Watch Out, Hollywood!: More Confessions of a So-called Middle Child Read online

  Dedication

  To my absolutely gorgeous mom and dearly missed dad; my amazing sister, Susan; hysterically funny brothers, Patrick and George—if I could have picked a family, I could not have picked a better one than you. Quite simply, you are the best family a girl could ask for.

  To my husband, Davide, thank you, thank you for letting me do what I love to do. To our beautiful children, Chiara, Lucia, Pablo, and Rocco, watching you have each other’s backs makes me prouder than just about anything. I hope one day you’ll grow up and feel the same way about your siblings and parents as I do about mine. Pure love.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Nirvana, Baby

  Fame Is Better Than Chicken Nuggets and Ranch

  Beginning of the End

  Bobby Digs Me Big-Time

  The Birth of an Olympian

  Day Two of My Rebirth

  Graffiti Alley

  Own That Beam

  One Down. One to Go.

  Will I Never Learn?

  Blueberry Pancakes = World Peace

  I’m So Not a Scorpion

  Run, Run as Fast as You Can

  My First Photo Shoot

  Shut Pen Up

  Destiny Comes Early

  One Step at a Time

  Moment of Truth

  The End

  Toss This in the Trash: I Am No Role Model

  Life Stinks and Then You Die

  My Metaphorical Stoning

  The Reinvention of Marta the Farta

  Pickler Calling

  Can I Really Be That Wrong?

  The Stalking of Marta the Farta

  What Goes Up Must Come Down

  Acceptance

  Field Trip

  Marta’s Fall

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Nirvana, Baby

  Here’s why I believe in second chances:

  Yesterday, I was running for my life. Hiding from the cops. Everyone hated me. It was over. Everything I’d hoped for. And I’m not lying. If there’s one thing you should know about me, Charlie C. Cooper, I don’t lie. I might be a lot of things, but I’m no liar.

  Anyway, as I was saying, there I was hiding in the Houdini tunnels with Marta the Farta like a dirty rat while the police and Principal Pickler hunted us down like dogs.

  And today I am a hero. No joke. My face is literally splashed all over the TV.

  You’re probably asking yourselves how could a super cool, smart, fashion forward, tech genius such as myself be hunted down like a rat?

  Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because my no-good, super jealous and totally spoiled ex-friend Trixie wanted us gone. She wanted Marta off the school gym team and me off the planet Earth. And she’s the kind of girl who will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. So when she found out the secret we’d been hiding—that Marta’s mom was really dead and she was living alone—she called the cops, Social Services, and, of course, Principal Pickler. And it looked like she was going to get her way too, until my last-minute plan worked and Marta’s aunt arrived from Romania to take care of her. Trixie got kicked out. Her sidekick Babette got a big fat dose of therapy. And me—I was off the hook. I was also off the couch and out of the doghouse. No more therapy for this girl. I was cured in the eyes of the world.

  The press got hold of the story and ran with it. Love those guys.

  And here we are. One day after the whole thing went down and I’m waking up to a wall of lightbulbs and cameras lined up along the fence outside my house calling my name, chanting it like a roar.

  “Charlie!”

  “Charlie!”

  “Charlie!”

  Okay, fine. They aren’t really chanting, but you get my drift, right? They’re waiting. For me. Charlie. And I am so ready. I put together an outfit no one will forget.

  My signature blue Dr. Martens, fishnet tights, black tutu, and, of course, my Guns N’ Roses vintage sweatshirt with faux sweat rings. I tease the hair, stick tons of black butterfly sequin barrettes in, put a tiny bit of my sister’s mascara on, and bam! A star is about to be born.

  There’s a knock at the front door. I run to answer it.

  “Yo! Charlie! CNN.” They snap my picture. “LA Times. Over here, Charlie!”

  “People magazine,” someone yells. “Can you tell our readers what it feels like to be a hero?”

  “A hero?” Now that’s a first.

  “Show us where it happened, Charlie.”

