Becoming Mila by Estelle Maskame
4
Aunt Sheri and I are out on the porch together, waiting for Savannah and Myles to swing by and pick me up. It’s been a few hours since I walked home from the Willowbank ranch.
Darkness is rolling in, the sky a clear, gorgeous shade of deep blue with remnants of the summer sun lingering out on the horizon. The heat of the day is gone, replaced by a warmth that’s comfortable and cozy. At night, the ranch is even more peaceful and silent. No car engines whirring in the distance, no voices floating by, not even the bark of a dog. Just a calm stillness that slows down the world a little.
“Try not to talk about your dad tonight.”
Sheri is rocking gently on a wooden chair, running her hands up and down her thighs, scratching at the denim of her jeans. A nervous thing?
“I won’t.” I turn around to look at my aunt. “I never do.”
“Good,” she says. Although she seems worried about the potential repercussions of breaking Ruben’s rules by allowing me to go out tonight, I’m glad she hasn’t changed her mind about our little pact. “Have you spoken to your parents yet?”
“Only my mom,” I admit, turning back around. I rest my hands on the porch railings and stare out at the walls that close us off to the rest of the world. It’s only now, gazing across the field, that I realize how much of a prison this ranch can seem. It feels claustrophobic despite the acres of land sprawling out around us. “I texted her, but I’m still annoyed.”
“At least that’s something,” Sheri says from behind me. I hear the creaking of her chair still rocking back and forth. “I know she’s worried about this arrangement. She checked in with me earlier too.”
I know I should call my parents at some point, but I’m not in a hurry to talk to Dad. Mom tried to fight for what was best for me, but Ruben’s job is to put Dad’s career first. Every argument Mom presented in my defense was quickly shut down, and no amount of persuasion could make Dad change his mind. In the late hours of that night, I lay awake listening to my parents’ raised voices from their room, but by morning Mom had gone quiet, defeated. The decision was final. From Dad’s side, it was far too easy. No protesting against Ruben like Mom did, no offering alternative suggestions, no objections . . . Good PR is obviously the priority.
“Did your parents mention your allowance?”
I glance over my shoulder. “No. They’ve blocked my access to my account, so . . .”
Sheri nods and stops rocking in that rickety chair. She stands up, sticking her hand deep into the front pocket of her jeans, then pulls out a few bills. “Here’s some cash for tonight in case you need it,” she says, offering the money to me. I swivel around to take it from her – it’s fifty bucks. “I have an allowance to administer for you. I’m to give you some cash as and when. Though who knows how they expect you to spend anything if you aren’t supposed to leave this place . . . I’ll tell them you’ve been fending off boredom with shopping online.”
“Thanks, Aunt Sheri.”
I stuff the cash inside my phone case and my phone vibrates in my hand as I do so. It’s a text from the most recently added number to my contact list.
SAVANNAH: Hey girly, we’re outside the gate. Do we come in or do you come out? I’m too poor to know how these things work LOL.
“Oh. They’re here,” I tell Sheri to appease her curious gaze. “Can you open the gate to let them in? Or how do I leave?”
To be fair to Savannah, even I don’t know how this works around here. Back home, the security gates around our property are controlled by fingerprint access, the highest tech possible.
“Oh! Of course – the gate. We’re having some technical difficulties with the remotes at the moment, so you’ll need to open it manually from the inside like I did earlier. The big button on the control panel on the left,” Sheri explains, then rocks back and forth on her heels. “Mila, if there’s alcohol at this party, promise me you won’t drink.”
“After those headlines from Thursday night? No, thanks.” I’m trying to joke, but a pang of shame sears through my chest. There’s actually a video of me throwing up all over the TMZ website. And the images circling around the magazines are just as gross. I’ve learned my lesson – no more “experimenting”.
Sheri frowns and says quietly, “Just remember who you are.”
Ugh. The mere sound of those words has me clenching my fists by my side. I get it – I’m off to a tailgate party with strangers who have zero loyalty to me, but surely no one will care enough to go out of their way to talk to a journalist or sell photos to some sleazy celeb site? All things Everett Harding must be pretty boring by now to kids who’ve grown up in his hometown. I bet everyone is sick of hearing the name.
