Chapter 5
Tate
Ouch! His words pack a punch. But why? I’ve only just met this man.
I squint up at him against the sun as it just begins its descent.
The air is still thick with warmth from the day, but about every fifteen seconds or so, a cool breeze from the ocean finds its way through the canyon.
He looked relatively tall from where I was sitting on the ground, but now, standing next to him, I might as well be a flea.
A child beside their parent. Honestly, you could probably easily fit two of me in one of him.
Maybe more. His hat, a two-toned baseball cap with a large orange T stitched on the front, works to shade the upper half of his face, but nothing could hide the ice of his baby-blue eyes.
“I thought mullets were supposed to mean you’re fun? Or is this the business side of you?” I jest, seeing if I can thaw him a bit...but nope.
His nose wrinkles before, “What?”
“You know,” I continue, hopeful for an energy shift, “business in the front, party in the back?” I think I see a small twitch of his lip from under the umbrella of his golden ’stache, but it’s quickly swallowed by an even deeper frown.
“Carl, wanna unlock the trunk so I can get my bags?” he says, still keeping his eyes locked on me in disgust. The sound of Carl scrambling behind me narrates his actions. The stranger spins on a booted toe, slicing the air in front of us without so much as another word.
“Alright,” I call behind him. “Yeah, let’s get in there!”
After grabbing my own bags, I line them up on the step outside the front door. I feel like it’s necessary to try and attempt to redo this whole introduction. I drink in the salty air and smile.
“Are you going to go in?”
“Has anyone told you that you are kind of a grumpy shadow?” I say, turning towards the voice to find he’s beside me again.
“HA! There is no way I could be your shadow. You’re, like, this big,” He makes a show of hovering his thumb about a centimeter above his index finger and squinting. “Maybe a grumpy giant shadow, but definitely not yours.”
“What’s your name, oh tall, mighty human?” I give him a beaming smile, surely interrupting his thoughts about all the ways he’s much bigger than me. Granted, there are a lot. But maybe we can be friends. Or at least not enemies. His jaw tightens as his eyes freeze back over.
“Levi. Levi Johnson. Your next American Icon.” His face is stone serious, and yet, somehow it makes me laugh.
“Well, Levi...Levi Johnson, the next American Icon, I’m Tate McGregor.
Most people just call me Tate, but I do get the occasional Tater-tot.
” I offer my hand and he shakes it reluctantly.
I guess I’ve got to take what I can get from him.
I turn, picking up one of my bags from the ground, and push open the front door.
But before I can take my first step inside, a large hand, weathered from hard work or hard play, plants itself against my middle, stopping me.
“Hey, Tate...” Levi’s voice has morphed into something cautious.
“Yeah,” I ask, preparing myself for a Sorry about my attitude, or maybe even a Good luck out there. See?! Kindness always wins in the end.
“Be careful not to trip over the threshold. It looks really high.” His face twists into a theatrical wince as he takes a gigantic step with one of his legs followed by the other.
A low rumble of a laugh trails behind him and then he’s gone.
I look down at the barely-there threshold and smile.
There is some party in Levi Johnson after all.
Once in the foyer, I’m forced to take a step back.
It’s so grand and elegant. Every square inch (and there are a lot of them) is covered in limestone, marble, or crystal.
It’s the type of place that makes you feel the need to whisper.
I’m struck by all the details. The details in the railings on the double staircase.
The details in the hand-painted ceiling.
The details in the towering chandelier that nearly reaches from ceiling to floor—and I’m only in the foyer.
“It’s like a fairy-tale castle.” The thought slips from my mouth, barely audible.
“Yeah, if that fairy tale involved filing for bankruptcy and having to rent your house out for a cool $40,000 a month while you and your family of six move into your modest seven-bedroom holiday home in Palm Desert,” an unfamiliar female voice responds.
She moves like a cat, gliding across the floor with steps light enough to avoid sound.
Which, in those shiny stilettos, seems nearly impossible.
Long limbs are hugged tight in a black wrap dress while her matching raven-black hair is loose, spilling coils of curls down the sides of her face and her upper back. Magnificent.
“How do you know all that?” I ask once she comes within reach. Her mouth hitches into a closed-mouth grin, not quite big enough to meet her eyes.
“A little thing called the internet.” She laughs and it sounds like the wings of doves ascending, soft and sensual. I instantly want to hear her sing.
I’m still trying to take her in when she continues, “When the show reached out to me with our accommodations, I plugged it into my search, hoping for a Google image to show my friends, but instead I got several articles about how the owner was essentially forced to rent it to the studio.”
