Just Your Average Princess (15 page)

I lean even closer to the fence, trying to hear more but the girls have moved away. Shoot. I hadn't thought about Milan's scandal hurting business.

A little stunned, I walk back out to the front of the goat pen, set the bucket of brushes down, and let myself out. I walk about twenty feet away until I can get a good view of Milan at the concession stand. She's leaning on one hand and looking incredibly bored. There are still no people anywhere near the stand. Is this because of the sex tape scandal? I almost thought the opposite would happen and that at least the guys would be lining up to buy something from Milan.

This is weird. Even if people don't want lattes someone always wants a soda or a bottle of water. The concession stand is never entirely empty. This isn't good.

I work in the petting zoo for the next hour but I know I'm not doing as good a job as I can. I'm totally worrying about what's going on. Why is everyone avoiding Milan like this? It's not as though you can catch making a sex tape like a cold or something. What if that one girl was right and Milan's making the Patch lose business instead of gain business? That would be ridiculous, right?

Ugh. I feel kinda icky. I don't
really
want to hurt Milan, do I? She's still my cousin, no matter how big of a butt head she is. I almost feel like a bully. And I'm not a bully!

But it's not my fault so I should try not to feel bad. It was only a matter of time before people found out anyway. Even if I hadn't e-mailed …

I can't take it anymore. I need to find out what's going on. I tell the other zoo workers that I'll be back shortly and start walking through the Patch. I'm not sure what I'm looking for exactly. I'm trying to figure out if people are avoiding Milan because of the sex tape thing. I stop in front of the haunted house. Hmm. It's always fairly dark in here. I'll go sit in a corner and eavesdrop for a while.

I slip in the front door and feel my way through the dark house until I reach the kitchen. This is as good a place as any to hide. The kitchen of the haunted house is decked out in gory goodness—the sink is full of blood, there's a pot on the stove with a fake head sticking out of it, and there is a pair of legs arranged in the oven so that you can see the soles of the feet pressed up against the glass. There are fake blood spatters all over the walls and glasses of water with eyeballs floating in them left on the kitchen table like someone had been drinking there. I tuck myself behind the refrigerator and wait for people to pass by.

A few minutes later I hear Kettle Corn Girl walking through with Hannah, the girl who sells tickets to the haunted house out front. They must be on break.

“Do you think Milan will still run for Pumpkin Princess?” Hannah says.

“I wouldn't know,” Kettle Corn Girl replies.

What? What does she mean she wouldn't know? She helped Milan fill out the registration form herself.

“I thought you two were friends,” Hannah says in an accusing tone.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Kettle Corn Girl returns. “I barely know the girl.”

Oh my God! What a liar! She's been all over Milan since the minute Milan started working here. Unreal.

I wait a few minutes after the girls have left and then slip out into the daylight. I can't believe this reaction is solely from the tape. Of course I was hoping they'd kick her out of the Pumpkin Princess contest. And maybe I wouldn't have minded if people hung on her every word a little bit less. And I sure wouldn't shed a tear if all that Milan merchandise went away. But I certainly didn't want the whole town to shun her.

I try to shake off the guilt and remind myself that Milan did this to herself. I mean, she
made
a sex tape. Like all the other silly rich Hollywood kids have. Hello, attention much? I'm sure Milan's just waiting for Mark Burnett to give her cell a ring and offer her her own reality show. Gag. This is totally, 100 percent not my fault. It was completely inevitable that the town would find out.

That feeling in the pit of my stomach is telling me otherwise though.

*   *   *

I step into the house and scan the living room and hallway. I'm not sure what I expect to see—maybe Milan freaking out and throwing things against the wall or something. But it's quiet.

“Jamie?” Mom calls. “That you? Can you set the table? Dinner's almost ready.”

“Uh, yeah, Mom.”

I walk into the kitchen and gather the plates and utensils. I briefly glance at the disks of baked dough covered in brown mush sitting on the baking sheet on the stove. I'm not even going to ask.

“Butternut squash personal pizzas with fresh rosemary,” Mom tells me anyway. “Don't they look delicious?”

