starlust

three : Urge for Going

Callbacks - Los Angeles

It's been a month. A month since my audition. A month since I had three yesses. A month since Rosalie Hale said I was plain and had no stage presence. A month since I saw Alice… or Edward.

But that month is about to come to an end, because I'm in my room, packing my bags for who knows how long. Angela is sprawled across my bed, scrolling through the music on my laptop, and everything feels, well, normal.

Normal… except that I'm lying to my best friend.

"So how long does your mom want you to stay?" asks Ange, and I can see her flip across to her Facebook page.

"Um," I mumble, stalling. I stick my head into my closet so I don't have to lie to her face. "Don't know. It might be a couple weeks. Maybe longer."

Angela sighs. "I guess it depends on how your gran is feeling, huh."

"Mmm," I reply, and I hope she'll forgive me.

Before we were let loose to return home after auditions, the producers made us sign paperwork saying we wouldn't talk about our "contestant status." At all. To anyone, except for our families… and they included non-disclosure statements for them to sign, too. So while my parents and stepdad know I made it through, I couldn't tell Angela. And I tell Angela everything.

I finish packing just as Dad leans against the doorframe at the entrance to my room. "You girls want pizza for dinner?"

"Sounds great, Dad," I reply, as Angela nods emphatically. She's following Charlie down the stairs before I can barely drag myself to my feet.

Dad and Ange let me choose the toppings which isn't a difficult decision as I pick the same thing I always do when we order from Joe's. We sit in front of the TV munching away while the others laugh at a movie and I try to ease my food around the butterflies that threaten leave to my stomach and fly up my throat. Once the pizza is gone and the movie has finished, Charlie saves me.

"Well, big day tomorrow, Bells," he says, and he uses the same tone he did when I was nine and was trying to talk him into letting me stay up late. I yawn involuntarily. "Yeah," I say, and then there's silence, except for the hum of the TV.

Ange stands up quickly. "I gotta get home," she says, raising her arms high above her head and stretching. Any other night, she'd end up crashing on the spare mattress on my bedroom floor, but tonight, Charlie's not-so-subtle hints have quashed any chance of that. I'm reluctant to admit it, but I'm kind of glad.

I'm yawning as I see her out with a hug and promises to call as soon as I can. I'm exhausted, and my nerves are more than a little frayed… so I'm pretty sure a minor breakdown is imminent. Charlie is still in front of the TV when I return to the living room.

"I think I'm gonna crash," I say.

He nods in the direction of the TV. "I think I'm gonna stay out here a bit. They're playing highlights of the game."

"Hmm." I turn to head for the stairs, but Charlie gets out of his seat faster than I've seen him move. He almost knocks the wind of me when he engulfs me in a hug.

"You're gonna be great, Bella." His voice is gruffer than usual, and his words come out shakily.

I sigh, and I let myself melt into him. In two weeks' time, I'm going to be under the spotlight with all of America watching. They'll be judging me, tweeting about me, talking about me, and for the first time in my life, I won't have Charlie to protect me from any of it. Holding back tears, I manage to reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "Thanks, Dad."

I'm sitting on a plane, earbuds in, looking out a window where I can see nothing but hazy sky. The seatbelt sign is on, but I feel like I'm falling through the sky without a plane or parachute.

The guy next to me fell asleep as soon as we took off, and despite having hardly any sleep last night, I remained wide awake for the entire flight. The gentle hum of the aircraft, quiet chatter, and rattling of the drinks cart were not enough to drown out the thoughts whirling around my head. With a playlist of my mom's favorite music to dim the sounds, I try to settle myself. When the flight attendant offered me a drink, I even considered it fir a moment before turning it down—other than the obvious threat of major trouble from my dad, the producers of Searching for Stardust learned the hard way three seasons ago not to let their contestants drink after an underage would-be pop starlet's career ended before it started when she had a couple of drinks to calm her nerves. It resulted in the producers forking out for an airplane cleaning bill, a public apology, and a ticket back to Smallville, USA.

