Sealed With a Kiss by Robin Palmer

Author:Robin Palmer
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2011-05-19T16:00:00+00:00

When I get nervous—like, say, about what my stepfather-to-be-who-gets-super-paranoid-aboutwhat-people-say-to-sleazy-tabloid-journalists-about- his-superstar-daughter is going to do when he finds out that I was talking to one of them—I get hungry. Which is why, as Laurel talked to the non-sleazy journalist and Marci shot me dirty looks, I decided to set out to find craft services. Even though I was probably going to get yelled at again later for leaving the set without telling anyone, I just snuck away, because (a) I couldn’t get Laurel’s attention because she was too busy flipping her hair and laughing louder than normal talking to the reporter, and (b) it’s not like Laurel would care that I was gone anyway.

There weren’t any cabs or buses to mow you down at the studio like there were in Manhattan, but there were lots of golf carts carrying suit-wearing people screaming into their cell phones that I had to dodge instead. And there were guys on top of ginormous cranes with lights and cameras on the end of them who screamed, “Hey kid—watch where you’re going!” when I almost ran into them as I was jumping out of the way of the golf carts. And there was a guy wearing sunglasses who kind-of, sort-of looked like this very famous actor who starred in lots of action-adventure movies, who turned to a bodyguard-looking guy next to him and yelled, “Please tell that girl to stop staring at me—you know how I hate that!” It was like being on a dangerous obstacle course. I was so busy trying to save my own life, I stopped crying, but ten minutes later, after no luck in finding craft services, I decided just to turn around and go back in the direction I had come. Except because I don’t really have any sense of direction, I couldn’t figure out which way that was. As I walked, instead of the city street scenes and cranes I had passed on my way there, all I saw were buildings that didn’t look familiar at all.

And then . . . there it was.

Written in the same big red letters that flashed across my TV screen every day was a big sign on one of the warehouses that said COME ON, PEOPLE—GET WITH THE PROGRAM—AUDIENCE ENTRANCE.

When Sarah said yogalike things like, “Everything happens for a reason” and “Coincidence is the Universe’s way of remaining anonymous,” I usually rolled my eyes. But at that moment, I realized that my no-sense-of-direction issue was a good thing, because without it, I’d be back on set getting yelled at or being ignored, instead of about to have all my problems solved so I’d never have a bad day ever again!

I’m not one to cut, but instead of going to the back of the huge line of people wearing TOLEDO LOVES DR. MAUDE or BUCK UP OR SHUT UP T-shirts, I marched up to the security guard at the front.

“Hi. My name is Lucy B. Parker, and if it’s not too much trouble, I’d very much appreciate it if you could let Dr.

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