Read Online Being Hartley by Allison Rushby - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Allison Rushby
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something?"
"That's sweet, but no thanks. How about I run you through whatever it is you're doing, instead?"
This makes me laugh. Typical Hartley. When in doubt, work. "Thanks, Uncle Erik." I grin. "That would be great. And remind me to get you a black tennis racquet for Christmas. Apparently, it's what everyone's beating up intruders with this season."
* * *
Someone whispers in my ear, "Thea? You awake?"
"I can't tell anymore. My body's on strike." I roll over in bed to take in Rory. She's dressed in her hot pink SMD tracksuit, her hair pulled back into the regulation high ponytail, her curls exploding out over her shoulders. "What time is it?"
"Almost six. I'm going into the studio in fifteen minutes or so. We've got a rehearsal before we hit the road. I thought you might like to come."
My brain struggles to process this information and make a decision. Would I like to get out of bed? Not really. Would I like to go to an SMD rehearsal? Um, yes. Yes, please. "I'm up," I say, throwing back the sheets and springing out of bed. "What about everyone else?"
Rory shakes her head. "They'll be coming later. Dad's driving to Vegas anyway, and you know Allie doesn't get out of bed until the last minute she absolutely has to. It's just you and me."
"Well, you and me , and the big pink Bentley."
Rory doesn't look impressed. "Yeah, great. Thanks for reminding me."
* * *
After a quick shower and an even faster minute or two of stuffing back inside the few items of clothing I'd bothered to take out of my suitcase, we leave a note for my mom to say that I'll be with Rory.
It's almost six thirty now and nice and cool outside with a gorgeous wide blue sky. If I stare straight up, I could swear I'm back in Tasmania, but one deep breath is all it takes to remember my exact location. Seriously, if you lived here, your lungs would not know what to do with Tasmanian air—too much oxygen, not enough smog.
We throw our suitcases into the trunk and hop in the car. As Rory pulls out of the garage, she reaches up with one hand and flicks the roof. "Don't ask me to open it. We're not allowed," she says as she drives out of the gates and onto the road.
I check to see if she's serious. "What? They buy you a convertible, and then you're not allowed to open the roof? What's that about?"
"I know. Pretty stupid, huh?" But then a smirk creeps over Rory's face. "It was all because of Noah."
"Noah? What did he do?" It can't have been anything bad, is my first thought, because, in my eyes, Noah Hoffman can do no wrong…
Rory waits for a couple of cars to pass , and then takes a right onto Sunset Plaza Drive once more. "He stopped at a set of lights, and this crazy fan jumped right in the back! He couldn't convince her to get out of the car. He was driving to the studio anyway, so security had to pry her out of there at the gates. It was pretty funny. Thankfully, she was totally harmless."
We chat all the way to the studio , and Rory seems fine until she indicates and then turns left onto a palm-tree-lined immaculately groomed avenue. "So…here we are," she says. "You ready for this?" She glances over at me.
"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "The important thing is, are you?"
Rory concentrates on the road again, her expression difficult to read. "I don't know either," she finally says. "Don't ask me. I don't know anything anymore. I just work here."
"What does that mean?"
Rory doesn't answer me for a minute or two. "I used to love this job…" she trails off.
"And now?"
She seems confused, her brow furrowed, her hands gripping the steering wheel just a bit too tight. "Some days it's okay. Bearable. Other days I just want to run out the studio gates and not stop until I get to Tijuana."
"That's some run." My eyebrows shoot up. Wow. Things are worse than I thought.
"Yeah, well, some days I hate SMD so much I think I could make it."
"There's no shame in getting out, Rory," I tell her. "If that's what you want?"
Her eyes remain glued
"That's sweet, but no thanks. How about I run you through whatever it is you're doing, instead?"
This makes me laugh. Typical Hartley. When in doubt, work. "Thanks, Uncle Erik." I grin. "That would be great. And remind me to get you a black tennis racquet for Christmas. Apparently, it's what everyone's beating up intruders with this season."
* * *
Someone whispers in my ear, "Thea? You awake?"
"I can't tell anymore. My body's on strike." I roll over in bed to take in Rory. She's dressed in her hot pink SMD tracksuit, her hair pulled back into the regulation high ponytail, her curls exploding out over her shoulders. "What time is it?"
"Almost six. I'm going into the studio in fifteen minutes or so. We've got a rehearsal before we hit the road. I thought you might like to come."
My brain struggles to process this information and make a decision. Would I like to get out of bed? Not really. Would I like to go to an SMD rehearsal? Um, yes. Yes, please. "I'm up," I say, throwing back the sheets and springing out of bed. "What about everyone else?"
Rory shakes her head. "They'll be coming later. Dad's driving to Vegas anyway, and you know Allie doesn't get out of bed until the last minute she absolutely has to. It's just you and me."
"Well, you and me , and the big pink Bentley."
Rory doesn't look impressed. "Yeah, great. Thanks for reminding me."
* * *
After a quick shower and an even faster minute or two of stuffing back inside the few items of clothing I'd bothered to take out of my suitcase, we leave a note for my mom to say that I'll be with Rory.
It's almost six thirty now and nice and cool outside with a gorgeous wide blue sky. If I stare straight up, I could swear I'm back in Tasmania, but one deep breath is all it takes to remember my exact location. Seriously, if you lived here, your lungs would not know what to do with Tasmanian air—too much oxygen, not enough smog.
We throw our suitcases into the trunk and hop in the car. As Rory pulls out of the garage, she reaches up with one hand and flicks the roof. "Don't ask me to open it. We're not allowed," she says as she drives out of the gates and onto the road.
I check to see if she's serious. "What? They buy you a convertible, and then you're not allowed to open the roof? What's that about?"
"I know. Pretty stupid, huh?" But then a smirk creeps over Rory's face. "It was all because of Noah."
"Noah? What did he do?" It can't have been anything bad, is my first thought, because, in my eyes, Noah Hoffman can do no wrong…
Rory waits for a couple of cars to pass , and then takes a right onto Sunset Plaza Drive once more. "He stopped at a set of lights, and this crazy fan jumped right in the back! He couldn't convince her to get out of the car. He was driving to the studio anyway, so security had to pry her out of there at the gates. It was pretty funny. Thankfully, she was totally harmless."
We chat all the way to the studio , and Rory seems fine until she indicates and then turns left onto a palm-tree-lined immaculately groomed avenue. "So…here we are," she says. "You ready for this?" She glances over at me.
"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "The important thing is, are you?"
Rory concentrates on the road again, her expression difficult to read. "I don't know either," she finally says. "Don't ask me. I don't know anything anymore. I just work here."
"What does that mean?"
Rory doesn't answer me for a minute or two. "I used to love this job…" she trails off.
"And now?"
She seems confused, her brow furrowed, her hands gripping the steering wheel just a bit too tight. "Some days it's okay. Bearable. Other days I just want to run out the studio gates and not stop until I get to Tijuana."
"That's some run." My eyebrows shoot up. Wow. Things are worse than I thought.
"Yeah, well, some days I hate SMD so much I think I could make it."
"There's no shame in getting out, Rory," I tell her. "If that's what you want?"
Her eyes remain glued
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