I So Don't Do Famous Read online

  Exercising great self-control, I don’t roll my eyes. “No, a celebrity hound.”

  There’s a crunching-gravel sound from above as the tour group, minus Junie and me, tromps along the side of the house.

  “Folks, here is Kira Cornish’s wishing well. Any pennies you throw in, she promises to donate to an animal shelter.” He pauses. “Five more minutes of enjoying this beautiful area, then it’s back on the minibus for a few more homes.” The driver’s voice comes from straight above me. “Okay, people, I’m going to insist you return to the street. We can’t risk losing the privilege of bringing our tours up here.”

  The tour group’s voices fade.

  “We can’t risk losing the privilege, blah blah blah,” Lorraine mimics. “He sounds just like the last tour guide. They must memorize a script.”

  “Were you on the last tour?” I ask. “Is that how you guys got here?”

  “No way. Too expensive.” Lorraine’s wearing about five ankle bracelets. They tinkle when she moves. “We just got the address of this house from them.”

  “How’d you know Kira Cornish isn’t home?”

  “This guy we know said she’s filming in Toronto,” Lorraine says.

  “How’d you get up here?” I ask.

  “Same guy.” Lorraine pulls her hair back in a ponytail, then lets it drop. “He has a driver’s—”

  “You were really looking for us?” Stef interrupts.

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  Stef crosses her arms. “Why?”

  “Because of this sweet thing you have going,” I say.

  Lorraine’s eyes are blurry with confusion. Stef hugs her elbows tighter till the points are like white embers.

  “The Beverly Hills Bandits.” I smile at each of them in turn. “It’s you and you.”

  Lorraine’s jaw goes slack again. This is not an attractive look for her.

  Stef’s whole face wrinkles in a frown. Very prunelike.

  And while they’re still in speechless shock, I add, “Talk about a brilliant scheme. Breaking into celebrities’ homes, stealing things you can sell for money and giving yourselves a chance to nab some cool personal stuff too.” I sigh. “And the way you stole Dear Elle’s purse? Totally amazing.”

  “Sherry’s incredible,” Lorraine says to Stef. “She’s probably part genius.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “That means a lot.”

  Stef watches me through narrowed eyes.

  “We really have picked up some cool stuff, Sherry.” Lorraine pulls on the hem of her T-shirt. “This is Melanie Grace’s.” She twists her wrist, which jiggles the bracelet with the dog charm. “Hannah Smyth’s.”

  “You know what I never figured out?” I say. “How did you guys know I had extra tickets for the Hollywood Girl bash?”

  “We didn’t,” Lorraine says. “We knew there’d be security, and we thought you’d let us walk in with you. We had no idea the security would be so crazy tight. We just got lucky that you gave us the tickets.”

  “What do you want from us?” Stef says.

  “I want in,” I say.

  chapter

  twenty-five

  “Seriously? You want to break into houses with us?” Lorraine says. “You ever done anything like that before?”

  “No, but I gotta start somewhere,” I say. “And you guys seem like you’d be good teachers.”

  Stef is looking skeptical to the max.

  “I love anything and everything to do with celebrities,” I say. “I started watching the Academy Awards when I still had a pacifier in my mouth.” I place a hand over my heart. “To take home stuff owned by a star would be the best souvenir ever.”

  “Let’s take her to tomorrow’s meeting,” Lorraine says.

  “Please,” I wheedle. Tomorrow’s meeting?

  Stef purses her lips.

  “Plus, David wants us to find a new girl for the next job,” Lorraine says.

  David? I decide now is not the best time to ask questions. I remain quiet and put on my sad, cute puppy-dog look. It always works with my dad.

  “When do you go back to Phoenix?” Stef asks.

  “In three days,” I say, hoping this will be enough time.

  Stef turns to Lorraine. “We can’t just show up at the meeting with her. Not without checking with David first.”

  “Stef’s right,” Lorraine says to me. “David’s kind of moody. You don’t want to make him mad.” She shakes her head like she’s clearing out a bad memory.

  “I’m free tomorrow.” My voice rings with enthusiasm. “All day.”

  “Sherry. Sherry.” Junie’s weak voice comes from the top of the embankment. “Where are you?”

  “Is that your wimpy friend?” Lorraine asks.

  “Wimpy? More like brainy.” The words shoot out of my mouth quickly and reflexively. Defending Junie might not be the brightest thing I can do in terms of this case. But that’s the way it is with best friends; you can’t let anyone dog them.

  “Sherry, everyone from the tour is looking for you,” Junie calls softly.

  “Can you check with David?” I ask.

  “Stef, you could call him,” Lorraine says.

  Stef scowls. “Fine. What’s your cell?”

  I give it to her quickly and she punches the number into her phone.

  “We’re asking about you,” Lorraine says. “Not your friend. Don’t even tell her what’s going on.”

