Read Online Theodora Twist by Melissa Senate - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melissa Senate
Ads: Link
regular! You’d actually wear what I would wear?”
“For a month, anyway,” I say, winking at her.
And for the next hour, Hannah leads me around the store, then the mall (my sunglasses and baseball cap firmly back on). Two hours later, we’re standing in front of Forever 21, and I have the wardrobe and cosmetics bag of a regular teen, complete with strawberry-flavored lip gloss. I even bought Hannah a pair of board shorts and a shirt in Pacific Sunwear.
“No one’s gonna believe me when I tell them how I spent my afternoon,” Hannah says, deflating. “Like anyone would believe this.”
I drag her over to a vendor’s cart and buy a disposable camera. Then I look for the oldest senior citizen around— someone who won’t recognize me and start shrieking— and ask her to shoot all the pictures in the vestibule near the parking garage. I take off my sunglasses and shake out my hair and make a regular teenager very happy.
“You are the best!” Hannah gushes, clutching her shopping bag. “Really, I am your biggest fan! I loved you in The Boyfriend Test ! And I can’t wait to see Family ! This was so much fun!”
Oddly enough, it was sort of fun. If it was fun enough for a few hours, maybe a month of it won’t be as awful as I think.
Nah, it will be.
I hate meetings. I’ve had eight today—not counting the ones with Ashley. Producers. Ashley. Directors. Ashley. Lawyers. Publicist. Ashley. Hair and makeup consult for Theodora Twist: Just a Regular Teen! (a two-hour meeting that resulted in: Okay, so it’s agreed, foundation and blush only, no hairstyling.) Lawyers again. Accountant. Ashley. (Let’s discuss the multimillion-dollar offer to hawk face cream in Japan.) Publicist. And in between it all are meetings with the public—I get out of the car, a fan spots me, screams my name, and I’m mobbed for autographs. I like the fans. Like the screaming. Sometimes I think it’s the sole reason I do what I do.
“Okay, so it’s a yes to the commercial for Japanese television,” Ashley says, pecking away at her CrackBerry. We’re in her office now. She motions to her assistant and the ass-kissing junior agent who works for her to take the paperwork and some DVDs and leave. “You’re going to have to lug these home yourself,” she says, handing me three scripts. “I decided not to hire you a temporary personal assistant since you can’t have one in Oak City anyway. Read these over next week—off camera. We’ll discuss”—she pecks more at the CrackBerry—“the last week of April.” More pecking. “Okay, next up, let’s revisit—”
Interrupted by her constantly-ringing phone. Thank you! I’m dying to get out of her stuffy office so I can go home and call Bo and Brandon in total privacy. I very quietly try to slink out, but Ashley wildly motions for her assistant to lock the door using her remote key. I slump back in a chair. My life is so glamorous sometimes.
Ten o’clock p.m. France time. No answer on either Bo’s or Brandon’s hotel room or cell phone.
Midnight—no answer. Morning in Rome—no answer.
Not one call from Bo or Brandon in over a week! I heard from each of them exactly once, a couple of days after they left. Where are they? I know they’re alive and well because they’re all over MTV, and footage from their concerts is played on TRL a thousand times a day. So why aren’t they calling me back?
Tomorrow night, Ashley and I are taking the red-eye to New York, and then she’s driving me to Oak City, where I don’t have twin boyfriends, where I’m not Theodora Twist, movie star—I’m just Theodora Twist, girl. I punch in the hotel number in Rome. It rings and rings. I don’t seem to have twin boyfriends anymore and I’m still Theodora Twist, movie star.
Emily
The press release is handed out on Friday in homeroom, along with release forms for our class trip, a pamphlet on “How to Talk to Your Teenagers About Drugs,” and a memo about our prom. Suddenly, the
“For a month, anyway,” I say, winking at her.
And for the next hour, Hannah leads me around the store, then the mall (my sunglasses and baseball cap firmly back on). Two hours later, we’re standing in front of Forever 21, and I have the wardrobe and cosmetics bag of a regular teen, complete with strawberry-flavored lip gloss. I even bought Hannah a pair of board shorts and a shirt in Pacific Sunwear.
“No one’s gonna believe me when I tell them how I spent my afternoon,” Hannah says, deflating. “Like anyone would believe this.”
I drag her over to a vendor’s cart and buy a disposable camera. Then I look for the oldest senior citizen around— someone who won’t recognize me and start shrieking— and ask her to shoot all the pictures in the vestibule near the parking garage. I take off my sunglasses and shake out my hair and make a regular teenager very happy.
“You are the best!” Hannah gushes, clutching her shopping bag. “Really, I am your biggest fan! I loved you in The Boyfriend Test ! And I can’t wait to see Family ! This was so much fun!”
Oddly enough, it was sort of fun. If it was fun enough for a few hours, maybe a month of it won’t be as awful as I think.
Nah, it will be.
I hate meetings. I’ve had eight today—not counting the ones with Ashley. Producers. Ashley. Directors. Ashley. Lawyers. Publicist. Ashley. Hair and makeup consult for Theodora Twist: Just a Regular Teen! (a two-hour meeting that resulted in: Okay, so it’s agreed, foundation and blush only, no hairstyling.) Lawyers again. Accountant. Ashley. (Let’s discuss the multimillion-dollar offer to hawk face cream in Japan.) Publicist. And in between it all are meetings with the public—I get out of the car, a fan spots me, screams my name, and I’m mobbed for autographs. I like the fans. Like the screaming. Sometimes I think it’s the sole reason I do what I do.
“Okay, so it’s a yes to the commercial for Japanese television,” Ashley says, pecking away at her CrackBerry. We’re in her office now. She motions to her assistant and the ass-kissing junior agent who works for her to take the paperwork and some DVDs and leave. “You’re going to have to lug these home yourself,” she says, handing me three scripts. “I decided not to hire you a temporary personal assistant since you can’t have one in Oak City anyway. Read these over next week—off camera. We’ll discuss”—she pecks more at the CrackBerry—“the last week of April.” More pecking. “Okay, next up, let’s revisit—”
Interrupted by her constantly-ringing phone. Thank you! I’m dying to get out of her stuffy office so I can go home and call Bo and Brandon in total privacy. I very quietly try to slink out, but Ashley wildly motions for her assistant to lock the door using her remote key. I slump back in a chair. My life is so glamorous sometimes.
Ten o’clock p.m. France time. No answer on either Bo’s or Brandon’s hotel room or cell phone.
Midnight—no answer. Morning in Rome—no answer.
Not one call from Bo or Brandon in over a week! I heard from each of them exactly once, a couple of days after they left. Where are they? I know they’re alive and well because they’re all over MTV, and footage from their concerts is played on TRL a thousand times a day. So why aren’t they calling me back?
Tomorrow night, Ashley and I are taking the red-eye to New York, and then she’s driving me to Oak City, where I don’t have twin boyfriends, where I’m not Theodora Twist, movie star—I’m just Theodora Twist, girl. I punch in the hotel number in Rome. It rings and rings. I don’t seem to have twin boyfriends anymore and I’m still Theodora Twist, movie star.
Emily
The press release is handed out on Friday in homeroom, along with release forms for our class trip, a pamphlet on “How to Talk to Your Teenagers About Drugs,” and a memo about our prom. Suddenly, the
Similar Books
