Pete Milano's Guide to Being a Movie Star Read online

  “How much money will you make?”

  “Will you meet anybody famous?”

  “Are you going to quit school?”

  “Are you even allowed to quit school?”

  The questions just kept coming, and people were surrounding me, pushing in closer.

  “That’s enough!” shouted Mareli, barging through the crowd. “Leave him alone!” She was trying to get to me by pushing people out of the way. I guess she took the job of girlfriend pretty seriously.

  By the time Mareli reached me, everyone else had backed up enough for her to look me right in the eye. “What’s going on? Is this about the audition?”

  “You bet,” I said.

  Mareli looked around. “Well, everyone seems to be celebrating and congratulating you. So what happened? Tell us! Did you really get a part in a big Hollywood movie?”

  I looked at her, and then stared out into the crowd of expectant faces.

  “Yes,” I said. “I got a part in a big Hollywood movie.”

  Noooooooooo!

  You know how I told you earlier that I always told the truth, no matter what? I lied.

  There’s a first time for everything, right?

  People immediately started congratulating me by grabbing me, pulling at me, and smacking me on my back and on my head.

  “OW!” I said. “Easy!” But there was no stopping them. It was weird. They were treating me like a big star, and I hadn’t even done anything yet. I always thought it was ridiculous when famous people complained about being famous. But all of a sudden, I kind of knew what they meant.

  After a few minutes, I finally pulled myself out of the crowd and went into the bathroom to try and catch my breath by myself. Of course the door opened two seconds later, and Charlie Joe came in.

  “Wow,” he said. “You’re really going to be in a movie. This is unbelievable. This is almost as crazy as when Hannah Spivero started going out with Jake Katz.”

  “This is actually crazier,” I told Charlie Joe, but since Hannah had broken his heart when she decided she liked Jake, there was no convincing him.

  “They really told you you’re going to be in the movie for sure? Right there at the audition?”

  I looked down. “Yup.”

  “Amazing, dude,” Charlie Joe said. “Congrats.”

  “Thanks.”

  Charlie Joe left, and I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking about what I’d just done.

  So I told a small fib? So I left out the part about them saying they’d call me soon? So what? No big deal, right?

  Wrong.

  12

  THE WAIT

  BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T CALL soon.

  Or email soon.

  Or phone or email at all.

  Day after day, week after week, it was the same thing: I’d race home, sprint to the phone, check the messages, sprint to the computer, check the email, corner Sylvia and make sure she didn’t erase an email by mistake, sit in my room trying to figure out how my life went so wrong, beg my parents to call Pudding Productions and find out what was taking so long, get in a big fight with my mom because she told me calling was a bad idea, and then try to figure out something else to do to take my mind off the whole nightmare.

  At school, people kept asking me when I was going to begin shooting the movie.

  “Soon,” I’d say.

  At soccer practice, my coach asked me if they’d figured out who was playing the princess yet.

  “Any day now,” I said.

  And on and on.

  Finally, after about a month, I couldn’t take it anymore. I found Iris’s business card and dialed the number. A girl who sounded about twelve years old answered the phone, “This is Pudding.”

  “Uh … hello, is Iris Galt there?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Pete Milano.”

  “Hold please.”

  Five seconds … ten seconds … twenty seconds … forty seconds …

  “Mr. Milano?” It was the twelve-year-old girl again.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, but Ms. Galt is in a meeting. Can I take a message?”

  “When will she be out of the meeting? I’d really love to talk to her. I tried out for the movie Sammy and the Princess and they said they were going to call me soon but I haven’t heard anything.”

  “I see. Well, as I’m sure you know, it’s very, very difficult to get a part in a movie. Many people auditioned. Have you checked with your agent?”

  “I don’t know what an agent is.”

  “I see. Okay, well I’m sure you’ll be hearing something very soon. Good luck.”

  And she hung up.

  I stared at the phone.

  My sister stared at me. “What happened?” she asked. “Did you get the part?”

