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  “You’re kidding?” I frown as I retrieve my camera, then toss my backpack onto the bench in the foyer. “Did he even see it?”

  “Of course not. Why would he?”

  “So he’s lying.”

  “I just told him all about it, Erin. You heard me.”

  “Yeah, but you told him your version. What about the people you trashed on live TV? Do you wonder how they felt?”

  “They should thank me for my honest expertise.” She opens her phone again, setting her pale pink Kate Spade bag on the breakfast bar. She recently picked the purse up on eBay for “next to nothing,” or so she says. “I was simply doing a fashion intervention. Who knows how this might help them in the future?”

  As she checks her phone for messages, I retreat to my room. And I’m asking myself how it’s possible that some people can be so dense sometimes—not to mention flaky. I mean, one moment she’s tearing them to shreds and the next moment she’s “helping” them. And one minute she feels remorse for her unscripted diversion and the next she thinks it was perfectly warranted. I just don’t get it.

  As I turn on my computer, Paige bursts in.

  “I can’t believe it!” she shrieks.

  “What?” My heart’s racing and suddenly I’m afraid something has happened to Mom. My greatest fear since losing Dad is that we’ll lose Mom too. Then it will be just Paige and me. And that is very, very scary.

  “I have a bunch of texts and voicemail messages.”

  “Huh?”

  “Friends who are telling me that I was great on the news.”

  “Oh…” I feel a weird mixture of relief and dismay.

  “Isn’t that nice?” She smiles brightly.

  “Yeah, sure.” I turn away from her and restrain myself from growling.

  She giggles as she exits. “Hey, this last one is from Mollie Tyson and she’s saying that I rock!”

  Now this makes me mad, but I’m determined not to show it. Mollie is my best friend and has been since seventh grade. I don’t get why she’s suddenly encouraging Paige like this. Well, except for the fact that Mollie thinks Paige is the coolest thing since iced mocha. And while I can forgive Mollie for being starstruck and a little superficial, since she’s always been a little like that, it’s hard to believe she’d condone what Paige just did. After all, Mollie is a Christian and she knows we’re supposed to love our neighbors and be kind to each other. But I try not to think about this as I start to download some recent photos into my computer. I mean, really, I shouldn’t judge Mollie. Maybe she’s just trying to be nice to Paige. And yet…it just doesn’t seem right. Since Mollie is my friend, I decide it’s okay for me to give her a piece of my mind. She has to forgive me if I step on her toes, right?

  Feeling more than a little irked, I hit my speed dial and suddenly she’s on the other end. “Mollie!” I jump right in. “Why on earth are you texting Paige that she rocks? Didn’t you see those poor girls she embarrassed at Wonderland?”

  “I thought it was funny.”

  “But they were publicly humiliated. How would you like to be in their shoes?”

  “But what Paige said was true. They did need some fashion help.”

  “But it seemed so mean spirited.”

  There’s a quiet lull and I almost think she hung up on me. Maybe I came on a little strong.

  “Yeah…” she mutters quietly. “I guess it was a little mean.”

  I feel a bit relieved. “And the worst part is that my mom’s in trouble now.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Her boss was furious. She could lose her job.”

  “Oh…I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

  “And Paige is acting like it’s no big deal. Like she thinks she’s Mother Teresa to the fashion-impoverished population of the planet.”

  Mollie laughs.

  “I wasn’t really trying to be funny.” I let out a loud sigh of frustration.

  “Sometimes you just can’t help yourself, Erin. And, really, you shouldn’t take it too seriously.”

  “And if my mom loses her job and I have to quit school and go to work just to help pay the bills?”

  “Oh…well…that probably won’t happen. Besides, remember what Jesus said.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t worry about tomorrow—it’ll take care of itself.”

  Now I do feel a little silly because I really want to live my life like I believe this, but sometimes it’s so hard. “Yeah…I suppose you’re right.”

  “So…speaking of not worrying,” she continues, “how did you do on your finals this week?”

  I flop down onto my bed and close my eyes. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Man, I wish I could say the same.”