As I disembark with my fellow travellers, grateful to be up and moving again, I follow the throng from the gate to baggage claim. As I move, I hold my purse and carry-on a little tighter. I've been to LA once with my parents when they were still together. It was a family trip to Disneyland—a last-ditch attempt at keeping our family together. Suffice to say, it didn't work. Mom, sweet as she is, never was cut out for small-town life.

I was younger then, and I'd been mostly sheltered from my dad's police work life. The past few years, particularly as he was made Chief, I've been more exposed to the small-town criminal exploits - the marijuana plantation, the occasional arson attack, shoplifting, or attacks by animals in the woods. In these past months, I've become increasingly aware of muggings, shootings, stabbings, rapes, and a bevy of other ills that humans tend to bestow on their fellow man in the Great Big City. So I don't make eye contact with anyone, and I hold my purse tight, walking quickly in the direction of the baggage carousel, my luggage, and the two cans of mace tucked tightly in the outside pocket of my suitcase.

Struggling with my bags, I find the exit, and I scan the crowd of waiting drivers. It only takes me a moment to find a white piece of paper held aloft with thick black lettering, bearing my name. The guy holding the sign up is big, and he looks right over my head as I approach him.

"Um, hi," I say, shifting my backpack further onto my shoulder. "I'm Isabella."

He looks down, and almost seems surprised to see that I'm standing right in front of him. "Well, hello there," he says with a smile, and I notice that his eyes are clear blue, a stark contrast against his dark skin. He quickly folds the piece of paper and stuffs it in his pocket. "I'm Seth, your driver, and the one responsible for getting you from the airport to the hotel." He chuckles. "And for making sure you don't make a run for it. Well, that's three of you. One to go." He jerks his head for me to follow, and he sets off.

He moves easily through the airport with long strides, and I have to hurry to keep up. The airport is a crush of people, and it's all I can do not to lose sight of Seth.

I'm not paying attention when he stops suddenly, and I bump into him.

"Sorry!" I say quickly, dropping the handle to my suitcase and then quickly bending to retrieve it. I flush bright red in the process.

"S'aiight," he says smoothly, flashing a grin that only makes me blush harder. "I better go get this last one. His flight's been delayed, and I got no idea where he at." He indicates to two other people sitting outside the airport Starbucks. "This is Isabella North Dakota. I'll leave y'all to get acquainted. Stay put—I'll be right back." And with that, he's off again.

I stand awkwardly as the others—a preppy-looking guy with sandy blond hair, and a rose-blonde girl—study me. It's the girl who speaks first.

"Hi. I'm Tanya. I'm from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania." She giggles. "But please don't call me Tanya Pennsylvania. Seth's been doing that all day."

The guy shrugs. "Maybe that's the way he keeps track of everybody." He juts his chin forward. "I'm Mike. I'm from New York City."

My eyes widen a little. "Wow. I've always wanted to go there."

"Well, I'll show you 'round any time you like." Mike breaks into a slow smile, and his eyes track down my body and back up again, coming to rest at my chest. It makes me uncomfortable, so I hug my backpack.

"Here," says Tanya, scooting her chair over to make room. "Sit down. We could be here awhile."

After ordering hot chocolate, I sit, placing my bags between myself and Mike. The three of us make small talk, and as my hot chocolate disappears, I feel more and more out of my league. Mike is the child of a pair of jazz musicians, and Tanya is actively performing paid shows. They fall into talking about shows they've seen and concerts they've been to, both trying to outdo each other with coming up with a more obscure concert than the last. I tune out and let my eyes scan the airport.

It's not Seth I spot first coming toward us. It's like one of those moments you only read about: the sea of people parts, and the guy striding toward us is like the rising sun coming above the horizon. He's shorter than Seth, but his presence appears to tower above everybody else in the airport.