  “ABC here,” a camera with the biggest microphone ever is suddenly in my face, “is it really true you found Houdini’s lost tunnels?”

  I take the key from my pocket. “Follow me.”

  The TV people call me selfless. They call me a true friend. They say I risked my life to help Marta, whose mom had died. Finally I’m being seen for the person I want to be instead of the person I was. A bully, yeah that’s right. I can admit it now. I, Charlie C. Cooper was a bully. But those days are gone. And lucky for me, Chad Newman, my major agent from Endeavor, is by my side, reminding me of the bright spot at the end of the tunnel. “We’re gonna make you a star, Charlie Cooper, a star.”

  After the press conference, right around lunchtime, Chad announces that we have offers on the table from ABC Family, Nick, and possibly even HBO, all begging to sign me. By Sunday morning, my face is plastered across every paper in LA with the headlines: EX-BULLY, TURNED SELFLESS DO-GOODER, CHARLIE C. COOPER USED HER HACKING SKILLS TO SAVE THE POOR, BULLIED ORPHAN MARTA THE FARTA AND FIND THE HOUDINI TUNNELS. All in one night! CNN runs the story so much that even my good friend Jai hears about it in Mumbai. By four in the afternoon, I’ve got boxes of thick, gooey salted caramels stacked on my doorstep with notes from Hollywood agents begging to turn me into a household name. But I’m taken. I’ve signed with Chad. And if there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that I’m as loyal as the school day is long.

  Now I can almost bet that come Monday morning, I will be the most popular kid in Happy Canyon School. And we’re not talking empty popularity, like the girls who are popular because their boobs are bigger than most of the moms’ or because their dads drive cars that cost more than a house. I’m talking sustainable popularity. My Indian friend Jai says it’s the only kind of popularity that means anything, because it means something. I have no idea what exactly, but who cares, right? All that pain and suffering has finally paid off.

  To go with my new self, I need a new outfit, of course—

  “Charlie?” Mom calls up from the kitchen. “Chad’s on the phone. He sounds crazed.”

  I throw on my Led Zeppelin tank top, black skirt, and boots, and am about to walk out, when I hear Felix in the hallway, bouncing off the walls. “Charlie’s gonna be famous, Charlie’s gonna be famous.”

  I’m feeling warm and fuzzy all over.

  “Charlie! Get down here now!” Mom yells again.

  Then my older sister, Penelope, the do-gooder, throws open my door. “Exploitation is so lame. And you, my little sister, are being exploited.”

  For some reason she’s always right there, just waiting to yuck my yum. “Can you move, please?”

  “No.”

  Sadly, it’s their room too. So embarrassing. The three of us—as in THREE—share one room, which I’m pretty sure is against the Geneva Convention. The next mansion that Dad gets hired to restore better have five bedrooms, or I’m out.

  “Get a life, Pen.” I pop one last delicious raspberry-filled See’s candy on my tongu
e and suck the filling right out. “Here, kid.” I hand Felix a chocolate, push Pen out of the way with one finger, and take the stairs fast and hard.

  I grab the phone, feeling confident and ready for whatever else my wonderful life wants to toss my way, and run back up to the bathroom for some privacy. “Hey, Chad, what’s happening?” Did I mention that Chad’s from William Morris Endeavor? WME for those in the know? He represents the best of the best. People with last names like Cruz and Pitt. He’s got more teeth than a shark, and his eyelids didn’t close once during our meeting yesterday. A very good sign.

  “Hey, star.” Chad is smooth as silk. “Just heard ABC Family is casting for a new show called Off the Beam.

  “Great title, don’t you think? It’s about a perfect team of girls who will do whatever it takes to be the best.”

  Sounds like middle school.

  “And then there’s the one kid who can’t get on the team, the girl they all laugh at, pick on. That’s you.”

  I’m speechless.

  “Charlie, it’s a great role. This kid is funny and smart, but she’s a troublemaker. She’s the star of the show.”

