“I’m glad you didn’t change your last name,” he says. “It would have sucked to not sit with you.”
“I know, right?”
Benny holds up his camera, and we squish our faces together for a quick shot.
“Lex is out there?” I ask.
He nods. “Yeah. I guess it was, like, Mission: Impossible, but she made it. No cameras. We’re gonna meet her at the forty-yard line.”
“I’m glad one of them is going to be here.”
We’d sent Mom an e-mail with all the details, but we hadn’t heard back from her. The prospect of graduating without the whole family to cheer us on has overshadowed the past week’s giddy senior mania, but I’m trying to just be happy about what I do have.
“We’ve come a long way, baby,” Benny says.
He puts an arm around my shoulders, and I lean into him, basking in the comfort of his Bentonness. I already miss him like crazy—he’s always been my true north, and I hate the thought of going through life without checking in with him multiple times a day.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” I say.
“Have lots of sex with Patrick Sheldon, no doubt.”
My eyes well up. “See? That’s what I’m talking about! Who else can turn my sadness upside down like that?”
Benny kisses my head. “I’m only a text away, you know that.” But his voice is rough, and I know that he gets what I mean.
Teachers run up and down the line of students, shushing and reprimanding and congratulating. The energy around us is palpable; we’re swimming in concentrated expectation. Then I hear it—the first notes of “Pomp and Circumstance.” Benny pushes me in front of him, and slowly the long line of students snakes its way onto the field. The lights bathe everyone in a fluorescent glow, and the stands are packed with people shouting, holding up signs, blowing noisemakers.
My phone vibrates, and I check the text from Lexie™:
Look to your right, at the top of the bleachers.
“Benny.”
I tug on his gown and point out Lexie™. She’s wearing a bright pink shirt and waving her hands in the air. I grab my camera out of my pocket and zoom in, holding my breath …
“It’s just her,” I say, my voice dull. I don’t think I realized how much I’d been hoping my family would sneak into the ceremony to surprise us. The weight of their absence is heavy and strangely final.
“Meh. Who needs parents, anyway?”
Benny forces a smile, and we both wave at Lex. She texts me again.
BTW, that gown makes you look fat.
The text is so Lex that tears prick my eyes again. I wish we hadn’t spent most of our childhood hating each other.
The ceremony is probably very nice, but I can’t really concentrate on it. After a girl from the show choir sings “I Hope You Dance,” my row of graduates stands, and I finger the card in my pocket that phonetically spells my name for whoever’s calling it.
KLO-EE BAY-KER
When I hear my name and Principal Harding hands me my diploma, Patrick, Mer, Matt, and Tessa howl, and I hear Lex’s shriek of “Go, Chloe!” from the bleachers. I see Diane Le Shrink in the front row, and I give her a little wave before I start walking back toward the mass of robed students behind me.
“Benton™ Baker!”
I turn around and snap Benny’s picture just as he’s shaking the principal’s hand. He smiles at me, triumphant. Somehow, the pain and rage and confusion of the past eighteen years dissolves until all that is left is this one perfect moment; unscripted, unedited, it’s ours and ours alone.
It won’t last forever. There are years of frustration ahead of us—a lawsuit, and who knows what else. But seeing him standing there, looking like he’s conquered the world, I know one thing for certain: MetaReel doesn’t stand a chance against us.
* * *
“Hey, you.” Patrick gives me a sidelong glance and brushes my cheek with his finger before shifting his attention back to the empty highway.
The desert flies past, cactus and brush and low scrubby hills, and though my body is stiff from sleeping in the car and my head’s fuzzy, I’ve never felt better in my life.
“Hey, yourself.”
I sit up and lean closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. We’d left Tessa’s house hours ago, hiding in the folds of a pitch-black night, Patrick gripping my hand as we skirted past dozing Vultures. Now the sky is a pale blue, and the last of the stars are fading. The radio plays softly, and we drive in a quiet, contented silence measured out in heartbeats.
Then suddenly the sky begins to lighten. Blue fades to gray and becomes a pale peach.