“Mmm,” I say, hoping that will satisfy her question so I don't have to tell her what I actually think. I walk into the dining room and set the table. A few minutes later we're all sitting around the table and no one is saying a word. Just chewing. I sneak glances at Milan when I think no one is looking, but she continues to stare at her plate and pick at her food.

Mom finally breaks the silence. “Everyone have a good day?” She slices off a piece of pizza and puts it in her mouth and waits.

Dad nods.

“It was fine,” I say.

We all look at Milan. Nothing.

“Do you like the pizza?” Mom asks her.

Milan nods but doesn't look up.

“What about you, Jamie?” Mom asks.

Me? Well, it tastes like bland baby food slathered on extra-thick cardboard. But I can't exactly say that. “It's fine,” I say instead.

For the next few minutes the only sound is the four of us sawing off pieces of our mushy pizza.

“Are you girls getting excited for the Pumpkin Princess contest?” Mom asks us.

I shoot a look at Milan and hold my breath.

Milan raises her head. “I'm dropping out of the contest,” she says, her voice flat.

I gasp and then slap a hand across my mouth. I didn't mean to react like that.

Milan's eyes linger on me for a moment and then return to my mom's.

Mom stops eating. “But why? I thought you were looking forward to it.”

Milan shrugs. “I don't think it would be appropriate considering the current circumstances.”

Dad wipes his mouth with a napkin and pushes away from the table. “Sounds like female talk,” he says. “I'll be going.” He picks up his John Deere hat off the hallway table, slips it on his head, and walks out the front door. I look at his barely touched pizza. He's probably going out for a burger.

Milan watches Dad leave too and then turns back to us. Her expression is different. Almost embarrassed.

Oh man, I wonder if Dad knows too? I guess it's possible that one of the people on the town board told him. Especially since everyone else seems to know about it.

“Milan, what's this about?” Mom says, her voice full of concern now.

Milan leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest. “To put it simply, gossip. A stupid rumor has been spread through town that I participated in a sex tape with Brandon Days.”

“Oh my lord,” Mom says, horrified.

“It's not true, Aunt Julie,” Milan adds quickly. “I've never even met Brandon Days let alone made any kind of movie with him. It's total fiction.”

“How did this happen?” Mom asks.

“Oh, you know how those stupid online gossip sites are. They just make stuff up half the time. I think they were trying to create a juicy story for my sudden disappearance from Hollywood. Like it's any of their business.” She sighs. “So someone made a fake movie and threw it online. I looked it up when I first heard the rumor. It's totally not me. The girl in the movie has a huge butt.” Milan looks at my mom's reaction to this. “Not that that's important at this moment. But seriously, if you look at the date stamped on the movie it was made while I was here in Average with you guys. It's not me.”

What? No way! I never even thought to look at the movie. I mean, ewww, why would I? But if it's not even Milan …

“Why didn't you say something?” I ask Milan. “You should defend yourself. Tell people. Write a letter to the Web sites that posted the story.”

Milan laughs. Loudly. “Sorry, Jamie,” she finally says. “It was what you said about writing to the Web sites. That would never work. It would only make things worse.”

“That's libel, Milan, what they did to you,” Mom says.

“Yeah. I don't think anyone actually cares,” she says. “From my experience it doesn't even matter if what the online sites or tabloids say about you is true. Once it's out there people believe it hook, line, and sinker.”

“That's terrible,” I mutter. I feel horrible. Really horrible. I can't believe I caused this whole mess and Milan didn't even do it!

Milan shrugs. “It's nothing new. I'm used to it.” She carefully slices off a tiny piece of her pizza and resumes eating.

Mom shakes her head. “What an awful thing to get used to. There has to be something we can do—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Don't drop out of the Pumpkin Princess contest. I'll fix this. I promise.”

Milan looks at me like I'm an idiot, but I'm not kidding. I
will
fix this. Maybe it's not entirely my fault. Celebrity gossip does spread awfully fast. But I feel partially responsible and while I can't make a difference on a widespread level I can make a difference in Average. I know I can. I excuse myself from the table and go to my room to get to work.