  Hold on. “Did you say star?”

  “I did.

  “You ever watch that show Make It or Break It?”

  “I don’t watch TV. I stream French movies.”

  “Well, it’s a show about a group of gymnasts who all want to be the best on the team and they’ll do anything to get there. They’re ruthless.” He says it like a yummy dessert. “It’s like watching a bunch of cute kittens in pink leotards clawing each other’s eyes out.

  “You’d play the little sister villain. You know, messing up their hair, putting food coloring in their shampoo, that kind of stuff.”

  “Pranks?” Are you kidding me? I basically wouldn’t have to act. “I would be perfect. Perfect! Where do I sign?”

  “Hold on.” He yanks me back from my moment of true happiness. “If you don’t know the basics of gymnastics, they aren’t interested.”

  What? All you need to do is look at me to know it ain’t happening. I lift my tank top, stand sideways, and check out the tummy in the mirror. Not exactly gymnast material. I suck it in, basically stop breathing. Better.

  “They want your friend to come in, too. She’s good at gymnastics, right?”

  “Whoa, wait, what friend? I don’t have any friends.”

  He thinks this is hysterical. “The girl you hid in the tunnels. Got the aunt on a plane, you know . . . what’s her name, kinda weird looking—”

  “Marta.” I close my eyes with a feeling of dread. Not Marta.

  TRUE FACT: Can’t this be about me, just me, for once?

  “Exactly.” He snaps. “What’s her number?”

  No, no, no! I pace my floor. I look out at my statue of Harry.

  “Charlie?”

  My future passes in front of my eyes. It’s the old fork in the road, people. If I don’t give him her number, I see:

  • ME, as the star of the show. Limo and driver, people kissing my butt, cameras following my every move.

  But if I tell him the truth and give it to him, I see:

  • Marta taking over as star gymnast on my new hit show, wanted by both Hollywood and the US Olympic team.

  • Her teeth bleached and her clothes covered in rhinestones. Loved and adored by all.

  • And ME, forgotten as usual.

  I look at Houdini. He’s looking right back at me. What would he do? What would Mr. Harry Houdini do? I pause, I pace, I really think about it. But the answer is obvious. Of course he’d do it. Of course he’d lie. And let’s be honest, it’s not really a lie, ’cause like I said, I’m no liar. It’s more of a white lie. And who doesn’t white lie? White lies are as common as words—like when people ask you how you’re doing and you say, Fine, when you’re not fine, that’s a white lie. This town is built on them.

  “I need your friend’s number.” Chad’s pushing hard. “They want to see her just in case, as a backup. You know what I mean?”

  Once again, the two versions of my life pass before my eyes. If they see Marta and me together, they’ll choose her.

  “Come on, kid, don’t have all day,” Chad barks.

  And then I do it.

  I lie.

  Not a big lie.

  Not a lie that will hurt anyone.

  Just a small little lie that will help me. ME, Charlie.

  I deserve a little help sometimes too, don’t I?

  Don’t I?

  I clear my throat. “I didn’t want to say this because she’s my best friend—”

  “Go ahead,” he says eagerly, like I’m about to drop a juicy piece of gossip.

  “Marta’s got issues.”

  “We all got issues, kid.” He laughs. “Her number, please.”

  I go to the window and blow against it until I can’t see out. I close my eyes.

  I’m doing her a favor.

  I’m doing her a favor.

  I’m doing her a favor.

  “Her mom just died.”

  “Great. She needs cash.”

  “No!” I stammer. “She’s a nut job, doesn’t shower, barely leaves the house. She’s unstable and hates Hollywood.”

  He jumps in. “Whoa! Fine. I get it. She’s psycho.”

  There. I did it. I take a deep breath. I feel a little sick. I’m gonna make it up to her, I will, I swear on my—

  “It’s all you, kid. And you’re gonna be huge.”

  “Huge?” I’m shaking, but things are looking better.

