired her for one reason and one reason only.
My dad would never, ever, ever take a second look at Taylor.
The girl's crow's nest of a head of hair was just ...a shame to look at and her clothes were...I can't even do them justice. Let's just say that if you've ever seen episodes of an old show called "Ugly Betty" then you've seen every one of the outfits Taylor used to wear.
But, since my mom's reality show had started filming, she'd realized that it was important for Taylor to look a little better so as not to misrepresent our family's fashion sense.
Believe it or not, the looks and air of an assistant says something about the taste of the celebrity s/he represents.
"Really?" I dryly asked.
She sped through a stop sign, pretended to look both ways and then took off before answering,
"Totally! I was such a dork. But, I don't want to make this all about me. Tell me what's going on with you. Talking about it helps you know."
"Yeah, I know." I quietly replied.
Glancing out of the window, I watched the scenery fly by and was on the verge of asking Taylor how fast she was driving when she shut me up with,
"You know, I never told you this before but I think you're too good for the kids you hang out with."
I mulled this over.
That's what my mother always told me, in so many words.
She said my friends (all two of them) didn't understand what it was like to have a business or a reputation to think of. They were still kids, I was...different.
"No." I muttered, "I'm not. It's more like...the other way around."
"Why do you say that?" She asked.
I watched a baby squirrel hop into the road and cringed.
We swerved.
The squirrel lived.
Once my heart attack subsided, I finally gave Taylor my answer,
"I'm the one who screwed Shyla over. Didn't you see my interview yesterday?"
"Yeah, I did. You didn't say anything wrong. You were beautiful and honest and, it was fine."
I turned to Taylor.
Surely she was lying.
I'd completely blabbed Shyla's worse secret to the entire world.
But the look on Taylor's face was innocent.
Confused, I turned back to the window.
"You don't think it was wrong for me to say all that about her step-dad?" I whispered.
Realizing that I was whispering, I cleared my throat and folded my arms.
The car was cold.
Reaching over to turn down the AC I turned back to Taylor and caught her giving me an almost... dirty look as she exclaimed,
"You're cold?! It's like ninety degrees outside!"
"Yeah, I'm freezing."
There was a pause, during which she cleared her throat and made some sort of effort to wipe the annoyance from her face.
Wow, she must be undergoing some sort of therapy, I mused, well, whatever she's doing, it's working.
"No. It wasn't wrong. You did it because you wanted to help your friend, right?" She asked, in a much softer voice.
Her tone was the one my acting coach called "Sing-Songy", this was typically reserved for bad actors who are forced to play the role of "The Wise Stranger" in a made-for-TV movie that can often be found on Lifetime at two a.m.
I let this slide because I knew Taylor was only doing the best she could at being nice.
After all, so was I...and Shyla hadn't let my error slide...
"I thought if other people knew, it would, like, give her strength. I thought she'd be able to stand up to him, you know what I mean?" Turning away from the window to gauge Taylor's reaction, I watched her nod.
A tiny bit of hope unfurled in my mind...if Taylor understood what I meant, then maybe Shyla would too.
"Do you think I should talk-" I started to ask, but Taylor interrupted me,
"I think the two of you need to have a deep and open conversation. But not alone. You need a neutral third party. Someone who's clear-headed and won't take sides."
"Yeah?" I thought about that.
I did want to talk to my best friend.
I missed her...and obviously she was also desperate for friendship if she'd gone running to the likes of my little brother.
"Yeah, talk to her this Friday. I'll be around, I can be your neutral third party." She said with a shrug.
I pictured Shyla walking into our home, as she'd so often done before, my dad looking at her with surprise as he poked his head out of his recording studio to see who'd popped in,
"Hey Shy! How's it going girl? Are you here to see that lunatic we keep chained in the basement?"
He always said something cheesy like that, and she'd always sheepishly pretend to laugh.
Shyla was terrible around men but she'd grown slightly used to my dad.
She knew he wasn't a threat.
I felt something in my heart melt.
I had to talk to her...even if it meant that Taylor with her "sing-songy" voice would be our neutral third party.
"Thanks Taylor, that's a great idea. I just hope Shyla agrees to it."
Chapter Three- My Mom Made Me Skip School
"LILA!!! ARE YOU AWAKE!"
Liam Hemsworth faded out of my head and I woke to the sound of my mother shouting at me to get up.
What a beyond fabulous way to wake up. One minute you're Katniss and Liam Hemsworth is about to kiss you and before you know it-
"LILLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAA!!! SPEAK IF YOU'RE AWAKE!!"
Her voice reverberated through my solid oak door.
"Birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and my mother's screaming at me." I groaned as I threw the sheet over my head.
"WE NEED TO GO FOR A JOG BEFORE YOUR SHOW WITH TRACY AND BRAD THIS MORNING!!!"
Show...?! I panicked.
Pushing the sheet off of me and jumping out of bed so quickly that I almost fell flat on my face, I ran to the door, threw it open and nearly whacked my mom in the face.
"Watch my nose, it's new!!" She screeched, shielding she and Dr. Baldwin's precious work of art with the palm of her hand.
In my peripheral vision, I spotted two camera men hovering near my mother and was thankful that I hadn't forgotten to throw on a robe.
"Mom, what are you talking about?! I have school today, I can't go do another interview." Looking at her, I tried to recall any mention of my having been scheduled for a promo interview.
"I forgot to tell you last night, your agent called because Selena Gomez was scheduled for Tracy and Brad but she got sick, had to cancel and guess what that means for you Lila?" She grinned and clapped her hands, "America's most watched morning show want's you!!!"
I gulped.
I'd really wanted a moment to talk, face to face, with Shyla at lunch that afternoon.
There was a much better chance she'd agree to coming over if I asked her in person, as opposed to by text.