  “Sherry Baldwin!” booms the tour guide’s voice. “Report immediately to the minibus!”

  Yikes!

  “Get out of here!” Stef says. “Before you get us caught!”

  “Sherry Baldwin! Sherry Baldwin!” calls a choir of voices.

  I scramble up the hill.

  Race to the end of the fence.

  I almost make it undetected.

  Almost.

  I have one foot on Kira Cornish’s property and one foot off, when the tour guide and a line of his henchmen tourists round the corner of the house.

  Their eyes zero in on me.

  Junie limps behind them, sunburned and a palm pressed against her forehead.

  The driver points a long arm in my direction. “You. To. The. Bus. Now.”

  When we reach the vehicle, he says, “Sit up front. By me.”

  My mom flutters in and settles on the window side of my seat. “Sherry, what’s going on? Did you and Junie have an argument?”

  I give a slight shake of my head.

  The driver shoves the vehicle into gear and starts in on me. “What were you thinking? How much plainer did I need to make it? No trespassing. You and your entire family are banned forever from Starline Tours.”

  As soon as my mom figures out why I’m in trouble, she starts in on me too.

  For the entire ride, my left ear is bombarded by the tour guide and my right ear is bombarded by my mother. Except for Junie, all the passengers are shooting me hate stares.

  Finally, we arrive at the Roosevelt. Ears burning, I escape from the bus.

  Junie follows me to 25 Degrees, where we collapse in a booth and order a pitcher of soda.

  “So, why’d you do it?” Junie says. “Why did you trespass?”

  While I’m texting my dad to let him know we’re back, I say to her, “Before I tell you, answer this: Do I look different?”

  She gazes at my face. “Yes, you do.”

  “I knew it.” Some paths you choose in life mark you. Not like a big black smudge. More like a light bruise that doesn’t even show in all lights. But it’s there. You don’t feel it happening, but you’re changed forever. I just chose a very scary, very illegal path. “Hardened? Mature? Overwrought?”

  Junie frowns. “You’re sunburned across the nose, and there’s dirt on your chin.”

  With the back of my hand, I wipe my chin. “Not superficial stuff like that. I’m talking deep, character-building changes.” I pause dramatically. “Junie, I’m infiltrating the Beverly Hills Bandits.”

  “What?”


  I fill her in. “So, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be at tomorrow’s meeting with the thieves. And I’ll be in on the next heist.”

  “How did I miss it? You do look different.” Junie leans across the table and grabs my shoulders. “Your eyes are totally crazed. Your left pupil’s dilated more than the right one. Did you fall on your head? Hard?” She drops my shoulders. “You’re out of your mind!

  “You think your mom and Mrs. Howard are mad at you now? Wait’ll they find out you’re going illegal and hooking up with a burglary ring to solve a mystery they told you to ignore. The World Wide Web for the Dead will go wild with this.” Junie’s shaking her head so fast, it’s fuzzy and fat, like I’m looking at her in a mirror at the fair’s haunted house.

  “Junie, chill.” I make a time-out sign with my hands. “I have not lost my mind. I’m not really a thief. I went undercover to get information about the next operation,” I say slowly, to make sure she understands, and there’s no reason for this big freak-out. “Next, I’m going to spill all to Detective Garcia. Together, we’ll catch David and the bandits in action.”

  “Sherry, you watch too many crime shows. Just hand everything over to the detective. Before you are t-o-a-s-t.”

  I’m about to explain patiently that I’m seeing this case through to the very end, when our booth fills with the scent of Lippy’s Root Beer Gloss.

  “Sherry!” Leah squeals. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?”

  “It’s Leah,” I say to Junie. “Long story,” I say to Leah.

  “The longer the better,” Leah says. “I’m so bored.”

  Junie stands. “I’m going to take some random photos around the hotel.” She looks at me long and hard. “Think about what I said, Sherry.”

  Shoulders straight, Junie strides out. She’s so sure of herself, so sure her way is the best way to wrap up this mystery. I sigh. Junie is a scholar and a mathematician and a potential astronaut. She is not a detective.

  “What’s her problem?” Leah asks. “She’s the draggiest friend.”

  “No, no, she’s a good friend. We just don’t see eye to eye on this thing.” Every time I turn around today, I’m defending Junie. Because that’s the kind of good friend I am.

  “What thing?” Leah asks.

  I tip the pitcher, topping up my glass. Then I fill her in.

  “You’re joining a burglary ring?” Leah squeals. “You are so brave. No wonder you don’t miss Josh. You stay so busy. And your life is so exciting.”

  “I might be joining a burglary ring. Depends if I get invited to tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “Oh, you will. They so want you.”

  Leah’s much easier to listen to than Junie. Even with her squealy pitch and overuse of the word “so.”

  “I want to be just like you,” Leah says.

  Definitely easier to listen to.

  “Sherry, I just made a decision. I’m coming to the meeting.”