  “I’m sure you did fine.”

  “Hey, I almost forgot to tell you. I got a callback on the commercial job—the one for that new protein bar.”

  “That’s great. Way to go!”

  “Yeah, my next audition is on Monday. I wonder if they want me to look fat or thin. I mean, I can do both.” She giggles. Mollie is kind of short and curvy and her dream is to have a successful acting career, and so far she seems to be off to a fairly good start. She had the lead in most of our high school plays, she’s had some bit parts and commercials, and her portfolio is slowly growing. She says it’s an uphill battle when you don’t look like Julia Roberts. But I think her wavy red hair and sea green eyes give her a unique look. Plus her voice has this really interesting throaty quality that seems to get people’s attention. I’ve encouraged her to go for it because I tend to think God wants us to follow our dreams.

  “I’m sure you’ll be great whichever way they go.”

  “I know, but I just hope I’m not playing the fat girl.”

  “Maybe you’ll do both. The before and after girl. You know they do digital adjustments.” I sit up in bed, looking at my slightly bedraggled reflection in the dresser mirror. Sometimes I think I could use some digital adjusting too.

  “I know…but it kind of feels like cheating.”

  “Well, in the old days they said the camera never lied. Nowadays you never know what kind of enhanced images you’re looking at.” I stand in front of my mirror now, taking a good hard look at myself. Straggly dark brown hair, green eyes, straight nose, small mouth…I wonder what I’d do to enhance this. For sure I’d erase that zit starting to show on my forehead. “And that is exactly why some girls—like me—have selfimage problems, Erin.”

  “Hey, you’re not the only one. I simply figure that by now every girl has to know that when she’s looking at any media image, it’s probably an illusion.”

  “But sometimes I wish it could all go back to reality.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean. But I have to admit that I don’t mind tweaking on my own nature photos a little. Not to make the birds prettier or the whales skinnier…just to make the general photo more appealing with light and hue and clarity.” I turn sideways now, checking out my figure, which is okay in a short, compact way, but nothing like Paige’s long waist and perfect curves. And suddenly I feel silly for being so self-absorbed. I’m glad Mollie can’t see me.

  “I can’t believe we have three blessed weeks off from school,” she says. “I’m so in need of some sleep. So what are your plans for winter break?”

  “First of all to chill a little. I’ve had a pretty heavy class load too. But I also want to get out to the desert.”

  “The desert?” Mollie sounds appalled. “What for?”

  “Photos. I want to do the Mojave and maybe even down to Baja if the weather cooperates.”

  “What can you shoot down there? I mean, besides cactuses or cacti or whatever they call them.”

  “There are some amazing birds and plants, and even the gray whales.” I consider asking her to join me, but I can already guess her response. Mollie isn’t exactly a nature girl. Her idea of the great outdoors is more like a beach, preferably one in Balboa or Laguna. Throw in a cabana and a fruity drink
with an umbrella and she’s in heaven. For more serious adventurous treks I usually rely on my buddy and fellow camera buff, Lionel Stevens. But I know he’s joining his family in Tahoe during winter break so I might be on my own. Although I wonder whether Mom will approve of me heading south of the border all by myself in my good old Jeep Wrangler.

  “Hey,” I tell Mollie as I hear a beep, “I have another call coming in and I wonder if it’s Mom. I better go.”

  “Later.”

  It turns out to be Mom and thankfully she sounds a little less stressed than earlier. “Is Paige home?” she asks me. “I’ve tried to call her, but I go straight to voicemail.”

  “She’s gabbing with her fans.” I say, perhaps a bit too sarcastically.

  “Fans?”

  “Yeah. Apparently all her friends think she’s a star and that she was great on the news tonight. And that should make you feel a little better.”

  “That’s actually why I’m calling, Erin. Could you go get her and put her on, please?”

  “Sure.” I go back out into the great room where Paige is still on her phone, but now she has the TV turned on as well, although it’s muted. But she’s watching her favorite reality channel and what appears to be a rerun of The OC. “Mom wants to talk to you,” I tell her with a warning look.