  I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to scream, “YOU’RE SO ANNOYING! STOP ASKING ME THAT ALL THE TIME!!!” But I didn’t. Because I knew that it wasn’t her fault. But still, she was my little sister, and sometimes little sisters are there just so you can get mad, when you need to get mad at somebody.

  So I just said quietly, “What do you think? Does it look like I got the part? Just leave me alone.” And then I went to my room to think about how I was going to be able to deal with just being normal, non-movie-star Pete Milano again.

  13

  SF/10B

  “I LIED!” I yelled one day at lunch, when I couldn’t take it anymore.

  Everyone stared at me.

  “I lied,” I repeated. “I didn’t get the part. They never even called back. So you guys can stop asking me about it.”

  “But you never lie,” Mareli said. “It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

  “I guess I do now,” I said.

  By this point—a couple of months after the audition—I wanted to pretend like the whole thing had never happened. But kids kept asking me about it, and so finally, I blurted out the truth.

  At first, people were kind of mad; but eventually, they just felt sorry for me. Everyone knew how embarrassed I was. So then, people started being almost extra nice. Fake nice. Even Ms. Ferrell, my guidance counselor who had told me about a thousand times over the years to straighten out my act, was going out of her way to be superfriendly. It was almost like people wanted the old, obnoxious Pete Milano back—but I wasn’t quite ready to do that. I was still recovering from what seemed like a weird dream.

  Things were finally, practically back to normal on the day that Timmy McGibney and I walked home after school, turned the corner, and saw a giant limousine parked in front of the restaurant.

  My eyes jumped out of my head.

  “Holy smokes,” Timmy said. “What the heck is that?”

  I didn’t answer, because I was too busy running up the street, trying to control the pounding in my heart. Maybe the weird dream wasn’t a weird dream after all. Now it was real life, and it was almost as if I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

  I ran up to the car and stared at it. The license plate read, SF/10B.

  SF = Shana Fox?

  “No way,” I whispered. “No way.”

  “No way what?” Timmy whined. “What’s going on? Tell me!”

  Could it actually be possible that Shana had come to my house in this crazy car to tell me herself? To ask me to be her costar? But what did 10B mean?

  I sprinted upstairs, Timmy right behind me.

  The first person I saw was my mom, standing in the kitchen.

  “Is she here?” I gasped, out of breath. “Is Shana here?”

  “Shana?” said my mom.

  “Shana who?” said Timmy.

  I burst into the kitchen and looked around. No Shana. But we did have a guest in our house. He was a little old man, wearing one of those really colorful Hawaiian shirts, a tiny little golfer’s hat, and superwhite pants. He was sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of tea.

  “Hello, young fella,” the old guy said. “So sorry I’m not Shana. I completely understa
nd your disappointment.”

  “Who are you?” I blurted out. “Is that your car? What does SF/10B stand for?”

  “Shana who?” Timmy whispered. “Shana Fox? Are you guys talking about Shana Fox? Seriously?”

  “Shush,” I hissed.

  The old man got up. I could hear his bones creak and crack as he stretched to his full height—which, believe it or not, was barely taller than me! But even though he was old, and short, and creaky, and dressed funny, there was something about his eyes. Something super intense. Something that said power.

  “SF stands for my initials, and 10B stands for my worldwide gross.”

  We all stared at him, confused.

  He laughed. “10 billion dollars, kid. Which is how much my movies have made around the world.”

  And suddenly I realized right away who he was.

  “You’re—”

  “Sheldon Felden,” he said. “Happy to know ya.”

  He stuck out a wrinkled hand, and I shook it. His hyperpowerful eyes twinkled.

  “Welcome to the movies.”

  Act Two

  CAMERA!

