#lexieproject

***If you’re just starting Lexie or wish to go to a different episode, head on over here. 

I sit in the Good Morning New York dressing room, dazed.

I did it. My final interview.

I talked about why I quit my show, the lawsuit against MetaReel (I won, but nothing involving Jeremy feels like winning), and why VitaLite dropped me as their spokesperson.

"I like cheeseburgers and milkshakes and Oreos. I'm not going to stop enjoying my life just so that I can fit into a pair of size two skinny jeans," I say.

"Were you surprised that VitaLite dropped you?" asks Zoe Collins, the host.

I shake my head. "They wanted me to lose weight and lose it fast. I wanted me to be happy. No hard feelings."

"Are you leaving reality TV for good?" she asks.

"I think nineteen years of being TV Lexie is enough." I grin. "My life made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

I'm by myself, sitting at a mirror lined with little white lights. A star's dressing table. Makeup covers the surface. There's a half-finished skinny latte, a bottle of water. Mints. My cellphone with two missed calls, both from Chloe, who's waiting for me to come meet her at her apartment. I slowly take off the black mod dress Noelle got for me from her favorite vintage store. I replace it with jeans and a T-shirt. I put on a baseball cap and pull it low over my eyes. When I leave the building, I will be Lexie Baker, former reality TV star. This Lexie doesn't want her picture in Celeb Weekly or Stargazer. She wants to play tourist for the day.

I feel this strange mixture of elation and emptiness. For the first time in my life, my goal isn't to be seen and heard as much as possible. I'm not trying to get on the cover of magazines, though I know I'll be on several next week. Since the press conference MetaReel held about me leaving the show and winning the lawsuit, things have been crazy. But they're already dying down. Soon, my phone will stop ringing. I'll start losing followers on Twitter. I won't have a publicist. No one will tell me where to go, who to be. And one thing's for certain: most people will forget who Lexie Baker is.

I'm not totally okay with that, not gonna lie. My whole life I've wanted to be famous. Now, I'm moving behind the scenes and that's a hard transition. It reminds me of the years when our family's show went on hiatus. I hated not having cameras at the house, having to pretend to be a normal high school girl. When Baker's Dozen went back on the air, I was happier than I'd ever been in my life—and even more ecstatic when I landed The Lexie Project. In my world, I had it all.

It's weird to willingly throw away the fame, the parties, the way my name was always on the list. But if I'm going to really find a place for myself in Hollywood—in the world—I need people to forget the Lexie Baker they saw on TV.

There's a soft knock at the door and I throw it open—I know who it is.

"Hey, you," I say. I pull Liam closer and we kiss until someone coughs behind him.

"Ms. Baker?" a PA says. "Your car is ready."

The SUV has tinted windows and we keep them up until we're on the west side of Manhattan. Then we roll them down and watch the city fly by. Chloe and Patrick live in an area called Morningside Heights, near Columbia. As we stop in front of their apartment, a classic brick New York building with fire escapes along the front, Liam groans.

"You ready for this?" he asks.

They live in a fifth-floor walk-up that leaves us breathless by the time we reach the front door.

I shake my head. "My sister's loaded. You'd think she'd spring for a place with an elevator."

What feels like forever later, Chloe opens the door before we can knock. "I thought I heard lots of panting," she says, grinning.

"You heard right," I say as we step inside.

They have a pretty big apartment, by New York standards. Two bedrooms, lots of light—even a skylight. There's a big drafting table in the living room for Patrick. The wall next to it is covered with diagrams and sketches of buildings, and half their kitchen table is taken over by a model he's working on for a class. Indian tapestries and other things they got on their travels are scattered everywhere—a leather shadow puppet from Cambodia, masks, wood carvings and dozens of photos. It's delightfully chaotic.

"How'd it go?" Benny asks. He's lying on the couch, reading Rolling Stone.

"Good, I think." He lifts up his feet as I plop down next to him, then rests them on my lap. "I'm glad it's over."

"Now for some sightseeing!" Chloe says, clapping her hands like a little kid. "Who's hungry?"

Bens, Liam, and I raise our hands.

We spend the day in the city and no one recognizes us. We stuff ourselves at Joe's Pizza in the Village, ride the Staten Island Ferry so we can see the Statue of Liberty. We rent paddle boats in Central Park and go to the top of the Empire State Building. We drink loads of coffee and, when Patrick's finished with class, we get ready for a night on the town. Liam's the only one of us who can get into a bar so we spend all night walking around the city, dancing in eighteen-and-over clubs, stopping in at all-night diners for more coffee. We eat cheesecake at Junior's and pierogis at Veselka. We laugh and talk for hours and hours.

"So this is what it's like," I say to Liam as we gaze at the city from a small riverside park in Brooklyn. The early dawn sunlight stretches across the tops of the buildings, making them glow and shimmer.

"What?" he asks.

"Real life."

He smiles. "Pretty much, yeah." He slips an arm around my shoulders and I lean against him, content. "What do you think?"

"I think I like it."

***

My face fills the screen and the girl I see is pretty and happy. Her eyes shine, her skin glows. She laughs a lot—real laughs that start in the belly. She is six years old, then ten, then fifteen, then eighteen, nineteen. These are home videos, not anything shot by MetaReel.

"I just want the world to see the real me," my voice says over the images. "To know the real Lexie Baker."

The music fades, the screen goes dark, then the credits roll.

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER

Lexie Baker

It took deciding not to play the Hollywood game that led me here, to my big screen debut right in the heart of Hollywood. Ironic, much?

Benny and Matt holler and whistle. Chloe and Patrick jump up for a standing ovation. Noe calls for an encore.

Liam leans closer to me. We're sitting in the back of the small theater we rented out to screen the documentary for our friends—and Liam's professor, who's sitting smack dab in the center. There are about fifty people here in all. It's the first time I've seen the documentary like this. Goosebumps cover my skin, tears drip down my face.

"What do you think?" Liam asks.

I've just watched my life in ninety minutes. There is no manufactured drama here, nothing but a real girl in what I'm realizing is a truly extraordinary situation.

I have survived so much and there is a whole lifetime ahead of me. The thought of the future, of everything it holds, fills up the holes inside me left by MetaReel.

"It's everything I hoped it would be," I say. "You're amazing."

"I think I've actually proven that you're amazing," he says, nuzzling my neck.

I can feel Liam's heart beating hard in his chest—this thing means as much to him as it does to me.

"He's going to love it," I whisper, squeezing his hand.

"God, I hope so."

If his professor signs off on this, Liam is officially done with grad school and ready to devote himself full time to our production company. I've been spending the past few months scouting for good stories to tell, with help from Chloe, who's now part of our crazy scheme. It's kinda fun telling true stories, she'd said to me just last week. We certainly have the experience. The job of a producer is hard, but worth every second. We get to call the shots, from what we make to how we make it. Liam's directing our documentary, but Chloe and I are the ones making the choices from what story we're trying to tell to which subjects we interview.

Liam stands and meets his professor as he comes up the aisle. I stay where I'm sitting, pretending to be busy with my phone. This is Liam's time to shine.

"Excellent work, Kim," the man says. I pretend I'm not eavesdropping as he holds out his hand and Liam shakes it.

"Thank you, Professor."

"You've got a lot of heart in this one—you see the difference, when you fall in love with the subject?"

Liam nods and I blush. I know his professor doesn't mean literally falling in love—he means having the utmost passion for the subject of your documentary. I could see the difference, too, between what Liam made and what MetaReel made. Liam is the only cameraman and producer who cared to show the real Lexie, but here's the secret: the only "real" Lexie out there in the world is standing right here. A camera can show you a lot, but it can't capture the whole of a person. If you've seen me on TV, you've only gotten a fraction of who I really am. And you know what? Maybe I don't care if you don't know who I really am. Because I do. And that's all that matters.

The professor pats Liam on the shoulder. "I'll see you at graduation."

After he leaves the theater, Liam raises his fists in victory and I do the same.

There's a party in the lobby—wine, cheese, that sort of thing. Afterwards, just our little group goes to the beach for a midnight bonfire. I have fun sitting back and watching everyone else, being the observer instead of the observed. Benny and Matt are walking along the shore, deep in conversation. They're not together—not yet—but they're hanging out again. Benny's been sober since his car accident—he goes to meetings and has a sponsor and everything. It's good to see him smile, to see the way they look at each other.

Patrick and Chloe are attached at the hip, as usual. He's drawing a building for her in the sky, his hands shaping stairs and towers. She follows along, a smile on her face. I think about everything Chloe went through to get to this place—a beach without cameras, a boy she's promised to spend the rest of her life with, endless possibilities.

"Lex—smile!" Noe says. She's sitting by the fire roasting marshmallows with Liam.

I glance her way, my lips turning up as the flash blinds me. I still love the camera, love staring into that dark eye and wondering what it sees. No matter how much I've changed, I think I always will.