  “What kid who’s a little overweight, a little uncoordinated and lost won’t relate—”

  “Hold up.” Now he’s going too far. I’m about to get a little ticked off when I hear three magic words . . .

  “It’s a series, Charlie.” He lets that little delectable morsel of info fall just like that.

  TRUE FACT: I will miss years of school.

  “And that means a lot of money.” He sounds like the cat who’s just eaten the canary.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror and I ask, “Like, how much money?”

  Now, before you go judging me, let me ask you a question: Have you seen the latest copy of People magazine? Well, I have. I know what happens to kids in Hollywood. They drop like flies. Like flies, I tell you. They’re in one day and out the next. Gone for good. And I, Charlie C. Cooper, am not going down like that. No way. I gotta shoot high. Make it while I can.

  “If it does well, we’re talking movies, clothing lines, record deals, perfume—”

  What? Did he say perfume? “Can we call it ‘Charlie’?”

  “The sky’s the limit, kid. The producers want to capitalize on you, Charlie. They think you speak to kids all over the world. An ex-bully who put herself on the line for that kid.”

  “What kid?”

  He laughs. “You’re funny, too.”

  Oh, that kid. “Yep. Totally put my life on the line for her. Where do I sign?”

  “Hold up.” He laughs like I’m kidding. “You gotta audition.”

  “Audition?” Say what?

  “And you’ll need to send over your head shots.”

  “Head shots?” This is getting complicated.

  “You don’t have them? Who doesn’t have head shots in LA?” he says. “No worries. There’s a guy on Sunset I use all the time. Tell him I sent you. You’re their first choice.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, you got what it takes, kid—I can see it,” he says. “If you want it badly enough, you’ll go far. You got a pen?”

  I write the number down. “How much does it cost?”

  “About five hundred bucks.” He says it like five hundred bucks is pocket change.

  I choke. “Five hundred bucks?”

  Another reason to keep Marta away. She could never afford this. And plus, she’d hate it.

  TRUE FACT: The more I think about it, I’m actually doing Marta a favor.

  I race up the ladder to Pen’s bed, re
ach under her mattress, and find her wallet. Pen usually has some major cash because of all those do-gooder tutoring jobs she does. I open it, and my heart falls. Ten bucks? Seriously?

  “When do you think you can come in and show them what you got?”

  My stomach cramps up. “Um . . .” I need time. Like a year. The last time I stretched I was seven.

  “I’ll give you till Friday to put together a great routine and get the head shots. Sound good? I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

  A week? I pace my room. I glance at myself in the mirror. How am I ever going to come up with a routine and that kind of cash in a week?

  Wait a sec—

  “Will it be a limo with a pool? You’ll pick me up at school, right? Oh, man, I need you to pick me up at school.”

  He laughs. “Already thinking like a star. You just might make it in this town. See you Friday.” He hangs up.

  One week. Not even Mandela or Jobs could become a pro gymnast in one week. I run to the window and crank it open. “Moooooom!”

  Mom stops digging and looks up at me with a shovel in her hand. My parents are a real team. While Dad rebuilds the original Houdini mansion, Mom landscapes the gardens.

  I lean out the window and whisper, “Do you believe in me, Mom?”

  She smiles proudly. “Of course I believe in you.”

  I take a deep breath. “Great! Do you think you could loan me five hundred bucks?”

  She laughs.

  “For the head shots that will one day make millions.”

  “That’s a lot of money, Charlie,” she says. She goes back to digging like I’m just fooling around.

  I run down the stairs and out into the garden. I take the shovel from her hands and try to impress upon her that without the investment we, as a family, are dead in the water. “Soon Dad’s gonna be done with this project and we’re not going to have any money coming in—”

  She tries to take the shovel back. “You’re twelve.”

  “But if I get a part in this new TV series that Chad wants me to audition for, then maybe we could buy this place ourselves. What do you say?”

  “That’s very sweet of you to think of us, but Charlie, you’re going to have to earn that money. I won’t give it to you.”