CHAPTER ONE

Maddie

NOW: JULY

I’ve seen the movies. I know that girls like me never get to be the star. At best, the awkward fat girl plays the sidekick. She gets a funny line or two before fading into the background.

Even so, I like to imagine my life as a film. In my head, I decide on the music, the lighting, the set. I figure out exactly where the camera ought to be positioned and when I will enter the frame.

Of course, if life really followed the Movie Rules, it would have more cinematic scenery. I most certainly would not be stuck in the back of my moms’ car for three straight hours, with only the whooshing of the air conditioner as my soundtrack.

It isn’t great.

We’re almost at camp, kid, Sandra tells me.

Note to the director: Sandra is one of my moms. She’s pretty cool, for a mom.

I can’t wait, I say. That is only sort of a lie.

I try to keep my voice steady, even though this is the day I’ve been awaiting for months and months. My first day at Camp Rosewood, the only sleepaway camp in Southern California with a screenwriting program.

The very thought makes my legs jittery.

My other mom starts talking, a long and winding monologue about how much she’ll miss me. It soon veers into a lecture on the importance of sunscreen. But I can’t give her my full attention, not now.

In my whole entire life—almost thirteen years—I have never been away from home for more than a week. And even that was just visiting Grandma and Grandpa in Florida. This time, I’ll be all on my own. The very idea is terrifying.

But a good movie hero always leaves home behind to embark on the big adventure. Frodo, Captain Marvel, and now me. I certainly cannot—I will not—let my nerves get in the way.

Besides, I need to escape Pasadena. If I had the choice, I would transfer to a new school entirely for eighth grade. Since the moms have made it clear that isn’t going to happen, I’ll take a month away from home, away from everyone I know.

I lean back in my seat. If I were in a movie, now would be the perfect time for a Moment of Introspection—you know, one of those scenes where the main character gazes out the window with a deep, thoughtful frown. I try to imagine myself at camp. One by one, the scenes unfold in my mind. They’re a little fuzzy around the edges at first, but gradually the images sharpen. I see myself reclining by the lakeside as I scribble brilliant words in my notebook. I see my screenwriting teacher beam at me while I share my work with the rest of the group. I see myself onstage, ready to begin a performance. My costume fits perfectly, and I know exactly what I need to do. The main lights dim, and then I—

What? No, that scene isn’t right at all. I’m a screenwriter, not a performer. I won’t be performing a single thing at Camp Rosewood.

After all, literally everyone in the whole world knows what happened the last time I was stupid enough to perform onstage. I most certainly will not be repeating that experience. Not this summer, not ever.

No, I am going to Camp Rosewood so I can learn screenwriting. Screenwriting is safe. I am good at it. And maybe—hopefully—I will make a new friend at camp. That all seems very reasonable and doable. Even if my last friend abandoned me right when I needed her the most.

But I refuse to think about her.

Maddie? Mom says. She has a habit of interrupting me when I’m in a Moment of Introspection. You’ve been awfully quiet. Still there, hon?

Blinking, I try to banish all thoughts of my ex–best friend from my mind. I cross my arms over my chest. No, actually, I’ve been abducted by aliens who are invading Earth. They took the real me up to their spaceship and replaced me with a robot.

I once wrote a screenplay that was sort of like that. It was not, sadly, particularly good, but I do like the concept.

So, you are still there. Got it, Mom says.

As the car winds through yet another barely there dirt road, I realize that people at camp won’t know who I am. To them, I won’t be weird Maddie Simmons. The girl who ruined the school musical. The girl who went viral for all the wrong reasons. The girl who used to be friends with Chloe Winters. At Camp Rosewood, I can write a new script and leave last year’s humiliations behind.

I will not do anything to ruin my big chance. I will not.

A large wooden sign appears, as if to punctuate my big realization. WELCOME TO CAMP ROSEWOOD, it tells me.

I chew on the edges of my lip and try to banish all of the worries and what-ifs that threaten to invade my mind. Exit bad thoughts.

Begin scene.

By the time we reach Cabin 7B, the cabin where I will be spending the next four weeks, my arm muscles ache and the rest of me is gross and sweaty. Still, this is a big moment, the kind of moment that sets the scene for the whole movie. I take in the setting—a dusty path winding up to a row of cabins nestled in thick trees.

