Where You Are (7 page)

Snapping photos like she had aspirations as a high-fashion photographer, Chloe was oblivious to the ice-cold wall between her subjects. “Marcus, put your arms around her. Like that, but with your hands meeting in the middle. Oh! Yes! Just like that!”

I let her get off a few of shots before breaking from the false embrace. “Okay, I think that’s enough pictures. You know, Marcus might actually like to
go
to his prom as part of this experience…” I hoped Marcus and I would share a knowing look about Chloe—not uncommon for us—so we could begin to salvage the night somewhat before it was entirely wrecked. But he stood, one hand in the trousers of his tux, flicking a fingernail and looking bored, and my sense of foreboding mushroomed.

Marcus’s arts-heavy prep school is relatively small, with a modest graduating class. Judging by the response his arrival generates, he’s clearly one of the in-crowd. The venue is the tented rooftop terrace of the Citizen Hotel—the city’s oldest skyscraper. Though the view is only a very familiar Sacramento, it’s breathtaking from this height. Distance alters everything.

Introducing me to his group of friends by way of, “This is Emma,” and a turn of his wrist in my general direction, he doesn’t introduce any of them to
me
. Unbelievably, no one steps forward, either. I’m stuck knowing no one’s name—except those discovered by eavesdropping on neighboring conversations—so there’s nothing to do but stand next to Marcus, my dress and his tux accoutrements so perfectly matched that it leaves no doubt we’re here together. Trapped at the receiving end of stares and whispers in a crowd of people where I don’t know a single person beyond my asshole of a date, I consider calling a taxi, or Dad, to come pick me up.

I can’t shake the conviction that I’m getting what I deserve for leading Marcus on, as convincingly as Emily objected to that conclusion. “Marcus doesn’t
own
you,” she said after I told her what had happened with Graham in New York, and the resulting altercation with Marcus. “I don’t see a ring on your finger, not that you’d ever want one from that pompous ass.”

“I thought you liked him?” I said.

“Psshh,” she said, glancing at me as she made a right turn. We were on the way to get our annual almost-summer pedicures. “I tolerated him. Derek and I didn’t think he was for you.”

I sputtered before answering, “You and Derek discussed—?”

“Hells
yeah
.” She was, as usual, unapologetic. “We hoped it would fade out before you ended up in New York with him leeching onto you. Derek thinks he just wanted you for your film and theatre connections. With the bonus of your smokin’ little bod, of course.”

I almost spit berry smoothie onto her dashboard. “God, Em. I feel so cheap.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad we didn’t have to resort to breaking you guys up.” She parked the Sentra and yanked up the brake.

“You mean you and Derek would have—”

“How many times in this conversation must I say
hells yeah
? Wouldn’t have been that hard, either. You weren’t all that attached to him, thankfully. You’d just better hope we like this Graham guy.”

I leveled a look at her. “
No
. Graham is off-limits. I don’t care if the two of you hate him.”

She smiled and pinched my arm. “Now
that’s
more like it.”

When I come back to earth, I’m still at Marcus’s prom, being pointedly ignored by every person here. Then my focus lands on the other side of the huge indoor/outdoor space. One of the photographers snapping shots of prom-goers appears to be aiming his camera in my direction exclusively. I think
paparazzi?
before giving myself a mental shake, feeling silly.

Still, I glance around surreptitiously, looking for the other photographers, who are progressing through the crowd, setting up shots of small knots of people talking and laughing, snapping candid shots of couples dancing and teachers chaperoning. Sliding my eyes back to the first photographer, I notice two things. One, his camera is badass in comparison to what the other two are utilizing. And two, he’s still aiming every single shot in my direction.

I have an uneasy feeling about this.

***

Emily spent ten minutes scolding me about my recent
dumbass decisions
: first, trying to placate Marcus by going to his prom, and second, breaking my own rule about checking gossip sites. She’s right, of course. I can’t unsee the photos of me—alternating between miserable and pissed—standing beside Marcus, being snubbed by everyone at that dance. I can’t unread the stories claiming that it was my choice to isolate myself, or the bonus rumors that I’m cheating on Reid Alexander.