“And you’ll need the code for the gate for when you get back! There’s a keypad on the outside – take a note of this code,” Sheri says quickly as I’m moving toward the steps. She gives me a string of numbers that I punch into the notes app on my phone.
“Okay, got it. Bye!”
I run down the porch steps and do an awkward jog toward the looming gate in the distance – if I were to walk, I’d feel rude for making Savannah and Myles wait so long. When I reach the gate, I spot the control panel, open it up, then push the button that seems the most obvious – the giant green one. A loud, long buzz rings as the electric churns and the gates move. I retreat, allowing them to open wide, revealing me to the outside world as though I’m something special. Truly embarrassing.
Outside, a truck is idling. The black paintwork, most likely freshly washed and waxed for tonight, glistens under the spotlights that shine down from the walls. The windows are all tinted black and Savannah lowers hers from the backseat.
“Hop in!” she says, beaming.
I dash around the back of the truck and climb in the other side, careful not to scuff the paintwork with my sneakers. I’m not sure Myles would be happy if I damaged his car.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I apologize. I’m not sure how long they were sitting out here before Savannah texted, but I hope it wasn’t a while. I pull on my seatbelt and check out Savannah’s outfit to ensure I’m dressed appropriately.
I’m wearing a pair of ripped jean shorts, white Nikes, and a crop top. I straightened my hair and applied a generous amount of makeup, my lips sticky from the gloss. Luckily, Savannah is almost identical, except her hair is loosely curled and she’s wearing a denim mini skirt.
“We just got here, don’t worry,” Myles says, and it’s only when I glance up to look at him that I realize he’s sitting in the passenger seat.
Which means he isn’t the one driving. This isn’t his truck.
“Uhhh . . .” I shoot Savannah a questioning look, then subtly point to whoever is behind the wheel. They haven’t turned around yet nor have they spoken.
“Oh!” Savannah says, bolting upright, as if suddenly remembering that introductions need to be made. “This is our cousin. Blake. And Blake, this is Mila Harding.” Savannah puts a slight emphasis on my last name, or maybe I’m imagining it.
I look up and catch the gaze of the driver in the rearview mirror. He’s watching me, brown eyes narrowed slightly, shining from the spotlights encircling the ranch. Then he twists in his seat and looks at me directly.
“Hi, Mila,” he says coolly. “Your first tailgate party, huh?”
“Yeah. They don’t really happen in LA.”
“Of course they don’t,” he deadpans, then turns back to face the road.
Unlike his strawberry blond relatives, Blake has dark features. His hair is a warm brown and naturally tousled, his eyes shadowed beneath thick brows. His face is angular, his jawline sharp, and he seems much more aloof than his friendly cousins.
I swallow and lean back against the seat, suddenly aware of my heartbeat. I can feel my skin tingling. Off to a tailgate party with strangers . . . But this is what normal teenagers in Fairview do, right? Except, as my parents so often remind me, I’m not a normal teenager.
“Let’s head over and show Mila some reality then,” Blake says, and he bumps up the music a little and sets off down the quiet roads away from the ranch. There’s something slightly off with his tone. Mocking. Something that if I wasn’t so nervous I’d ask him to explain.
Instead, I let it slide.
The music choice isn’t really what I’d expect, because instead of R&B we’re listening to acoustic country. Not exactly the kind of tunes to get us into the party vibe, but it’s chill and relaxing as the sky continues to darken outside the tinted windows. The sunset has fully disappeared now.
Myles and Blake talk between the two of them, so Savannah turns to me for our own conversation in the backseat. However, every once in a while, my eyes wander to the boys in the front, observing Blake’s hands on the wheel, Myles’s more animated gestures and their unfamiliar profiles as they turn toward each other while speaking.
“Are you excited?” Savannah asks, tucking her hair behind her ear. That’s how I notice the funky earrings she’s wearing – dangling horses.
“Nervous,” I admit.
