Being Hartley
Release Date: 11/2013Summary from Goodreads:
Fifteen-year-old Thea Wallis was born to entertain. Her mother, Oscar winning actress Cassie Hartley, thinks differently and has kept her daughter out of the spotlight since day one. Coming from showbiz royalty, it hasn't been easy to go unnoticed, but mismatched surnames, a family home in Tasmania and a low-key scriptwriter father has made this possible.
Just like her cousin Rory on the hugely popular TV show Saturday Morning Dance, Thea loves to dance. She learns the show's routines off by heart each week, despite her mother's attempts to convince her that dentistry would be a far more fulfilling career choice.
However, when Rory goes off the rails in LA, Thea's mother is suddenly left with no choice at all – Rory needs them and to LA they must go. Within forty-eight hours, Thea finds herself a long way from Tasmania and living her dream – on the road to Las Vegas with the Saturday Morning Dance team.
It doesn't take long before Thea's talents are discovered and she's offered everything she's ever wanted on a plate, including the dance partner she's had a crush on forever. But, as her mother has always told her, Hollywood dreams come at a price. Thea soon realizes she will have to work out just how much she's willing to pay. And, ultimately, discover her own way to be Hartley.
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EXCERPT
-
5 -
Rory
cranks the radio up, and we drive out through the gates and start down the
twists and turns of Sunset Plaza Drive.
We chat
as we stop at all the stop signs and slowly make our way to Sunset Boulevard.
At one stop sign, someone honks and waves at us, and Rory waves back.
"That's Cindy, one of our neighbors," she says before moving forward
again. "Hey, you'll love this juice bar. It's fantastic—everything's
organic and they use this raw sugarcane sweetener…yum."
"Sounds
good," I say as we make a right-hand turn and hit the main road. As we do,
someone sitting and waiting at the set of lights honks and waves. "Who's
that?" I ask Rory.
"Beats
me," she says. "We'll get a lot of that. Just ignore it."
"Oh,
right. I see." I guess the combination of pink Bentley and RORY plates
attracts a bit of attention. Which is what SMD
is after, I suppose.
Over
the next few minutes, I get to see why Rory's not so keen on her new wheels.
The few times I've been allowed to let Rory drive me somewhere in Frank, I
didn't realize there were quite so many sets of lights on Sunset Boulevard.
Back then, she went largely undetected, especially if she wore a baseball cap,
and I was free to enjoy the views, the palm fronds bobbing high above us, the
unfamiliar billboards, everyone busily coming and going. Sure, there were a few
paparazzi who knew her regular plates, but not too many. But now…every time we
have to slow down for traffic or stop at a red light, people honk, people stare
in the windows, people wave. At one point, we pull up next to a yellow school
bus, one kid spots us, and then the whole bus begins rocking as the kids jump
up and down in excitement at seeing Rory going about her everyday business.
"Am
I supposed to wave?" I ask Rory.
She
shrugs. "If you want."
I give
a small, half-hearted wave at the kids, and they go absolutely crazy.
"Hmmm, maybe that's not such a good idea," I tell her as one kid in
particular waves her arms around, tries to get closer to the window, and
accidentally slams another kid's face into the glass.
"I
know you guys don't travel together and everything, but you really don't ever get this with your mom?" Rory
sounds confused.
"You
know how she operates." I shrug. "Mom and Dad tag-team it—one of them
works and the other one sticks with me. If we do have to travel together, I
stick with Beth, my tutor. And believe me, no one's the slightest bit
interested in Thea Wallis and Beth Gibbs, her tutor."
"Well,
I am," Rory says as we pull away from the school bus and leave the kids
behind.
"Thanks,"
I say flatly.
"What's
up?" She frowns, concentrating on the road.
"Oh,
the usual. Can't go anywhere by myself, can't do anything for myself. If Mom
had her way, I'd still be collecting Barbies and getting pushed around in a
stroller."
"Ah,
that," Rory answers me, her voice sympathetic. "Maybe now that
Allie's better we could start hassling them about sending you to her school
again?"
"Maybe."
The truth is, however, I can't see my mom changing her mind. Still, I let it
go. I don't really like complaining about my mom issues in front of Rory and
Allie, who don't have a mom. Well, not one that's around, anyway. Rory and
Allie's mom, Margaret, left when Allie was two. They still see her now and
then, but she remarried and they bought the whitest penthouse you've ever seen.
There doesn't seem to be a whole lot of room in her new life for Rory and
Allie, though I bet she likes to brag about Rory plenty. Every so often, when
Mom forgets I'm in the room, she'll say something nasty about Margaret that I'm
not supposed to hear. I get the feeling my grandmother might have hand-picked
Margaret (the daughter of a senator) for Uncle Erik. And Uncle Erik did what he
was told. Which is probably why Uncle Erik sees more of my mom now than my
grandmother. I guess they have a lot in common.
