Something Real (26 page)

I grin. “Not with you.”

He presses his lips against mine, just for a second. “I cannot
wait
to get you to my house,” he says.

My face turns scarlet, and he laughs quietly as he leads me out the back door. Four minutes later, we’re in his beat-up Volvo, merging onto the highway.

I hold up my phone and lean in close to him. “Smile.”

I send Benny the first picture I’ve ever taken of Patrick and me, then close the phone and snuggle close to him as we head away from the total mayhem that is my life.

Reality TV Family Garners Record Viewers, But Child Psychologists Worried

By TIM FISHER, Affiliated Press

Last night’s live taping of the MetaReel revamp of
Baker’s Dozen
has already sparked a debate among child mental health experts across the nation. While nearly fourteen million Americans tuned in to last night’s show, a poll conducted immediately afterward reveals that 80 percent of viewers believe the show is negatively affecting the Baker children. “The unexpected visit by their father was clearly damaging,” says Tina Nolte, a professor of psychology at Fresno State University. “Personally, many of my colleagues and I feel that placing a child in these kinds of situations could classify as a form of child abuse.” This is not the first time the phrase “child abuse” has been used in connection with the show. The emotional reaction Bonnie™ Baker had to her estranged father’s unexpected visit reminded many viewers of the seventeen-year-old’s suicide attempt just four years ago. An attempt, many believe, that was in reaction to the show itself.

“Enough is enough,” says Janet Frazer, a spokesperson for the ACLU. The organization, which is suing MetaReel in a class-action suit on behalf of a number of former reality TV child stars, has been concerned about the issue of child labor in reality TV for over a decade. In addition to taking MetaReel, the nation’s largest and most successful reality TV production company, to court, the ACLU is also lobbying for both state and federal protections for underage performers. “When is this nation going to recognize that half of MetaReel’s shows are totally unregulated?” says Melinda Greenberg, chief counsel for the ACLU’s suit against MetaReel. A spokesperson for MetaReel denies such allegations, saying, “Both Beth [Baker-Miller] and Kirk [Miller] are confident they are acting in their family’s best interest. The children are having a blast and are eager to have the cameras in their home.”

SEASON 17, EPISODE 17

(The One with the Movie)

Patrick’s house already feels familiar to me. Even though I’ve been here only once, I’ve pictured him inside it a thousand times more. As he opens the door leading into the kitchen from the garage, the smell of cilantro and grilled chicken greets me.

“Mom?” Patrick calls.

My stomach freefalls, and I instinctively pull back, but he puts a hand on the small of my back and guides me inside.

“They’re going to love you,” he whispers.

His breath tickles my ear, and I shiver slightly as his lips graze my neck. He pulls away just before the female version of Patrick comes into the room, drying her hands on a checkered towel.

“Chloe!” she says.

She immediately pulls me into a tight hug. When she steps back, I try to smile, but I’m suddenly aware of every dirty thought I’ve ever had about her son.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sheldon.”

“Oh, call me Lori. It’s nice to finally meet
you
. Patrick’s only been going on and on about you for the past six months.”

“Mom,” Patrick says, giving her a playful push.

She grins and swats at him with her towel.

“More like a year,” says his father as he enters the room. “Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” he says.

I immediately fall in love with Brian Sheldon. Not in a creepy way, but in an I-wish-you-were-my-dad kind of way. He’s tall, like Patrick, and has the same piercing eyes. He looks like I thought a professor would (tortoiseshell glasses, tweed jacket), which makes sense, since he teaches law at the university. I shake the hand he offers me.

“You too. Um. Thanks for having me. I know it’s the holidays and—”

“Nonsense,” Brian says. “It’s just us three, anyway. Lori’s making tacos. You guys hungry?”

Patrick looks at me, and I nod. “That’d be great,” he says.

Lori gestures to the tiny dining room table, which is already set for four. I can’t even comprehend such a small number of people in one family.

“You guys want Cokes?” she asks. “You must be thirsty after your infamous mall adventure.” She says this in a melodramatic way, which makes me laugh. I wish my mom had time to do voices.

“Yeah, thanks, that’d be great,” I say.

My eyes drift around the cozy furnishings and family photos. God, this house is so quiet. I keep expecting to hear something break or kids shouting down the hall, but everyone who lives in the house is here, speaking in soft voices, focused on one another.

Patrick pulls out a chair for me, and my heart skips a few beats when he catches my eye and smiles before sitting next to me. His we-have-a-secret smile makes me feel like I’m the only thing he sees.

Brian settles in beside Patrick, a glass of wine in his hand. “How’d all the cloak-and-dagger stuff go?”

I shrug. “Pretty well, actually. My brother and his … um … his friend, got away, too. Patrick’s pretty good at this—I’m sort of convinced he’s an international spy.”

Lori and Brian laugh.

“I’d tell you,” Patrick says, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

I stick out my tongue at him, and he responds in kind. I can’t believe how natural it feels to be sitting with his family. They are so not dysfunctional at all. It makes me feel warm and sad and something else I can’t quite name. It’s the opposite of last night. Patrick grabs my hand, like he knows what I’m thinking. I’m surprised how affectionate he is, with his parents right here. They don’t seem to mind, though.

“Well, I’m glad he’s putting his CIA training to good use,” Lori says.

They’re being so nice about all of this, but there’s no way they could want their son mixed up with my hot mess of a life. I need them to know that I would never endanger what they have—their peaceful dinners, their enjoyment of one another.