  SAMMY AND THE PRINCESS, SCENE 1

  FADE IN:

  EXT. IN FRONT OF A DORM AT A BOARDING SCHOOL—DAY

  THE MOVIE OPENS AS SAMMY POWELL, AROUND 14 YEARS OLD, IS GETTING OUT OF THE CAR, READY FOR HIS FIRST DAY AT A PRIVATE BOARDING SCHOOL. IT’S A FANCY SCHOOL, WHICH MAKES SAMMY, WHOSE FAMILY ISN’T RICH, A LITTLE NERVOUS. SAMMY’S PARENTS ARE UNLOADING THE CAR.

  DAD

  Sammy, a little help here?

  SAMMY (Staring at the other kids)

  In a minute, Dad.

  MOM

  Sammy, I know you’re nervous … jeez, I’d be nervous too if I were you. But this place is truly amazing. Just the fact that you’re able to go here … and get a scholarship … we’re just so proud of you, honey.

  SAMMY

  I miss my friends. These kids look … weird.

  DAD

  Don’t be ridiculous. They look smart! Ready for success!

  SAMMY

  Whatever. (Gets a text) Grandma wants to know what the kids are like. (He types) “Preppie heaven, Grandma.”

  JUST THEN, A COUPLE OF KIDS WALK UP TO THE CAR

  KID 1 (To Sammy)

  What kind of car is that?

  SAMMY

  Uh,… it’s like a Dodge or something, I guess.

  KID 2

  Man, I didn’t know they let cars like that in this place.

  SAMMY

  Huh?

  BUT THE KIDS SNICKER AND RUN AWAY

  MOM

  What was that about, honey?

  SAMMY

  Oh, nothing.

  BY NOW THE CAR IS COMPLETELY UNPACKED

  DAD

  Ready to head inside, son?

  IT’S THE LAST THING SAMMY IS READY FOR

  SAMMY (Sarcastic)

  Can’t wait, Dad. Cannot WAIT.

  14

  THE NIGHT BEFORE

  SUNDAY NIGHTS ARE ALWAYS packed at Milano’s Pizza and Pasta. My dad says it’s because by the end of the weekend, parents are tired of running around with their kids and they just want to go out and relax and not have to worry about things like cooking and cleaning up.

  The funny thing is, we NEVER eat out as a family on Sunday nights. Because my parents are too busy feeding everyone else.

  But this Sunday was different. It was the night before my first day working on the movie, and my parents decided it was time to celebrate with a big dinner at the corner table. They said I could bring three friends, too, so I brought Mareli, Charlie Joe, and Timmy. My sister Sylvia was there, too, being embarrassing as usual.

  “My parents own this restaurant,” she said to anyone who would listen.

  Even though it was supposed to be a big family celebration, Mom and Dad were working pretty much the whole time. They were happiest when they were running around like maniacs. I guess you kind of have to be like that if you want to be in the restaurant business.

  “I want to make a toast,” said my dad, during one of the few times he was actually sitting at the table. “To my son, the actor. I always knew he had the kind of personality that would get him noticed one day. I just thought it would be by the police, not some hotshot Hollywood movie producer.” We all laughed. My dad raised his glass of beer, and we all raised our glasses of root beer. “So here’s to Petey. May he become such a big success, that one day I never have to make another pineapple and hummus pizza.” My dad shook his head. He was an old-fashioned guy, and he always had a hard time with the crazy stuff people were putting on pizza these days.

  Everybody cheered, “To Pete!” except Charlie Joe, who cheered, “To Petey!”

  “Don’t you dare,” I told him.

  My friends had begged me to bring the script to dinner, but Mr. Felden had told me I wasn’t allowed to show it to anyone. I brought the first couple of pages anyway.

  “Let’s read it out loud,” Charlie Joe suggested.

  “Awesome idea,” Timmy added.

  Charlie Joe winked. “I want to see the magic. The Milano magic.”

  “Cut it out you guys,” I said. Secretly I was worried: What if there is no magic?

  “Come ON,” Sylvia whined, and at that point I knew there was no way out of it.

