Page 35 of The Heartbreakers
“We looked so perfect,” Cara said, remembering the event fondly.
“You put powder on my face,” Drew said, irritated. “I looked like an idiot.”
“And that’s different from any other day?” I said. “I think I have a picture of you on my computer somewhere.”
“Okay, never mind,” Drew grumbled. “We’re not doing a movie.”
Chapter 9
I wasn’t expecting a call.
A week had passed since my adventure in Chicago, seven full days since Oliver and I said good-bye. Dad had taken time off from work for Cara’s homecoming, and we’d spent most of our time curled up in the living room watching classic movies or sitting at the kitchen table playing cards. For our birthday we went to a local park, enjoyed a picnic, and watched the fireworks for the Fourth. It wasn’t a beach day in South Carolina, but it was still nice.
My life reverted to the boring routine that had existed before my path collided with the world’s most famous boy band.
Or so I thought.
Today, it was just Cara and me—Mom and Drew were in Minneapolis for his class registration, and Dad was back at work. Cara had dozed off some time ago toE! News, but I refrained from changing the channel to something I actually liked. Instead, I was skimming through one of the books my mom checked out of the library for Cara when my ears perked. A small part of me was hoping to hear anything about the Heartbreakers or Oliver.
I had made the decision not to call him. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; I did, but I also knew that nothing was ever going to happen between us. He was a world-famous musician, and I was just normal, boring Stella. I’d had my one Cinderella night, and I didn’t want to ruin its magic with a letdown. By not calling, I was figuratively closing the door on Oliver Perry.
It wasn’t working very well. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop thinking about him or how I’d felt when he kissed me.
When my phone rang, the book flew from my hands and hit the floor with a flutter of pages.
“Hello?” I answered in a whisper, not wanting to wake Cara. I slipped out of her room, carefully closing the door behind me.
“Is this Stella Samuel?” a man asked on the other end of the line.
“Speaking.” I settled onto the worn couch in our living room.
“Darling!” he exclaimed, and I had to hold the phone away from my ear so I didn’t go deaf. “I’m so excited to finally talk with you.”
“Sorry, but who’s this?”
“Oh, how silly of me. My name is Paul Baxter. I’m the Heartbreakers’ publicist. I wanted to speak to you about some photographs you took of the band.” My back instantly straightened. Why was the Heartbreakers’ publicist calling about my pictures? When had he even seen them? “Stella? Hello?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Um, you mentioned my photographs?”
“Yes, yes! Alec showed me the shots you took a few weekends ago.”
“Oh, right,” I said, remembering the email I’d sent to him.
“You’re quite talented with a camera. There’s this quality about your pictures that I can’t put my finger on. It’s like—” Paul paused as he tried to explain himself. “I suppose this sounds cheesy, but you have a knack for capturing the energy in a moment.”
For at least three full seconds my mind was completely blank. Paul’s praise was so unexpected, so unbelievable that nothing he said registered in my mind. But there was warmth flowering in my hands and feet, the feeling growing and spreading through my body like a vine, and finally my brain jolted out of its lag.TheHeartbreakers’ publicist likes my work?
“Stella, are you still there?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice squeaking. “Sorry. My head’s all jumbled up right now. I don’t even know what to say. You really like my stuff?”
I could hear Paul smiling into the phone. “Cross my heart and hope to die. You’re phenomenal, and that’s why I’m interested in working with you.”
There was a flutter of lightness in my chest and head, and I didn’t know if I was going to pass out or float away. Was this a joke?
I’d always hoped to make a living from my photography, but I also knew it wasn’t the most realistic career in the world. That’s why I’d decided to go to college before pursuing my real interest. Maybe I’d get a degree in advertising or marketing and somehow spin that into a commercial photography gig. Or maybe by the time four years were up I’d have discovered a completely different passion, and photography would fade into a high-school hobby.
But Paul’s offer could change everything. Suddenly a dream was in the foreground of my life, closer than it had ever been before. How was that even possible? I was proud of my work because it meant so much to me, but I never considered it good. Not like Bianca’s. Did Paul really want to hire a teenage girl with no professional training?
