Under the Lights (3 page)

“Josh isn't so bad once you get past the absurd requests, constant slutting it up, putdowns of my wardrobe, the fact that he's impossible when he doesn't wanna do something, and the late-night phone calls I'm pretty sure he times perfectly for maximum piss-Liam-off potential.” She makes a face. “Okay, yeah, he sort of sucks.”

I laugh as I reach over to turn on the radio and find something fun. “Should I be offended that it's far longer than I lasted as your boss?”

“Considering you've lasted fifteen years as my best friend? I think not.”

Taylor Swift. Perfect.
I sit back and take another sip of my drink as she pulls out of the spot. “Yeah, but now you're gonna go find a new best friend at
Columbia
,” I say sourly, giving the final word extra fancy-voice oomph. “Just watch—in two seconds, you and your new roomie will be total besties.”

I'm not sure if it sounds like I'm kidding. I'm not sure I am. I'm not sure I care.

She grins. “Van,
no one
is taking your place. You think Adrienne Hughes from Montclair, New Jersey, would ever act out scenes from my favorite movies to keep me company after I had a root canal?
Or
hire me as her assistant and tutor to help me pay for college when I was in dire need? Please.”

Hmph, I suppose that makes me feel a little better. “Adrienne Hughes from Montclair, New Jersey, huh? You already know her name and everything?”

“Just got my assignment yesterday. That's all I know, though. I haven't e-mailed her or anything.”

“Good. Don't,” I say with a smile, and she laughs.

“I don't know who's more possessive—you or Josh.”

“Me or Josh?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Hello, how about your totally smitten boyfriend?”

She shrugs. “Actually, Liam's been pretty cool with…everything.”

If I hadn't been best friends with Alexandra Duncan for pretty much my entire life, I would've bought her “isn't that nice?” tone. But I have been and I'm not believing it for a second. “And you wish he were a little less cool with it, huh?”

“It'd be nice to feel like he's gonna miss me a little,” she admits sheepishly.

I can't help it—I crack up so hard I actually snort.

“What the hell, Van? You don't get to pry into my brain and then laugh at me.”

“I'm sorry, it's just that—you're kidding, right? You don't think Liam's gonna miss you like crazy? Are we talking about the same boy? The one who actually attempted to make you dinner last night? The one who talked to you about buying a place in Manhattan—”

“He hasn't mentioned that in months.”

“Oh,
whatever
. That boy's as in love with you as Josh Chester is with himself.” I take another sip as I people-watch out the window. I love Ally and Liam and I'm happy for them, but it's hard not to be jealous of what they have. The fact that she still has any insecurity about it boggles my freaking mind. Especially when I compare them to my current dead-end relationship with Zander Wilson, one of the five guys who make up Wonder Boys, a band so cheesy even I don't listen to them.

She mumbles something I can't hear, and then we drop it, listening to the radio instead. Of course, after a minute, we both join in, and by the time we pull up to Fred Segal, we're both hoarse from singing along to the radio at the top of our lungs.

I swear, if my voice didn't suck, I'd be the
best
pop star.

There are a couple of teens hanging out outside, and they giggle when they see me and Ally walking to the store. One boldly steps forward and asks for a picture. I smile for her phone, chat with them for a few seconds, and then follow Ally inside and upstairs.

A cute blond shop girl is admiring Josh almost as obviously as he's admiring himself in the mirror, and immediately, I'm sorry I came. Josh doesn't so much as turn around, even though he'd be able to see us easily if he weren't so in love with his own reflection.

“Josh,” Ally barks, and he jumps.

“What the fuck, Duncan—oh.” Then his eyes flit over to me. “K-drama. What are you doing here?”

“I really missed being showered with racist nicknames,” I say sweetly, taking a seat. Obviously, there'll be no mention of it in front of Ally, but we also have some party planning to do, stat.

He grunts, and we all turn to the shop girl, who's just sort of watching us with interest. Immediately, I remind myself to play nice, because everyone in this town talks, and I've got a “nice girl” reputation I'm determined to keep; my publicist, Jade, would kill me if I ruined it.

Of course, Josh has no publicist, or filter, because Josh doesn't do much of anything. But at least he's mostly minimized his level of asshole-ness in front of Ally, because he knows he'll get an earful if he doesn't. My best friend does not take shit from anybody, even the spoiled actor keeping her in lattés.

“What do you think?” Josh asks her, straightening the cuffs of his jacket. “For that bullshit puppy charity thing.”

While they discuss his clothing choices—and what he should and shouldn't say in front of strangers—I pull out my phone to text Liam, so he can distract Ally for long enough to let me and Josh get some planning done.

We're here. Text Ally w/some sort of sexmergency so Josh and I can talk party, please!!

I scroll through my other texts while I wait for him to respond. Most of them are from Jade, who sends quick bursts of ideas and demands at all hours of the night. They've reduced some since she took on an intern, though. Now I get loads of e-mails from “Brianna,” who seems to think I'm an illiterate child.

A response pops up from Liam.
I'm on it.

I grin at the screen, then glance over at Ally, who's demonstrating something to the shop girl on Josh's sleeve. After a few seconds, I hear her phone beep and then watch her pull it out of her pocket…and blush like a mofo.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs, stepping away while I hide a snort behind my hand.

I wait until she's out of earshot, and then yank Josh off the pedestal in front of the mirror. “I don't know how long Liam will keep her, so come on—let's talk party.”

“Party?” the shop girl asks, and I'm not sure if she's about to try to sell Josh another outfit or get herself an invite.

Of course, Josh wastes no time at all. “Party,” he confirms with a sleazy smile. “At my little place in Malibu. Right on the beach—”

“It's a small, private party for a close friend,” I say with a trace of apology in my tone as I glare at Josh.