But mom took my silence as evidence of my being in shock.
Forcing herself to momentarily appear sane, she gently took a hold of both of my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes,
"Don't be nervous. Lila, you're perfect, you're a star! That's how I know you're going to rock this interview!"
And then her sanity evaporated.
Giving me a violent shake (the kind that's in those "What NOT to do to your baby" books), she screamed and grinned broadly,
"Now let's work off as much sleep-fat as we can with a half hour run okay? You need to be in tip top shape for Tracy and Brad!"
Only my mother believes that sleeping causes fat build-up.
"But mom," I shouted, to make her hear me, "I really need to go to school today. I almost got in trouble for leaving earl-"
Dismissing my protests, she waved her hand in my face and began walking away,
"Don't worry about that Lila, I'll talk to your teachers and anyway, they'll see you on TV so they'll know what's up. The only thing we really need to do is convince your Dad to pull you out of that school and get you a tutor."
As she made her way down the stairs followed by one of the cameramen, I wrapped my robe around me tighter, briefly wondered what Shyla was doing right at that exact moment, and turned back to my room only to come face to face with the lens of a camera.
I wanted to push it and the dread-head guy who was holding it, out of my way as I yelled,
"Do you know the meaning of the word PRIVACY?!!! This isn't my show, it's my mother's, follow her you idiot!!"
Unfortunately, some of us can't afford to make such scenes.
So, I gave the camera one of my perfectly dazzling grins, entered my room, and quietly shut the door.
Though Tracy and Brad had been on air for about fifteen years, their set still smelled new.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent.
My mom gave my back a pat.
I scowled.
"Don't frown Honeyoat." She replied.
That's right...Honeyoat.
When Mom was proud of me, I became a nutritious brand of granola such as "honeyoat".
When she was semi-okay with me, I was reduced to being average, just a plain old "sweetheart".
When Mom was out and out mad at me, I became some character in a non-existent fantasy computer game she'd created, "Dragon-Face".
"Mom!" I muttered my protest.
"What's with you? Don't pull out your Dragon-Face act. Tracy and Brad don't want an interview with a Dragon-Face do they?"
I looked at my mother.
"Why do you do that?" I whispered.
I was keeping my voice lowered because you never know if the greenroom is rigged with a microphone and/or hidden camera.
My mother, though, had no such concerns.
After all, to be a reality star, the more drama one made the more popular one became.
"Do what?" She demanded in a voice that made one of the assistant stage manager's give her a look.
"One minute you're telling me I'll do great and acting like you're proud of me and then two seconds later you're calling me a dragon face?" I quietly shouted.
(Yes, quiet shouting is a skill. It's the fat sister to the more popular "stage whisper.")
My mom rolled her eyes and paused dramatically.
I guess she forgot that her camera crew had been asked to wait outside.
"Lila, I'm always proud of you. I just want you to do your best. That's all. Would you be a star if I didn't give a push every now and then?" She turned away and I thought she'd let it rest, but no...there was more.
Turning back to me, she exclaimed,
"Would you rather I didn't say anything when you frown or do something you shouldn't? Is that what you want?"
Embarrassed by the octave and volume of her voice, I simply shook my head and turned away.
But did she stop?
Of course not.
"...If you had spinach in your teeth Lila dear, would you rather I keep my mouth shut and let you walk around looking like you'd gone to the bottom of the ocean and feasted on a pile of seaweed?! I say nothing and let you be a loser, oh I'd hear about it, I would! But, I speak up, you become a successful star, beyond perfect yada yada and what do I get? I get the exact same complaints!"
Frustration rose in my chest and I could feel it quickly morphing into the feeling that I'm pretty sure The Incredible Hulk would know a thing or two about.
I couldn't afford to lose my temper.
Not now.
"Excuse me." I hoarsely whispered before making my way to the headphone-clad assistant Stage Manager who'd been frowning at my mother for her tone.
"Lila, where are you going!?" My mother's voice called after me.
The woman pressed the earpiece of her headphones and turned to me, I was surprised to find an apologetic look on her face.
"Um, do I have time to go back and use the restroom?"
"Yes Miss Hills." Smiling, she pointed towards the hallway that we'd initially come from, "Just go back to your dressing room and use the one in there. You have twenty minutes."
Nodding, I whipped out my cell phone and made my way into the dressing room.
Once inside, I didn't go to the bathroom.
Instead, I flopped into the comfortable red velvet chair that was set before my dressing room mirror.
I stared at myself in the mirror for a good five minutes and then I stared at the phone in my hand.
What would Shyla's reaction be?
Well, what am I going to do, sit here and think about it forever... or just do it?
This thought pushed me to send her my text:
*Shyla, I'm so sorry for what I've done. I thought it was the right thing and I was wrong. Will you come over tomorrow after school and maybe we can talk about it? Please?*
Slipping my phone into the pocket of my Juicy Couture dress ( I know! It has barely visible pockets, which I loooove!) I stood, took a deep breath, marched out of the dressing room, and back to the greenroom.
My mom gave me an annoyed look and proceeded to grandly ignore me by burying her head in her phone.
"I'm so nervous, how can you be this cool?"
The voice startled me and I nearly tripped over my own feet.
Several new additions to the Greenroom were stashed in the left hand corner.
My jaw dropped.
A sleek crew of five guys, about my age, obviously English, and obviously, part of a boy-band, looked at me with the same "jaw-dropped" expression.
"Aren't you Lila Hills?" The one who'd been nervous asked.
I nodded and came out of my stupor.
He was cute, blonde hair, nice hazel eyes.
Gifting him with a Lila Hills grin, I strode their way and was displeased to find that he and I were the exact same height.
Oh well...you can't have it all.
"And you are?" I asked, in my best Marilyn-Monroe voice.
