My Fake Valentine Read online

  But Mr. Barnham doesn’t even give me a chance to weigh the pros and cons, which would only take like, half a second, because there are no pros as far as I can see. He just grabs my arm and yanks me over to the costume rack.

  “You and Aria look about the same size. Do you think you can fit in her costumes?”

  I nod mindlessly. Kerri and I tried on all the costumes one day for fun, so even though I’m a little smaller on top and a little bigger on bottom than Aria, I know I can squeeze into her costumes. I might have to pad my pushup bra a little, but girls have been doing that for centuries.

  “Thank God.” Mr. Barnham wipes his brow like that was the worst of his worries, while inside I’m freaking out that he assumes I’m perfectly okay with the idea of filling in for the second-billed character.

  “Sam will be in the wings ready to feed you your lines if you forget one. You’re gonna do great, Mia. I just know it. If I’d had more female lead roles, I definitely would’ve given you something better than harem girl. But now’s your chance to shine, girl, so go out there and sparkle!” He waves his hand around and cocks his hip out, distracting me with questions about his sexuality, and the next thing I know he’s walking away, and I’m holding Jasmine’s first costume.

  “Oh my God, Mia!” Kerri jumps up and down, squealing. “You’re going to be Jasmine!”

  I stare at her blankly, trying to wrap my brain around this.

  “It’s too bad your parents aren’t here to see you. Where’d you say they were going tonight?”

  “The Golden Globes,” I mumble.

  “Right. So cool. I can see why they didn’t want to miss that, but if they knew you were going to be the star, I’m sure they’d want front row seats! Maybe you should call them and tell them.”

  Kerri is clearly mistaking my parents for her own totally involved, totally supportive family. My parents might have come if they knew I had a lead role, but that would be even more humiliating. No matter how much faith Mr. Barnham has in me, I’m still likely to fall on my face out there and totally ruin the whole program. I might know all the lines and cues, but I’ve never even practiced the part of Jasmine.

  I just wanted a taste of the limelight, not the whole spotlight, and I definitely didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of an entire auditorium full of people. I put my hands over my face, imagining the humiliation. I don’t want to do this; I can’t do this! I’ll just tell Mr. Barnham I can’t handle it and tell him to cancel the show for tonight. Hopefully, Jessica will feel better tomorrow.

  I stalk towards Mr. Barnham and open my mouth, about to tell him, but he grabs a hold of my shoulders and says, “Mia, Brandon is ready, so I want you two to run through as many scenes as you can before it’s time for the show. I know you haven’t had any practice as Jasmine, but I really think you can handle it, Mia. I have faith in you.”

  I don’t know if his words are real or if he’s just trying to prevent me from bailing on him, but I decide it won’t hurt to run through lines with Brandon. Maybe he’ll see how bad I am and beg Mr. Barnham to cancel the performance.

  “You got this, girl! Break a leg!” Kerri whisper-shouts, squeezing my shoulders from behind, and the next thing I know I’m on stage with Brandon, the guy who plays Aladdin, going through our first scene together. The big, burgundy curtains are closed, and I try to forget the hundreds of seats on the other side of them and focus on becoming Jasmine.

  Brandon seems less than thrilled about the idea of me stepping in for Aria, but he gives me a chance, and 45 minutes later, I actually feel a lot more confident about my ability to do this.

  Kerri is in the wings, bouncing with excitement and flashing me a double thumbs-up every few minutes, and the other cast members wander by occasionally, peeking in. None of them seem appalled by my performance, and I start to wonder if maybe I really can do this. Would it be any worse than ticking them all off by canceling the show?

  We’ve run through all the lines, and I’m still kind of freaking out, but now it’s more of a “I can’t believe I’m going to do this” instead of a “I totally can’t do this” kind of freak out. When one of the other harem girls offers to spruce up my hair and makeup, I find myself nodding, and the next thing I know, I’m pimped out in full-on Jasmine mode, and I actually feel kind of pretty, for once.