Tonight the last episode of The Lexie Project aired while our documentary, Lexie In Focus, was playing. Though Ellen was super pissed I'd quit, we decided together to shoot an episode about family—where it all began.

I called my mom and she brought all the kids down to LA for a trip to Disneyland. Even Chloe and Bens came. You know that thing about Disneyland being the happiest place on Earth? On that day, it was. For once, MetaReel didn't interfere—the cameras were there, but we just did what we wanted, hung out, acted like a real family because we are a real family. When it was over, Ellen grabbed Ryan and had him shoot me in Hollywood Land, walking down the fake boulevard of stars. That will be the last shot of The Lexie Project: me, walking by myself in a fantasy land...and taking the first exit out.

"So," Chloe says, plopping down next to me, "inquiring minds want to know..." She holds up an imaginary mic and does her best Kaye Gibbons impression, "Is the Lexie Project really over?"

We called my show The Lexie Project because I was a reality TV reject who was hoping to be transformed into a Hollywood starlet. Though things certainly didn't go that way for me, I'm not the same Lexie I was when the show started. But this Lexie—the one sitting on the beach, the one who plans to be behind the camera instead of in front of it—I'm still trying to figure out exactly who she is. That's gonna take a some time.

"Or," Benny says, sitting across from me and holding up his own mic, "is it just getting started?"

***To start Lexie or to go to a different episode, head on over here. 

I wish I could hide in the court bathroom forever.

"Lex? Time to go back in," Benny calls from the doorway.

I lean my forehead against the cool metal of the bathroom stall. "Okay," I mumble. "Coming."

As soon as I go back in there I will hear Jeremy's verdict. I thought for sure he would plead guilty because of both Liam and MetaReel's tapes, but apparently he and his lawyer had other plans. I don't know how Jeremy could get up on that stand and lie. Yes, we played with her toys. No, I would never hurt a child. I had the urge to vomit when I heard him say that. I've never wanted to physically assault someone so much in my life. Even though it would mean having to touch him, I'd love to claw his face off, feel his skin under my fingernails.

Jeremy has a really good lawyer, a woman who looks like my mom, like she is a mom. A nice person. How could she defend someone like him? Cathy wiped the floor with her, though, especially because I went on the stand.

I wash my hands, then go out into the hallway. Benny, Liam, and Noe, are there waiting for me. Liam reaches for my hand and I cling to him. I wish I could just sit with them in the courtroom. We go back inside and it's freezing, the air conditioning on full blast since it's so unseasonably hot in LA right now. The courtroom's very 1970's: wood paneling, everything in different shades of brown. I sit down next to Cathy, making sure to keep my eyes on the judge. I refuse to look at Jeremy.

"We've got this," Cathy murmurs, patting my hand.

The judge calls the court into session and the room goes silent. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it: pound pound pound.

The judge turns to the head juror. "Have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, your honor," she says.

"Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?"

"Guilty, your honor."

The rest is a blur. The sentencing, the flashing cameras, the collective sigh of relief. Cathy is shaking my hand and tears are pouring down my face and then Benny's there, pulling me into his arms, crying just as hard as I am.

Ten years in prison.

No amount of time, no punishment, will make up for what Jeremy did to me. But him being in there, it's a start.

Noe insists we get Mexican food for dinner, since it always cheers me up. We go to our favorite place, El Cholo. The waitress recognizes me and she brings me a margarita on the house, then winks. I'm not sure if she's winking because we both know I'm underage or what. I want to gulp it down, but Benny's at the table.

"Lex, please drink that," he says. "Just because I'm not drinking doesn't mean you guys can't."

I shake my head, resolute. "You just got out of rehab!"

"Listen: this is going to be me for the rest of our lives," he says gently. "I'm a big boy."

My phone buzzes and I check the incoming text. "Speaking of big boys," I say, and hand the phone to Bens. It's a text from Matt.

Congrats, Lex! I knew that fucker would pay. How's Benny?

He hands the phone back to me. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Yes it does," I say. "If you were broken up for good he wouldn't have asked about you."

"She's right," Liam agrees. He turns to me. "I sent your brother several anxious texts about you before we got together."

"You did?" He nods and I glare at Benny. "Whatever happened to twin solidarity?"

"Hey, I didn't get into the middle of things with Patrick and Chloe and that seemed to turn out just fine."

More than fine. Every time I talk to Chloe she's blissfully happy, despite her anxiety over what she's going to do with the rest of her life.

When Benny gets up to go to the bathroom, I take a big sip of the margarita. "God that's good."

"I have a bottle of champagne for you back at my apartment," Liam says.

"Is this a bribe to get me to spend the night?" I ask, goosebumps already covering my arms at the thought of being alone with him.

He smiles. "Maybe."

"See," Noe says, gesturing to Liam, "you don't need me at all anymore."

"I always need you, babycakes," I say.

Once the table's cleared and we all have food babies, Benny says the inevitable.

"Okay, Lex, you know there's about a dozen Vultures out there, right?"

I nod, grim. It had been like that at the courthouse, too.

"What's our strategy?" Noe asks.

Liam puts an arm around me, already protective. "Back door?"

Bens shakes his head. "I asked the waitress—she said they're already out there, too."

"We can huddle around you," Noe offers.

"It's fine," I say. "Let's just...get it over with."

I push through the front door and am immediately hit with flashing lights. I blink, dazed.

"Lexie! Lexie! Lexie!"

They call my name, shoving mics and tape recorders in my face. I hold up my hands.

"I'd like to make a statement," I say above their roar.

I feel like I'm in a movie right now.

"I want to thank all the fans and every person that has supported me these past few weeks. It's been a really hard, really long road and I'm grateful. Right now, I just need to spend time with my family and friends and get back to normal life. I'm really happy with the verdict, but the truth is that there is no punishment that can take away what happened to me. I urge every person who's been abused and is suffering in silence to come forward because it's so important we get these creeps off the streets. Thank you."

"Lexie! Lexie! Lexie!"

I push through the crowd, gripping Liam's hand. He holds up his other hand, shading his eyes as the lights from the cameras continue to flash. We practically run to his car, Noe and Bens right behind us, sprinting toward Noe's bug.

Five minutes later, we're on Pacific Coast Highway, free of the paparazzi. We drive for over an hour, just listening to music, holding hands, kissing at stoplights. He's put on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, one of my favorites.

Everything is everything, what is meant to be will be.

After winter, must come spring

Change will come eventually

"Do you believe that?" I say, turning to him.

"What?"

"What she's saying—that things are meant to be. Like, destiny."

He nods. "Yeah, I believe in that. I mean, I think about what would have happened between us if I hadn't been sitting outside the library that night. How many times had I seen you and nothing happened? But that night, you needed me and I was there and...here we are."

I squeeze his hand. "And here we are."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do—about the show, reality TV...?"

"Every day I keep feeling like I have to get off the show. I don't even know if they'll offer me a season two after everything that's happened."

"If they offered, would you take it?"

I bite my lip. "I...I don't know. I guess I need a job, right? What else would I do?"

"Well, I think you're going to win this lawsuit against MetaReel, Lex. Like Chloe and Benton, you won't need to ever work again."

I frown. "Yeah, and look how happy they are."

That isn't totally fair because Chloe's happy, just not in the work part of her life.

"I have an idea," he says. "If you want to hear it."

"Okay."

"After I graduate this year, I'm going to start a production company. It would produce documentaries at first—full-length movies and stuff for TV." He slides into a parking spot outside his apartment. "I was thinking...maybe you'd be interested in doing it with me. Be a producer."

I stare at him. "Are you serious? You'd...want me?"

"I think we've established that I want you, Lex."

I bump my shoulder against his. "You know what I mean."

"You're smart. Savvy. You have nineteen years of experience. You've got your finger on the pulse of pop culture—hell, you are pop culture. I'd say you're pretty qualified for the job." He grins. "So...what do you think?"

One street light beams down on us, filling the car with soft golden light. It feels like...like destiny is about to happen.

"I think...yes!"

***

Today is my last audition. Ever.

Unless I get the part—then I guess I'd keep trying to do this acting thing. It's crazy: I've wanted to be a serious actress my whole life and it only took one acting class to show me that I wasn't cut out for it. Part of me wonders if I quit too soon, but I don't think so. I'm not walking away because of what Peter said—he's not the god of acting. Acting just doesn't make me happy anymore. Maybe I don't want it badly enough. At any rate, I'm way more excited about working with Liam, making my own stuff. But who knows? Maybe I'll get back on the stage again someday. Right now, I just have to do a decent job so that this episode doesn't suck.

I'm sitting in the hallway outside the room that girls who look just like me have been coming in and out of for the past half hour. That's the thing about being an actor in Hollywood: you learn real quick just how not special you are. I mean, these girls could practically be my clones.

A loud, orgasmic scream comes from the room and I jump. What the hell is going on in there? Almost every person has come out with messed-up hair, sweating.

"That must be some casting couch," I mutter to Ellen.