"Oh, my god…" says Tanya breathily. "Who's he…?"

"Edward Masen." I'm barely aware that the words have come from my mouth. But it's that name, that face, that have been in the back of my mind since my first audition.

"You know him?" Tanya asks, sounding surprised.

I blush. "Not really. He was just in my audition group." I swallow hard because my nerves are back in full force. Edward's gaze meets mine for a little more than a moment before he blinks, and just like that, he looks like he'd rather be anywhere than here. My hot chocolate threatens to make an encore appearance.

"All right," says Seth brightly. "Let's get outta here."

It takes some shuffling to arrange everything into the mini van that looks something like the one Angela's mom uses to shuttle Ange and her four brothers around, but we make it. And I'm grateful when I find myself sitting alone. Mike is riding up front, and Tanya squashed herself in next to Edward, closer than she really needed to.

"So, no cameras?" I hear Mike ask Seth, and his casual tone sounds fake.

"There will be when you arrive at the hotel," says Seth. "Make sure you smile, turn up the charm, you know… do what you gotta do to make America love you."

By watching all twelve seasons of "Searching for Stardust," I know that it takes more than just a good voice and the ability to carry a tune to make America love you. As well as the girl who puked all over flight attendants, there was the guy who dated two girls over the course of one season, one fashion faux pas after another, wardrobe malfunctions, bitchiness, scandal, and screaming judges. But America loves it and each season, it's all forgotten as the confetti falls on yet another "Searching for Stardust" winner.

I watch every time, and every time I wish it was me, smiling for the crowd covered in confetti.

Seth's right. When we roll into the hotel, two camera crews are waiting. There are cameras trained on the white minivan in front of us, and as our van comes to a stop, the door is thrust open. I pick up my backpack, and before I can get out of the van, a solid, strong body knocks me back into my seat.

"Ow!" I hiss. "Didn't your mama teach you any manners?"

Edward, already standing outside the van, turns to face me, a charming smile spread across his face. He holds out his hand to me. "May I?"

His smile thoroughly disarms me, and possibly against my better judgement, I take his hand. He helps me down from the van and mutters under his breath. "Smile for the cameras, Isabella."

I smile instantly, partly because he asked me to and partly because he knows my name. I even give the cameras a little wave.

It's hard not to be swept up with all of the excitement and the place is buzzing. Edward drops my hand the second we walk through the door, but as soon as he does, another takes its place.

"Isabella!" squeals Alice, and she pulls me into a hug. "I'm so happy to see you again!"

"Hey, Alice," I say, hugging her back. "It's good to see you, too."

And it is. I'm relieved to see a familiar face in this sea of strangers, even if it's someone I've only met once. When Alice asks me to be her roommate, I immediately agree, and we run for the elevator, laughing, "before all the good rooms are taken."

We ride the elevator with a cameraman who follows us down the hall. He's hovering as Alive shoves the card into the slot, and he captures the embarrassing squeal that comes out when I see the view from our room.

"You can see the Hollywood sign from here!" I exclaim, unable to hide my excitement.

Alice throws herself onto the biggest bed, making a sheet angel and tossing pillows left and right. "You can keep the view," she says, giggling. She lowers her voice and bats her lashes. "This bed's mine. I mean it. I'm taking it home with me."

"Nice," murmurs the cameraman, and then he speaks louder. "Okay, can you chicks jump around and hug or something so I can get another shot? The producers will love it."

I come back in from the balcony, and Alice gets up from the bed. We're both still on a high, so getting us excited again isn't hard, and we squeal for the camera's benefit.

"Season thirteen!" says Alice with a laugh, and she smiles and winks for the camera. Her drawl, mostly hidden until now, slips back into her speech. "You better believe thirteen's your lucky number, America!

I can only hope it's mine, too.

xxxxxxxxx

Beautiful - Carole King

Urge for leaving - Joni Mitchell

Hadley and TwiSNfan rock my world.