“You’ll maybe remember some people from our elementary class,” she says in an effort to put me at ease. Considering I barely remembered Savannah, my best friend, I highly doubt I’ll remember any of the others in our class. “There’ll be some people from the grade below, and some from above, like Myles and Blake.”
“How many people will be there?”
Savannah smirks, then rolls her eyes. “We’re in Fairview. Like, twenty of us.”
“Oh,” I say, staring down at my Nikes.
A small crowd is even worse. A small crowd means it’s harder to blend into the background. A small crowd means everyone will most likely sit together and be part of one big easy conversation. Until right now, I was imagining plenty of parked trucks, dance music blaring through the darkened countryside, and lots of different people milling around and doing their own thing. Instead, I realize this “party” is actually more of a casual get-together. Maybe huge parties don’t exist in a town as small as Fairview.
I glance back over at Savannah. “Wait. Are we going to a sports game or something? Isn’t that what tailgate parties are for?” It’s summer, so there’s no football. Maybe we’re going to a baseball game?
“That’s the tradition,” Savannah says, “but they’re fun to host on your own, anyway. You’ll love it.”
I hope so. I admit, I like the idea of trying new things on my own without my parents as my entourage, because I’ve never had freedom like this before. Of course, I’ve had some amazing experiences, like walking the red carpet of the Oscars, but maybe it’s time to branch out and do things for myself. Maybe this little break away from home will be good for me. A chance to be my own person without Ruben ordering me around, a chance to figure out who exactly Mila Harding is. And she isn’t just Everett Harding’s daughter. She has to be more than that.
Doesn’t she?
I stare out of the window, watching Fairview unravel around me. There’s a whole lot of nothing. Just the open road and the trees that circle around us with the occasional flicker of light from an oncoming car. With the quiet musings of Myles and Blake and the lull of music, it almost feels as though we’re off on a road trip. It’s also kind of eerie, all this emptiness. There’s barely any other cars, only the occasional house, and definitely no other people.
I’m not sure I like how alone Fairview makes me feel, so disconnected from the rest of the world. But maybe, I tell myself, that disconnect will turn out to be a good thing.
After five minutes or so, I begin to spot streetlights which can only signify that we’ve left the deserted countryside behind and are entering the Fairview metropolitan area – or at least whatever sort of downtown area a town like Fairview might have.
“Do you remember anything about living here?” Myles enquires.
Blake catches my eye in that rearview mirror again, awaiting my answer. It makes me wonder just how much Savannah has filled him in on . . . But given that Blake has just picked me up from the famous Harding Estate, I’m sure he can figure out for himself who I am.
I sit up a little and squint outside. We’re heading down a long stretch of road that’s home to enough familiar establishments to reassure me that Fairview, Tennessee is more than just some town out in the sticks. There’s the usual McDonald’s, a Dunkin’ Donuts – oh, thank God, because I’m addicted to their hazelnut iced coffees – and a Walmart, from what I see in the dark. A street sign lets me know that this is Fairview Boulevard. It’s a bit livelier, with more traffic and a few pedestrians on the sidewalks, but still – I remember none of it. I’m so used to LA now that small-town life tends to feel too restricted, though I’m sure it has its perks.
“Not really,” I finally answer, shaking my head. “I left when I was super young.”
“You probably think we’re just a bunch of country bumpkins,” Savannah says with a chuckle. “But I swear it’s not that bad here. We have high-speed internet these days and everything.”
Myles and Blake stifle a laugh. I get that Savannah is just kidding, but it makes me kind of paranoid that they all believe I’m some west coast city girl who’s going to shrivel up and die out here. I was born here; I can survive in Tennessee. Hell, I’ll maybe even like it.
“Blake, drive by Fairview Elementary first,” Savannah instructs, leaning forward to tap him excitedly on the shoulder. “Let Mila see.”
On the left, we pass a sign for Fairview High School, and on the right is the elementary school. We pull into the small parking lot and Blake slows the truck to a crawl, circling around and shining his headlights upon the red stone building. There’s an air of expectancy in the car, like they’re all waiting for the nostalgia to hit me.
“Do you recognize any of it?” Savannah asks, eyes wide and encouraging. She’s like a puppy that’s finally got its favorite chew toy back – she seems so happy to have me around. “We used to play tetherball in the yard allllll the time!”
