Under the Lights (21 page)

After half an hour of watching K-drama jiggle one of those ridiculous legs at Sugar, I finally take her hint that she's ready to leave, and announce that we're heading out. I can see everyone's eyes bugging out at the fact that we're leaving together, but knowing that this is exactly the sort of shit Chuck wants implied, I don't explain the guest house bit, leaving it for her to protest.

Weirdly, she doesn't, and I admittedly get a little excited at the thought that the guest house was a bullshit excuse on her part.

At least until we get back to Malibu and that's exactly where she goes, with a yawn that's definitely fake and a “good night” that isn't.

Between the late hour and the alcohol, I don't even have the energy to jerk off. But I don't really wanna lie in bed feeling frustrated, either, so I head into my media room to pick a movie instead. I've just put
The Usual Suspects
in the Blu-ray player when a knock sounds at the door, startling me into completely losing my shit.

Of course, it's just K-drama, wearing the same tee and boxers she borrowed from me the other night.

I hope she's here for sweatpants.

“What's up?” I growl, frustrated to have her reinserting herself in my brain when I'd finally come up with a plan to clear her out of it. She winces, and it makes me feel sorta bad. “There's a toothbrush there, right?” I add, as if being hospitable will make me a little bit less of a dick for practically yelling.

“Yeah, thanks.” She presses her lips together, and I can tell that whatever she came here to say, she no longer wants to say it.

I sigh. “What is it, K-drama?”

“I just…can't sleep. Were you going to watch a movie? Can I watch with you?”

An image of those legs draped over me on the couch is not doing good things under the shorts I've changed into, and I make a mental note to sit on the opposite end of the couch. “Yeah, okay.” I step aside for her to come in, then close the door behind her. “I'm gonna grab a beer from the fridge. You want anything?”

“Just water, please.”

I grab her a bottle and myself one of those noxious light beers that may as well be water. As it is, I'll have to spend hours in the gym tomorrow to work off tonight's drinks. When I get back to the couch, she's already curled up under the furry throw blanket in my favorite corner, but she looks so miserable I don't even have the heart to make her move. I take a seat on the opposite end and pop the cap off my beer.

“God, I love this movie,” I say as the opening credits start up.

“Oh, is it good? I've never seen it.”

“K-drama.” I pause the movie and turn to her. “You've never seen
The Usual Suspects
?”

“Nope. It's old, isn't it?”

“Not exactly a classic—1995. I watch it at least once a year. How can you not have seen it?” I pause. “Wait. You know how it ends, right?”

“He was dead the whole time?”

“Wrong movie.” I collapse back into the buttery leather of my favorite couch in the house. “Wow. A person who doesn't know how
The Usual Suspects
ends. How can you even call yourself an actor?”

“The movie's older than I am! That's not my fault.”

I sigh. “That's a pathetic excuse. Now watch the movie. It's gonna blow your mind.”

“Well, now, because you've said it, I'll know exactly what's coming.”

“No, you won't. Trust me.” I hit Play.

But apparently she doesn't trust me, because she spends the entire movie yelling out “Is
he
Keyser Soze?” every ten minutes or so. It's both sorta cute and really annoying, and I could not feel smugger than during the final scene when she gasps and I
know
there's no way in hell she saw that one coming.

“Gets me every time,” I say as I shut off the TV. “When my uncle showed me that movie, I thought it was the fucking greatest thing I'd ever seen.”

“How old were you?”

“No idea. Seven? Eight?”

She levels me with a look. “Your uncle showed you that movie when you were eight?”

“Honey, my uncle took me to a strip club for my thirteenth birthday. It's
still
more time than my dad's ever spent with me, so before you judge—”

She holds up her hands. “I'm not judging. Just trying to imagine how old I'd have to be for my parents to think that movie was appropriate for me. Probably forty. Maybe not even then.”

I snort. “They do realize you're an actress, right? Like, they know you know all this shit's just special effects and whatever? Anyway, aren't you a little old to have your parents telling you what to do?”

Her mouth twists into a grimace. “I still live with them, remember? And can we not talk about it?”

“Considering this is the second night in the past week you've stayed at my place, maybe you need to
stop
living with them. It's a good sign it's time to get out on your own when you'd rather be here with me.”

At least she cracks a smile at that. “Fair point. Though I'm not the only one who needs to get out. You really think clawing your nails into this house is worth letting your mom boss your career around?”

“What career?” I mutter. “I can't afford to get my own place in which I'll be able to live in the style to which I've become accustomed.”

She rolls her eyes. “Josh, you're nineteen. You don't need to live in a massive beach house with state-of-the-art everything. I promise, most of us do just fine without it.”

“You don't seriously think I'm going to take real estate advice from someone who still lives with her parents, do you?” I snap. It's not like I don't know she's right; I know I don't
need
all of this. But K-drama's got
Daylight Falls
. So does Liam, on top of his crazy, growing movie career. Royce has got a decent little house in the hills, and he's also got his zombie movie franchise.

This house—these parties and my reputation—they're
all I fucking have
.

But there's no way in hell I'm gonna be telling that to K-drama. Or anyone else, for that matter. Not like she'd understand, anyway.

I expect a fiery response from her, so I'm surprised when she says, quietly, “It just sucks, always being under other people's thumbs, doesn't it? Like, a billion people would kill for what we have, and I'm grateful for all of it. But I don't think other people realize what we give up to maintain these images, you know?”

Or maybe she gets it completely.

I'm about to voice my agreement, to spill the thoughts that have been bugging me for days, when she purses her lips, tosses off the blanket, and gets up. “On that overshare-y note, I think I'm gonna go to bed. It's crazy late.”

