Theodora Twist by Melissa Senate

your old neighborhood. But perhaps this reaction is more poignant.”
    “I think the word you’re looking for is honest, ” I snap. “And thanks for giving a shit.”
    “Sweetie, listen to me,” she says, taking my hand. “I do care. I adore you. You know that. But you pay me a fortune to look out for your career. You know I won’t do anything that’ll compromise you. But if I need you to act to keep you okay with the American public, then I’m going to make you act. You are an actor. You’re playing a role.”
    “Right, of a regular teen,” I say. “I know how to be one. I am one.”
    She puts the car in drive and starts heading up the hill. “Save it for the cameras. Just be a good girl for me, okay?”
    “Whatever, Ashley,” I say, trying not to look out the window. I reach into the backseat for my disguise bag and start pinning up my hair. We have no doubt the paparazzi are lying in wait. Probably in some kid’s tree house.
    “I need you to remember something, Theodora,” Ashley says. “While you’re here, you’re going to have to behave yourself twenty-four/seven. You can’t screw up. I’m not going to be around to police you or clean up. And trust me, when Blair and her team edit the tape and create the episodes, they’re going to use everything they’ve got of you acting like a bad girl. They’re not interested in saving your career; they’re interested in hot promos and hot episodes of Theodora Twist acting like a wild child. You have to remember the cameras will follow you everywhere, even when you’re supposedly on break. That means no sneaking out at night to go clubbing in Manhattan. No going on dates with the entire football team. No shopping at Chanel.”
    “What am I allowed to do?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
    “You’re allowed to rest, ” she says. “You’re allowed to be a regular kid. Go to high school, get a crush on a boy who doesn’t make ten million dollars a year. Make friends with a girl whose biggest thrill in life is being asked to the prom. Write an essay using topic sentences for English. Do some math problems. Care about what kids care about—whatever that is.”
    I laugh. “I don’t know either.”
    “There are a few too many vans parked on Blueberry Road,” she says, passing the street. “Let me turn around and drop you off up there to throw off the paparazzi.”
    “It’s Raspberry Road,” I correct her.
    “Raspberry, Strawberry, Whateverberry,” she says, sliding her sunglasses on top of her head. “It couldn’t be a cuter-named street for the show.” She stops the car, and I want to grab her stupid soy latte and pour it down her shirt, but I have the same one and I know how much it cost.
    Whateverberry. Not to me. I grew up on Raspberry Road. I lived here all my life—until I moved to L.A. three years ago. While Ashley stabs at her favorite berry—her CrackBerry—I glance behind me. I can just make out the yellow Victorian through the trees.
    Ashley pulls my sunglasses off my face. “You can’t wear these in Oak City. Dita Supa Dupa?” She tsk-tsks, then takes hers off her head and slips my gorgeous oversized pearly white frames on her pointy face. They’d look good on anyone. “You can have them back in a month.” I sulk, and she rolls her eyes, then reaches for my disguise bag. As I pull on my wig and plain-Jane glasses and gather my props—a loose-leaf binder and a textbook— she says, “Sweetie, it’s going to be all right. I promise that this will help your career. You’ll go from teen movie star to icon. And being here will be good for you. It’s gotta be, Theodora.”
    “We’ll see.” With that, I take one last look at my sunglasses and get out of the car.
    There are two vans and three cars lining Raspberry Road. All with New York license plates, which means paparazzi. I walk right past them, and they don’t move a muscle. Losers. I’m just an ordinary friend of Emily’s, coming over on a Sunday afternoon to hang out