Maeve on the Red Carpet (7 page)

“Hah! It was a trick question. You were supposed to say sharp
and
glamorous!”

“There, Miss Sharp and Glamorous.” Dad placed the bag in my hand. “Your hot chocolate. That’s why I was late. You wouldn’t believe how long the line was at Montoya’s this morning. You aren’t the only student from Abigail Adams who is staying home during vacation, kiddo. Now let’s get a move on. There are already campers waiting.”

Now I was seriously excited. I loved meeting new people. I slung my Think Pink velvet bag over my shoulder and instantly felt like I was being pulled to the ground by a ton of bricks. How had my bag gotten so heavy? I only had packed the essentials—a printed outline of my
Boston Holiday
idea, a makeup bag, a change of shoes for dance, an extra sweatshirt, my cell phone, a few magazines, an umbrella in case it rained, a snack for later, and a water
bottle, as I
would
be singing. I mean, a girl has to be prepared.

“Dad, one thing. Why can’t I come in through the back of the theater with you like I always do?” I asked, even though I already knew what Dad was going to say. Mom had explained it to me over and over again during dinner. It was just that I didn’t want my hair to get ruined. Having a giant bozo frizzball effect the first day of camp was not my idea of a perfect first impression. I wanted everyone to see me as the Princess. A girl’s gotta dream.

“Because,” Dad reminded me, “since I own the Movie House and the camp is being held
here
… I just don’t want the kids to get jealous.”

“Jealous? Of little old me?”

“Okay, not jealous exactly,” Dad tried again to explain. “I just don’t want the kids to see you popping backstage all the time and thinking you’re getting some kind of special treatment … you’re talented already, Maeve.”

I looked away to cover up my proud smile. “What does being talented have to do with anything?”

“Because, let’s just say you were to get a lead part in the film—”

“But you said it was going to be an
ensemble
cast,” I pointed out.

“Well, there might be a change of plans,” Dad said and I felt my cheeks flush with excitement.
Why the change of heart?
I wondered. But then I was like,
Who CARES?
Starring roles and everything!
This film camp was getting better and better by the moment. “Anyway, if you were to get a
lead part, you’d want the other students to know that you earned it …”

“But I
would
earn it.
Duh
… maybe you own the building, but you have nothing to do with who gets to be the star of film camp. Even if you
are
the coolest dad ever.”

“Thanks, but rumors spread fast in small theaters, Maeve. Take my word for it. Just walk around to the front with the rest of the kids and wait for me to unlock the front doors.”

I started to walk away. “Wait—” Dad shouted. “Come back. We’re already five minutes late! If you walk around to the front you’re going to be even later …”

I sighed, folded my arms, and tapped my foot. “Yes?”

Dad scratched his dark, curly hair and furrowed his brow. “Come with me,” he decided.

“Cool,” I replied.

“No, wait … walk around.”

“Daaaaaad!” I was getting seriously exasperated.

“Okay, okay, come with me.”

I rolled my eyes and walked next to Dad.
Why is he being so weird?
I wondered. It wasn’t ’til I noticed his hand shaking as he unlocked the backdoor that it finally dawned on me.
Oh my gosh, Dad’s actually nervous!
I realized. This camp was a huge deal. And Dad was about to make his big introduction in front of all the kids … plus Artemia Aaron and Mr. Von Krupcake. I couldn’t believe it. Dad loved the spotlight as much as I did.

Dad shakily flipped on the lights in the hall of the theater. A shiver went down my spine as one by one
the framed posters of classic movies lit up. I always got that feeling—a mixture of pride and excitement. It was like the great movies were in my blood. “How does it look? Is everything … you know … spic and span?” he asked.

Spic and span was an understatement. The Krupcake King’s renovations had made a big difference, and the Movie House had gone from classic to fantastic. Mr. Von Krupcake wasn’t kidding when he said he’d make the whole place glisten. The wood was freshly glossed and polished, and every seat in the theater was covered with red velvet. Plus we had a brand new plush curtain for the stage. I gave Dad a quick hug. “It’s going to be great!
We’re
going to be great,” I promised him.

Dad patted my back. “Okay then, let’s go.”

