Star Power (8 page)

“R
idiculous. Freaking ridiculous,” Charly muttered in disbelief. Of all things that could've possibly happened while trying to complete the Save Nia mission, she never would have guessed that jail would've been one. She looked out the backseat window at Rory, who just stood there looking stupid and shrugging, and instantly wanted to kill her. Being locked up may have not moved Rory because, obviously, she'd been behind bars before, but for Charly it spelled doom and demise. She wasn't a criminal, had never been, but now she was sitting in the back of a police car like one, while Rory waved from the side of the road. If Charly could've flipped her the bird, she would've, but even that wasn't possible. With her hands cuffed behind her back and being locked inside, a lot of things were beyond her reach, namely, getting to Nia.

“I'mma come get you, sis. You're good, Charly girl,” Rory was yelling at the back window as the police cruiser pulled off.

Charly shook her head. How was Rory going to help her when she wasn't even powerful enough to help herself? She couldn't even get out of East Jesus, as she'd referred to her town.

The cop looked at her in his rearview mirror and nodded a little. “I wouldn't have cuffed you if it were up to me, but we don't know you around here. You could be anybody.”

Charly just shot daggers at him. They'd gone over whom she was, why she was there, and even Rory had admitted that she'd asked Charly to drive, but Officer Unfriendly didn't care for several reasons. Charly didn't have a license. The owner of the car, whom they'd called, met them roadside and said he didn't know her. His declaration was the determining factor. It didn't matter that Rory had never received permission to drive the car or that it was her idea to steal it or that she hadn't informed Charly of the theft, but instead, made it seem as if it were fine with them to drive. The only thing that counted was that Charly was behind the wheel. She'd tried her best to convince them about the real truth, but no one took her seriously. When she'd mentioned that she was a reality television star who was there to help the mayor, they'd laughed in her face, then questioned how a teenage girl—especially one who was hanging with Rory—could possibly help the mayor.

The officer spread his lips, then shook his head at her while he smiled. “You know you can do so much more with your life . . . Charly, right? You have school, college if you're lucky and maybe, just maybe, you'll get a good job. Don't throw your life away. It's not worth it.” He stared at her hard. “And whatever you do, watch the company you keep.” He turned his attention back to the road, while radioing in Charly's impending arrival to someone at the jailhouse on the other end of the dial.

He made a left, and Charly exhaled. Her feet were hurting, her wrists were burning, and her attitude was on fire. She was pissed beyond pisstivity, and someone was going to pay for it. That someone was Rory.

“So you're still not going to talk to me?” the officer asked.

Charly rolled her eyes. She'd said all she was going to say, which, according to the code she'd been taught by the streets, was too much. Yes, she'd given him some information, but when he pulled out his little notepad and pen, she sealed her lips. When he finished writing, then asked her to sign, she'd refused. That was one autograph that wasn't going to be handed out. There was no way she would ever sign a contract saying she'd stolen a car when she hadn't, at least not to her knowledge or on purpose. When Officer Unfriendly questioned if she understood him, her teachings from Dr. Deveraux El kicked in, and she told him no, then informed him that she stood over him. Her lips spread into a slight smile, she was happy that Dr. Deveraux El had made her research words in the fourth volume of
Black's Law Dictionary,
and now she knew that
understood,
to the law, was akin to a contractual obligation to agree to something. Charly nodded. She wasn't bowing down or signing anything. She wasn't being difficult either, she was just preserving, not reserving her rights. That's why she had nothing to say to the officer; her words wouldn't count anyway. The judge's voice is what mattered. She'd just let the universe take care of it. She knew who she was, and that's all that counted. She wasn't a thief, she was a giver, she reminded herself, then closed her eyes. She saw no sense in witnessing herself going to jail.

She felt the car turn left, zip down the streets, then hang a right. When it slowed, and then stopped, she clenched her teeth. It was time to face a new reality, which meant opening her eyes. As much as she wanted to hide behind her lids, she knew doing so wouldn't erase what was going on. With much effort, she opened them, then stared at the officer through the rearview mirror. “So you think you can take these cuffs off me now? Or are you afraid I'll overpower you and run?” she asked, her tone sarcastic and daring.

He stared at her while grabbing his clipboard from the passenger seat. “You don't have much respect for authority, Charly. Do you?”

With her hands behind her back, she leaned forward. “What's your name?”

“Officer Michaels,” he answered, pointing to his badge. “Do you want my badge number too?”