  So we did the scene. My parents pretended to be Sammy’s parents, which was kind of weird. The annoying kids were played by Charlie Joe and Timmy. Sylvia whined that there was no part for her, so I let her read the directions.

  When I got to the line that said, “Preppie heaven, Grandma,” everyone laughed, as if I actually knew what I was doing. Which was a good thing, since I was totally freaked out that I had NO idea what I was doing, and when I got to the movie set, everyone was going to realize they’d made a horrible mistake.

  When I said the last line—“Cannot WAIT”—everybody started clapping.

  “All right!” Charlie Joe said. “Hollywood look out! Here comes Petey Milano!”

  I shot him a look.

  But when Mareli hugged me, I thought for the first time that maybe I could actually pull this off.

  Then she pulled out a small package. “We got you something.”

  “Are you guys kidding?” I said. “You totally didn’t have to do this.”

  Mareli blushed. “We wanted to.”

  “Awesome, thanks.” I ripped open the package—inside was the coolest pair of sunglasses I’d ever seen in my life.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  “Whoa,” I said. “These are supersweet.”

  “You kids are wonderful,” my mom said, her smile a mile wide.

  “Thanks everyone,” I said. “I mean, seriously. Thanks so much. You guys are the best.”

  “It was Mareli’s idea,” Charlie Joe said.

  I looked at her. “Seriously?” But she was looking at the ground, smiling.

  Timmy grabbed them out of my hand and put them on. “Yo, maybe I should be an actor!”

  “Dude, every movie star has a sweet pair of shades,” Charlie Joe told me. “It’s part of the deal.”

  “Nah,” I said, “I’m just a doofus who walked into the right coffee shop. I got lucky, that’s it. For real.”

  “You’re not just a doofus, and you didn’t just get lucky,” my dad said. “You’re talented. I can tell just from how you read that short scene. You’ll be fantastic.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said, feeling warm inside. There’s something about when your dad says something nice about you—I don’t know what it is, but it’s the best feeling in the world.

  Mareli took the sunglasses from Timmy and handed them to me. “Try them on.”

  “This is crazy,” I said. But I put them on. Then I looked at my reflection in the window.

  And you know what?

  I looked good.

  15

  MRS. SLEEP

  “SO, MR. MILANO, are you ready to become Eastport Middle School’s first movie star?”


  Mrs. Sleep stared down at me, and I shifted in my seat. That’s what kids do when they’re in the principal’s office, right? They shift in their seats.

  For once, though, I wasn’t in the principal’s office for something I did wrong, like throwing a Frisbee at Eliza Collins’s butt or trying to drink from the water fountain with a straw.

  Nope. I was there for something I did right. I got a part in a movie! Now Mrs. Sleep wanted to make sure it wouldn’t disrupt my schoolwork.

  “Are you?” she repeated.

  “I guess so, Mrs. Sleep,” I answered nervously. She was the one person in the world who actually scared me a little bit.

  “You mean you know so,” said Ms. Ferrell, my guidance counselor, who was there, too.

  “Right. I know so.”

  Mrs. Sleep adjusted her glasses, which were so thick and magnified her eyes looked like an alien’s. “Excellent. Well, I have some more good news. Because of the unusual circumstances of this situation, I’m going to grant you a unique opportunity.”

  My mom was sitting behind me, and I could hear her shifting in her seat. That’s how scary Mrs. Sleep was—she could even make adults shift in their seats!

  “A unique opportunity?” I said.

  “Indeed.” A fly buzzed around the room, and Mrs. Sleep swatted at it. I think she got it, too. “Mr. Milano, as you are unable to complete your class attendance requirements because of this film shoot, you will be taking on a special project all your own.”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of project?”

  “I’m pleased to tell you that once your work on the film is completed, you will be asked to write a special paper on the experience, which will be presented to myself and Ms. Ferrell, as well as your language arts teacher, Mrs. Albone.”

  “A special paper?” I sputtered. “How special?”