She laughs. "Nervous?"

I shake my head. "Not really." You can only get nervous when you're auditioning for something you want. And I don't want this. Not anymore.

She nods. "I have a good feeling about this one."

The door to the casting director's room opens and a tiny brunette with a high ponytail pokes her head out.

"Lexie Baker?"

I stand and follow her into the room—bare except for a table, chairs, a camera, and a blow-up doll (WTF?). The casting director—who I assume is the woman sitting front and center—is at the long table with about four other people. They stop talking when I come in. I know I'm the only girl who's arrived with her own camera crew. Ryan and Ellen and Joe, the sound guy, follow me in. It's kind of fun coming into an audition with an entourage.

"Hello, Lexie," the woman says. "I'm Amanda Hall. Thanks for coming in."

I smile. "Thanks for having me."

I almost feel like the old Lexie, the one who believed she was an amazing actress and that her talent would be obvious to everyone else. It's been a while since I've felt this confident. Maybe it's because I don't hear Peter's voice in my head anymore. Maybe it's because I don't really care if I get this part or not.

They have me stand in front of the camera and slate. I wait until the assistant turns it on and then I say, "Lexie Baker." This is how they'll know who each person auditioning is.

"Alright," Amanda says, "I know you haven't read the script yet, so I'll give you the low-down. BFF is about a dorky guy whose best friend is super hot. He's in love with her, of course, but he can't tell her. The scene you're going to be doing for us is when Nina—the girl—is trying to teach Tom—the guy—how to make out."

"Okay...I didn't get anything to prep—" I start, but she shakes her head.

"This audition is improv. We want you to go crazy, have fun, go all out."

Amanda nods at her assistant and the girl grabs the blow-up doll. It's a girl doll, roughly my height, with cartoonish features and a red dress. The assistant crosses to me and hands it over. I take it, dread pooling in my stomach as soon as my hands touch the rubber.

"Ready?" Amanda says.

"So you just want me to...make out with the doll?" I ask.

"Right. And imagine your friend Tom is sitting about where we are. You're showing him how to do this. He's totally inept. So you have to really spell it out for him."

This is fucking stupid.

"Okay..." I grab the doll and turn to where Imaginary Tom is. "So," I say, "if you really want to do this right, Tom, you have to remember that less is totally more. You don't need to suck her face off to show her you like her."

"Show us how to do that, Lexie," Amanda says. "With the doll."

"Er, right." I turn the doll so she's facing me. She has painted-on red lips and huge blue eyes that are wide with surprise.

Tell me about it, sister, I think.

I bring my lips closer to the doll.

"So, Tom, you go slow...and then you just..."

I press my lips against the doll. God, this is so so stupid. What am I doing here? Is this what Grace went to Julliard for? What Peter is trying to prepare everyone in the class to do? This is an Adam Sandler movie, like the total height of success in Hollywood other than an arty Oscar film. A big summer comedy. This is what I dreamed of getting to do my whole life?

Amanda calls out directions: "Get more into it Lexie—good, even more—by the end of this scene we need you practically having sex with the doll, so don't hold back."

I try. But I'm too aware of Ryan and the camera, of what this episode will look like on The Lexie Project. Am I really gonna hump a blow-up doll to get a part in a movie I don't even want?

"Get on top of her," calls a guy at the table. "This is a really erotic scene, even though it's a comedy."

You'd like that, wouldn't you?

I throw the doll on the floor and step away from it.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this," I say.

The casting director's eyes widen. "What?"

"I've had to do a lot of humiliating things in my life, but this pretty much takes the cake." I turn to Ellen. "I'm done."

I cross to the door and just before I open it, I turn and give Amanda a polite nod. "Thank you for your time. I'm sure you'll find someone desperate enough to do something like this, but it's not me."

Ellen loses it when we get to the parking lot. "What the hell was that? Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you that audition?"

"Did you not just see what they were asking me to do in there?"

"I don't see what the big deal is—"

"Of course you wouldn't," I say, the disgust obvious in my voice.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She asked, I'm answering.

"You stood by while Jax told the press about my abortion—you obviously don't respect me, so why would you think it's a problem for me to get on all fours and hump a blow-up doll on camera?"

"I am not your enemy, Lexie," she says, her voice low.

"Aren't you? Aren't you all?"

It really hits me then, how I've spent my whole life surrounded by people whose job it is to use my life, to use me, for entertainment. I never thought about it that way before. Until very recently, I always saw the crew and my producers as extended family members. I believed they were just documenting what they saw, but more and more I'm seeing that filming was only part of the job. MetaReel's been playing God, putting my family and I in situations that are stressful or embarrassing or uncomfortable, just to see what will happen. My entire life I've been a rat in a very comfortable, very nice maze.

And I'm finally starting to see a way out.

I unclip my mic and hand it to Ellen.

"I'm done, Ellen," I say quietly.

She stares at me. "Done?"

"With the show, with MetaReel—I'm out."

I turn my back on my producer, on the camera, on all the dreams I've ever had. It's easier than I thought it'd be.

***If you’re just starting Lexie or want to go to a different episode, head on over here.

My new apartment is perfect. 

I spin around in a circle in the empty living room while Ryan trains the camera on me. I try to imagine what it would be like being in here without that camera. I can’t.

That’s a problem. 

“Noe is going to love this place,” I say to myself, but out loud because it’s weird to be silent around the camera. In reality TV, the camera becomes another person in the room. Sometimes you forget it can’t talk back to you. 

The apartment’s in Santa Monica, a five-minute walk to the beach and just a few streets over from where Liam lives. Palm trees line the sidewalks and the air smells like salt and french fries. The apartment itself is a two-bedroom and super cute.There are glass doorknobs and each room is a different color. When I get back to our apartment, I’m practically bursting with the news. 

“The only bad thing is that there’s no garage—street parking only,” I’m saying. “But we both have small cars—it’ll be totally fine.”

Noe sits on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. I notice she hasn’t said a word. 

“So…” I say. “What do you think?”

“Erik and I are moving in together,” she blurts. 

“What? When were you going to tell me?”

Her eyes are big, apologetic. “We just decided last night.”

I plop down on the couch, my good mood gone. 

“You just turned me into, like, a popped balloon,” I say. 

Noe scootches over, then snuggles against me. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. It’s true love.”

“Well, far be it from me to fuck with true love.” I sigh. “I can’t blame you. I sort of know what it feels like to want to wake up to the same boy every morning.”

“Right?” She grins. “So you and Liam. Kinda serious, huh?”

A little shiver goes through me as I remember waking up this morning and seeing his face on the pillow next to mine, watching me sleep. 

“I guess so. Yeah.” Fred Astaire leaps onto my lap and I pat him absently. “So…I’m living alone?”

“I just assumed you and Benny would live together. Isn’t he out of rehab soon?” I nod, brightening. “Yeah, actually. That could be perfect.” I shoot her a glare. “And by perfect I mean totally perfect for a second choice.” 

“Cupcake, nothing’s gonna change.”

“Except that you’re moving to North Hollywood.”

“Well,” she concedes, “there is that.”

“I demand we make Rice Krispy Treats right now.”

She salutes me. “Yes, ma’am.” 

The next morning I head over to Crescent View during visiting hours. Benny’s in the Zen garden, looking out over the ocean.

“Dude, this is the life,” I say. 

The Pacific is almost green today and the sun hitting it looks like sheets of gold have been placed on its surface. I totally saw a pair of Jimmy Choos at the Beverly Center this exact color. 

Bens smiles up at me, his eyes clear. The color has returned to his cheeks, but he’s still pretty thin and there are dark circles under his eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s not so bad,” he says. “Ready to get outta here, though. I just finished group and this one guy keeps talking about his sex addiction. In graphic detail.”

“Scandalous.” I sit next to him on a bench beside a portion of the rock garden that’s all swirls made with blue and white rocks; stone clouds. “Heard from Matt?”

He shakes his head. “No. He was…pretty clear the last time we talked.” “How are you supposed to prove you’re sober?” 

“Getting these guys’ stamp of approval, I guess,” he says, gesturing to the facilities around him. 

“Hey, I have a proposition for you,” I say, “for when you get out.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“What do you think about being roommates with me? Noe’s moving in with her boyfriend and I just found this great new place in Santa Monica.”

Benny frowns, looks down at his hands. “I’ve, uh, actually been thinking about moving to New York for a bit.”

Some words feel like a punch in the gut. 

“New York.” Of course. Of course Benny would run to Chloe in his time of need.

  “Yeah. I mean, Chlo needs someone to keep her company—you know, with Patrick in class and everything. And…” He sighs. “I just need to get away from this town. From Matt and the paparazzi.”

I stand and move further into the garden. I don’t want him to see me cry. “Lex?”

“I’m fine,” I say. But in this totally not-fine kind of voice. 

“I don’t get it,” he says. “I thought you’d agree that getting out of town was a good idea. I mean, this place is driving all of us crazy.”