  Holy crap, I’m going to play Jasmine.

  When it’s time for the curtain to rise, sweat is pooling in my pushup bra, and I’m rocking back and forth on my heels and murmuring. I’m not in the first few scenes, but once the show has started it’s too late to back out, and I know I’m in for the long haul. The only way I’m getting out of this now is if I die of embarrassment out there or keel over backstage from performance anxiety.

  I sneak to the wings where I can get a peek of the audience, and I’m immediately traumatized by how many people are out there. I thought this was just a small show! Parents, grandparents, that kind of thing. But no, it looks like half of LA is out there. Oh God. Just shoot me! I cover my face with my hands and slump against the wall.

  Finally, I hear my first cue, and I suck in a deep breath and force myself to walk onstage, my heartbeat deafening and the stage lights blinding. I mumble my first few lines, praying I don’t start stuttering again even though it’s been a decade since I last did. The guy playing Jasmine’s father makes googly eyes at me, trying to get me to talk louder.

  There’s no point trying to hide, I’m out here whether I like it or not, so I tune out the huge crowd of people watching me and focus all my attention on being Jasmine.

  After a while, I actually start to enjoy it. Jasmine is seriously cooler than me, and it’s kind of fun to be her for a few hours. I guess I can sorta see the appeal of acting.

  When it’s finally over and people are clapping like crazy at the curtain call and nobody’s throwing tomatoes at me, I realize I must have managed to do a halfway decent job of it.

  As soon as I walk backstage, Kerri is hugging me and squealing about how awesome I did, adrenaline is buzzing through my body, making my hair frizz, and I’m smiling and laughing, and I can’t believe I just did that.

  “You were so great, Mia!” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I think you’re even better than Aria.”

  A few other people come up and congratulate me and thank me, including Mr. Barnham who winks and wiggles an eyebrow at me. “You were amazing, Mia. A total natural. Where’d you learn to act like that?”

  “I guess I just inherited it,” I mutter and then wonder if that’s actually true; maybe some of my parents’ talents rubbed off on me.

  Mr. Barnham cocks his head at me. “You have actors in your family?”

  I gulp, wishing I hadn’t said anything. “Uh, yeah.”

  Mr. Barnham lights up. “Really? Who?”

  My first instinct is to say, “Nobody you’d know,” which is totally the truth for like 90% of the people in this town who claim to be related to somebody famous, but Kerri beats me to the punch.

  “Her father is Michael Black, the director, and her mom is Elizabeth Bartlett Black.” Kerri says this with all the awe and enthusiasm of someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to be related to someone famous, especially when you yourself are a total nobody.

  Mr. Barnham’s mouth falls open, and he slaps his hands to his cheeks like Macaulay Culkin. “No way! I never would’ve guessed that!”

  I roll my eyes. Duh. This is why I don’t tell people, because they all have the same reaction. Most kids hate the idea of being told they’re just like their parents, but then, most kids aren’t the disappointing offspring of two mega stars. I’d love to have just an ounce of whatever magic they have that makes everyone worship them.

  “Well, you definitely get your acting talent from them.” He smiles, but I hear what he doesn’t say — that’s all I get from them.

  “Come on, it’s time to greet your adoring fans.” He shepherds me out to the lobby where half of the crowd is milling around, and the rest of the ca
st is shaking hands and tolerating hugs from overexcited relatives.

  I freeze up again and desperately wish I could go backstage and hide. Performing in front of an audience is one thing, but making small talk with a couple hundred strangers? This a new level of torture.

  Mr. Barnham is chatting with an older couple when a crowd of students gathers nearby. Most of them are popular kids, and I’m kind of surprised they’re here, but then I see them heading for Dylan, one of the most popular guys in school and the one who played Jafar, and I figure they came to support him.

  “Now, where did you find this lovely, new talent, David? We’ve been to every show you’ve done, and we’ve never seen her before.” A woman reaches out to pat my cheek with a crepe-skinned hand that gives away her true age even though she’s fighting it with everything in her arsenal.