I take a good look at the building. It’s familiar in a déjà vu kind of way – I know I’ve seen this before, but I can’t really associate many memories with it, and I certainly don’t recall playing tetherball with Savannah Bennett. I can barely remember the house we lived in, let alone the school I attended.
“Sorry,” I say with a hopeless shrug. Maybe Savannah wants me to remember so that I feel like less of a stranger to her.
“Well, that was pointless,” Blake mutters, then pulls back out onto the road.
I wonder where this tailgate party is being held, but the answer becomes obvious when Blake cuts across the road to the high school. It’s summer, school is closed, there’s no one around, but still . . . A tailgate party on school property?
We draw closer to a parking lot out by the sports fields where a handful of other trucks is already parked, and a small bunch of people is milling around. There’s a girl standing in one of the truck beds, setting up a huge pair of speakers on the truck’s roof, and another guy is kneeling by the ground, rifling through a cooler.
My palms feel clammy as it becomes real to me that I’m going to have to talk to all of these people at some point. I’m usually a sociable person, but it helps that everyone I interact with back home already knows what my deal is. Here, though? Here, I wonder who knows and who doesn’t. A stranger wouldn’t be able to figure out who I am just by looking at me. It’s only Dad’s super fans and the press who pay me any attention, so to the rest of the world I look like any other teenager . . . Except this is Fairview, Dad’s quaint little hometown, which I’m sure must mean the locals here know all about us Hardings. But so far, the only people who know I’m Everett Harding’s daughter are Savannah, Myles and Blake. No one else knows I’ve arrived here from the Harding Estate tonight.
Maybe I can pass myself off as someone else. A new girl in town whose parents have bought a home here . . . Normal. Nothing gossip-worthy.
We park in the next available gap, adding to the wide circle that all of the trucks are starting to form. Blake kills the engine and throws off his seatbelt, already sliding out of the vehicle.
“Nervous?” Myles asks in the new silence that has formed inside the truck. When I look up at him, his cheeky smile is directed at me. He’s kind of goofy, but in an attractive way. He playfully purses his lips. “Don’t worry. They’ll like you.”
“You’ll fit right in,” Savannah adds.
Really?
The Bennett siblings climb out of the truck and I follow suit, tugging at the belt loops of my jean shorts to keep my hands busy. My naval piercing shines under the lights, the aquamarine gemstone glittering – my birthstone. My parents still don’t know about it, but for once they aren’t around to see it. There’s a kind of thrill in knowing my parents are a thousand miles away and have zero control over me for however long I’m here. It lets me do things like flash my piercing to the world without fear of repercussions.
“I like that.”
My eyes slide over to find Blake acknowledging my piercing with a clipped nod.
I hug my arms around myself and look him up and down in return. I feel oddly weird about Blake noticing, mostly because I fear he’s making fun of me. I let his remarks in the truck slide only because I’m trying to make some friends, but he strikes me as being . . . Well, maybe not the nicest person around here. Not as welcoming as his cousins, and definitely harder to read.
Blake scoffs at my protective stance. “Why get a piercing if you’re going to hide it?”
He turns away, moving to the back of the truck to help Myles lower the tailgate. I flip a strand of hair away from my face in irritation as he effortlessly springs up into the truck bed and hauls different items around, slabs of muscle shifting in his arms.
Luckily, Savannah appears by my side as a distraction. She grasps my wrist. “Let’s go say hi to Tori.”
I let her guide me along through the circle of trucks. A couple more pull up, filling in the remaining gaps, and everyone gets set up. People are lowering their tailgates, dragging out chairs and coolers and snacks. I spot someone unwrapping disposable grills and lining up packets of hot-dog buns on the bed of their truck. The atmosphere is lively, and I enjoy the buzz of voices that gradually grows louder and louder. Everyone seems to be in good spirits.
“Tori, come down here for a sec,” Savannah says as she brings me to a halt by the truck with the girl who’s setting up the speakers.