My best friend stomps back and forth across my room while Derek and I look on silently. Finally, she stops and glares at the laptop screen. “What a bunch of jealous pricks!” Emily will never be accused of beating around the bush.

“Marcus’s friends or the gossip sites?” I’m not sure which infuriates her more.

“
All of them
.” She’s so angry she’s growling.

“Calm down, baby,” Derek says, tugging on her hand as she paces by him.

“I will not calm down!” Stopping suddenly, she slides onto his lap. “Derek, please do me a favor.” She nuzzles the side of his closely-shorn blond head and his eyes close.

“Anything.”

“Please beat the shit out of Marcus.”

“Except that.”

Sitting straight up, she folds her arms over her chest and glares at him. “What the hell good is having a muscly boyfriend if he won’t beat people up for you?”

I’m glad the text from Reid comes after they’ve gone.

Reid:  You went to prom with some other guy? I’m hurt.

Me:  Very funny

Reid:  Our little act is a success. I’ve already been contacted for comment.

Me:  Crap

Reid:  It would help if we go out to dinner and look happy

Me:  I don’t think that’s a good idea

Reid:  Sure it is. One happy outing in the face of those stories will put an end to them.

Me:  You know I’m 400 miles from los angeles, right?

Reid:  I’m visiting a friend in san fran tomorrow. Drive in, stay over. We’ll go somewhere cool.

Me:  I’m not meeting you in san francisco, reid

Reid:  Fine, i’ll come to you

***

Graham is as supportive as Emily, though far less violence-craving.

“I should have just backed out of prom,” I sigh into my webcam, scrubbing my hands over my face. “Marcus wasn’t going to be happy no matter what I did, and now the whole world thinks I’m a stuck-up bitch who wouldn’t lower herself to speak to regular folks.”

“I’m sure no one believes a word of that.” His voice is so warm and soothing that I almost believe him.

“People do believe it! And you know the most annoying part? Before now, I was a middle-class
nonentity
to most of the people from his school. Marcus and I have run into classmates of his several times, and every time I felt exactly like I do when Chloe eyeballs whatever I’m wearing and gears up to mock my entire sense of fashion—or lack of it.”

He smiles reassuringly. “I happen to like your fashion sense.”

I barely hear him. “And what about the rumors that I’m cheating on
Reid
with
Marcus
? I’m not
dating
Reid, but the studio wants everyone to think I am… so of course I’m a cheater if I go out with anyone else. What will that mean when
you’re
here? We’ll have to sneak around. If we’re caught, I’ll look like the biggest slut in Hollywood.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Emma, love, you’ve got a long way to go to win
that
crown.”

I smile goofily at my screen. “You called me love.”

He smirks, chin tucked low, staring at his screen through his lashes. “You okay with that?”

“Yeah.” I stare into his beautiful warm eyes and wish for the hundredth time in two days that he was standing in front of me. “Are
you
okay with me meeting Reid for dinner?”

He nods and says, “As okay as I
can
be.” Which seems cryptic, but I don’t push him. I can’t expect him to be thrilled about it.

Brooke

“This is the part where you’ll either start gaining her trust or you’ll blow it.” Obviously, Reid hasn’t gained
my
trust. I’m fully expecting him to blow it.

“Who died and made you all-knowing?” He’s barely got the words out before I want to strangle the ability to speak right out of him. I don’t know if Reid and I are capable of ever
not
wanting to rip each other to shreds. That desire lingers right under the surface of every conversation we have.

“I’m not kidding, Reid, if you touch her or pressure her in any way before I do my part of this, it’s over and we’re screwed.”

“Or not,” he quips.

“Ha. Ha.”
God
, I have had just about enough of his horseshit.

“Look, I’m not stupid.” He pauses and I know he’s thinking he left that wide open. I would dearly love to deliver the retort he expects, but it’s just
too
easy. “Everything else in my life is boring the shit out of me. This is the only thing remotely stimulating. I’m following your orders, because you’re the most successfully conniving girl I’ve ever known, plus I can
smell
how badly you want Graham.”