  “Oh?” She frowns. “Sorry, Kelsey, I have to go. Yeah, thanks!” She closes her phone and peers at me. “Is she still mad?”

  I act dumb and just hand her my phone.

  “Hi, Mom,” she says cautiously. Then she just listens…and listens…and finally her face begins to brighten. “Really?”

  Okay, now I’m curious. What’s going on and why can’t I hear? After all, it’s my phone. I lean my head closer to Paige and try to eavesdrop, barely hearing my mom’s voice as she says, “It’s all pretty speculative. But the plan is that tomorrow we’ll meet with Helen and, well, we’ll just see what happens.”

  “Helen Hudson?” Paige’s voice is high pitched. “I’m really going to—”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Mom warns. “Like I said, it’s very speculative. Chances are it will go nowhere. But at least it’s smoothed over Max’s ruffled feathers.”

  “This is so exciting!”

  “And tell Erin I want her to come too.”

  “What for?” Paige gives me a curious look then pushes me away so I can’t hear the rest of the conversation.

  “Bye, Mom!” Paige says happily after another minute. She hands me back the phone. “Did you hear that?” Her eyes are bright with excitement.

  “Part of it. Who is Helen Hudson?”

  “Just one of the best producers of reality TV.”

  “Oh?”

  “And she wants to meet me!”

  “So I heard.”

  “Do you know how exciting this is?”

  I shrug.

  “This could be my big break, Erin. If Helen really likes me, she might want to do some kind of show.”

  “What kind of show?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe like What Not to Wear.”

  “But you’re just a kid.”

  She stands straighter, giving me an indignant look. “FYI. I’m nearly twenty. And lots of people younger than me have made it. Ever hear of Lindsay Lohan or the Olsen Twins?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Jessica Alba? Amanda Bynes?”

  I hold up my hands. “Yes, of course. Stop with the list.”

  “So why not just be happy for me? Maybe this is my big chance.”

  “Well, I’m just relieved that Mom’s not in trouble.”

  Paige sighed. “Yeah, me too.”

  “And, yeah, I think it’s cool for you, Paige.”

  “Maybe for you too?”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently Sam caught you filming me and it showed up in the segment. Mom said that Helen asked who the other girl was, and when she told her it was you, Helen asked to see both of the Forrester sisters. The appointment’s at one tomorrow.” Now Paige is dancing around the great room like a maniac. “This is so great! So great!”

  But I’m not convinced. I have no idea why I need to be included in this “speculative” meeting. And I’m not sure that I even want to go. However, it doesn’t seem like I have a choice. Most of all I’m relieved that Mom is off the hook—or so it seems. For her sake, I’ll be cooperative tomorrow. Whatever this is, I’m guessing it’ll all blow over anyway. At least in regard to me. Maybe Paige is right; maybe this will be her big break. For her sake, I hope that’s how it goes down. I just don’t see any good reason for me to be involved.

  Chapter 3

  Paige has literally changed her outfit about seventeen times today. Her room looks like a garage sale and we need to head out of here in about ten minutes.

  “Be honest,” she tells me. When am I not? “Does this look good?” She does a 360 without even tripping over the shoes and bags and clothes and things that are strewn across her floor.

  I pretend to scrutinize her outfit—which honestly doesn’t seem much different than the last one—after she decided to go more “classic and timeless” in lieu of “trendy and faddish.” She has on a neat gray skirt topped with a fitted pale pink jacket. “It’s BCBG,” she tells me like I get it.

  “It looks fine.” I simply nod then glance at my watch as in hint-hint. “And the other sixteen outfits looked good too.”

  “But is it have-your-own-TV-show good?”

  “Who says you’re going to have your own show?”

  She gives me her duh look. “That’s why Helen Hudson wants to see me, Erin.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “I already told you. Helen Hudson produces reality shows. She’s big. She’s hot. And she wouldn’t waste her time meeting with me if she didn’t have a serious idea for a new show…Unless she wants to cast me into one of her other reality shows?” Paige has a dreamy look now.

