Copyright
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Child Star: Part 3
Copyright © 2015 J.J. McAvoy
ISBN: 9781943772292
Cover Design: J.J. McAvoy
Photo Credits: Georgijevic @ istockphoto.com
lenaer @istockphoto.com
conrado @istockphoto.com
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“When you say a ‘former child star,’ you may as well say ‘failed child star.’”
~ Wil Wheaton
Chapter One
Noah
Fifteen years ago
“You hear me, boy?” Frank grabbed my neck. “The only reason why you are alive right now, the only reason why you’re here right now, is ‘cause of me. Act up, just try it, and I will snap your fucking head off.”
Glaring at him, I nodded as best I could, and when he let go, I slid back to the ground. Coughing, I held my neck, turning my head as he reached to pet my hair with his smelly hands.
“I’m gonna go for a smoke,” he lied, grabbing the black helmet with a red X on top from the dresser. “You need anything?”
I didn’t reply. I just sat there.
“I asked you a question, boy!” he said, kicking my foot.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, pushing myself off the ground.
“Don’t get fired. We need this cash,” he said to me, slamming the door behind him. Every part of me shook. I hate him. I hate him!
“Ugh!” I picked up a glass on the table and threw it against the wall.
Adults.
I hate them all.
They never listen. Maybe it’s because they think we’re stupid, or maybe it’s because we’re too small to do anything back. They are all messed up, and I don’t know why. What’s so hard about being an adult? And why do we have to get in trouble for whatever it is that is wrong with them? None of it is fair. Even the ones who aren’t that bad are still bad. I hate—
“Amelia!”
Not again. Getting off my chair, I cracked open my dressing room door.
“Amelia!”
She passed me in a blur of brown curls, running as fast she could down the hall. However, that wasn’t fast enough. Her mom grabbed her arm, pulling her back. But she didn’t stop trying to run, her white shoes sliding against the ground as she tried to get away.
“Amelia, enough!” her mother shouted, pulling so hard with both hands that she hit the wall, a picture of Mr. Disney falling to its side. Amelia moved to pick it up, but her mom grabbed her chin, forcing Amelia to look at her.
“You are too old to be acting like a baby, Amelia. Do you hear me?” she screamed in Amelia’s face. “How many days has it been since you got this part, and you still can’t do it right? What’s so hard about a few lines? What’s the matter with you?”
Amelia clenched her fist, but mumbled a response. “Nothing.”
“What was that?” her mom shouted again, still holding on to her face.
“Nothing! Let go!” Amelia cried, her face getting red.
Sighing, her mom let go, and she fell back against the wall, her hands going to her face to stop the crying, but it wouldn’t work. When Amelia started crying, there was no stopping until she cried it all out.
I wanted to go her. But if I did, I would make it worse.
Like last time.
“Sweetheart.” Her mom bent down in front of Amelia, patting the sides of her face and tucking her hair behind her ear. “You will have other birthdays, Amelia, but you may never get this chance again. One day, you will look back and thank me. Don’t you know how many people would kill to be you? Everyone wants an Amelia doll for their birthday. But you get to be Amelia everyday. Think how special that is.”
Wiping her face a few more times, Amelia nodded, but she looked like a deflated balloon.
Don’t take it! I thought when her mom offered her a hand. But Amelia did, like always. She took it, and like a zombie, she followed her mother back to her dressing room. I knew I should have closed my door, but I couldn’t look away. Mrs. London didn’t look at me; she walked with her head up high like she was trying to smell the ceiling. However, Amelia did, still holding her mother’s hand, her sad blue eyes drifting over to mine as she tried to force a smile.
She always tried to smile for me.
“Happy birthday,” I mouthed to her as she passed by.
“Noah?”
I looked away from her, and there was Kat, my manager, with something different about her blonde hair.
“What happen to your hair?” I questioned, not able to look away from it.
“Oh this?” she grinned, gently patting it. “It’s called ‘The Rachel.’ Do you like it?”
“Yeah. It’s cool.” No, it was not. But it was almost always better to lie to adults.
“You’re so cute!” she laughed, messing up my hair, even though I told her a thousand times not to do that. “I was just coming to get you. They are ready for you on set.”
“Okay.” I closed the door behind me and followed her through the studio hall. The walls were all white, and it always made me feel like I was in hospital. I pulled my Game Boy from my pocket as she kept talking.
“Do you remember your lines?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure we—”
“Yes,” I cut her off.
“Okay, are you hungry?”
“No.”
“You should eat anyway,” she pressed. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich? Did you like the one from yesterday?”
No. “Yeah.”
“Fine. We’re here,” she said, and I glanced at the fake kitchen set, with the lights and cameras surrounding it.
“Noah on set,” someone announced.
Giving her my Game Boy, I walked over to the table, and no one really talked to me; they were all just like Kat. They thought that they knew what was right all the time and they asked my opinion only to ignore me. Maybe they thought I was too dumb to understand what they wanted. They all just smiled and gave me a thumbs up, so I did the same as they put a bowl of cereal in front of me.
“Amelia on set!”
“Hi, everybody!” she said, smiling brightly, her face no longer red as she waved at everyone and then skipped to her place behind the fake door.
“Okay everyone, places.” The director waved his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Noah?”
“Ready,” I said, sitting up.
“Amelia?”
“Ready!”
“Action!”
Picking up the spoon, I took one bite before she burst through the door.
“Hold it right there, mister!” she shouted, pointing at me.
“What?” I answered with a mouth full of cereal.
Her mouth made a straight line, and her nose bunched up as she put her hands on her hips and stomped right up to my face. As I leaned way back, she leaned forward more and more as I chewed slowly.
“That’s my cereal,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me as she grabbed my cereal and made a run for it.