His hazel eyes sparkled with the mischief that I know all too well,
"I'm Derek, that's Scott, Brian, Luke, and Cole."
Scanning the rest of the band, my eyes stopped on the last one.
Whoa...
Tall, jet black hair, striking blue eyes.
Whoa.
Tearing my eyes away from Cole, I turned back to Derek and pleasantly replied,
"Oh...so, why were you saying you're nervous? These kinds of interviews are shorter than the late shows, this'll be easy."
I heard my mom cough.
Ignoring her unspoken comment, I looked at Derek and waited for his reply,
"Easy?! Maybe for you! You're a big star around here. No one in the states even knows who we are. They might hate us! What if we get booed off stage?"
"You won't." I laughed, "Just remember to breathe and you'll be alright."
"Then he might need an oxygen tank." Luke spoke up.
"Yeah, him and me." Agreed Scott.
The one called Brian stepped forward and nodded towards me, his cell phone in hand.
I wondered if he was planning on asking me for my number.
Although I would've much preferred sharing my digits with the tall, blue eyed one named Cole, I prepared an appropriately "come-hither" response that would hopefully result in all five of them fighting over who would be the first to give me a call.
I nearly heard my ridiculously large bubble make a whooshing noise when Brian smiled at me and said,
"Sorry to interrupt Lilly-"
"It's Lila." I sniffed as I corrected him.
"Of course, Lila. Would you mind terribly if I show Derek this tweet from one of our um...favourite fans? I think he'll want to see this."
The guys gave each other a look and Derek rolled his eyes as he, without even waiting for my response, moved towards Brian and the phone.
Humbled, I took a step back and was pleasantly surprised when the cute one, Cole, weaved in and out of the small cluster of his buddies as he made his way over to where I stood.
"OK." I mumbled, attempting to recover my dignity.
Humbled, I took a step back and was pleasantly surprised to find the cute one, Cole, stepping forward, before weaving in and out of the small cluster of his buddies, as he made his way to where I stood.
"Hi." He smiled, "I didn't get to properly meet you. It’s Lila, isn’t it?”
I gulped and cleared my throat.
For a moment, I was flustered…Wait a minute, what is my name?!
Fortunately, I recovered from my slight stroke and was able to return his smile,
“That’s me. And you’re Cole?”
He nodded, leaned back on his heels and looked around the room,
“So, you’re used to this sort of thing aren’t you?”
“Being a circus freak? Oh yeah.” Glancing at my mom and seeing that she was busily checking tweets or something on her phone, I lowered my voice as I went on, “When you’re the daughter of a Class A Stage Mom, you get used to this stuff by three.”
“Oh.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked at me with interest.
He’s really cute I heard myself think.
Again, clearing my throat I opened my mouth to speak and then, surprised, closed it again.
Why can’t I think of anything to say?!
My mind, suddenly blank, sputtered like an old car that didn't want to start, it was as if my command of the English language had suddenly vanished!
The only thing I knew was that I was standing in a greenroom next to a beautiful guy named Cole .....and my heart was beating way faster than that one time I'd tripped on the Red Carpet at the Tony's and Hugh Jackman had kindly reached out to help me.
Yeah, I know.
If Cole could make a, "Jazz-hands ladies, jazz-hands!" singing/when-not-grimacing Wolverine hunk look like my fat Uncle Ned, then Cole was-
“Do you like doing this?” He suddenly asked, interrupting my nonsensical thoughts.
“Doing what?” I asked, startled by the sound of his voice.
“Um…” He put his hands in his pockets and briefly looked up, as if the definition he searched for was hanging out in the air above his head. Finally, he glanced back at me, “I suppose I’m referring to the whole "being-a-celebrity schtick". Not just the interviews, but the craft, the fame, the whole nine yards. Is it worth it?”
I took a deep breath and had to not look at him so as to concentrate on answering his question,
“Good question.” I dared to give him a look as I joked, "Not a fan of small talk, are we?"
He smiled,
“I’m just curious. I’ve been thinking about that ever since we got here, it's really been sort of bothering me, you know? I want to know what someone like you, who’s got it together and who's been in this longer than I have has to say about all of it. You know, it’d be nice to hear an honest answer.”
I nodded, glancing down at my shoes,
“Hmm…”
What are you doing Lila? I heard myself think, This is the cutest guy you’ve ever seen or spoken to in your entire life and all you have to say is “Hmm”?!!
As quickly as I possibly could, I looked up, forced myself to meet his lovely eyes and put on my best cute-girl voice,
“How about I answer that and any other questions over dinner tomorrow night? I think better with food.”
Cole's face registered surprise, and then ...there it was a smile topped by an adorable blush.
“Sure, Lila, I’d like that.”
I loved the sound of my name coming from his lips.
Trying not to grin excessively, which is difficult to attempt when your day has just been made, I replied,
“Great, I’ll give you my number so we can talk time and place later.”
“OK.” He nodded, reaching for his phone.
I gave him my digits, got his, and just as I was ready to treat him to another saucy line from Marilyn-Monroe-101, my cell phone vibrated.
Annoyed, I glanced at the buzzing phone, and saw that it was Shyla.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, it’s my best friend, will you excuse me?”
“Certainly, of course.” He agreed, taking a step back.
Moving out of earshot, I answered,
“Shyla?”
“Excuse me.” A tap on my shoulder distracted me and I turned to find the Assistant Stage Manager looking at me quite seriously, “You’re on in eight minutes, so you’ll probably want to turn your phone on silent in the next two or three minutes.”
I nodded and turned back to my phone,
“Shyla?” I repeated.
“Yeah, it’s me. Can you hear me now?” Her voice was weak in a way that told me something was wrong.
“I hear you, what’s going on?” I asked, trying not to sound alarmed.