If it wasn’t true, how much I want Graham, I’d end this here and now. But Reid makes it sound like wanting him is dirty. It’s not. I’m simply ready for something more serious and meaningful than all of the faceless boys and men I’ve been with in the last few years. None of them were worth half of Graham, and I’m willing to be whatever he wants me to be to get him. What’s so wrong about that?

I’ve always been a crap judge of character. Graham was the only exception to that, though the existence of our friendship was all due to him. When I met him, I was reeling from Reid breaking my heart, and I just wanted to hook up. I was bouncing off of guys like the shiny silver ball in my father’s vintage pinball machine—
ding-ding-ding.
I guess Graham could tell that about me. He was one of the few who turned me down, but he didn’t run away when my humiliation that any guy would reject me morphed into uber-bitch mode. He stuck around and became one of my best friends. Something I didn’t deserve, and something I’ve always hoped would grow into more.

Graham has this quiet, steady aura about him, and of course I’m drawn to a disposition so completely opposite of mine. I thought we’d balance out, like a relationship seesaw. When we both scored roles in
School Pride
, I was sure my chance had come. Close quarters for three months, and my very real need for emotional protection from Reid that only Graham could provide.

Then he met Emma.

At first, I assumed she’d screw him over for Reid. She was obviously not immune to him, and he focused exclusively on her. I remembered all too well how
that
felt. When Reid and I first met, he flashed those blue eyes at me—
baby
blues, because holy shit he was what, fourteen then?—and I was a goner. Fifteen years old, and I was sure I’d met my soul mate, the guy I wanted to spend forever with. God, what a naïve idiot I was.

Unlike me, though, Emma figured him out. I have to give the girl props, she resisted long enough to witness him doing what he does, and then she dropped his ass. It would have been a joy to behold, if not for Graham. I’d never seen him so crazy infatuated before. Every time we hung out, I made careful plans to seduce him, but all he wanted to talk about was Emma, if he
talked
instead of brooding over her—which he was more prone to do. I don’t think he even noticed my seduction efforts. Now, I’m glad he didn’t.

Because this time, those efforts are going to work.

*** *** ***

REID

Choosing a restaurant in a city you’ve never visited is tough. Since Emma lives in Sacramento, I asked her to choose whatever she’d like. This one will do, though not for my calculated purpose of being observed together
in
the restaurant. The windows are draped, probably thwarting the cozy paparazzi photos Brooke and I were anticipating. For actual intimacy, though, it’s ideal—corner table, flickering candles, semi-tasteful décor (points deducted for the acoustic tile ceiling and likely-artificial paneling on a far wall).

 “So what’s the deal with this Marcus character? He seems like an ass. I thought when you dumped
me
you were trying to move away from that type.” I smile, bumping Emma’s arm lightly, and she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s harder to avoid than I thought.” She returns my smile, but pulls her forearm away from mine, slowly, putting an ever-so-slight distance between us.

I lean back, pretending not to notice her withdrawal while she examines the menu. The waiter, introducing himself as Chad, is so uneasy he’s twitching. He also punctuates practically every sentence with either
heh-heh
or
Mr. Alexander
. After taking our drink order, he scurries to the back through a set of double doors where the rest of the wait staff congregates. They’ve all been not-so-sneakily casting looks our way since we walked in. Typical.

A fun fact about celebrity: If you get carded, there’s no such thing as a fake ID. They already know your real name. All anyone has to do is hit up IMDb or Wikipedia to get your
exact birthdate
. I rarely get carded, especially in LA or New York, or really anywhere we’re filming. Most restaurants, bars and clubs are so freaked at having celebrities show up that they just don’t give a crap. Apparently this place, which passes as “upscale” for Sacramento, gives a crap. I can’t help my reaction, though, when Chad the waiter comes back a few minutes later all sheepish and asking to see ID for the bottle of wine I ordered.

“Dude, are you serious?” I say, and his face goes scarlet.

“My manager, heh-heh,” he subtly inclines his head towards the back. “I’m
really
sorry, Mr. Alexander.”