I shake
my head slightly. "Anyway…" I reach forward and turn the radio down.
"We're supposed to be talking about you.
So, spill already."
"About?"
"Please."
Rory
shrugs. "What am I supposed to say? Ugh…I don't know. I'm just over it,
that's all. There're changes going on at SMD,
okay? Big changes I don't really agree with."
"Oh?"
I say, hoping she'll continue and tell me more. "Like?"
She
pauses then seems to brush my question away. "Oh, I don't know. Lots of
things. And I can't wait to get going on this Vegas bus trip tomorrow. Cooped
up for three days with Sonja, her gutless assistant Melinda, and Mara. That's
my idea of a good time." She couldn't sound more sarcastic if she tried.
"Hang
on," I say. "Sonja's the new producer, right? The crazy one?"
Last season, the SMD ratings had
started to dip, and a new producer had been brought in. Sonja was that
producer, and from what it sounded like, she was going to make this show
successful again if it was the last thing she ever did.
"Crazy's
the word," Rory agrees. "As in, crazy about making SMD the highest-rated show every single
week forevermore. Talk about driven. And speaking of driven, she's making us
drive to LA. Together. Wait till you see it—we've got this big touring bus with
SMD plastered all across the side.
Almost as inconspicuous as this car. We're supposed to be bonding."
"But…"
I start.
"I
know! We've been a team for the past five years. And some of us for years
before that, on Saturday Morning Kids.
You'd think we'd have bonded by now if we were going to, right? Anyway."
Rory sighs. "It doesn't matter. Let's not talk about that right now. I'm
even over talking about it, which is all Dad ever wants to do—talk, talk, talk,
talk, talk."
"Mmm,"
I answer, really uncomfortable with how all this is going. Rory is acting… very
un-Rory-like. Kind of hyper and odd. And I can't remember a time she actually
told me she didn't want to discuss something before. Maybe now's not the best
time to bring up the fake boyfriend?
"Hey,
we're almost there. Only one more set of lights. The owner is really sweet. He
lets me park in the back so the car's hidden away, which I totally love him
for."
We pull
up at the set of lights Rory mentioned, and she points across the road.
"It's over there."
I'm
craning my neck to see the shop she's pointing to when I'm distracted by a
tapping on my right-hand side. When I check to see what's going on, the guy
from the lane next to us is holding a piece of paper up to the window.
"Is
that his cell number?" I say, not believing my eyes.
Rory
glances over. "Well, I doubt it's his IQ," she says, unimpressed.
"It's about eight numbers too long."
I take
a second look. "He's, um, pretty cute. And so is his friend."
Rory
takes a second look as well now. "Maybe. If you like that kind of thing.
Not my type, though."
"What's
your type?" I ask her.
"Guys
who don't pick me up at the lights."
I laugh
at this. "Not all of us can be so choosy. I'm not lucky enough to have a
'type.’"
Rory
becomes a tad more animated on hearing this and twists around in her seat, her
hands still gripping the wheel. "Wait. What are you saying? Are you into
boys now? My little cousin is into boys?"
"I
was always into boys. They just weren't into me. Or aren't into me. Or don't
know I exist. Or something."
"What?
You can't be serious. Guys don't like you? I don't believe it." She
frowns.
I think
about this for a second. "Well, maybe that's not fair. I don't ever
actually get to meet any boys, guys, you know—members of the opposite sex.
Maybe a few at dance workshops and stuff, but they're pretty few and far
between. It's mostly girls who go to those."
Rory
gets an expression on her face then. One I've seen before—one that generally
means we're about to do something that could get us into a lot of trouble, but
we'll be sure to have a good time doing it. This is a girl hell-bent on looking
for distraction. "Well, how about it, then? Want to meet some?"
I
glance over at the two guys then back at Rory. "Them?"
"Yes,
them. I think they might be willing. You know how I can tell? Because they're
holding up a cell number to the window."
"Very
funny." I throw her a withering look.
"Well?"
Rory's waiting for my answer. "What'll it be? Yes or no?"
"Um,
yes? Maybe? I don't know?"
"Oh,
for goodness sake." Rory leans over me now and points out the juice bar
we're going to, then gestures for the guys to follow us.
And
then, as the lights change to green, they do.
Allison Rushby is the Australian author of a whole lot of books. She is crazy about Mini Coopers, Devon Rex cats, Downton Abbey and corn chips. You can often find her procrastinating on Twitter at @Allison_Rushby or on Facebook. That is, when she’s not on eBay, or Etsy, or any other place she can shop in secret while looking like she’s writing…
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Another one to add to my TBR list :)
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