What else could possibly go wrong for her? She’s already been beat up by her step-dad, abandoned by her mother, and now betrayed by the snobby rich girl who's supposed to be her best friend…Sometimes I just wish life would give Shyla a break.
“I got your message and yeah, in fact um…” Her voice trailed off.
“What is it?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder at the Assistant Stage Manager, who was eying me and my cell phone.
“Lila, you need to turn your phone OFF!” Said my mother, in a voice loud enough to wake the dead.
I caught a glimpse of Cole looking, thoughtfully, at my mother.
I hoped he wasn’t comparing the two of us and wondering if that’s what was in store for me.
I simultaneously wondered what was going on with Shyla,
“I’m listening Shy.”
“I have to ask you a favor, a huge favor, if you don’t mind.”
My heart skipped a beat.
Favors, I can do!
Jumping at the opportunity to once again win, if not her complete trust, her favor, I eagerly replied,
“Anything, just tell me what it is.”
“I need a place to stay for a little while- and they want me to go with-well, I have this Aunt but I don’t want to move so far away and…it’s the end of the semester so, it wouldn’t be a good idea to stay with her-I mean, if I could just stay with you, if your parents don’t mind. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long, just until my dad is cleared.”
I frowned,
“Cleared? What do you mean cleared?”
“Lila!” Barked my mother.
“Excuse me, we do need your cell phone off sweetie, and if you could just make your way over here.” Said the Assistant Stage Manager, beginning to look a bit panicked.
I glanced at Cole, saw the pity in his eyes as he quietly hung back, separated from his band mates, who remained clustered around Brian’s phone.
“The Police heard what you said about my dad and they took it seriously so he’s under investigation for …abuse.”
Shyla’s voice was quiet in my ear.
I almost dropped the phone.
After one shaky breath, I managed to whisper,
“Are you mad at me?”
There was silence on her end and all I heard were the sound of my mother’s footsteps hurriedly walking towards me.
Finally, Shyla answered,
“I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry Shy, you know I love you right?” I whispered.
“Thanks, um, I better go. OK?” She said, and from her end of the line I heard loud voices talking.
“OK, just let me know if we need to pick you up or something.” I said.
“I will.”
At that moment, my mom grabbed my phone and turned it off.
I looked at her, too upset by Shyla’s situation to be upset with my crazy mother.
Noticing the expression on my face, her eyes widened and she quickly pulled herself together, apparently determining that she must also, pull me together,
“Lila, don’t do this now. I need you to take a deep breath, and own this moment. This is your moment. Whoever that was on the phone means nothing in comparison with this moment. Repeat after me: I will own this.”
“Mom,” I shook my head.
“One minute!” Called the Assistant Stage Manager.
Mom rolled her eyes and took my hand.
I let her pull me along,
“Mom, that was Shyla.”
She paused mid-step and turned to me for further explanation.
Seeing that I had her attention, I quickly went on,
“Her dad was arrested because of what I said. She doesn’t have a place to stay. He’s in jail and she needs us.”
Tiny little puddles began to form in the corners of my eyes.
Mom gently pulled on my arm,
“No tears. No Lila, stop it. Don't cry.”
I nodded.
She was right.
If I walked onstage with raccoon eyes and a runny nose, Tracy and Brad would never ask me back.
I had to pull it together.
Taking a deep breath, I tried to forget what was happening to my best friend, tried to forget that it was all because of me.
“That’s a good girl.” My mother said, her voice quite serious, “This is your moment, own it.”
Chapter Four- It's Friday, Friday, Friday...
I, like most of America, woke up to the sound of Ryan Seacrest's voice,
"Glad to have you here with us..."
My mom typically lets my alarm clock radio do it's job on the days that I don't have anything important going on.
(And in our house, going to school, isn't even on "The Important Stuff List", it's written somewhere on the back of a half-torn receipt from Whole Foods that Taylor forgot to throw away.)
I'd gotten home pretty late the night before because after my interview Mom wanted us to be seen shopping and hanging out together.
So, as anxious as I was to see Shyla, I submitted to my Mom's wishes.
Even though I still felt a little guilty about telling Shyla that Taylor , instead of my mom and I, would pick her up from the Police Station, I must confess that I did feel slightly better after Mom treated me to a dazzling pair of Tiffany earrings.
In any case, as sad as her situation was, the fact that Shyla was now safe and sound under our roof made me feel a lot better.
Maybe she was mad at me, but at least she was safe.
Ryan Seacrest's cheesy jokes went in one ear and out the other as I sat up, stretched and thought about everything I'd have to do that day.
First, I'd have to go to school and act like I was peacefully oblivious to everyone's complete hatred of me.
Fabulous. That''ll be fun... I thought, automatically pausing my stretch to let my arms drop at my sides.
Then, after school I'd have to meet with Shyla and Taylor and apologize with even more sincerity than a busted politician.
I sighed, flopped back onto my bed, and began to stare at the ceiling.
Maybe now that I've given her a place to stay she'll be less mad at me...maybe now she'll even realize that this was for the best.
After all, it's the first step in getting that alcoholic loser out of her life.
Then again... I closed my eyes and imagined Shyla yelling at me,
"You didn't do this to help me! You did it because you wanted attention by turning yourself into some kind of a savior!"
I cringed.
Well, hopefully our conversation wouldn't take that route...
Next, after smoothing things over with Shyla, I'd have to quickly get ready for my first date with Cole.
As I thought of Cole, with his lovely blue eyes and awesome Brit accent, butterflies made their way into my stomach and I wondered what he'd thought about my near-breakdown in the Greenroom. I hoped he hadn't seen me almost cry.
The only time I want anyone to see me cry is when I'm on the big screen and my tears are 100% contrived.
A slight knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.
"Yeah?" I called, wondering why my Mom was up so early.