“No, you’re right,” I say, turning. I can hear the pout in my voice, but I can’t make it go away. “You should go. You need Chloe now—”

“It’s not about needing Chloe—”

“Isn’t it? I’m your twin but she’s your, like, soul twin. Or something. I get it: I’m not enough. I never have been.” 

He sighs. “I love you both, Lex. It’s not a competition.”

I bite my lip, hard, but the tears slip out, anyway. 

“Lex…”

He puts his arms around me, giving me one of his bear hugs. This only makes me cry harder. 

“It just feels like she’s your twin, not me,” I sob. 

“Are you kidding me?” he says. “Lex. You’re such a part of me that when you told me about what happened—you know, with that fucker—it felt like…like it had happened to me too. That’s how close we are.”

Now I’m crying harder and he is, too.

“And I wasn’t there to protect you,” he said. “Where the hell was I?”

“Bens…”

“No, seriously,” he says. “I should have known something had happened. How were you able to keep it from me?”

“You were always with Chloe,” I say with a shrug. “I wanted to tell you, but…but it had felt like things had changed between us.”

If I really think about it, that was the year when I started to become the Lexie Baker you see on TV. I’d felt left out with Bens and Chloe, so I kept trying to get more attention from the cameras. They—the cameras—were the constant in my life. By the time I was in high school, they were all I cared about.

“You seemed so angry at me all the time,” Benny says. 

I wonder if a part of me was angry at him for not being there, or for not knowing something had happened to me. He was supposed to just know. 

“I was angry at everyone,” I say. 

“Yeah…that sounds about right.” Benny takes my hand. “But I think I have a better idea of why now.”

I am only just now realizing how angry I was. Maybe because I’m not really angry anymore. When I think back on who I was in high school, that’s what I remember the most: being angry. I would say the most awful stuff to Chloe, cut her down whenever I could. Benny too. Once, they called me to pick them up—both of them drunk—and instead of taking them somewhere to sober up before we went home, I purposely brought them back, knowing our parents and the cameras would catch them out. I wanted to see them crash and burn. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No, I am. You’re right,” he says, “I gave all my time, energy—everything to Chlo. She just…she never seemed as strong as you. And after…”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but I know what he means. After Chloe tried to kill herself we all watched her more closely. I pretended that I was annoyed, like she was some kind of drama queen, but secretly I’d been terrified. I hid my fear for her in put-downs and bitchy commentary. 

We sit there and watch the sun set, waiting to go back inside until the speck of golden light dips below the horizon.

“So, New York?” I say.

He looks over at me. “I think you and I need each other more than I realized. Besides, it doesn’t make sense to go out there. I’d just have to come back in a few months for school.”

“Does this mean we’re going to be roomies?” I ask.

“Yes. But I draw the line at using pastries as terms of endearment.”

“What about vegetables?” I say. Noe was always quite fond of calling me pumpkin. 

“Nope. And you’re not allowed to have loud sex with Liam—at least, not in our apartment.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “The same goes for when you and Matt get back together.”

The smile on his face fades. “I don’t know if he’ll—”

“Yes he will,” I say. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m your twin. If he was gone for good, I’d know it.”

**************************************************************************************************

“What’s the hold-up?” I say from the back of the SUV.

I’m squished in with Ryan and his camera, Ellen, a sound guy, and a new PA named Stacy who says everything like it’s a question? 

“We’re just making sure the management knows we’re coming?” Stacy says. 

We’re outside Crate and Barrel, where I’m going to be doing some shopping for my new apartment. Benny isn’t here for obvious reasons and Noe just got a job with this burlesque troupe, so she’s busy learning how to take her clothes off in various sexy ways. Luckily, I have Kim Olson from House Cleaning to help me out. She’s the star interior decorator for MetaReel’s new home makeover show. I’m actually pretty psyched about it, even though I’m so over being on the show. There are some pretty great perks to being on reality TV and I’m not one to turn down a free interior decorator. 

“Lexie, we need a bit more from you today,” Ellen says, turning around from where she’s sitting in the front passenger seat.

“What do you mean?”

“We need to remind people how fun you are—the show can’t be a total downer, even if things are crazy in your life right now. Okay?”

I nod and she hands me a list of handwritten lines. 

“Work these in at some point—we’ll get some good laughs, more of the stuff we need.”

I scan the list. Here are two of the dumbest:

Oh my god. This is, like, a total phallic symbol. 

(Pick up something in kitchen section) Is this a sex toy?

“Doesn’t it seem kinda…inappropriate, what with everything going on?” I ask. 

“You’re ‘Sexy Lexie,’ remember?” she says. “We need to remind the viewers of how funny and confident you can be. Otherwise all they’ll see is the Lexie on the Kaye Gibbons show. We need both Lexies.”

I can imagine the goofy carnival music that will go on underneath these lines. They use it all the time in Keeping Up With The Kardashians whenever the girls do or say something ditzy.

“But—” 

“Lexie, you signed a contract. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you to say the goddamn lines.”

It’s not the first time MetaReel has put words in my mouth. I know I don’t have a choice. This is what I signed up for. Still, I’m not about to let MetaReel make me look like a sex-crazed bimbo. 

“I’ll meet you halfway,” I say. “The sex toy line could be funny, but the phallic one is dumb. That one goes. Deal?”

Ellen looks at me for a long moment, silently weighing her options. “Deal,” she finally says. 

I fold the paper and put it in my back pocket, then dutifully raise my arms as Stacey outfits me with a small mic. Kim will be wearing one, too. 

Ellen’s phone buzzes and she nods as she looks at the screen. “Okay,” she says, “let’s do this.”

I grab my purse and jump out of the car. I’m feeling this weird combination of excitement and disappointment: I used to love having the cameras follow me around in public, but I’m starting to see all the things I’ve been missing because of them. If I were a normal girl, my boyfriend could come with me and we’d shop and it’d be a fun day involving kissing on top of different beds in the Crate and Barrel bedroom displays. Instead, I have a handful of employees from a major corporation and a professional interior decorator. 

Kim’s waiting for me right inside the door. She’s one of those people that you can’t stop looking at, she’s so gorgeous. She’s got this whole Halle Berry thing going on and, even though she’s only wearing jeans and a T-shirt, she’s red carpet ready. I knew I should have spent more time in front of the mirror this morning. My Juicy Couture track suit is not cutting it. 

“Lexie!” Kim squeals.  

She opens her arms for a hug and I go in for it, even though I barely know her, then she links arms with me and steers me upstairs, where a cameraman is already waiting to get us coming up. 

“Okay, tell me your vision for the apartment,” she says. 

We talk about old Hollywood glamour and funky elegance and comfort. As we go through the displays I think:

This is the couch Benny and I will sit on when we binge watch Buffy for the millionth time.

This is the bed I’ll sleep in with Liam. 

It’s strange, building this new life. I feel like this apartment is more than just a place to live. I want it to reflect the Lexie who’s been growing through the cracks in the sidewalk. Like she’s sneaking through the old Lexie, pushing up through the broken places. I kinda like her. 

I find myself gravitating away from bling. I don’t want shiny silver or sequins, I want nice, smooth wood, stone, that sort of thing. Instead of the chic couches Kim suggests, I point out the ones that already looked lived-in and cosy. 

“So I’m guessing you don’t want the chandelier?” she says, pointing at a pink crystal light fixture above us. 

I’m about to say no, when I change my mind. A girl needs some sparkle in her life. 

Later, in the kitchen section, I grab a weird cucumber-shaped contraption and hold it up. “What is this, a sex toy?”

“Ouch,” Kim says and then we both laugh for real because, seriously, what is this thing for?

About halfway through, Ellen motions for the cameras to stop shooting and she hands each of us a script. I scan the lines—a heart to heart between Kim and I about Liam. 

I snort as I see one of my lines near the end. It’s like a love I’ve never known. I turn to Ellen and hold up the script. “This is the worst.”

She shrugs. “Listen, we need to get the focus off of you and Jax,” she says in a low voice. “By talking about how in love you are with Liam, you redirect the viewers.”

They give us about fifteen minutes to review the script. It’s more personal than I’m comfortable with, but now that everything about Liam and I is out, it’d probably be weird that I avoid talking about him ever. I mean, he’s already not on the show. 

We head over to the bathroom section and as Kim and look at towels and shower curtains we say our lines. I hate bringing Liam into this world, but ever since we’ve been officially together, he’s in it whether he likes it or not. 

“So you should definitely get some extra towels,” Kim is saying. “You know, in case a certain someone sleeps over.”

I try to laugh a little. I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say, so I just wing it. “Oh, you mean my brother’s boyfriend?”

I don’t remember until after I say that that they broke up. 

“Look at you being coy,” she says. 

I can see the script in my head as she asks me question after question about Liam. We move onto the next aisle, where there’s a bedroom display. 