“Wait for it,” Patrick whispers.
And then it comes: our sunrise. Brilliant yellow and orange streak the sky, and we roll down the windows and let in the cold early-morning desert air because we have to feel it, every bit of it. I grin as the rays of sunlight stream over me and over Patrick and cover every inch of darkness that I’ve traveled so far to get out of. All that’s left is a blinding, brilliant light.
So begins season one, episode one of the rest of my life.
Acknowledgments
First, thanks to God, who somehow has seen fit to ridiculously bless me. Huge thanks to my agent, Brenda Bowen, for making dreams come true, and to Vanessa DeJesus. Thanks to everyone at Holt, especially my wonderful editor, Kate Farrell, who loves Patrick just as much as I do (we’ll have to agree to share him), and all the people who wanted this book out in the world. Your support makes this whole experience freakin’ great. Thanks to Samantha Mandel for multiple reads, Rich Deas, the whole sales team, and everyone at all stages of the book for boundless enthusiasm. Did I mention I love Holt?
I absolutely must thank the Children’s Book Caucus of PEN New England for the 2012 Susan P. Bloom Discovery Award—thank you for the awesome honor and for bringing attention to Bonnie™/Chloe’s story. Thanks to Anna Staniszewski and her Fall 2011 writing class at Simmons College for early comments and excitement. Lots of love to everyone at Vermont College of Fine Arts’ MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults program, especially my Allies, without whom the daily life of a writer would be lonely and difficult indeed. To my Green Line critique group (Shari Becker, Leslie Caulfield, and Jennifer Ann Mann) for always pushing me to be better. Carter Hasegawa, for teaching me how to read like an editor, and Rita Williams-Garcia, for wisdom I will use forever.
For my family, especially Zach, who makes every book I write better and is the greatest partner a girl could ask for in this crazy world (there should be an award for best supporting husband—love you so much). Also, to Meg, Grams, Mom (for buying me books even when we didn’t have the money), Jake and Luke (represented by all Bonnie™/Chloe’s little brothers), and Dad. Lots of love to my fabulous in-laws for all their support. Huge thanks to old friends who have always spurred me on: Sarah Roberts, who knew I had a voice before I did and is a damn fine writer in her own right, Brandon (Rosa!) Roberts, and Missy Wilmarth (love you, guys). Extra hugs for all my Boston friends, especially Jamie Christensen, Allison Cole, Andie Krawczyk, Briana Woods-Conklin, and Greg Batcheler, my kidlit buddies and cheering section.
Once more, thanks to Menendian, my Schwartz: you’re the best teacher I’ve ever had. You changed my life and I’ll be forever grateful.
Finally, for my grandfather Dan Weeks, who was the greatest storyteller I’ve ever known, and Me-Me Christy, who always believed I was a writer, even when I wasn’t so sure. You won’t get to read this book, but both of you made it possible in countless ways.
About the Author
When she’s not traipsing around the world or spending time in imaginary places, Heather Demetrios lives with her husband in New York City, though she’s originally from Los Angeles. Heather is part of the Summer 2014 Writing for Children and Young Adults MFA class at Vermont College of Fine Arts and is a recipient of the Susan P. Bloom PEN New England Discovery Award for Something Real. She’s never been on reality TV,
but her grandmother keeps begging her to do The Amazing Race.
Visit her at www.heatherdemetrios.com.
Text copyright © 2014 by Heather Demetrios
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Demetrios, Heather.
Something real / Heather Demetrios. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Since the cancellation of her family’s reality television show, seventeen-year-old Bonnie Baker, one of twelve siblings, has tried to live a normal life with real friends and a possible boyfriend, until her mother and the show’s producers decide to bring “Baker’s Dozen” back on the air.
ISBN 978-0-8050-9794-8 (hardback) — ISBN 978-0-8050-9796-2 (e-book)
[1. Reality television programs—Fiction. 2. Family life—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.D3923So 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013030798
eISBN 9780805097962
First hardcover edition 2014
eBook edition February 2014
Heather Demetrios, Something Real
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