There was a little march in his step as he strolled down the carpeted aisle to unlock the door. Mr. Von Krupcake even had new, sparkling crystal chandeliers installed. It was like something out of a dream. Then it got so dreamlike I actually had to pinch myself.

Gathered there, outside the theater, were tons of kids and parents … all here for film camp at
our
Movie House. I squeezed Dad’s hand for good luck. I felt like I was about to make my very own red carpet entrance!

Dad unlocked the door and I gasped. Sure, the inside of the Movie House was fabulous, but seeing the front of the theater now was really the icing on the cake … the Krup-cake, that is. The whole front was blocked off with a huge white ribbon with the words “New York Film
Academy” printed in red letters. All the campers gathered close around it. In front of the theater, passersby had stopped on the street and sidewalk to see what all the commotion was about. And was it my imagination, or was that a photographer and a reporter standing next to the doors? This was getting too amazing for words!

The moment Dad and I stepped outside, the kids all began pointing and murmuring, wondering who this obviously important man was who had just unlocked the doors of the romantic-looking landmark theater … and maybe even wondering who was the very well-dressed, sharp and glamorous redheaded girl? I giggled and hoped they’d think maybe for just a split second that I was a celebrity here for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

As Dad and I made our way through the crowd to the big bow in the middle of the ribbon, the crowd actually moved apart for us. Kids were totally looking at me and then whispering to each other. Even though half of me wanted to tell them that I was just a regular kid and that the big, friendly looking guy happened to be my dad, the other half of me really wanted to be a famous actress … even if it was just for a little while.

Suddenly, all heads turned away from me and started pointing down Beacon Street. I shielded my eyes and squinted to get a better look. Whoa. Just when I thought this morning could not get more exciting, what should pull up right in front of the Movie House, but a white stretch limousine!

Now the crowd was really going wild. Everyone was
shouting things like, “Who has a pen?” “I don’t know who’s in there, but I want an autograph!” I didn’t say anything myself, but thought how funny it was that people went so nuts over stars and autographs. When I became famous, I’d make sure not to forget how important it was for fans to have their picture taken with
moi
.

The driver got out first and walked around the back of the limo. He swooped down his arm, opened the door, and out stepped Mr. Von Krupcake wearing his fedora hat. “Ahem,” announced the driver. “It’s my pleasure to introduce the one and only Walter Von Krupcake.”

“Huh? Who’s Walter Cupcake?” asked a little boy behind me.

“Don’t you know? He’s the Krupcake King!” answered an all-too-familiar voice. “He helped my dad redo the Movie House for camp.”

I shook my head. Sooo typical. Sam the Know-It-All strikes again. I decided it was best to stay incognito (that means in disguise … another great word nerd word from the brilliant Charlotte Ramsey!) as long as possible. People would definitely know soon enough that Mr. Know-It-All was my little brother.

Mr. Von Krupcake whispered something to the driver, whose face instantly turned white. “I’m sorry, sir!” he gasped and dove inside the car. When he emerged, he was carrying something shiny—something red and gold. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” shouted the driver. “Let me present … the Krupcake King!” He stood on his tiptoes and placed something on Mr. Von Krupcake’s head. It was the
huge crown from his commercials. Once the crown was secured, everyone started oohing and ahhing. Sometimes people just needed a little help remembering who was famous, I guess.

The driver—who’d let the limo door fall shut after waiting so long—jumped at the sound of banging within. Was that knocking and clattering coming from the
limo
? The driver mumbled an apology and threw open the door. A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone’s eyes were glued upon the limo, waiting to see who would be the next star to pop out.

Instead of a star, the only thing to pop out was a loud
cough-cough
.

“My apologies again,” said the driver. “And last, but certainly not least. Certainly,
certainly
not least, may I present, the Princess of Pastries herself, Mademoiselle Madeline Von Krupcake.”

A boot covered in shaggy white fur slipped out of the car, followed by a dainty little hand French manicured to perfection. A girl emerged in silky black pants and a white, puffy, fur-lined jacket, her long blond hair topped with what looked like a real diamond tiara. Even though I loved the crown Ms. Pink gave me … how I envied those twinkling jewels on Maddie’s head! She was the same angelic little girl from the Krupcake commercials, except now she was my age … and very pretty. I could never imagine her going to my school, Abigail Adams Junior High. She oozed a lifestyle of the rich and famous. To top it all off, in her arms was a tiny white dog that
looked like a cotton ball with an itsy-bitsy head. I was glad that Marty wasn’t here to see it—because he might get jealous. This dog was adorable … really adorable.