So much for that. She hands me her empty water bottle for recycling, and then we say good night. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask her to reconsider staying in the guest house when I've got a perfectly good guest room in here—not to mention plenty of extra space in my king-size bed—but it's pretty clear that wouldn't be well received.

Instead, I watch her go. Only once I see through the glass French doors that she's disappeared into the guest house do I finally turn off the TV and all the lights and go to bed alone.

The bed in Josh's guest house could not be comfier, but after hours of tossing and turning and drifting off for no more than twenty minutes at a time, it's clear a full night's sleep will not be happening. When the first light of the sun starts to peek through the windows, I give up on trying, grab my phone, and let myself out of the house and onto the beach, snatching a couple of towels from the poolside on the way.

It's chilly next to the water, even with both towels wrapped around me, but it's so peaceful I decide to stick it out. I'd go jogging if I had any shoes here other than four-inch Louboutins, but since I don't, I sit and watch the few people who are, amid the seagulls and the crashing waves.

I'm gay.
I can't get those words out of my head. I can't stop imagining saying them to my parents, to my friends, to the media. They sound fuzzy enough in my brain; I still haven't been able to force them out of my mouth. I'm afraid to even now. What if instead of getting lost in the waves, they get carried on the water?

I clasp my hands together around my knees, feeling lonelier than I ever remember. I hate that I can't talk to anyone about this. I hate that the person
who's become my confidante since Ally left is also the person at the center of my current inner turmoil. All I ever meant to be with Bri was friends; how did that spin so far out of control? And how did it take me this long to figure out what I want? Who I
am
?

Next to me, my phone rings, cutting into my thoughts, and I look down to see Ally's name and picture on the screen. I've been dying to talk to her, but now I hesitate. I don't know how to say this to her over the phone, to tell her I'm not the person she thought I was—not the person
we
thought I was. I don't know if it changes things, but I know I don't want it to. I think of how often we've tried on clothes for each other, swum together, seen each other in next to nothing. Never once did I look at her as anything more than a friend. It would kill me if she thought I had.

Still, I need to hear her voice. I scoop up the phone and answer it. “Hey, A. Guess you got my text.”

“I just did,” she says, yawning. “How do you sound more awake than I do?”

“I never really went to sleep,” I admit. “I'm actually sitting on the beach right now. It's pretty nice first thing in the morning.”

“Are you…at Josh's?”

“I stayed in his guest house.” I dig my fingers into the sand until I hit the damp layer underneath. “It was a weird night. I couldn't go home.”

“What's going on?”

I can't tell her just yet. I can't. But I
can
tell her the other stuff; if anyone would understand iffy feelings on publicity plans, it's Ally. I chew on my lip and dig my nails in deep. “It's about Zander. He wants to…get more serious.”

“Like… ‘ukelele' serious?”

I almost laugh at her mention of our “I-lost-my-virginity” code word, but the fact that she invokes it here when the reality is actually the complete opposite is even more sad than funny. “No, not exactly,” I say on an exhale. “He thinks we should wait until marriage. He wants us to make a purity pledge.”

“I'm sorry,
what
? Marriage? Are you planning on marrying Zander now? I mean, don't get me wrong, he seems nice, but…I didn't think you guys were quite that serious.”

“We're not.” I take a deep breath of ocean air as I claw up a clump of dirt and then release it. “He and Jade convinced me to think about it and said I'd be a role model, but I don't think I can do it. Jade will kill me if I don't, and I'm pretty sure Zander would break up with me—”

“Vanny, if you think Zander would break up with you for not wanting to commit to this, then he's definitely not someone you should even be considering doing this for. Please tell me you know that.”

I nod, then realize she can't see me. “I do. I just… then what? What—” I break off as I hear the beep of another incoming call, and look to see who it is.

Zander. Definitely not up to talking to him right now. I put the phone back to my ear. “Sorry, just Zander calling. I'm ignoring.”

“How romantic,” she teases. “You were saying?”

I was
going
to say that I actually like someone else, but now, seeing Zander's name pop up, I realize I can't acknowledge anything about Bri until I clean up this whole mess with him. I need to tell him it's over and that I'm not doing this purity pledge. It's obviously not the right move for me. I never felt about him the way I should, and now that I know why, I know I never will.

“I think I have to rip off the Band-Aid with Zander. Today. I'm pretty sure Jade will fire me, but—”

My phone beeps again, and I glance at the screen.
Speak of the devil.
“I can ignore Jade, too, right?”

Ally shudders. “If she heard me telling you that was okay, she'd probably have me shot.”

I glance again and realize I also have three text messages. Make that four. Now six. A cold fist squeezes my gut. “A, I hate to ask this, but…can you check CelebriTeens.com? I have a feeling something's happening right now.”

“Hold on a sec—let me get to my laptop.” I hear a little fumbling and then the sounds of clicking keys. “Okay, let me see…Oh. Crap.”

A breeze floats over the ocean and leaves goose bumps all over my body, even the skin wrapped in the towels. “How bad is it?”

“Um, I don't really wanna answer that.”

“A!”

She sighs. “It's a huge story about how you're screwing around on Zander with Josh. There are pictures of you making out—”

“
What?
I have never—oh, God. Those must be from the set. We're
acting
. Our characters hook up.”

“And pictures of you guys dirty dancing from last night
and
pictures of you leaving together. I'm gonna guess there are paparazzi waiting for you outside Josh's house right now, too.” She clucks her tongue. “There is a
lot
of evidence here, Van. I think you would've told me if you were, but I kinda have to ask—
are
you hooking up with Josh?”

“No! Of course not! God, A, you know me better than that.”

“I thought I did! But this…Jesus. I'm still scrolling down this thing. They have pictures and quotes and
all this stuff. Even Shannah Barrett's quoted here as talking about how you clearly have a thing for him.”