“That’s really sad.”
“Yeah...” She pauses briefly, lips pressing together until they form a thin line. “Sad indeed. Hey, you wanna share the daughter’s princess room with me? It’s a little pink for my taste...” Another pause, but this time with a full body scan. “But judging by your outfit, you’ll probably love it.”
I looked down at myself, momentarily forgetting what I’m even wearing, and when I do, not a speck of pink. I have nothing against pink. I like pink. Maybe she just means color in general?
“Oh, hey!” she says before I can respond. “First, you have to tell me about that yummy snack you walked in with. Is he yours?”
“I’m sorry...?” I shake my head, squinting up at her in confusion.
“The guy!” she all but yells, like I should know what she’s talking about. “You know...the tall, built, country boy you walked in with about ten seconds ago? He looks like Tim McGraw’s feral brother.”
“And that’s a good thing?” I dare ask, genuinely confused.
“Oh, child, it’s the best kinda thing.”
“Well, that’s Levi. He’s not—”
“I’m not what? You already talking about me?” he says, high-kneeing it down the stairs.
“I, um, I...” I can’t form a sentence. Or at least a good one that doesn’t involve me using “snack” or “feral Tim McGraw.” They both stare at me in a clinical way, my feline friend purring in enjoyment at my agony.
“I’m Gabriella, by the way.” She turns, beaming up towards Levi like he’s the sun and she’s been starved of light all winter. His eyes slide towards her, never breaking their narrow split, while running from the crown of her head down to the tip of her pointy-toed heels.
“Levi. But I suppose you already know that,” he says gruffly, looking back at me again before returning his attention to her.
“Well, Levi, seeing as you just arrived, let me give you the grand tour.” She laces her perfectly manicured fingers around the shell of his bicep and starts walking towards the hall from which she came.
I watch in pure amazement. I don’t know if I feel happy or worried for Levi.
Just as they’re about to turn out of my sight, she stops, turning her head back in my direction and calling out, “Our room is the third door on the left, up the second set of stairs, roomie!”
***
Gabriella was right...I do love the room.
And what girl wouldn’t? I get to sleep in one of those beds with the mosquito net thing.
It would probably be more functional back home, especially in the summertime, but a little test run here might be just what the doctor ordered.
After I unpack and call my folks to let them know I arrived safe, I take a look at the lengthy itinerary the studio emailed over.
And when I say lengthy, I mean lengthy. It’s a 134-page document of where I’m supposed to be from now until January, presuming I make it that far.
I drop the stack of paper onto the bed, feeling a little overwhelmed.
Back home, life was good. I worked my way up from backup vocals to being the lead youth worship leader at our church.
Those kids are why I’m here. They convinced me to go to the audition, saying things like, “You’re wasting your spiritual gift.
” Manipulative little monsters. Man, I miss them.
I let my head fall onto the crisp pages of what’s to be my life for the foreseeable future, closing my eyes and listening to my breathing. In and...
“Rise and shine, princess! Time to get ready.” Gabriella claps from somewhere above my head. Reluctantly, I peel my eyes open and sit up.
“Get ready for what exactly?” The exhaustion in my voice slips into each syllable.
“You are literally laying on the schedule, but I’ll tell you anyway since you look like you’re about to keel over any minute. We have the opening ceremony in exactly two hours.”
“Okay, now this time in English.” I watch as her face crumples into something that looks pained.
“You are going to be filmed for national television in exactly...” She looks down at her phone. “One hour and fifty-five minutes.”
“And you think I should change? Is that what I’m gathering?”
“Of course! And maybe a shower wouldn’t kill you. You can’t wear...that.” She gestures up and down the length of me.
“And you think I should wear something like what you have on?” I look at her Posh Spice–worthy little black dress, knowing full well I own nothing remotely close to that.
“No. I’m just telling you no airport clothes. Do I have to teach you everything? Because I’ll tell you right now, I’m not built to be the older sister.”
Laughter rolls out of me, and I let it. From the stress of trying to get to the airport on time, making it here, falling on my face, and meeting Levi—a.k.a.
Tim McGraw’s feral brother—it feels good to just laugh.
Gabriella and I couldn’t be more different, but I think we might become good friends.
When I look back up, she’s smiling, whether she likes it or not.
“Alright, fine. Show me what you have, and I’ll help you put something together,” she concedes, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Only if...” She holds up a finger between us. “Only if you let me do your hair.”