Cabin 7B itself is definitely not a film set. It’s too small and too wooden, with nothing much of visual interest. Well, I guess I won’t be spending a lot of time here anyway. Camp Rosewood must have loads of better locations, places where I can curl up with my notebook and the movies in my mind.

For now, I sigh and consider how best to haul my trunk up the stairs. Just as I start lifting it off the ground, Sandra sprints over and grabs one of the handles. You don’t need a sprained ankle on your first day of camp.

She’s just teasing me, but I blush anyway. I have sprained my ankle no fewer than three times over the last four years. Every single one of these incidents occurred because of something horrendously embarrassing. Most recently, I tripped over the grass while running to greet my dog, Hulk. That little misstep put me in an ankle brace for three weeks.

I have something called dyspraxia. It’s a disability, and basically a medical-ish way of saying that I’m really clumsy. Mom and Sandra say that it doesn’t make me less than anyone else—it’s just that my brain works differently. Still, having a brain that works differently can be really, really annoying.

As recent events have shown.

So even though I would like to lift the trunk myself, Sandra is probably right. I don’t need to start camp with an injury. I accept her help and we start to haul the weighty trunk up the stairs together.

Almost there, kid, Sandra says.

She leans forward to push the door open, but someone else opens it for us. A tall, thin white woman with auburn hair and big sunglasses. I know this woman, somehow, but my brain refuses to put all of the pieces together. She can’t be who I think she is. Because that would mean catastrophe.

Maddie! she says. How wonderful. I haven’t seen you in a while.

I stare at her, too shocked to say a single word. Sandra glares at me, and I’m pretty sure she wants to scold me about my lack of manners. Fortunately, the woman who greeted me has a habit of talking through any and all moments of silence. Today is no exception.

Chloe didn’t mention that you would be here! she exclaims.

The familiar name snaps me out of my shock. Chloe?

And then, looking past the woman, I see her—brilliant red hair, fashionably thin frame, and a pimple-free face that most definitely is not smiling. My former best friend, Chloe Winters.

Hi, Maddie, she mumbles.

CHAPTER TWO

Chloe

This is so not part of the plan.

For a long moment, I don’t say anything. Neither does Maddie. I guess we don’t know what to say. Or at least I don’t. After minute five bazillion, I have no choice but to break the silence.

I’m over there, I say. I point to the bunk I picked.

Maddie’s eyes narrow, and she nods. Okay, she says.

That’s it. Okay.

I didn’t exactly expect a hug or whatever. But the shortness of her response still stings. Once, Maddie and I would have had plenty to say to each other. Once, we would have picked out bunks right next to each other so we could talk and whisper at night.

Not now. Now she only wants to know what bunk I’m in so she can avoid it. And the worst part is that it kind of is mostly my fault.

I try not to watch Maddie as she and her moms drag her trunk to the opposite end of the cabin. But I do. She picks a bed by the wall. That’s as far away from me as she can get without setting up camp in the bathroom or something. (At least she didn’t do that?)

Shaking myself, I return to my own bunk.

Since I have the worst luck ever, I still can’t get away from conversations I do not want to have. Cordelia has seen to it. (I call my mother Cordelia, not Mom and definitely not Mommy. I think being called Mom makes her feel old.)

This is all rather rustic, isn’t it? Cordelia says, in that way of hers that isn’t really asking a question at all. Are you sure you’ll be okay, Chlo? I know how you are about your beauty sleep.

I grind my teeth. Okay, yeah. Usually I’m not a hiking and campfire kind of girl. More of a glitter bath bomb and pedicure girl, really. But seriously. I’d sleep in a cave full of spider eggs in exchange for a month free of my mother. A month where I don’t have to be Chloe Winters, former television star. Even if I do have to share a cabin with someone who hates me.

But I don’t say any of this. Obviously. Instead, I put on a fake smile for Cordelia. The patented Chloe Winters smile I use for all my auditions and interviews. I’ll be fine. I think it will be good to … you know, try something different.

Hmmph.