“Hang on,” Tori says over her shoulder, fiddling with notches on the speakers with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. After a second, music echoes through the speakers, a nice R&B groove, which is a welcome change from the country we were listening to on the drive over here. She lowers the volume to a respectable level, then spins around with a proud grin plastered over her face. “There. Call me the tech wizard.”
“I need to introduce you to someone,” Savannah tells her.
Tori jumps down from the truck, pulls Savannah into a hug, then faces me, arm still slung around Savannah’s shoulder. So, they’re best friends.
“This is Mila,” Savannah explains. “She was in our class in grade school.”
“Ohhhh,” Tori says with a knowing wink. Her hair is dyed a bold pink that pops brightly against her bronze skin and there’s a stud piercing in her nose. “Mila Harding. Hey, girl. You’re back.” She steps forward and draws me into a tight hug, enveloping me in a luscious scent of perfume, and I awkwardly embrace her in return even though I have no recollection of ever knowing her.
Is this how it’s going to be? My childhood peers can all remember me because of course they’ll be well aware that once they went to school with the kid of an A-lister, but I can’t quite recall any of them because in the last decade my childhood memories have been somehow overtaken by more exciting, glamorous ones. I can remember every peculiar detail of meeting the Kardashians, the super-luxe thrill of taking a private jet to Paris. But I’m struggling to unearth memories of Savannah and Tori from first grade, of playing tetherball in the schoolyard. How shallow does that make me?
For a second, I feel guilty. But it’s not like I forgot my life here on purpose. I was just too young.
“Yeah, I’m back,” I tell Tori with an unconvincing smile.
“For good?”
“At least for the foreseeable future.”
Tori and Savannah exchange a look, using silent communication as their secret best-friend language, one that perhaps I’d understand if I’d actually grown up with them. But I didn’t.
Suddenly, a loud clattering echo rings out around the parking lot. I startle at the sound, then relax when I look over my shoulder to see Blake standing in the back of his truck, banging barbecue tongs against the floor of the truck bed. The buzz of voices trails off and everyone instinctively congregates in a semi-circle around Blake. Tori turns down the music to play as background noise.
“All right, guys, thanks for coming to the June tailgate,” Blake says, flopping down onto the truck bed and hanging his legs over the edge.
I haven’t figured out much of the group’s dynamics yet, other than the fact that Savannah and Tori are obviously best friends, but it seems Blake is the one in charge. He totally seems like the type who would be.
“Y’all can thank Barney for the cookout this time. Tori’s got the music. If anyone’s got beer, just don’t be a jackass and don’t drive home,” Blake tells the listening crowd, like a homeroom teacher delivering the morning announcements. It’s kind of fascinating how civilized this all is. “And some of you might have already noticed we have a new face here tonight.”
Oh, God, no.
Obviously, everyone has already noticed, because their gazes have all landed on me without Blake even having to point me out. I shrink into myself, hunching my shoulders and wishing I had a jacket to shield myself behind. Dad might love having all eyes on him, but I hate it.
“This is Mila,” Blake says, his twang clear and pronounced over the vowels in my name. His eyes lock on mine and I glower back, cheeks flaring with heat. I swear, just for a split second, he smirks as though he’s getting a kick out of embarrassing me like this. Then he blinks and looks away. “So, everybody make sure you make Miss Mila welcome.”
Miss Mila? I grit my teeth and glare at him even harder, wishing I could scorch him with the power of my eyes alone. What exactly is this guy’s problem? Because it sounds like he’s making fun of me for being here, which is ridiculous considering he doesn’t even know me. I only met him two minutes ago! Maybe I should have emphasized back in the truck that I’d like to fly under the radar, because this is not maintaining a low profile.
There’s a couple whoops and hell yeahs as everyone returns to their conversations, though I notice a few lingering stares . . . Blake might not have said my last name, but I don’t think it will take a genius to make the connection.
Blake leans back on his hands, still perched on the tailgate of his truck. His eyes are on me again, focused through the crowd, lips curving into a crooked smile. There is devious amusement dancing in his gaze. There is no way he’s just being friendly by introducing me. I can see it written all over his face, the pleasure he takes in making me uncomfortable . . .
I glower straight back.