“Wave to our friends, Fitzy,” Madeline cooed into the little pup’s ear as she waved his paw at everyone. Fitzy didn’t seem too happy about it, but I knew Marty would have been thrilled. Marty was a little like me. We were both kind of showoffs.

Maddie turned to the driver and hissed, “Jeffrey, the Maddiecakes. NOW!”

“Oh yes. So sorry, Mademoiselle Madeline.”

What in the world is going on?
I wondered. The limo driver dove again through the door behind Maddie, who tried to cover up the commotion by waving little Fitzy’s hand at the crowd again and saying, “Thank you for being here. You’re all
too
kind.”

When the driver reemerged he had a four-foot-long sterling silver tray of individually wrapped plastic cakes. “Voilà! Maddiecakes for all!” Maddie squealed. “My gift to you. Bon appétit!”

The driver looked like he was about to topple over under the weight of the giant tray as he knelt to the ground, balancing one side on his shoulder. Hands reached out and surrounded Madeline, and she looked like she was positively in Seventh Heaven.

“Have a Maddiecake—they’re delicious,” she repeated, doling out the packages. The Maddiecake was like a doughnut but with no hole, covered with frosting, caramel coated popcorn, and white chocolate chunks. Sweet
was one thing, but the Maddiecake looked like a mouthful of cavities.

Pretty soon, everyone was munching away and saying how yummy the Maddiecakes were. Even Sam’s face was plastered with frosting. Don’t get me wrong—I adore my junk food (Chocolate Gag is, after all, my signature dish). But for some reason … I kinda lost my appetite. Maybe Avery’s anti-junk-food lectures
were
starting to get to me.

Pretty soon everyone’s mouth was white with Maddiecake sugar … except mine and Maddie’s. Maddie’s picture perfectness was totally off the charts … she looked ready to get her picture taken for the cover of a magazine.

Mr. Von Krupcake walked over to Dad and pumped his hand up and down so many times that I was afraid he’d pull it right off. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of arranging a few last-minute decorations,” he gushed. “I thought the situation called for just a
smidgen
of pomp!”

If this was just a smidgen, I wondered what Mr. Von Krupcake’s real parties were like … and if Madeline had been to tons of them.

I brushed myself off and found a place to stand with the rest of the kids who were watching Madeline—totally awestruck. They were so fascinated that no one even noticed a small black car pull up behind the long limo. No one—
including the news crews
—even noticed a very chic woman step out of the car. She had sleek red hair parted to the side, with long bangs sweeping over one side of her face. She reached up and neatly tucked the strands behind
her ear with a sparkling white glove, exposing an even more sparkling diamond earring. She looked around cautiously and quickly tiptoed to the backdoor.

“Who’s
that
?” asked the little boy behind me.

I could totally understand not knowing who the Krupcake King was … but Artemia Aaron? In the name of Hollywood and film camp, I simply had to say something. But of course, Mr. Know-It-All beat me to it. “Hellooooo?” said Sam. “That’s Artemia Aaron! She’s like … a
world famous
movie director.”

“No, not
her
, Sam,” scoffed the boy. (I couldn’t believe that we’d been at camp for less than ten minutes, and people already knew Sam’s name!) “I meant the girl with the curly red hair. Right there! Is she famous or something?”

As I turned to shake the hand of my new little admirer, Sam burst out laughing. “No way, José! That’s my sister, Maeve. She’s not famous. She’s just my plain, old, annoying sister.”

I glared at Sam. “Not famous
yet
,” I corrected. “But I most likely will be soon enough.” I smiled my warmest movie star smile. “It’s never too soon for an autograph—” I started to offer, but the little boy wasn’t listening anymore. Maybe some people around here didn’t know who the
très
glamorous Artemia was, but
everyone
instantly recognized her son.

“Hey!” cried my almost fan. “That’s him! That’s … that’s … Apollo Aaron!
Home Unsupervised
is like my favorite movie EVER!”