  “Or maybe she wants to cast you as a script girl,” I suggest.

  Paige’s brow creases. “Well…then I would consider it. And then I would work my way up.”

  “Why don’t you work your way out of your room and into my car,” Mom calls at Paige from the front door. “Come on, we need to go.”

  Paige shoves her feet into her favorite black pumps, which have the same BCBG initials as her jacket. Then she hurries to grab up a selection of accessories, including belts, jewelry, and scarves, which she stuffs into an oversized bag. Then she gets her pale pink purse and we’re on our way.

  As usual, I feel a little dowdy next to my stylish sister. And that’s after she forced me to “clean up my act and dress decently.” Even so, the only designer I’m wearing is from Target—Isaac something-or-other. That’s how much I’m into haute fashion. And the main reasons I bought this simple chocolate-brown jacket are that 1) it fit me pretty well, 2) I liked it, and 3) it was on sale. As for my A-line print skirt, which I used to like when I occasionally wore skirts, it’s simply a piece I picked up at my favorite retro store last year. And my tan suede boots? Well, I’ve had them for several years and although they’re a little worn, they’re also very comfortable. Paige had been unimpressed with my “improvements” but was so focused on her own appearance that she let it go.

  But by the time we’re walking into the sleek-looking studio offices—all glass, dark wood, and stainless steel—I feel like a little brown mouse next to Paige. And have I mentioned that she doesn’t really walk? No, Paige kind of struts like she thinks she’s on a Parisian runway, and yet she makes it look almost natural, which I find extremely aggravating. If I attempted to walk like that I would either look like an idiot or fall flat on my face. So I don’t.

  But I feel even more out of place when we stand in front of the girl at the desk. Or maybe we’ve just arrived on a different planet because she looks a little strange. She’s in black from head to toe, but it’s her hair and makeup that capture my attention. Her glossy, straight black hair is cut in a sharp triangular shape. Her
face is so white she’s slightly vampirelike. Although her eyes are dramatically outlined in black, her lips are so pale that they almost don’t seem to be there at all. I wonder if she’s got her own aspirations for a TV show too. Horror perhaps? Or maybe sci-fi. Yes, I can definitely see her as an alien.

  “We’re here to see Ms. Hudson,” my mom tells her.

  “Your name, please?”

  “I’m Paige Forrester,” Paige answers coolly, as if her name might be recognizable.

  “And I’m Brynn Forrester,” my mom offers. “From Channel Five News.”

  I don’t bother to introduce myself. I’m pretty sure Sci-fi Girl doesn’t care. She just nods in a bored way. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll let her know you’re here.” But then she returns to her computer screen and I can tell by her expression she’s much more interested in that than she is in us. Maybe the mother ship is calling. So we sit and wait. And we wait and wait. And finally a whole hour has passed and I’m ready to make a run for it.

  “Helen Hudson doesn’t seem all that interested in seeing us,” I point out as I check my watch again. “Do you guys mind if I take off?”

  “She’s probably tied up with something.” Mom’s voice sounds patient, but I can tell she’s getting irritated too. “Let’s give her a little more time.”

  I try not to groan as I lean back into the hard and sticky vinyl chair. It’s a weird shape that sort of goes with Sci-fi Girl’s hair. You’d think they’d offer more comfortable furniture if they make people wait this long.

  “I could probably take this appointment by myself,” Paige says, “if you two get tired of waiting.”

  Mom clears her throat. “No…I think I’d rather stick around.”

  Just then a tall woman with extremely short white hair emerges from behind the closed door. She’s wearing a brightcolored scarf that seems to be tangled in the armload of papers she carrying. “Here, Sabrina.” She dumps the mess onto Sci-fi Girl’s desk. “Make three sets of copies. File one. FedEx the others.” Then the woman straightens out her scarf and turns to us. “You must be the Forresters. Please forgive me for keeping you waiting. I’m sure you understand how little crises can derail a schedule.”