I can’t tell what hmmph is supposed to mean, but I can only assume that Cordelia will make her opinion known sooner or later. Probably sooner.

If you think you can handle rough living, dear, then have at it. She glances around the room and lowers her voice noticeably. I didn’t realize you and Maddie were still on the outs.

I shrug. As if I don’t care at all. Maybe if I keep pretending, it will become true. Luckily, I’m a really good actor.

Lynn was the one who told me about Camp Rosewood, Cordelia says. I suppose I forgot to tell you.

Lynn is one of Maddie’s moms. She and Cordelia are friends, in that weird way moms are friends with other moms. That used to be a good thing. Now? Not so much.

I’ll be fine, I say again.

Cordelia smiles brightly at me.

I know you will, darling. And I’ll be just a phone call away.

Like that’s such a great thing. I nod anyway. Cordelia, of course, continues talking at full speed. I tune her out until I hear one of my least favorite phrases.

I really do think your career is going to take off soon, Cordelia says.

I give another grunt. I’m an actor. Or at least I was. Over the past year, I’ve gone on a million auditions and gotten a million rejections. In fact, the recent highlight of my acting career was a commercial. The world’s most embarrassing commercial, in fact. If the auditions that come my way are anything like that, I’ll take a hard pass.

Cordelia says all the rejections are just how Hollywood works, and that’s true. But also, it’s my age. I’m twelve and I pretty much look twelve. Too young for teenage parts but too old for kid parts. Cordelia has yet to recognize this basic fact.

After several more minutes of babble, Cordelia pats me on the back. I know you’ll be fine, dear, she tells me before she sweeps away from the cabin. Love you.

It’s wrong, but as I watch her leave, a slow smile creeps across my face. Okay, so maybe Maddie being here isn’t ideal. Definitely not. But with my mother gone … maybe I don’t have to be Chloe Winters, Child Actor, for the next month. Maybe I can just be Chloe.

Whoever she is.

Finally, Cordelia is out of sight. Thanks, universe!

I should go around and introduce myself to everyone. But … well, between Maddie and Cordelia and unpacking my stuff, I’m tired. I don’t feel like meeting new people. So I slide my headphones on and start listening to the soundtrack for Wicked, a.k.a. the best musical ever. Listening to Elphaba and Galinda do their thing always takes me to a happy place, or at least a more happy place. Sure, Elphaba is green, and I guess that’s rough or whatever. But at least she doesn’t have a mom who worries about how her next haircut will impact her public image.

Halfway through The Wizard And I, someone interrupts me. Rude.

I look at her. She’s a white girl with dirty blond hair, freckles, and a smile that has got to be fake.

I’m sorry, she says, in the least-sorry voice ever. "But I just have to know. Are you Chloe Winters? From Super Hero Kids?"

Running a hand through my hair, I sigh. Of course. Super Hero Kids may be permanently canceled, but everyone still recognizes me from it.

Part of me wants to deny it. I probably would, if not for the fact that I don’t think I can keep up the act for an entire summer.

Yeah, I tell the annoying girl. I’m Chloe.

Her face lights up like a stage when it’s time for the final dance number. I knew it! I used to watch the show all the time. You … you’re Miranda.

No, I’m not, I say before I can stop myself. Miranda is a character. She isn’t real. I can’t read minds and I’m not a superhero. I’m … I’m just Chloe.

I know that. But I loved you!

I bite my tongue to hold back a mean response. This girl, whoever she is, doesn’t love me. She doesn’t know me, and if she did, she wouldn’t like me at all. Not the real me, anyway. I clench my fists, and my fingernails dig into the skin of my palms. Through it all, I give the girl a Chloe Winters Smile.

It was very nice to meet you, I say. Even though nothing about it had been nice, Cordelia has trained me on how to deal with annoying fans.

The girl beams. Again.

Abso-freaking-lutely! We’re going to be friends, I hope. My name is Mara, by the way. I’m an actor. Well, I hope to be an actor. I’m not like you. I’ve been to a few open call auditions, but they didn’t work out.

Well, yeah, probably because you irritated the casting director so much.

I personally think that anyone who acts is an actor, I say. A total lie. Lies are useful for surviving blech-worthy conversations like this