Normally, Taylor brought me to school as Mom needed to rest until about 11 A.M.
"It's me." Shyla's voice whispered through the door.
I could barely hear her, but I did hear her and the fact that she was actually talking to me was great!
Quickly jumping out of bed, I nearly skidded to the door, and swung it open,
"Hey! How are you?"
She took a step back and I realized that I'd almost hit her in the face with my door.
I briefly wondered if I ought to say something to my Dad about getting my bedroom door adjusted.
"I'm fine." Shyla's voice sounded purposefully poised and ...professional?
I watched her look somewhere over my shoulder as she quietly went on,
"I forgot my toothbrush, would you happen to have an extra?"
"Sure." Nodding, I moved past her and down the hall to one of the bathroom closets where Taylor normally keeps a billion toothbrushes for us because we hate having to send her to the store for something little, like one toothbrush, that's just stupid! Keep twenty toothbrushes in your hallway closet- duhr!
Heading back to her with the requested toothbrush, I handed it to her and watched her expression,
"Here you go!"
In complete contrast to my louder than life, "Lila on Disney" voice, she sounded bland as she, still refusing to meet my eyes, replied,
"Thanks."
With that she walked away and returned to the guest room, gently closing the door behind her.
"Well that's fabulous." I muttered, heading back to my own room.
Well, after that, my morning didn't improve.
Taylor drove Shyla and I to school (oh and two camera men as well...although, honestly I have no idea why they were interested in Taylor bringing us to school. Lame.) during which, we sat in complete silence.
Once or twice Taylor tried to bring up a subject that we could discuss, but Shyla's one word answers would've only made for fantastic conversation among the students of an English As A Second Language class on the first day of class.
My response was no better. I decided that if she wasn't going to talk, then neither would I...at least not until later that evening when we'd really hash things out.
We arrived at school, Taylor continued to sound peppy and look concerned as she dropped her off and I fended off an urge to ask her what she was on.
Once Taylor had pulled off, I turned around and Shyla was already gone.
It took a moment for me to spot her walking with...my...little brother.
Totally disgusting, right?
My first class was boring, some guy asked me for an autograph and I pretended I couldn't hear him which inspired him to begin telling everyone around him that I was stuck up.
He started throwing pens at the back of my head and needless to say, I didn't get a thing out of that class, except for a blue ink mark on the back of my favorite white top.
So, feeling especially hateful towards High School I spent the rest of my morning classes staring off into space, fantasizing about my future interview with Barbara Walters during which I would tearfully (contrived tears, not real ones!) name, one-by-one, every last one of the bullies who'd been mean to me in High School.
The lunch bell rang, taking me away from my tearful interview .
As I stood to gather my belongings and head for shelter somewhere out of the reach of the storming herd of teenagers, I came face to face with oops, I keep forgetting this girl's name! Oh well, let's just call it like we see it.
So, I came face to face with Gerbil/Fish face girl.
She was smiling at me.
A few girls behind her were snickering too.
I glanced at one of the girls, a short one who smelled bad (Seriously bad. I'm not lying when I say this girl smelled like she'd bathed in a knock-off version of a knock off version of an Exclusive Family Dollar perfume that had been re-bottled into a used container of athlete's foot powder and then to top it off, rubbed her clothes with a "Smell of Mothballs Dipped In Bat Guano!" air freshener, which was produced by "Smells That Repel!" Air Freshener Company, the Company that helps you keep people away) and wore a shirt that was at least three sizes too big for her.
This girl was outright laughing hysterically.
Not ...a...good...sign...
"Problem?" I asked, crossing my arms and attempting to look fiercer than Tyra Banks.
Her nostrils flared as she smiled gleefully,
"I think you left something on the desk behind you."
Confused, I watched them saunter off.
I then, slowly, turned to glance at the desk behind mine.
On it, sat... my ponytail!!!
Cringing, I took a deep breath and counted to seven.
Trying not to think too much, because if I thought I'd get angry and if I got angry desks would fly (if you think Theresa Giudice is bad, try getting me upset) and if desks flew, then I'd get bad press, and if I got bad press, I probably wouldn't get that Spielberg movie offer my mom had been craving for the last five years, I reached into my purse for my phone and called Taylor.
She answered on the first ring,
"Please don't tell me you already got in a fight with Shyla!"
"What? No-" I replied.
"Oh good." I heard the relief in her voice, "Just try and keep it together while you're at school, this evening we'll talk it all out."
It was nice that Taylor's happy pills had also inspired some sort of empathy within her, but I didn't have time for a therapy session with Ugly Betty,
"Taylor I need you to pick me up as soon as you can, it's an emergency."
"For what?" Asked Taylor.
"No cell phones on school property Miss Hills." My teachers voice droned from somewhere behind me.
Rolling my eyes and trying to count to seven once more, I picked up my purse and stormed out of the classroom as I listened to Taylor exclaim,
"What?! What happened? Are you hurt?!"
"No. Some girl - a bully! A fat bully who looks like the freakish love child of a blow-fish and a gerbil cut my hair off! She cut my hair! I need you to pick me up now!" I hissed.
" OK, OK, calm down. We'll fix everything, that's what I'm here for. OK?"
The kindness in her voice almost got to me and I had to choke back a stupid frog in my throat as I bit down on my bottom lip and told myself to pull it together,
"OK."
I hung up the phone and that is when I heard and saw it...Glancing around, you would've thought that I was on the red carpet.
I was in the middle of the hallway and nearly surrounded on either side by small crowds of my classmates, all of them looking at me and laughing.
"Look! She really cut it all off!"
"She looks terrible!"
"Aw, that's so mean, but it's hilarious!!!"
For a moment, I was stunned.
Are they really laughing at me? I thought, as I turned every which way and came face to face with yet another person who was pointing and laughing or staring and giggling.