“If you want to go a little feng shui, I recommend red tones for the bedroom,” Kim is saying. “Red symbolizes passion. But don’t put it anywhere else in the house because it can also invite anger. It can be really bad for relationships—whether that’s Liam or your brother.”

We go on like that for a while. When we finish the script, Stacy, the new PA, comes up to Kim and I with some pillows. 

“Ellen thinks you guys should have a pillow fight in one of the bedroom displays?” she says, pointing to one of the perfectly made Crate and Barrel beds. 

I can already see this playing out in the episode. The cameras will cut from us to the employees, who will have no idea what to do. There might be serious or goofy music, depending on what tone Ellen’s going for. 

“I’m game if you are,” Kim says, grabbing a pillow. 

I suddenly feel super old, even though she’s the one who’s older than me. Kim’s new to reality TV—she’s got stars in her eyes. I’ve been doing this my whole life and, as of right now, I’m over it. If I could, I’d quit this minute and walk out that door. It’s the sad, creeping up on me. My old friend.

I grab the pillow and grin. “You’re on.”

She gets the first hit in and then we’re off, shrieking as we knock into crap, breaking things. It feels good to let loose and, for a second, I forget we’re being filmed. We collapse onto the bed, laughing and Ellen calls, “Cut!”

I see her turn to a pissed-off looking manager-type. “We’ll pay for anything that’s broken,” she says. 

For a minute, I stop breathing. I know she’s talking about the clock and the vase on the ground, but—for just a second—it’s as though she’s talking about me. We’ll pay for anything that’s broken. 

But you can’t pay off the past. No amount is high enough. 

My phone rings and I head toward one of the kitchen displays to take it—it’s Cathy, my lawyer. 

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” she says. “Which do you want first?” “Bad,” I say. I like to get things over with. 

“They’ve moved your court date with Jeremy to Friday,” she says. 

“Wait—this Friday? As in, two days from now?”

“Correct.”

“What’s the good news?” I ask.

***If you want to start at the beginning of Lexie or wish to go to a different episode, head on over here. 

Dear Lexie:

My name is Amanda and I’m sixteen years old. I saw what happened to you and I just want to say that I think you’re really brave and really awesome for standing up for yourself. The same thing happened to me and I’ve been scared to speak out because I know some people won’t believe me and also, I don’t want my mom to get upset. Anyway, thank you for being an inspiration.

Love, Amanda

Lexie-

When I was twelve years old I was raped by my uncle. I was too scared to tell anyone because I knew it would tear my family apart. I’ve suffered my whole life—bad dreams, anxiety, depression, you name it. I’m thirty-four years old now, the mother of two girls. It breaks my heart to know that you’ve been hurt like so many of us. I wish I could do what you did, but my uncle is dead now—it’s too late. But it’s not too late for all the girls who look up to you and watch your show. Now they have someone to show them what to do. Thank you for your courage and for fighting against the pressure to settle with MetaReel. I hope my girls have the same fighting spirit.

All my best, Jaclyn Harding

Dear Ms. Baker-

My name is Anthony Curtis and I wanted you to know that after seeing you confront your abuser, I decided to confront mine. Being a seventeen-year-old guy, it’s really hard to admit that you’ve been molested, but I got the courage to tell my school what my coach did freshman year. He’s been fired and my family has been pretty supportive. It’s hard, because now everyone at school knows. Some people have called me a faggot. The guys on the team are pissed because now we don’t have a good coach. But they’re all haters. You always do your own thing even when the haters pile it on, so I will too. I hope you win your law suit and I hope that guy that hurt you goes to jail. I really admire you, Ms. Baker.

Good luck. Anthony

Season 19, Episode 22 (The One With Kaye Gibbons)

What was I thinking? 

I can’t do this. Am I really gonna talk to the whole world about what happened to me? And it’s live, though, thankfully, not in front of an audience. That was another of my stipulations. Instead of her studio, I’m meeting with Kaye in a closed-off section of a coffeehouse. Just the two of us—and about twenty crew. Liam and I are outside in the back parking lot, waiting for everything to get set up.   

I sit on the hood of Liam’s car and flip through the emails I printed out. There are hundreds. Each one tells the story of someone who has been hurt either as a kid or later in life by someone like Jeremy. Right now, these words are a life raft. I’m doing this for them. So they can see me get some of my power back. So they can go out and tell their own stories.  

“You ready for this?” Ellen asks, one hand gently gripping my shoulder. 

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Remember, she’s tough. Her goal is to make you cry—you know that,” she says. “And don’t forget—”

“Ellen,” I interrupt. “I’ve got it. I’m good. Seriously.”

She looks from me to Liam and frowns. “Alright. See you in there.”

Ellen’s been taking every opportunity she can to glare at Liam, who she says is encroaching on her space. MetaReel agreed to let Liam take the lead on filming today—pretty much because they have no choice. It was either that or I didn’t do the interview and we all know the interview is press it’d be stupid, from a Hollywood standpoint, to turn down. 

I could get used to being in charge. 

“Ready, Lex?” Liam says. 

I nod and he turns on the camera. It’s a nice one—the kind the crew on my show use, a real filmmaker’s camera. I get a little thrill seeing him behind it, doing what he loves. There’s really nothing sexier than that. 

We’ve already discussed that I’m going to talk a bit to the camera before I go inside. Just some in-the-moment stuff. Liam starts me off.

“How are you feeling right now, Lex?” he asks. His hand moves up to the lens to focus it a bit more on me. 

“I’m feeling pretty nervous,” I say, making eye contact with the camera. “Not about Kaye or whatever, but about talking about something so private with someone who’s essentially a stranger. Actually, someone I don’t trust—like, at all.”

“Tell me more about that,” Liam says.

“Well, my step-dad let slip to Kaye once that Benny’s gay—but this was before he was out. She had the family on the show and then, like, halfway through, she asks him point blank if there’s a special guy in his life.”

I shake my head, remembering the feeling I had when Kaye did that: as though an icicle had been stabbed into my stomach. I wanted to protect him, but I didn’t know what to do. I could feel my whole family freeze around me. But Bens was awesome. He said, It’s none of your business, but I’m gay, if that’s what you’re asking. That was how Benny came out. 

“I was really proud of Bens for coming out, but at the time, he wasn’t ready. He was trying to protect his boyfriend, Matt, whose family is super religious.” I shrug. “Coming out should never be forced—that wasn’t Kaye’s decision, it was Benny’s. But she took that away from him. So, yeah, I don’t really trust Kaye.”

The back door of the coffeehouse opens and a PA dressed all in black sticks her head out. 

“We’re ready for you, Ms. Baker,” she says. 

I like being Ms. Baker. It sounds like the name of an executive producer. 

Liam follows me inside, camera trained on me. He films as much as he can now that his thesis is about me. Bens asked if it was weird, having him behind the camera when we’re together but it’s not at all. I trust him. Having that trust is something special—something I’ve never experienced before. The guys behind the cameras have always been on MetaReel’s payroll. They were there to do what the company wanted, what Chuck or Jax or the producers told them to do. I was always trying to stay on their good side, get them to film me more than my siblings or get shots of me that made me look my best. But Liam’s shooting who I am on the inside and I’m excited to see more of who that girl is. In so many ways, he’s helping me to see who I am. 

Yesterday, he caught Noe and I having a crunches competition. I collapsed after three-hundred, which is nothing for her. He played it back for me and I could see how happy I was, how when Noe’s around, there’s a goofy side of me that comes out. I didn’t realize that before, that I can be silly and not look dumb. I guess it’s kind of sad I had to see a replay to realize that. 

After filming today, Liam will go home and edit it all, adding to what he already has. Of the hours and hours of stuff he’ll be shooting over the next few weeks, he’ll only be using about ninety minutes. I get to help him make the final cut. I remind myself about all of this as I catch sight of Kaye. She used to intimidate me, but not anymore. She needs me, not the other way around. I lift my chin and cross to where she’s sitting at a small cafe table in front of a steaming cup of tea. She doesn’t notice me at first, or pretends not to. She’s on her phone, typing like crazy. 

Kaye always reminds me of the older stars in soap operas—All My Children, General Hospital. She’s put together, tasteful but not fashionable. Her too-blonde hair is cut into its usual bob and she’s wearing a signature Kaye outfit: cream pantsuit with expensive heels. It clashes with the grungy vibe of the coffeehouse—one of those places with weird art on the walls that looks like it came from the local Goodwill. There are probably anarchy signs carved into the tabletops. The whir of the espresso machine and the sound of soft indie music and clanking dishes is comforting. It’s after hours, so it’s just the coffeehouse staff, who were told to make coffeehouse noise every now and then to keep it all authentic. I’m glad I insisted we do it this way. It feels more natural. I can’t talk about what happened to me under bright lights in front of a studio audience—that would just be wrong. 

“Can I get you anything, Ms. Baker?” the PA asks.

“Coffee—with lots of cream, no sugar,” I say. 