  Mr. Barnham lays one hand on her shoulder and another on his own chest and shakes his head, clucking. “Would you believe she’s the daughter of Michael and Elizabeth Bartlett Black? And this is the first time she tried out for anything!”

  His words echo through the lobby, making every head turn his way, or maybe it just seems that way to me because I’m instantly swallowed up in a tar pit of mortification.

  He goes on to explain how I got upgraded from harem girl #3 to the role of Jasmine, telling the story like it’s a performance, and soon everyone who wasn’t already looking at us is now listening.

  The students are gawking at me, trying to figure out who I am and why they don’t recognize me, and I’m sure most of them are wondering how two superstars managed to have such an unexceptional daughter. But then, a few of them approach me, and their smiles don’t seem too fake as they congratulate me and tell me what a great job I did, and their stares aren’t as condescending as I expected them to be.

  Of course, I’m covered in half a ton of stage makeup, my hair extensions are curling in thick strands around my shoulders, my boobs are shoved up to my clavicle, and these harem pants are doing a pretty good job of camouflaging my thunder thighs, so maybe I don’t look quite as regrettable as I usually do.

  Maybe I don’t mind the attention as much as I thought I would.

  Suddenly, Austin Meyers is standing by me, hints of gold flickering in his blond hair and brown eyes, eyes that travel up and down my body in a way that makes my Jasmine costume feel way too skimpy, and my heart starts pounding out Beethoven's 5th Symphony.

  He lifts his head in a half nod. “Good job tonight. What’s your name, again?”

  Chapter Three

  Austin

  Screech, crackle, screech. “Please send Austin Meyers to Mr. Dillard’s office.”

  The intercom wakes up everybody snoozing in my algebra class, and they all turn their heads towards me. I shrug my shoulders, just as clueless as they are. I don’t even know who Mr. Dillard is. I don’t think I’ve ever been called to the office before, but I’m not worried. It’s not like there’s any reason for me to be in trouble. Well, nothing that anybody’s gonna call me on. I grin, remembering Saturday’s party and the 30-second keg stand I pulled off.

  There’s only a few minutes left of class, so I grab my stuff and head out, saluting the class as I leave.

  When I get to the office, the lady behind the desk looks up at me for half a second and says, “Have a seat. He’ll be with you in a moment.”

  A minute later, a kid comes out of the VP’s office looking like he just stepped on his puppy, and a middle-aged dude in polyester pants and an ugly sweater follows him out, looks at me, then looks down at a paper.

  “Austin Meyers?”

  I nod and stand up, shoving my hands in the back pocket of my jeans.

  “I’m Mr. Dillard; I’m the new vice principal.”

  I cringe as Mr. Dillard hands me a paper with a line of D’s and F’s on it. “These are your current grades, Austin. As you can see, they are well below the standard we expect from our students. Well below the requirements for athletic participation.”

  His words hit me like a baseball bat to the head, and I gawk at him.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m saying you’re on academic probation till you get these scores up. No sports, no other extracurricular activities. We’ll reevaluate at the end of the quarter.” He stares at me with a smug look like he thinks I’m an idiot and don’t deserve to breathe the same air as him, but he’s the loser, wearing those cheap, saggy-ass dress pants and trying to hide his bald spot with a stringy comb-over.

  I make a fist, wadding up the paper, and feel the blood rush to my head, wishing like hell I could punch his lights out. “But it’s the middle of basketball season, and I’m the team captain. My team is counting on me.”

  “You’re here to get an education, Son, not to bounce a ball around.” He puts his hands on his hips, and his gut sticks out like a basketball.

  “But basketball will be over before the end of the quarter! If I get my grades up before then, can I finish the season?” My voice sounds a little squeaky, and I force myself to tone it down.

  “If basketball is that important to you, why didn’t you keep your grades up in the first place? These rules are nothing new.”

  “Nobody’s ever enforced them before!” I blurt out, and he narrows his beady, little eyes. That was a mistake.