Well, the frog in my throat disappeared and was replaced with pure anger.
Never in my life, had I been more determined to hold my head high, look straight ahead and silently repeat Lila Hill's mantra: Star’s will always shine, and Star Gazer’s live to stare. I’m the star, and everyone’s gazing but ask me if I care. Here’s a hint: I don’t care. At all.
That phrase carried me all the way to the end of the hallway, downstairs and into the school parking lot, where, hidden between two large SUV's I finally sat down on the concrete, covered my face with my hands, and cried.
Teake clipped away at my bangs and I kept my eyes glued to the People magazine I'd been pretending to read.
No way was I planning on staring in the mirror as he chopped off the remainder of my hair.
"Lila, you're going to look so hot when I'm finished. Trust me, you'll run up to the brat who did this, and you'll say- wait what's that brat's name?" Asked Teake.
Still staring at the picture of TomKat walking hand in hand with little Suri between them, I muttered,
"Gerbil Face Loser With The Eyes of A Fish."
Teake paused, scissors in hand, and I could feel him giving me an odd look.
Taylor, sitting (with one of my mom's camera guys) in the empty seat beside me, felt the need to explain,
"Lila's a little upset right now."
Teake, resuming his snip-snap of my once flowing locks, smacked his lips as he quickly retorted,
"Really? Thanks, Taylor, for that desperately needed clarification."
Teake's voice is generally in "friendly mode" around me and to hear his tone drenched in sarcasm was kind of a shocker.
So, glancing up from my copy of People, I stole a peek at him in the mirror.
His lips were pursed as he over-concentrated on cutting my hair.
"I was only saying that because sometimes we forget that celebrities are people too, they have feelings and when those feelings get hurt, it's rough to put on a pretty face for the world, to just keep smiling through the pain. So, since some of us practically live with famous people and see what they have to go through on a daily basis we feel the need to speak up in their behalf."
Once Taylor's dramatic monologue had come to an end, Teake's arched eyebrow came down and he quietly said,
"Taylor, It's amazing that in the two years you've been working for the Hills, you've never said more than two words to me and now, you've, overnight, suddenly blossomed into a talkative glamor queen. It makes me wonder what caused this sudden change."
Deliberately pausing and staring directly into the camera that I'd forgotten was present, Teake smacked his lips once more before spinning me around in the chair.
Before Taylor could open her mouth to defend herself and before I had a chance to give proper consideration to Teake's observation, he smiled at me and handed me a mirror,
"Here you are beautiful. I know you've been dreading this moment, but check out how gorgeous you are."
With butterflies in my stomach and images of Cole taking one look at my new haircut and stammering loads of excuses designed to send him far away from our date, I finally allowed my eyes to wander up and across the mirror to my face.
I gasped.
"Teake-" My voice almost didn't work.
He grinned like a Cheshire cat,
"Do we approve my lady?"
I was so happy, I feared I'd start crying again.
So all I could do was nod.
The hair, perfectly cropped, was a messy-chic style I'd once seen on Jessica Alba, briefly envied, and then forgotten about.
The only difference between Jessica's cut and mine was the way Teake had trimmed my bangs to accentuate my cheekbones and bring out my eyes.
Finding my voice, I grinned at him,
"You're right, I think Gerbil Face almost deserves a thank you card."
"Or at least one less punch in the face." Teake laughed.
"As if you'd ever punch anyone Taylor, you are so not a bully! You never support bullying." Taylor spoke up, laughing loudly.
Teake gave Taylor a dirty look before rolling his eyes at the camera.
"Thanks T, you're amazing." I gushed and turned to give him a hug.
"With a face like yours, amazing is easy. You're beautiful!"
I smiled and thought about Cole...hopefully he'd think so too.
"Mom!" I shouted.
"Laila!" Yelled Taylor, closing the door behind us.
"Ma!" I shouted again, heading towards the stairs.
So excited to let Mom see and be jealous of my new haircut, I almost didn't catch sight of the horrid thing sitting on my mother's couch.
Of course, I love my brother.
And Shyla, well, she's one of the best friends I've ever had.
So, separately, I love the both of them.
But, together, sitting on my mother's couch kissing?!
NO.
That's just disgusting!
At school, my brother's nickname is "The Player".
He's a grubby little two-timer who's fast-food eating, Wal*Mart's-child-section-rack-sale wearing girlfriends are normally none of my concern, but when he starts going out with one of my friends (or maybe I should say my one friend)...NO, absolutely NOT happening!
"What are you doing?!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
Shyla, jumped straight in the air (and I'm not exaggerating) while my brother, with a look of guilt slid away from her.
"Are you insane?!" I moved towards my brother, not sure what I was going to do, but positive that it would involve a bit of violence, "Don't you think she's been through enough you freak?"
"Lila!" Exclaimed Shyla.
I looked at her in astonishment, why was she yelling at me?
My brother jumped to his feet and I immediately pushed him back onto the couch. Ready to throw one of my mom's couch pillows at him, I suddenly halted in my tracks.
The look on his face stopped me.
"No Lila- you're insane." He quietly declared.
"What?! Shyla is vulnerable right now! Don't you know what she's been through? Don't yo-"
I was interrupted by Shyla bolting from the couch and tearfully running out of the room.
"Shyla?" I called after her.
"See what you did ?!" Ty shouted as he jumped to his feet and started after her, "Shy, wait! Wait..."
I turned around and watched him run after her, over his shoulder, he yelled,
"This is your fault Lila!"
Shaking my head at his stupidity, I started to follow him and nearly knocked over Taylor and her camera crew.
"Can you move please?" I asked in between waltz steps with Taylor.
"What's going on?!" She shrieked, "Is everything OK? I just saw Shyla run out of the house crying and was that your brother running after her?"