Charly sat back, shaking her head. “No, what I want is for you to stop calling me Charly. You want me to call you Officer Michaels, and think it's okay for you to call me by my first name? Nah. I don't think so. Only I can determine who and what has authority over me, and, in my book, we're equals. As it is above, so it is below,” she said.

Officer Michaels gave her a quizzical look. “What does that mean?”

She shook her head. “Do your homework, then you'll see why I stand over you and you'll understand me. For now, let's just say that your job can't put you above me, just as you being an adult doesn't make me less than you because I'm a teenager,” she informed him. “So can we respect each other now, or do you plan on continuing to treat me like a criminal before you really know if I'm one?”

He shook his head as if disgusted with her, then got out of the car and slammed the door. He walked toward the back of the vehicle, then made his way behind it. Charly gritted her teeth. It was time to face the drama, and she was ready to get it over with. She sat there for seconds waiting for Officer Unfriendly to release her from the confines of the squad car, but he didn't. In fact, he'd disappeared from view, she discovered as she looked through the front and side windows. She'd just been looking at him, then suddenly it was as if he'd vanished. She blinked twice, hoping her sight was deceiving her, but he was still nowhere to be seen. She tilted her head. How could he have gone missing so quickly? she wondered, closing her eyes, then resting her head on the seat. There was no use in worrying, she told herself. There was no use in rushing; she had nowhere to go but to jail.

Her door opened, jarring her. “Come on. And please watch your head while getting out. I don't want you to get hurt,” the officer said. His voice held a different tone. He wasn't outwardly apologetic, but he wasn't as rigid and accusing as before.

Charly lowered her head while getting out of the vehicle. She stiffened when he grabbed her arm, helping her to her feet. “Thank you, I guess.” Her words were uncertain. She didn't know if she should be thankful for him not wanting her to get hurt, or be upset that she was handcuffed and on her way to get booked.

“So you are Charly St. James? Huh? Born in Illinois, resident of New York, actress,” he said, his words telling her he'd checked her out.

Charly looked at him, and a funny sort of glee replaced her anger. She was having an I-told-you-so moment, and it felt good. “Yes. I am Charly St. James. And you are . . . sorry? Huh?”

Officer Michaels shook his head, then pulled slightly on her arm to guide her into the precinct. “Are all New Yorkers as difficult as you? I heard it's true; now I'm wondering.”

Charly laughed. Despite the handcuffs she wore, she still felt good about herself. “New Yorkers difficult?” She shook her head. “Nah. It's not city people who are difficult; it's usually the truth that's difficult. I told you the truth—my honesty was easy—you made the truth difficult.” She walked up the two steps that led into the precinct. “Let's get this over with. I have a show to do, and you're holding up our progress.”

Finally, he smiled, holding open the door for her. “So I've heard. I guess you really do know the mayor. More importantly, he knows you, and we're going to let you walk. There was no harm done to the car, and no one wants to press charges on someone who came here to do good for the community.” He led her into a backroom. “But I still have to hold you though, until someone comes to claim you.”

Charly's eyes lit. She was out of trouble; now she could flip back into her role. She had to save Nia from dreariness, and keep the show interesting. She figured she might as well use jail for more than it was usually worth. “Cool, but I need a favor. Can we tape it? You know, like the whole thing. Maybe we can do a do-over and you can put me back into the car, ride for a couple of blocks, walk me in, etcetera. It'll be good for ratings, and if I can take a few cute mug shots, that'll be great too.”

 

Liam was smiling and leaning against a mailbox when she came out. Her lips spread farther than his, as she skipped down the two steps and made her way over to him.

“Only you, Charly. Only you. How'd you end up in jail?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Dumb question,” he said, then nodded slightly to where the cameraman and boom man were standing and filming. Her smile spread wider. The officer wouldn't agree to Charly's request for a go-to-jail do-over, but he'd let her call the crew, and they'd come to her rescue. She may not have gotten it all captured for the show, but she'd take what she could get.

“Liam, please. You already know, but what you don't know is that when I catch Rory, we're going to get it in. I'm talking a real fight. I don't know how I'm going to pull it off because I don't want to get sued,” she said, getting ready to cross the street. She stepped off the curb.

Liam pulled her back. “You trying to get run over, love?” He looked at her and winked. “We've got to get over to Nia's, who's finally showed up, by the way, and I can't let anything happen to you beforehand,” he said, then whispered, “and after last night, I feel you're my responsibility.”