  “Then I’d say you’re lucky you got to play as much as you did. This school has been sorely lacking in good leadership, but I’m in charge of this area now, and my goal is to make sure you get a good education.”

  Yeah, right. Like he really cares about me. All he cares about is the school ranking. He probably wouldn’t even know my name if it wasn’t printed on that stupid paper. He might be new around here, but I’m not. I’m the star of this school. Every time the school gets a write-up in the news, my name is in the headlines. Nobody ever cared about my grades before as long as I was rocking it on the basketball court or the football field. And now he wants to kick me off the team in the middle of the season? Coach is gonna go ballistic, and so are the other players. In fact, I bet everyone will be so ticked off at him, he’ll have me back in here tomorrow with an apology. He might even alter my grades himself. I smirk imagining that scene.

  “I’m sure your teachers would be happy to meet with you to help you come up with a game plan, and we have a tutoring group available, as well.”

  I glare at him. “I don’t need a tutor. I’ll take care of it. Are we done here?” I stomp out of the office when he nods his head.

  Usually, it takes me forever to get anywhere because so many people want to talk to me, but I head for my locker with a scowl on my face that warns off anyone who tries to come near me — except for one geeky-looking kid with a notebook and a camera.

  “Austin, can I take your picture for the school paper? I’m doing a feature on our winning streak.”

  I turn to snarl at him, but he’s already got the camera raised, and he snaps a picture.

  “Delete that.” I growl.

  He shrivels up like a slug with salt on it. “Uh, I can’t. It’s film, not digital. Sorry.”

  Who the hell uses film now? I roll my eyes and shove past him.

  Chloe is waiting by my locker looking kind of pissed, but she turns it off and smiles at me when she sees me. Her smile falls again when she notices the look on my face, but I make an effort to smile back.

  “Where were you? I’ve been waiting forever. Why didn’t you text me? I’m starving.” She tosses her long, blonde hair and pops out a hip.

  She looks hot, and I run my hands down her tight, little sweater and over her ass. Her skirt is so short, I can almost touch the bottom of it. I pull her in till everything below our waists is touching. Chloe can be a little bitchy, but dating her has its perks.

  “I got called to the office. That new vice principal is being a total dick. He put me on academic probation.”

  Her blue eyes get big. “Oh my God. I heard that was happening to a lot of people. I can’t believe he did it to you! Doesn�
�t he know who you are? So, what does that mean? Do you have, like, detention or something?”

  I snort and shake my head. “No. He says I’m off the basketball team till I get my grades up. Can you believe that? I’m sure it’ll be fine, though. Once I tell Coach, he’ll fix it.”

  She frowns and puts her hands against my chest, pushing me back. “How bad are your grades?”

  I laugh and dip my head. “Pretty bad.” I hold up the crinkled progress report, and she snatches it from my hand.

  Her pretty face twists up in an ugly sneer as she looks at it. “Oh my God, Austin. You’re failing Algebra 1? You’re a junior. How are you even still in that class? Do you have, like, a learning disability, or something?”

  I grab the paper back from her, scowling. “I’m not that great at math; so what?”

  She rolls her eyes. “It looks like you’re not that good at anything.”

  “What the hell, Chloe? I’m the best athlete this school has.”

  “Not anymore, you’re not.” She drags her eyes up and down me with a frown like I’m last year’s trend. “Even Coach can’t fix this much mess.”

  I scowl. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chloe. You’re being a really great girlfriend, you know that?”

  “Yeah, about that… I’m not sure this is working out, Austin. I mean, maybe you’re not really my type after all, you know?”

  My face instantly hardens, and I take a step back. I’m having the suckiest day ever, and she wants to break up with me because of this? What kind of person does that? A self-centered bitch, that’s who. God, why am I even dating her? I certainly don’t need this kind of crap from the person who’s supposed to care about me. Chloe Levens is hot, but there are plenty of other girls in this school who’d be happy to go out with me and would probably be a lot less headache.