Looking at my mother's once Ugly Bettyish P.A., Teake's assertion flashed through my mind.
" Oh, Lila...are you going to cry Lila? Don't cry, it's not your fault." Taylor's voice dripped with honey, and her hand went to my shoulder.
Teake is so right, I silently realized.
One of the camera guys moved in closer and I forced myself not to pull an Alec Baldwin.
Instead of turning into a miniature version of the Hulk, I quietly counted to seven and made myself politely request,
"Would you excuse me Taylor?"
Leaving Taylor in her momentary spotlight, I dashed to the front door.
"Whoa!" I exclaimed, running almost directly into Ty and Shyla.
He had his arms around her and she was still crying, her face buried in his shoulder.
"Go away." He whispered, giving me an evil glare.
"Why are you telling me to go away? She's my friend, not-" I glanced at Shyla.
"Lila, if she was really your friend you wouldn't have used her life as a plug for your dumb movie! You don't know how to have friends, the only thing you know how to do is use people. " He retorted.
Appalled, I just stood there.
I couldn't say anything because...what if he was right?
What if I had, subconscioulsy used Shyla's situation to my own advantage?
I'd known her for three years, known that her step-dad hit her when he was drunk and I hadn't said a word about it...until now, when I happened to have recently filmed a low-budget indie flick about a girl who's alcoholic dad hits her.
But, I'd never use my friend like that.
Still...
Words wouldn't come, no defense offered itself, and with my mind blank while my guilt steadily increased, I took a step back.
"Wait." Shyla, moving away from Ty, wiped her eyes and turned to me, "I don't think you used me."
"You don't?" I sputtered, too shocked to be relieved.
"No." She shook her head and composed herself, "I know you were trying to help, I get that. But-"
Her eyes widened and they darted to something behind me, just over my shoulder.
I spun around and of course, there stood Taylor with my mom's two camera guys.
"Seriously?!" I exclaimed, "Taylor, can you give us a minute?"
"Are you sure you can handle this without a neutral third party? I'm here to help." Taylor tilted her head to the side and spoke with a faked gentleness that even Ginny Godwin would find enviable.
"Taylor, we're not idiots, we know you're just using us for mom's show," My brother spoke up, "and the two people who are going to have nothing better to do than watch that garbage aren't idiots either, they'll see right through you. We do."
Taylor reddened and I took this as my cue to let my inner Alec Baldwin ...out.
It wasn't pretty.
I don't even want to write about it. So, I won't.
But if you want to check out my first ever, tabloid cover, well, have at it...CLICK HERE.
But, like I said, this is my memoir and I've decided to skip that part and get to what's important...so, after the cops (and our lawyers left), we all made our way back into the house.
Dad, especially nervous after having been called out of his studio, sat down on the couch and looked at my brother as if the whole problem was really his fault.
I must say, I felt a little bit guilty about that.
Ty gets blamed for a lot. Granted, the blame is usually merited.
But this time, it was entirely my fault.
So, I spoke up,
"Dad, I'm sorry. This was my fault."
Dad opened his mouth and Mom waved him into silence,
"No, Lila, you're not responsible for this, I am. I let my show cross the line. It was meant to be about me. Not you. Or you." She looked at Shyla,
who's expression was that of a girl who, at the moment, probably wished to be invisible," I apologize."
Astounded though I was to hear my mom utter an apology, I knew I couldn't let her take all the blame,
"No Mom," I shook my head adamantly, "This was all on me. I'm the one who brought up something Shyla told me, in confidence, on national television. I started this. It had nothing to do with you."
From the corner of my eye, I saw my little brother reach for Shyla's hand, and I stifled a sigh as she turned to give him an appreciative glance.
I guess I'll have to get used to that... I thought to myself.
Dad cleared his throat and began to speak,
"There's no reason to place blame on just one p-"
Mom stood and made her way to the center of the little accidental circle we'd haphazardly created in our seating choices,
"Darling, there is a reason to place blame. This nonsense that I started has gone to the media. People, the world over, will be talking about us and I'm not going to stand by and let them place all of the blame on my innocent daughter who was only trying to protect her dear friend Sasha! What I've allowed to happen in my home, by bringing in a camera crew and allowing them to film during such a sensiti-"
"Mom." Said my brother.
"What?" She stopped, glancing at him as if he'd interrupted an inaugural address.
"Her name's Shyla. Not Sasha. And..." He stood, still holding not-Sasha's hand, "There aren't any camera's here anymore so, you can chill out."
With that, he and an apologetic-looking Shyla headed to the back door.
Slowly turning to my surprisingly-silent mom, I saw that she was livid.
Uh-oh, I thought, here it comes...
"Of all the spoiled and selfish acts of a child, this is the worst! What kind of a son won't listen to his own mother's apology!" She charged the front door with surprising speed, until my Dad grabbed her hand, glanced at me and whispered something in her ear, which was too quiet for me to hear.
Sitting there on the couch, I momentarily zoned out, thinking about my mother, myself, many of the other actors I knew, and why we sometimes feel the need to "pull a Gwyneth" and do or say anything for attention.
If my guilt had been bad before, it was worse then.
I turned to my parents and saw that they were arguing.
Very quietly, I scooted off of the couch and left the room.
Perfect
He was perfect.
He held open doors for me.
He pulled out my chair.
He engaged me in conversation and then...he listened.
Plus that, he was hotter than the Sahara at high noon.
Disappointed, I set my fork down on top of my napkin.
The fork made a clanging noise as it hit the table...oops.
Cole paused and looked at me curiously,
"Was it something I said or...the salad?"
I smiled and shook my head,
"No. You're perfect."
"Then I take it, it was something ...the salad... said?"
Smiling again, I treated myself to a swim in those bluer than the Pacific eyes of his.