Charly punched him, then caught herself. “Liam! Don't even play like that. That's not cool. You know if someone heard you, that'd blow like gasoline and lit matches.” Her words were low and fiery, and also said between clenched teeth.

He held his chest where her fist had just connected. “Ouch! I'm not playing.” She cut him a look. “And I don't mean it like that, Charly. I just feel I need to protect you because
someone
knows where you're staying and how to get to you.” His tone was different, serious.

She nodded. He had a point, and she was grateful that he had her back. “Thanks,” she said to Liam.

“Charly!” someone called, making her and Liam cringe.

They had too much to accomplish and too short of a time to do it in, and, now there just wasn't time to deal with the townspeople. Liam grabbed her hand and pulled her. “C'mon!”

“Hi!” Charly yelled to whomever, then turned to Liam. “Where are we going?”

“You'll see,” he said, still pulling her along as the cameraman and boom man followed. Hand in hand, they jogged to a parking lot by the precinct. “Over here,” he directed, crossing over the blacktop toward a convertible Mustang.

“Nice. When did you get this?” she asked, rounding to the passenger side, then bid the cameraman and boom man good-bye as they signaled they were cutting the taping.

“We'll meet you guys back at the location,” Liam said to them, then turned his attention back to Charly. “I just picked it up not too long ago. I can't stand being chauffeured around. We need to enjoy ourselves . . . and staying off of the studio's grid—their schedule for us—is priority.” He opened her door.

She pressed her lips together, then crinkled her brows. She looked at him when he got in. “But how? You're not old enough to rent a car. Don't you have to be like twenty-something to do that?” Charly strapped in.

Liam got in, put on his seat belt, then started the car. He pressed a button, and the convertible yawned open. “Nice!” he exclaimed, breathing in the fresh air. He revved the engine, and shrugged. “Star power, love. Just using my star power. Sometimes we have to use what we got. I signed a few autographs and did some flirting, and just like that”—he snapped his fingers—“they let me rent it. I have a credit card and I'm licensed, so it's not a big deal really,” he said, then pulled off.

T
he sun warmed Charly's face, and her hair danced in the wind as Liam pressed the accelerator. She put on her sunglasses, then reclined her seat. It felt good to have the breeze kiss her face, especially after being held in the police cruiser and sitting in the station. The clean air was refreshing to a city girl, and she marveled at how much she appreciated not having to endure the smoggy gas fumes she'd grown used to in the busy New York traffic. “Now the rest of today's gonna be nice, I can feel it, especially since we have Nia in place,” she said to Liam, looking over and giving him a pleasant smile.

He smiled, then slowed the car, and finally came to a stop at a red light. “I hope so, love. 'Cause we've got a lot of work to do, and so little time . . .” he began, then stopped. He grimaced aloud.

“What?” Charly asked, not liking his look.

“Hope your feeling sticks—the nice day part,” he mumbled loud enough for her to hear.

“Liam! Liam! I thought that was you. There's this huge party tonight, and everyone's going. I'm running late, and I need to get ready. Can you give me a ride?” a singsong voice sang, growing closer by the second, an indication that she was nearing the car.

“Oh, gawd,” Charly whispered, and slumped down farther in her seat. She knew she couldn't escape being seen, but she wanted to. “I've already been with Rory today. I'm not up for Mya and her full-of-her-selfness. Please tell me that's not her.”

Liam pasted on a phony smile, and gave a half wave. “I would love to, but I'm afraid it's her,” he managed to say between clenched teeth. “Pardon?” he called out to Mya.

“Come on, Mr. I'm Single. You know you wanna give me a ride,” rolled out of her mouth in the most flirtatious tone Charly had ever heard, and it sickened her to her stomach. Mya's voice was one of the reasons for Charly's disgust, the other was Mya directly hitting on Liam, who belonged to Charly. At least for television, she reminded herself.

She lifted her sunglasses and gave Liam the side eye. “Disgusting! That's who you were talking to when I was out working trying to get Nia to accept bettering herself?” She lowered her shades and turned her face away. Liam had some nerve flirting with her project's twin sister.

“Well, well . . .” he stammered, and Charly didn't know if he was stumbling for words to answer her or Mya.

“Don't be shy, Liam. You weren't shy the last time we were around each other. Besides, you know you want—oh, I didn't see you in the car, Charly!” Mya said, her voice changed from flirtatious to regret. Probably from being caught flirting, Charly assumed. Her voice was also closer than ever, Charly realized when she turned her head and came face-to-face with the outgoing sister.