“I promise we wouldn’t have come here if— I mean, I would never let the paparazzi know where you guys live. And I swear, MetaReel won’t know anything about Patrick—”

Brian shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that, Chloe. I’m just glad my son finally got the guts to ask you out.” He gives me a wink and Patrick rolls his eyes.

“Thanks, Dad. I think she fully realizes how pathetic I am. Appreciate it.”

Brian grins. “Anytime, son.”

They banter like this during the whole meal, passing food, chatting about this and that. They absorb me into their routine without question. Without judgment. All throughout, Patrick does little things that make me internally shiver—a hand on my knee, insisting on feeding me a piece of avocado, finding moments to give me private glances that hold all manner of messages and promises. Through it all, his parents talk and laugh and make me feel like I actually belong here. They deftly avoid mentioning the show in any way, but they ask about Benny and school and our government class. Finally, Lori claps her hands.

“Okay, you two. Get outta here.”

I crumple my napkin. “That was delicious. Can I help—”

“No,” she says. “You two have a date. We’ll be in the den if you need anything.”

Patrick stands up. “You kids be good now,” he says to his parents. Lori swipes at him, and he jumps out of the way, laughing.

They start clearing the table, and Patrick tugs on my hand, leading me up the stairs. We go by the family photos I remember from when I was here the last time, and each step closer to his bedroom increases my goose-bump-to-non-goose-bump ratio.

“I told you they’d love you,” he says.

“They’re great. Really. You guys were cracking me up.”

He puts his arm around my waist, pulling me against his hip in a half hug. “You know, what they said was true. About me not being able to shut up about you all these months.”

We’re at his bedroom door, which is closed.

“I’m glad you finally asked me out,” I say.

“Me too.” He traces his finger along my collarbone, his eyes pensive.

“What?”

“It’s just…” He sighs. “I hate to think of you in that house. My parents were good about not mentioning it, but I was not … okay … watching.”

My body goes cold, and I try to step away. “If this is too weird or hard, I totally under—”

“No!” He reaches out his hands and trails them along my neck, drawing me close again. “I meant that I wasn’t okay seeing all the shit you had to deal with. And I couldn’t do anything. I just had to sit there.”

I lean in and kiss the end of his nose. I’ve secretly wanted to do that for, oh, a year. “It was worse last night because it was live. And, you know, my dad showing up.”

Patrick’s eyes darken, and his body goes tense. “Can’t you get out of it? I mean, it’s got to be illegal for them to be filming you when you don’t want it.”

Right now, I need an escape from Bonnie™. I don’t want to be in that headspace. “Let’s not talk about it tonight, okay? I just want to be with you.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but then he smiles.

“Okay.” He clears his throat and gestures toward the door. “So, I know we’ve never actually gotten to go on a
date
date, but I’m still trying to work out a strategy for that. In the meantime, since we couldn’t go to the theater, I brought the theater to you.”

Patrick opens his door and pulls aside a white sheet that hangs from the ceiling.

“My lady,” he says, motioning me forward with a gallant twirl of his hand.

I giggle and move past the sheet into his room, which he has transformed into a private cinema. Movie posters cover the walls, and a tiny projector sits on top of his bookcase.

“Be right back. Take a look at the movies while I grab concessions,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

A beam of light littered with dust motes streams from the projector to the sheet, the only light in the room save for his desk lamp. Patrick’s stacked a bunch of pillows on his bed, making a sofa. A pile of DVDs sits on his desk. I flip through them, a mix of every genre and time period. Something glints beside his desk—when I look closer, I see it’s an origami-like design made out of Wrigley’s gum wrappers. I smile, imagining Patrick sitting at his desk, folding each wrapper.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and when I open it, Patrick’s holding a bowl of freshly popped popcorn, a shopping bag full of candy, and a mini cooler with sodas.

“You’re amazing,” I say, helping him set everything down.

He looks at me for a minute and then reaches for something in his closet.

“This is for you,” he says, handing me a box wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper.

“Patrick—”

He puts a finger to my lips. “Just open it, already.”

I tear along the paper and hold the box up to the light from the projector.

“You got me a cell phone?” I ask. It’s one of those prepaid ones.

He nods. “Guaranteed
not
bugged by MetaReel.”

I wrap my arms around him. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He tightens his grip on me. “Now I can hear your voice more.”

I set the box on his desk and lace my fingers behind his neck, letting my lips fall into his. We stand like that for a long time, just kissing, until we hear laughter downstairs, and I pull away.

“Um.”

He shakes his head. “My parents would never come up here and bother us. Besides, they’ve started an
I Love Lucy
marathon—they’ll be on the couch all night.” Privacy—how novel. “But we might as well pick a movie and keep up appearances, huh?”

I laugh and we look through his movie selections. We finally opt for
Raiders of the Lost Ark
, but as soon as the opening music starts, Patrick is feeding me Red Vines and his makeshift couch turns back into a bed. It is, I think, surprisingly easy to make out to the sound of treasure hunting. For two hours, we alternate between attempting to watch the movie and giving up entirely.

“This is a vast improvement on the janitor’s closet,” I whisper, about halfway through Indy’s adventures.

Patrick nuzzles my neck, his breathing heavy. “Agreed.”

His lips travel to my ear and along my jaw. My hands snake under his shirt, and he pulls it over his head in one deft movement. I hear it fall on the ground a second later. He leans over me again, one hand reaching for the buttons on my shirt. (I totally took Mer’s advice about the button-down.)