“Hey, if Prince Zander can come—”

“Zander's my
boyfriend
,” I remind him impatiently. “Ally's actually spent more than five minutes with him.”

“Zander Wilson, right?” the shop girl pipes up, sounding excited now. She's starting to annoy me, though I obviously can't show it. “You guys are so cute.”

Josh smothers his laughter with a cough, and I glare at him before smiling and nodding at the shop girl. Finally, he works his face into a normal expression and asks her to get him some cufflinks.

As soon as she's gone, I whack him on the arm. “What the hell is wrong with you, Josh?”

“I'm sorry, but we both know your boyfriend is a total closet case, right? Why the hell are you dating a guy in a
boy band
again?”

“I like him!” I say defensively, even though it's a sort of a lie. I mean, Zander's fine, but it's not like we attend parties and award shows together because we adore each other's company. He's just another one of Jade's suggestions, and at this point, my romantic life is so pathetic that I'm happy to do what she says just because it's easier than finding my own boyfriend. Not that I would ever in a billion years tell Josh that.

“You sure Jade's not the one who likes him?” Josh's smile is so smug I want to punch it off his face.

“Oh, just shut up,” I mutter. “You haven't done a damn thing but show off your ass in jeans since last summer. Who are you to even talk about anything?”

“Please, like I don't know all about the dragon lady, especially after everything with Liam last year. How is she, anyway?”

“Ask the bitchy intern she has doing all her dirty work these days,” I mutter. “
After
we agree on a band for the party. And remember—this is for Ally, not you, so the answer isn't ‘whoever has the hottest chick on sticks,' got it?”

“Man, I can't believe the boys don't come a-runnin' for you, K-drama. With all that natural charm and—”

“Here you go,” the shop girl says sunnily, and Josh jumps back into flirt mode as he holds out his wrists to allow her to thread in the cufflinks. A moment later, Ally returns, too, trying to hide the goofy smile on her face following her phone call with Liam.

“Ooh, those are nice,” she says, peering over Josh's arm. “Yes, he'll definitely take those.”

I sigh as I watch the three of them get chatty and check my phone again. There's a new e-mail from Brianna with a list of interviews scheduled for me for this week; a text from Zander, not-so-subtly reminding me of how much the church youth group
he volunteers at would love for me to make an appearance; a voicemail from my mother, asking me to pick up ginger; and then a new text from Liam:
Get anything planned?

I shove my phone back into my pocket and excuse myself to go look at some cute dresses on my own. Suddenly, I find myself in great need of retail therapy.

I have Ally leave me there, telling her I want to shop more and Josh's driver will take me home. She's so focused on getting to Liam ASAP that she doesn't argue, and I make Josh sit down with me so we can finally get things done. She's heading to New York on August twentieth, so we schedule the party for the eighteenth, so her last night can be with her family. As usual, Josh's focus is on how to top his previous parties, and after his third attempt to convince me that his backyard can totally accommodate sword-eating fire dancers, I tell him we're done and I need a ride. Now I'm just hoping to beat my parents home.

No such luck.

“Vanessa, you're finally back.” My mother looks up from the newspaper she's reading in the den. “Is Ally with you?”

“Nope, just me.”
Sorry to disappoint
. I swear, if my parents could trade me for my overachieving, straight-A-getting, Ivy League-bound BFF, they'd do it in a hot second. “I'm going up to run some lines. I have a table-read tomorrow.”

“You don't have time to sit with your mother for a few minutes first?” She folds up
The Korea Times
—her every-weekday read, without fail—and pats the seat next to her on the couch.

Be nice
, I order myself and take a seat. Maybe she's
not
calling me over just to talk colleges or what I plan on doing when I'm “done with this acting nonsense.” Maybe—

“I just saw Jinsung's mother at the bank, and guess what she told me her son is doing when he graduates college.”

Maybe not. “Running for president?”

Mom tsks in annoyance, which is basically her default language with me. “He is going to be an apprentice to an architect. Doesn't that sound interesting?”

“About a tenth as interesting as starring in a network's top-rated TV show.” I frown at the slight chip I hadn't noticed earlier in the mint-green polish on my index finger. “But if Jinsung would like to sit in on a taping so you can show
me
off, I'm sure I could help arrange it.”

Another tsking. “Yes, your show is doing very well, Vanessa, but do not be arrogant. You are already eighteen. How much longer will you be able to act as a sophomore in high school?”

I know I could drop stats about Bethany Joy Lenz on
One Tree Hill
—twenty-two when the show started—or Gabrielle Carteris on
Beverly Hills, 90210
—a whopping twenty-nine—but there's no point. I've had every argument with her before, and nothing ever penetrates the sleek black helmet of hair covering her skull.

“Maybe you could let me actually
start
failing before you plan for it?” I suggest, trying to keep my voice gentle. “Sometimes, I don't even understand why you let me audition at all when I was younger. I assumed the fact that you did meant you and Dad
would get behind me someday, but you still haven't. Why?”

She sighs. “When you were a child, yes, okay, it was a nice hobby and built a solid work ethic. But now? Now you should be in college. Like Jinsung. Like Ally. Your grandparents did not move their families to America so you could play pretend forever. At some point, you must become an adult. This show lets you think you are sixteen forever. That is not the way life is.”

“But you want me to go to college so I can get a job, right? So I can learn, and make money?” I press. “That's what I'm already doing. Why can't you appreciate that? I'm like the picture-perfect American dream right here.” I gesture at my designer clothes, my expertly done pedicure, my newest clothing purchases bought with my own earnings. “Maybe your friends' kids should be more like me. Maybe they should stop aiming to be doctors and lawyers instead of doing something cool and creative.” I tap the copy of
The Korea Times
she just laid down on the coffee table. “How many of your friends have been in this paper? Because I have. At least three times.”