Liam drummed on the steering wheel, and Charly tried to determine if it was because of his nerves or impatience. Had he been flirting with Mya or had he wished they hadn't run into her either? she questioned, trying to read him. She looked from him to Mya and back again, and still couldn't determine. “Oh, hi, Mya. Another party, already? Didn't you just go to one?” she greeted in a tone much happier than her true feelings.

“Where do—” Liam began.

“No, I'm doing the talking. I'm responsible for the people; you're responsible for the structure. Remember?” Charly said, cutting him off. Her voice was edgy, and her attitude was serious. “Sorry about that, Mya. It's the rules. Liam's here for building, I'm here for everything else—everyone else.” She pasted a phony smile on her face. “So you were saying you need a ride. Where?”

Mya bit her bottom lip and tried to keep a straight face, but was unsuccessful. Charly could see disappointment in her eyes. “It's summer. There's always a party. And this is hands down, the best one of the year. I need a ride to the house . . . if you were going that way, that would be cool.”

Charly nodded. “Ah, wouldn't you know it, Mya, that's exactly where we're headed. Hop in,” she said, then looked in the backseat and saw that Liam had some supplies and paperwork there. “One sec,” she said, then pushed herself up and turned around in her seat, then adjusted her body so she could reach Liam's belongings. She moved them to the side so Mya would have to sit behind Liam, which was where she needed her to be so she could keep an eye on her. It bothered her that this girl was clearly after him, but what got under her skin even more was that she cared. She wasn't supposed to have real feelings for Liam, and she didn't. That's what she told herself, but she couldn't convince herself of a lie. Liam was in her system, and that was all there was to it. “Okay, you can get in now. Everything's out of your way,” she said, then turned back around, and nodded to Liam. She reached for the stereo system volume, then cranked it. Mya could ride with them, sure, but she wasn't going to get any conversation. Especially from Liam. Mya hopped in and set her purse on the floor. Charly tilted her head quizzically, then muted the music. “Mya, one thing. Why are you always riding with someone? Your dad has like a thousand cars at your house. And Nia drives, so why don't you?” She threw the question out there, knowing that Mya did drive. Well, at least Rory said she did, and Charly had no reason to doubt her.

The blood and expression drained from Mya's face, letting Charly know she'd struck a nerve. “I can't drive” was all she said before Charly turned up the volume. She refused to listen to any more lies that came out of Mya's mouth.

 

Mya was out of the car and in the house before Charly and Liam could gather their things. Her heart was racing, knowing she had to move quickly. It had only been a day, and already she was way behind with Nia. Now, without Rory to help her, she didn't know how she was going to reach Nia, but she would.

“Looks like you've got company,” Liam said, closing the trunk.

Charly looked over her shoulder and gulped. Nia was standing in the doorway, waving. She looked like a confused farmer, wearing grungy brown overall shorts, complete with shoulder straps, a red and beige checkered top and sandals with two straps. Her hair was pulled back in a crooked ponytail, and her face was dull. Despite her appearance, Charly smiled. She was happy to have her come to greet them. Nia waved harder, then walked over to them. “Need help with anything?” she asked Charly.

Charly gave her a friendly hug, but was careful not to squeeze too tight. Nia didn't seem to be one who was big on affection, so she didn't want to throw her off, especially since she'd come out to meet them. That she'd come without being called or tricked or pressured was a plus. “No, Liam has all the big stuff. I just have my bag. It's good to see you, Nia. So, I guess that means . . . ?”

Nia nodded. “Yes, it means I'm willing to help you help my dad.” She rolled her eyes, then nodded her head toward the house. “I'm probably the only one around here who will since my mom is away, and because everyone else will be partying. Seems you have a knack for rubbing people the wrong way. I guess you need to brush up on your kissing-up skills.” She laughed a little.

Charly's eyes stretched in surprise. So that was the key, she figured. If one sister helped, the other didn't. Why didn't she see that the other day? she questioned. When Mya was wrapped up in herself and refused to show them out to the pool house, Nia wasn't around. When Mya showed up, Nia disappeared. Mya thought herself superior to her sister, and Nia smiled and offered her help after Charly had rubbed Mya the wrong way, and outright laughed because Charly wasn't a kiss-up. She didn't know if their separation qualified as sibling rivalry or not, but it definitely said they weren't close. “Well, Nia, I guess that means I'll never have any friends, because these lips don't kiss up! Now, are you ready to roll? We gotta shop 'til we drop.”