  “No!” It’s like someone punched me in the gut. “This is one of those situations I need to handle on my own.”

  “Absolutely not,” Leah says. “We’re partners. No way I’m letting you go into such a scary, dangerous situation on your own.”

  “I might not even be going.”

  “Oh no, you’re going,” Leah says. “You’re so persuasive. Look how you even talked me out of my depression. My yearlong depression.”

  Obviously, I’ll be sneaking out of the hotel. I’m not taking Leah. No ifs, ands or buts.

  My cell phone pings with a text.

  “Is it Lorraine and Stef?” Leah asks. “With details about tomorrow? I knew they’d want you in. You need to trust my judgment more, partner.”

  That ghost is überenthusiastic about everything. Hard to believe she was a depressed head case just a few short days ago.

  “It’s Brianna,” I say. “A friend back in Phoenix.”

  “Another friend?” Leah asks sharply, a little jealousy tingeing her words. “How many friends do you have?”

  “You’d like Brianna,” I say. “She’s crazy in a good way. Boy crazy, makeup crazy, clothes crazy.”

  “Uh-huh,” Leah says, not sounding convinced. “She sounds a little out of control.”

  I click on Messages.

 

  I go oatmeal mushy inside. “Brianna’s at the mall. She spotted Josh, and she’s following him! Josh and I have so many memories at the mall. I bet he’s super down and visiting all our old places, thinking about me.”

  “You guys are so getting back together,” Leah says.

  I type.

  Brianna replies.

  I catch a strong whiff of Lippy’s Root Beer Gloss as Leah hovers by my shoulder. “Did you two play a lot of video games together?”

  “Tons. We almost entered a competition at Video World as a team,” I say. “I bet his heart is heavy with memories right now.”

  Brianna texts.

  “Probably the memories are too severe,” Leah says. “He can’t bear to even set foot in the place.”

 

  “Now, this will be very painful for him,” I say. “I solved a mystery where someone was sabotaging the makeup at that booth. And Josh helped. Walking by that kiosk must be like an arrow stabbing his heart.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Leah says.

 

  “He’s a really nice guy. Probably he doesn’t want to burden Amber with his pain.” But the oatmeal mush inside me is starting to bubble.

  “I bet he’s working hard to hold back the tears,” Leah says.

 

  “It almost sounds as though he’s meeting someone,” Leah says. “I mean, who goes to the food court and doesn’t buy food? Unless it’s a meeting place. Does he have a buddy who works at the mall?”

  I shake my head slowly.

  Brianna screams through her text.

  I text.

 

  I text.

 

 

 

 

 

  The oatmeal mush is boiling up a storm in my stomach.

  “Maybe they’re cousins,” Leah says.

  “I’ve met all his cousins,” I say.

  “She could be a long-lost cousin. They could’ve connected through Facebook,” Leah says. “Ask if they’re holding hands. No one holds hands with their cousin.”

  My whole body tenses.

 

 

 

 

 

  I ask.

 

 

 

  “Ask if their arms are swinging,” Leah says. “Or if they’re doing the static handhold, where their arms are basically hanging because they don’t really like each other and don’t really want to hold hands, but feel like they have to.”

  I type in the question, crossing my fingers that the reply will have the word “static” in it.

 

  I think I’m going to be sick.

 

  How much worse can it get?

 

  “Jazzed-Up Juice? Never heard of it,” Leah says. “Sounds very
unromantic. Sounds like the kind of place you take your long-lost Facebook cousin who forced you to hold hands with her.”

  “It’s ‘our’ place. Mine and Josh’s. We shared enough smoothies there to last a lifetime,” I say in a choked-up, on-the-verge-of-tears voice. “We had ‘our’ table and ‘our’ plastic chairs in the corner. Jazzed-Up Juice is romantic with a capital R for me.”

  “Turn off your cell,” Leah says. “This is like sticking a curling iron in your eye.”

  Brianna asks.

  “No, you do not,” Leah says firmly. “Tell her to go shopping.”

 

 

 

  Brianna, Sara and Margo? That trio is the opposite of subtle and quiet. Those girls are more along the lines of obvious and giggly. I lay my weary head on my arms. Josh is sharing a romantic smoothie with a sophisticated high school girl in an expensive skirt while his eighth-grader ex-girlfriend’s friends are trailing after him through the mall. Acting like Disney Channel detectives.

  I text Brianna.

 

 

  Leah turns off my cell.

  This is the worst vacation of my life.

  chapter

  twenty-six

  Dad, Junie and I exit the hotel and saunter down Hollywood Boulevard to number 6667. It’s the home of Musso and Frank Grill.

  “Musso and Frank is Hollywood’s first restaurant,” Junie says. “It’s been around since 1919.”

  Junie’s knowledge of trivia often gets on my nerves. But this evening, her voice nattering on about the unimportant soothes me. Like lotion on raw skin.