He blushed.
I sighed.
His face fell,
"Lila, what's wrong?"
It was weird, knowing that I had such an effect on this gorgeous, perfect, and once again unfairly perfect boy's feelings!
Me!
I, the daughter of a center-stage hoarding drama queen was seated before perfection and perfection had somehow, been fooled into thinking that we were two of a kind.
"Cole-" I started, and then took a deep breath.
"Yeah?" He slowly asked, freezing.
I looked at him.
The earnest body language of a boy who'd never been burned by a girl like me, the innocent anxiety in his lovely eyes... no, he deserved better than the Lila Hills' of the world.
"Its been a really nice night, but I'm sitting here thinking how perfect you seem," I quietly explained, "and most guys don't think this when they first meet me, but eventually they all realize that I'm like, about as far from perfect as your band is from recording with Weezy."
I cleared my throat as he leaned back in his seat and looked at me with...amusement?
"Is that funny?" I asked.
I wanted to sound threatening but my voice came out as an imitation of Minny Mouse on helium.
Breaking into a grin, he laughed and said,
" A bit. But, it's more intriguing than funny. So, despite the fact that you're criminally beautiful, what makes you as far from perfect as my mates and I are from recording with Lil Wayne?"
Feeling warmth rise to my face, as well as a hint of frustration which felt strangely like stage fright, I stammered,
"Well- it's- the-the thing is, Cole..." Pausing, I closed my eyes and steadied myself.
There's no way he's going to want to have anything to do with me after this. That thought almost brought tears to my eyes.
Almost...
"It's alright, take your time." He said encouragingly.
Feeling a gentle pat on my hand, I opened my eyes and saw that he'd reached across the table.
"The thing is, I come from a crazy family. Literally." I whispered.
He nodded, " I'm listening."
"I know everyone thinks their family's the worst, but mine...really is. Sometimes I look at my mom and I think, "Sweet Jersey Shore, her side of the family has to be related to Mel Gibson or at least Mussolini. Like, my mom thinks she missed her shot at fame and she's always pushing me to do movies and quit school and just act, act, act until I work myself to death. She doesn't even- one time, when I was eight I fell off my bike so I started crying and the first thing she did was run, grab her camera and ask me to work on a scene from Annie while the tears were still fresh. Do you know that's the only time, she's ever let me cry in front of her? She's crazy..."
He didn't say anything, but I looked at him and saw that he was avidly listening.
His eyes told me to go on, so I did,
"And I'm so much like her. I run over people to get what I want-I even...I betrayed my best friend, my only real friend, last week. Just so I could get more attention for this stupid movie I'm in and the worse part is, I'd fooled myself into thinking I wasn't betraying her. I told myself I was helping her...that's sick. I'm just like her and I see...like, I see how she's always fighting with my Dad. I see how she hurts him and he lets her push him around. I don't want to do that to anyone, especially not to you. You deserve better than that so..."
I paused and took a deep breath.
As I started to say,
"So, how about we work on being friends for now?"
Cole simultaneously spoke up,
"So, you're a self-centered, egomaniac, with a crazy-"
We stopped talking and looked at each other.
"What?" I asked.
Cole seemed slightly nervous as he leaned in and lowered his voice,
"I was saying, so you're a self-centered, egomaniac, with a crazy mother, and ...a conscience."
I nodded,
"I think that sums it up."
"No," He sighed, "It don't believe it does. Lila, you know that we've all got issues. No one's perfect, least of all me. Honestly, I knew about your Mum, I saw the way she was talking to you yesterday in the Greenroom, and that's nothing new in this business, stagemom's and dad's are everywhere. But you, girls like you are rare."
"What?" I looked at him with surprise.
"Yeah." He lowered his voice even more and looked deep into my eyes, "You think I'm perfect, right? Well, yesterday I was driving and I killed a kitten."
My hand went over my mouth and I cringed,
"I'm sorry, that's terrible."
He laughed.
I eyed him in outraged horror,
"Are you insane?"
"No! No! I was only trying to prove a point, if you were really some kind of sadist, you wouldn't have cared. But you did. See? Lila, you're a completely perfect version of yourself."
"A perfect version of myself." I repeated, unsuccessfully attempting to block out an image of him laughing as he aimed his car at a stupid, but tiny and adorable kitten.
"Yeah, you're not perfect, no. But no one is. Which, by the way, reminds me of something I'd like to address. You accused me of being perfect, and..." He shook his head dramatically, "No. I'll be honest with you, I don't wash behind my ears regularly. I try, but I often forget. I have a horrible relationship with my father, I'm often accused of talking too much, and worse of all I once punched my best friend in the nose. There's more, but I can't go on forever. So, I'm not perfect, you're not, no one is but we're all here, in this moment, working at being better and that's what makes us the perfect version of ourselves for now. Lila, you're smart enough to realize things about yourself that half the girls in this town don't have the brain cells to figure out on their own. They have to get themselves in Celebrity Rehab to realize they're not perfect. I like you. Even though you're selfish and -"
The more he spoke, the more I was falling for him and the more that annoyingly dead kitten kept bothering me, so I held up my hand and shusshed him.
"What?!" His eyes widened in surprise.
"Did you really kill a kitten?!"
"No." He smiled and reached for my hand, then he nodded at something over my shoulder, "But I might kill that paparazzi who's trying to snap pictures of us at the next table."
"Oh no..." I grinned, "Leave that to me."
After that little kink in our evening conversation, dinner was perfect.
He drove me home, walked me to the front door and kissed me good night.
As I opened the door to my house and caught sight of the people I loved, Ty, Shyla, and even my crazy parents sitting down talking (or, actually...kind of yelling) with each other, there was warmth in my heart.
I'm not perfect, life isn't perfect, but in the end, everything's going to be okay.
The End
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