Kaye stands when she sees me. “Lexie Baker. My, you’ve grown up, haven’t you?”

My family was on Kaye’s show at least five times. The last time was when the Benny incident happened, about a year and a half ago. 

“I guess so,” I say. 

She gestures for me to sit across from her. 

“I just want you to know, I’m so glad you’ve decided to share your story with the world,” she says. “And I’m honored you’re letting me be a part of that.”

Such bullshit. She knows her ratings will be killer. There’ve been ads for the past week for this. It’s usually serious piano music with slides of me and a voiceover with something like, This Wednesday, Kaye Gibbons sits down in an exclusive live interview with Lexie Baker, who’s opening up for the first time about being abused on the set of Baker’s Dozen. A special event you won’t want to miss.  

I give her a stiff smile, grateful when the PA brings me coffee. A girl runs up and powders my face a bit and then someone says, “Ready whenever you are, Kaye?”

She glances at me. “What do you say? Should we get started?”

I can see Liam out of the corner of my eye and he gives me a thumbs up. I nod at Kaye, still clutching the stack of emails I’ve brought with me. She glances at them. 

“Would you like someone to take—”

“No,” I say. “I’d like to keep them, thanks.”

This week’s Lexie Project just finished airing and now people all over the country are tuning in to see this interview. Ellen said it could be as many as twelve million viewers. 

“Going live in five, four, three, two—”

“Good evening,” Kaye says into the camera, “and welcome to tonight’s special edition of The Kaye Gibbons Show. Beside me I have Lexie Baker, one of television’s brightest stars since, well, since she’s been born!” She smiles, then puts a lower, more serious voice on. “Tonight I’ll be talking to Lexie about the painful events of the past few weeks: confronting her childhood abuser and the near-death of her twin brother, Benton.”

Oh hell no. We did not agree to that. 

“Actually,” I say, interrupting. Kaye gives me a stricken glance—this is a major TV no-no, but I don’t care—and the camera awkwardly swivels toward me. “We won’t be discussing my brother. I think you outing him last year did enough damage.”

Benny didn’t care that people knew about him, but it was incredibly painful for Matt. His parents almost disowned him. 

“Outing him?” Kaye’s eyes go wide. “Your brother was the one who—bravely, I might add—told the world about his sexuality. I was honored he felt like he was in a safe space—”

“Safe?” I snarl. “There’s nothing ‘safe’ about your show, Kaye.” I look into the camera. “Let’s be honest, people. You probably think I’m here so that I can capitalize on a really horrible, messed-up thing that happened in my life. You couldn’t be more wrong. See, vultures like Kaye Gibbons—”

“Lexie, I really think—” Kaye starts, but I talk right over her.

“—profit from the suffering of others. Their goal is to get their guests to cry, which is totally messed up. I’ll tell you why I’m here. It’s for these people.” I hold up the stack of emails. “These are copies of emails I’ve gotten from people all over the country who were hurt like I was. I’m here, talking about abuse not because I want to get more famous, but because I now know how important it is to speak out. To speak up.”

The crew looks on, panicked. Liam is grinning ear to ear, his camera trained on me. Ellen is staring at me, open-mouthed. 

Kaye’s eyes flash with anger at my unprecedented interruption, but I just smile. I wonder if she’s thinking about walking off right now and canceling the whole thing. But she’s a pro. She smiles back and nods her head. 

“You’re nothing if not direct, Lexie—I like that about you. All of America likes that about you. It’s refreshing to see someone in Hollywood freely speak her mind. Do you think your forthrightness in most areas of your life is, in a way, a result of all the years you were silent about what happened to you? A way of making up for the silence, maybe?”

Oh, she’s good. 

“I think I speak my mind because I come from a family with over a dozen kids. It can be really difficult to get your voice heard in the crowd and so I just learned to say what I needed to and not beat around the bush. I don’t think it has anything to do with my past.”

“What did it feel like to confront your abuser after all these years?” she asks. Kaye’s very good about giving doe eyes. It makes it look like she gives a crap about you. 

“It felt…” I look up at the ceiling, thinking. “Scary. I didn’t want to confront him, but I had to. I couldn’t let him get away with it. And I wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else.”

Kaye turns to a projection screen that is sliding down the wall behind us. An image of my parents’ house comes up and I know what she’s about to do.

I shake my head. “I don’t think—”

“Take us back to that night, Lexie,” she says, in a low, calm therapist’s voice. “You were at your parents’ home, celebrating your sister, Bonnie—”

“Chloe.”

“Chloe’s marriage. You see Jeremy White and…”

“I freak out. I mean, I don’t say anything—I just had to get away.”

“It’d been ten years since the incident, am I right?” she asks.

I swallow. Nod. “Yes. Ten years.”

Ten years of nightmares, of pushing away memories, of telling myself I was okay when I wasn’t. 

“What was going through your head?”

“There was…a blank. I mean, I just felt…everything. The memories…” I take a deep breath. “It was intense.”

She nods, then turns to the screen. It’s a part of the Lexie Project episode they aired showing my encounter with Jeremy. There I am, standing by the passenger side door, the wind whipping my hair back. Jeremy’s saying that I was beautiful, that I’d liked it. I reach back a hand and slap him. Hard.  

“You’re not getting away with it this time.”

I grip the letters in my hands. All I want to do is run away, grab Liam and go to the beach.  The screen goes dark. I’m shaking now. 

“What’s going through your head right now, Lexie?” Kaye asks softly.

“I…” I bite my lip, look down at the letters. For them. “I’m glad I did it. I haven’t had a nightmare about him once since that day.” I look out and into the camera. “It gets better.”

Kay’s nodding, one hand on her chin. “So you had no idea that Jeremy White was still employed by MetaReel?” she asks. “This was a total shock?”

“He’d left our show not long after…after he hurt me. I just wouldn’t let myself think about him anymore. When I saw him filming that day…I couldn’t believe it. And I couldn’t pretend I was okay.”

She asks dozens of questions: What punishment do you think would be fair for Jeremy White? So many victims of sexual abuse feel shame—do you? Stuff like that. Then she really pisses me off. 

“You admitted on The Guy Anderson show that you lost your virginity at age thirteen and have had multiple partners since then,” Kaye says. “Do you think that’s somehow related to the abuse you experienced?”

I stare at her. Jesus, she’s good at being evil. 

“I don’t even know how to answer that question, Kaye. I don’t see a connection between the two.” I lean forward. “See, this is the kind of thing that would scare any girl or guy watching this from speaking out. They’d be afraid of being labeled a slut or a whore or whatever else you’re insinuating—”

“I’m not—”

“And then they would live with this terrible secret inside them. As if being abused isn’t bad enough!” I hold up the letters. “So many people are scared to get help because they’re terrified of the reaction they’re going to get from the people in their lives. They’re scared of the fallout.”

“Are you scared?” she asks. 

“No. I’m just looking forward to putting this all behind me.”

Kaye smiles. “It seems you have some help with that. I noticed Liam Kim came with you tonight.”

She’s such a nosy bitch. I mean, I know she’s a journalist and all, but is nothing ever off-limits with her?

I can’t help but glance at Liam before I answer. He just rolls his eyes and gives me a little smile. 

“He did,” I say. 

“Can we assume the two of you are an item?”

I nod. “He’s one of my brother’s best friends and a great guy. I’m lucky to have him in my life. And…that’s pretty much all I want to say about that.”

“Last question,” Kaye says. “What would your life look like if you weren’t Lexie Baker, Reality TV star?”

I have no idea. My whole life has been lived with the goal of keeping my fame. When the surrogate mom had Benny and I, ten million people watched my parents see us for the first time at the hospital. You can’t undo that. And I wouldn’t want to. But the longer I spend in this town, the more convinced I am that I don’t have what it takes to become the kind of actress I thought I was. And if I’m not that, then what am I?

The sad starts to creep in, but I notice it doesn’t get very close to me anymore. Somehow over the course of the past few months it’s been disappearing bit by bit. As though it were a monster under the bed I no longer believed in.  

“I honestly don’t know,” I say. “I’m interested in what goes on on the other side of the camera—producing, that sort of thing. So maybe I’d do something with that.”

I am doing something like that. I smile a little, thinking about Liam’s thesis. I can’t wait to see the credits on that thing. 

When it’s over and the cameras are off, Kaye holds out her hand. I take it and give her one firm shake, like a CEO in a Barbie body should.

“I underestimated you,” she says. 

“Most people do.”

“Not after tonight.” She gives me the kind of smile the losing team might give the winning team. 

Later, I’m walking with Liam along the beach. It’s late—past midnight—and there’s no one else on this stretch of Malibu sand. I focus on the feel of the sand against my skin, Liam’s warm hand in mine, the sound of the waves. I say the thing that’s been on my mind ever since my interview with Kaye Gibbons. 

***If you’re just starting Lexie, or wish to go to a different episode, head on over here. 

So my brother is no longer in a coma. He also no longer has a boyfriend.