 

20

I wake up Thursday morning raring to go. Today's mission: spread the truth about Milan around Average faster than the flu. First step is to e-mail the town board again as Helpful Friend. This time I apologize for the regrettable mistake and add that the sex tape is a fraud and that Milan was here in Average with us when it was filmed.

At school I tell anyone who will listen to me about my poor cousin Milan getting framed. I make sure to keep repeating how impossible it would have been for her to have made the tape in the first place. This is our solid undeniable proof and it has to get around fast. I even tell Joyce, the lunchroom monitor, the story. Joyce is pretty gossipy so I figure it will only help in getting the news spread around town.

After school I head straight for the Patch, but before I go to work, I have to make a stop. I get in line behind a mom with two kids. When it's my turn I step up to the register and order. “Hi, one raspberry sno-cone and a bag of kettle corn, please.”

Sno-Cone Sammy and Kettle Corn Girl eye each other as they put together my order. What? So I never usually stop at this booth. Can't a girl change up her after-school snack once in a while?

Sno-Cone Sammy hands me my sno-cone.

“Thanks,” I say. “Oh wait, maybe I should bring Milan a sno-cone too, you know, to cheer her up. You got any flavors back there with no calories, no preservatives, no additives … Uh, well, maybe you should just fill up one of those paper cones with some plain ice shavings.”

Sno-Cone Sammy looks concerned. “How's Milan?” she says in a low voice.

Perfect. I was hoping she'd ask me that. “She's okay,” I say slowly. “As well as you'd expect, considering the lies spreading all over town about her.”

“Lies?” Sno-Cone Sammy inquires, obviously hoping I'll spill, which of course is my plan.

“Yeah. You know,” I say, and lean in close, “about the t-a-p-e.” I'm not sure why I felt I needed to spell that out.

“It's not true?” Sno-Cone Sammy asks, and then flips around to look at Kettle Corn Girl. “See? I told you Milan would never do that.”

“Oh God,” I say, “of course it's not true. Milan doesn't even know Brandon Days. And if you look at the date stamp on the movie you'll see it was made while Milan was living here in Average.”

“Really?” Kettle Corn Girl says, moving closer to us.

“Yes! And I have no reason to defend Milan, she doesn't even like me,” I add.

“That's true,” Kettle Corn Girl replies.

Ouch.

“Well, I never believed it for a minute,” Sno-Cone Sammy says, shaking her head for emphasis. “April kept saying it was true, but I couldn't see Milan doing something like that. It's not her.”

“She wouldn't,” I agree. “Thanks for the food, guys.” I drop some bills on the counter. I take my sno-cone, the ice, and the kettle corn and head for home. I need to change and get back out here to work.

Mom asks me to be the break reliever this afternoon, which, really, couldn't be any more perfect a job to fit in with my plan. It gives me a chance to tell everyone I relieve about Milan being framed with the sex tape. I tell Jeff and Teegan at the pumpkin chucker, Petey and Hannah at the haunted house, and Kate and Laurel at the funnel cake stand. I know my plan is going to work and people will forget this stupid story about Milan and go back to, well, I guess worshipping her like they were before the rumor leaked. But even if they are worshipping her it's better than them ignoring her and making fun of her behind her back for something she didn't do.

My last stop is to see Sara. She's straightening up the display case when I reach her.

“Hey, where've you been? No apple today?” Sara asks.

“Nah, I had kettle corn and a sno-cone,” I say.

“What? Since when? I think I'm insulted.” Sara fake-pouts and I laugh.

“Don't worry, it was a one-time thing,” I insist.

“It better be. I don't like throwing away my creations.” Sara picks up the Jamie Special and acts like she's going to throw it in the trash.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say. “Let's not be hasty. I'll take it home.”

She grins. “I knew you would.” She hands me the apple and leans over the counter to glance at the concession stand. I look too and see Milan busily making her pumpkin spice lattes. “Did you hear?” Sara asks me a minute later.