“I mean, I get it,” he says. “I obviously have a serious problem. I almost fucking died—biggest wake-up call ever. I told him I was going back to rehab. What else can I do?”

I have to admit, it seemed like Benny nearly dying and being in a coma would have changed Matt’s mind, but he’s adamant: he won’t be with Benny until Benny’s been sober a good long time.

I squeeze his hand. “All you can do is focus on getting better, Bens.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

We’re on the Santa Monica Pier, looking out over the ocean, and the happy, fun atmosphere doesn’t really go with our vibe: it’s like wearing navy blue and black. Just, no. The famous Ferris wheel is going round and round, bright lights against the sunset sky. I feel like that inside: everything’s spinning and I don’t know when it will stop.

Benny sighs and leans heavily against the railing. It’s only been a week since he woke up and he’s still pale and exhausted. I slide my hand around his waist and his head falls to my shoulder. He shudders, but there are no more tears: he’s cried out.

After a few minutes, he straightens up. “Okay, enough about me. What are you gonna do about that fucker I could kill with my bare hands?” Meaning Him—Jeremy.

Benny’s only known for a couple of days. When everything was going down with Jeremy in the driveway, he was taking the cold shower my mom had forced him into, fully clothed. Then he was sneaking out of the house and stealing her car. I’ll never forget the look on Benny’s face when I told him what had happened to me. I didn’t know you could see someone shatter right in front of you.  

“Well,” I say, “I have a meeting with MetaReel corporate tomorrow—all the lawyers present, et cetera. Who knew I’d be following in your and Chloe’s footsteps?”

Just like my brother and sister, I now have my very own lawyer. I’d feel fancy if it were for any other reason. Her name’s Cathy and she says I need to sue MetaReel and push for criminal charges against Jeremy. The problem about suing MetaReel is that they’re producing my show. And they have really good lawyers.

Benny takes my hand as we start walking back to the car. “What are you gonna do?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. I mean, I have to press charges against…him.” I frown. I promised myself that I would say his name out loud whenever I could because saying his name gives him less power. You know, like the whole Voldemort thing. “Against Jeremy,” I say firmly. “But MetaReel…”

I don’t want to lose my show. I think. I’m actually a little confused on that front. It feels less and less important these days. Before, it was all that mattered. But almost losing Benny woke me up. There is so much more to life than being in front of a camera. I never really believed that before.

“Girl, you have to sue them,” Benny says. “At least to make sure they thoroughly check the people they hire. MetaReel produces at least five shows with kids on them. Statistically, it’s totally possible there are other creepers on their shows.”

“I know,” I say. “I do. I just…fuck. You know? Doing this show was supposed to change my life in a good way and now everything’s all messed up and I just have no idea what to do. I don’t think I’m, like, emotionally equipped to deal with this.”

I can’t believe I have to deal with Jax being fired and our affair being public on top of it all. The tabloids have been having a freaking field day with all of that.   “But you are emotionally equipped to deal with a certain director we both know,” he says. “What is it with my sisters falling in love with my best friends?”

“You have good taste,” I say.

“That I do,” he agrees.  

Liam is pretty much the best thing that’s come out of me living in LA. He even handled that horrible article in Stargazer really well.

“That explains a lot,” he says. “Like…that day at the beach.”

I nod, ashamed. “It’s just…he’s Jax Wilson, you know? And my producer, and I’d had a crush on him for forever. It was…flattering. And so cliché.”

Liam smiles, but I can see the hurt in his eyes. “Lex, you’re anything but a cliché.”

“It’s over, isn’t it?” I say softly. It’s amazing how many times your heart can break.

“What? No. You weren’t with him once we got together, were you?”

“No! I’ve never cheated on anyone in my life,” I say. But maybe that’s not true—I helped Jax cheat on his fiancé, didn’t I?

Liam slides his fingers through the loops on the waist of my jeans and pulls me closer. “Then why are we still talking about this?”

And that’s the last we say about any of it.

We drive back to my place and pretend Benny’s not going to rehab tomorrow and I’m not going to hang out with a bunch of suits who want to sweep the worst thing that’s ever happened to me under the rug. The best way to do this? We help Noelle with her next video.

Today she’s looking fabulous in a vintage red gown, her matching auburn hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She’s rigged up a transparent white curtain that’s backlit so it looks like she’s on a real Oscar stage. It’s pretty impressive.  

Benny whistles. “If I weren’t gay, I’d be all over that,” he says, gesturing to Noe. “Best compliment ever.” She turns to me. “So, Miss Producer Lady, what do you say about filming for me?”

“Yes, please.” I kinda like being called Miss Producer Lady.  

We make sure the lighting and camera are good to go and I help with some last-minute make-up.

“What’s this one about?” I ask.

“It’s dedicated to you, actually,” she says. “It’s all about Hollywood’s fucked-up body image issues.”

“Nice!” I say.

I get behind the camera and she gets in front of it. I turn around and give Benny my serious face.

“Don’t make a sound or she’ll have to start over—keep the laughs inside.” He places a hand over his heart. “I promise to be as quiet as our mother when confronted about her terrible child-rearing practices.”

“Good enough.” I place one hand on the record button, one on the tripod. “And…action.”

Noelle’s face breaks into a huge smile and she holds up her Oscar. “Yay. As. Fuck.” She raises her hand and pretends to quiet a wildly applauding audience. “I’ll be honest, I knew I was gonna get this.” She points to the right of the camera. “No thanks to you bitches, though. Seriously—those were some amazing performances.”

She sets down the Oscar and lifts up her skirt, taking out a huge roll of paper secured to her leg with a garter. I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing as it practically rolls to the floor.

“There are several people I need to mention tonight that have helped to bring me to this stage, to this moment.” She pauses and gazes at her Oscar with longing. “To this little man who’s big in all the right places.” She turns back to her paper, frowns. “No thanks to the costume designers for this movie. For some reason, you seemed to think you were dressing a stick. I AM NOT A STICK. No thanks to Craft Services for making such delicious fucking food and then putting it in front of actresses who aren’t allowed to eat. No thanks to the camera, for throwing ten extra pounds on me every time I’m in front of you. No thanks to all the agents and casting directors who refused to represent or cast me because I was above a size zero.” She looks up, grins. “Some of you are here tonight. I bet if you start casting girls who look like real human beings, you might actually end up doing yourself a favor.”

She holds up the Oscar. “I rest my case. No thanks to the skinny bitches who continue to flaunt their heroin chic, which drives down the sizes of every pair of jeans that is made anywhere in the world. What was that? Size zero is too big for you? SHUT THE FUCK UP. No thanks to the clothing designers who make clothing that doesn’t cover a real woman’s body. Convenient, isn’t it, that most of you are men who don’t have to wear skinny jeans, bikinis, and form fitting tank tops. No thanks to all my gay guy friends who look better in my clothes than I do. No thanks to Ben and Jerry. You know why.” She pauses and I realize it’s for the Oscar get-the-hell-off-the-stage-music that’s going to start playing over her speech once she edits this together. “I’m not getting off this stage until I’m done!” She’s shouting now. “No thanks to every guy or girl who dumped me or dissed me because I don’t look like Kate Fucking Moss.” She holds up the Oscar. “This is the only lover I’ll ever need. No thank you. I hate you all!”

I stop recording and Benny and I cackle as Noe takes a bow.

“Oh my god, if only a real Oscar winner would say all that,” I gasp.

“Right? I just got a call from my agent this morning telling me I lost another job because I’m too fat.”

“That is bullshit, like, in the first degree,” Benny says.

“You’re not fat,” I say. “You’re voluptuous. And that is way hot.”

There’s a knock at the door and when I open it, Liam’s standing on my porch. Before he can get a word out, I throw my arms around him and kiss him like I haven’t just seen him this morning.  

“I missed you, too,” he says, when I finally pull away. Dark circles are under his eyes—he was up until three editing his thesis.

Benny pokes his head in the doorway. “You.” He points at Liam. “I’m in a coma for a measly four weeks and you start sleeping with my sister,” he says with mock disappointment.

“But totally respectfully,” Liam says.

I laugh. “How do you respectfully sleep with someone?”

Benny holds up his hands. “How about you two have this conversation when I’m not around?”

I let go of Liam and he and Benny share a pretty adorable man hug. This kind of thing happens more often now. I don’t think any of us will get over what happened to Bens.  

“What’s on the schedule for today?” Bens asks.

“I wanted some one-on-ones for the documentary,” he says. “You want in?”

“Do I get to talk shit about MetaReel?” Benny asks.

Liam glances at me and I nod.

Benny grins “Then I’m in.”

***

My lawyer is kind of hot.

Cathy Denison is supposed to be one of the best, and from her amazing suit and super cute pixie cut, it’s clear she at least plays the part really well. Thank God, because I so don’t know how to be a hardass when I’m at a table with ten lawyers and two producers, one of whom is Gerri Thatcher, Jax’s former fiancé and heir to the MetaReel fortune.

“My client wants justice first and foremost,” Cathy is saying. She leans over the table and fixes each person around it with a don’t-fuck-with-me look. I need to add that one to my repertoire.

“And we have no desire to stand in her way,” Gerri says, with a flip of her light brown hair. I have to admit, she’s pretty gorgeous. Definite Jax Wilson material. “But you have to acknowledge that we’d have to cancel The Lexie Project if Ms. Baker plans to sue the company.” She leans forward, directing the rest of what she has to say to me. “And we’re already considering that, anyway, in light of the inappropriate behavior with her producer.”

Cathy shakes her head. “That would be a huge mistake. Not just from a legal standpoint, but from a PR perspective. How do you think that’s going to look for MetaReel—taking away the livelihood of a woman who was molested at nine years old by one of your cameramen? And, I might add, seduced by an older producer?”

Damn. When she puts it that way…

The group shifts and coughs, uncomfortable. Score one for my badass lady lawyer who, I’ve now decided, is worth every penny I’m paying her out of my savings account (which is getting smaller by the day).

Ellen, the only person from Lexie Project here other than me, catches my eye. She’d warned me about Jax and I’d been too stupid to listen. I just shake my head.  

“What is it, exactly, that you want?” a lawyer with wavy gray hair and a mustache says. He’s looking at me, not Cathy. I know Cathy’s supposed to be the only one of us talking in here, but I can’t resist.

“I want to make sure this doesn’t happen to other kids,” I say.

The man folds his hands, nods. “So does MetaReel. It’s our top priority right now. We’ve already begun drawing up a comprehensive screening process and are currently running background checks on all of our crew, as well as providing all of our cast members with therapy sessions aimed at making sure nothing like this is happening.”

That is good, but Cathy already told me they’d say that.

“My client is still pursuing a suit—we’re very firm on that point,” Cathy says.

Even though most crimes can’t be prosecuted if they happened a long time ago, legal exceptions can be made in the case of childhood abuse. So I’m allowed to sue Jeremy even though it’s been ten years. Then, of course, there’s the on-tape confession. Cathy says Jeremy should be behind bars for a good amount of time and MetaReel will have to pay some serious damages. I don’t want their money—I want this to have never have happened.

“But why?” Gerri says. “We’re willing to settle out of court—” She turns to me. “Name your price, Lexie. I practically have a blank check.”

I shake my head. “It’s not about the money, Gerri.”

“You see,” Cathy says, “we know that companies only really change their practices when everything is out in the open with the public. Chloe and Benton Baker’s lawsuit is proof that these sorts of suits are most effective when settled within the confines of a court of law.”

It goes on like this, back and forth and back and forth. Afterwards, I’m halfway to my car when someone calls my name: Jax. I’m surprised he’s on MetaReel property—maybe he snuck in.

He looks terrible. His hair is greasy and needs a cut, his normally impeccable clothes wrinkled. I’m pretty sure there’s a faint whiff of gin on him, too. It feels good not to have butterflies in my stomach anymore when I see him. I can’t believe I’d fallen for someone so shallow, so a part of the Hollywood soul killing machine. It makes me think of that quote in my Marilyn book: Hollywood is a place where they’ll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss  and fifty cents for your soul. So, so true.

“Jax, you know we can’t talk about it,” I say, turning back to the car.

We’re alone in the parking structure, but someone could come at any second and being seen together wouldn’t be good for either of us.

“I know,” he says. “But I don’t care. Lex, I’ve lost everything—my job, Gerri. You have to help me.”

I sigh and turn around. “How can I possibly help you? Everything they’re saying is true.”

“But there’s no proof,” he says. “Just deny it.”

I shake my head. “I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not. We did have an affair. It was wrong and now we’re both paying for it.”

I turn to go, but Jax grabs my hand. I shake him off and he laughs, harsh. “Gerri knew the whole time,” he says. “In fact, it was her idea—me and you.”

I go still. “What?”

But that doesn’t make any sense. She broke up with him as soon as that story came out in Stargazer.

“We can’t tell anyone that, of course,” he says. “But she’s smart. She knew that I could control you better if you thought I cared about you. Why do you think I got away with tipping the press off about your abortion?” He smiles. “You were so easy. So quick to believe me when I said I had to get ahead of the story.” He runs a finger down my arm and I jerk away. “That night in my office—you didn’t even make me work for it. Such a lovely little slut.”

For one second his words hurt like hell. Like hitting your funny bone or stubbing your toe. Then the pain’s gone. I think a part of me always knew he didn’t really care, that he was only producing me—getting me to do what he wanted and then spinning it to make it look real.

“Well this lovely little slut still has her job,” I say. I give him a smug smile as I unlock my car. “Sucks not to hold all the cards, doesn’t it?”

He stares after me as I get inside and drive away. He’s still there when I turn onto Sunset. I don’t cry on the way home. I blast my Get Happy mix instead, starting with Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off. By the time I park in front of my apartment, Jax Wilson is no longer one of the most important people in my life: he’s just a bad taste in my mouth.

Liam’s waiting for me on the steps outside, sitting beside two black canvas bags of equipment.

“How’d it go?” he asks, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

“Oh, you know…there were some serious fashion emergencies in that room.”

He laughs. “I love that you noticed that.”

My phone rings and I answer it as we make our way inside. It’s Cass, PR lady extraordinaire. She’s been spending the past month dealing with all the craziness in my life, fielding phone calls from the press, setting up interviews, that sort of thing. I hardly see her anymore.  

“A big opportunity just came up, Lexie. I mean B-I-G. Big.”

“Okay…”

“Kaye Gibbons’ people just called—she wants to do a live interview with you and Jeremy during prime time.”

“What?” I stop and Liam looks over at me, concerned.  

“I know, right? I guess his lawyers are totally against it, but he really wants to apologize to you in person.”

“No,” I say right away. Panic claws its way up my throat. I can’t see him again, I can’t. “First, Kaye Gibbons outed my brother on national television. There is no way in hell I’m giving her show publicity like this.”

“Kaye Gibbons wants you on the show?” Liam asks.

I cover my cell’s mouthpiece. “Yeah, with Jeremy.”

Liam goes pale. “No. Don’t do it.”

“Hello?” Cass says. “Lexie?”

“Sorry, Cass. Look, I can’t do it. I don’t want to help her or him. If he’s trying to make people feel fucking sorry for him or…I don’t even know why he’d do this.”

“Lexie,” Cass says, slowing down. “I really think you should do this. It could be good for you to talk this out. You’d have some closure and it will be great publicity for your show.”

She doesn’t get it. None of these Hollywood people do. They think all that matters is the three seconds the world will care about me. Next year? No one will even remember this happened. I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life. And closure? What the hell does she know about what I’m going through? I’m tired of MetaReel people pretending they know me, know what’s best for me. Pretending they give a damn.

“You tell Kaye no,” I say.

I hang up, but five minutes later she calls back.

“Okay,” Cass says, “this one’ll be hard for you to turn down. Kaye says it’ll be a live interview with you, no Jeremy, and nothing is off-limits for you to say.” “Does that mean I can confront her about what she did to Benny?” I say.

“No-limits means no-limits, right?” Cass says.

I don’t need to do this—of course I don’t. But the producer in me knows that it’s an important part of telling my story. Not because it will get me attention, but because all the girls (and boys) that have been emailing me need to see me be strong. For me. For them.

I hold my hand over the mouthpiece again and tell Liam what Kaye’s new offer is.

“But Kaye’s the worst,” he says.

I sigh. He’s right. But she’s also the biggest thing on TV since Oprah Winfrey. “Okay,” I say to Cass. “I’ll do it—on one condition.”

“Yes…”

“Instead of MetaReel cameras in there, I want my…producing partner…to be cleared to film backstage.”

Liam grins and gives me a thumbs up.

“I don’t know, Lexie,” Cass says. “MetaReel is going to want access for your show…”

“They can film me until I walk into the building, but that’s it. Or I don’t do the interview.”

“You are such a badass,” Liam says after I hang up. “Are you sure you’re up for an interview with her?”

*** If you’re just starting Lexie, or you want to go to a different episode head on over here. 

My brother is in a coma (Week Four) and instead of spending the day at his bedside I’m filming a commercial for a drink that tastes like ass. 

I’m standing in front of a green screen that the tech people will make look like a beach and a fan is pointed at me so that my hair billows behind me in what is supposed to be a refreshing sea breeze. There are about ten people running around doing crew work: holding booms, checking lights, watching me on monitors. I still get a thrill being the center of the world for a few hours. Or, at least of this world. But today the thrill lasts for about two seconds—I just want to be with Benny. 

“Okay, Lexie, this is looking great—just one more time,” calls the director. “Turn your upper body to the right a little. Yep, just like that. Now hold.”

Seriously? I think we’re up to forty takes already. 

A PA runs up to me, replacing the glass in my hand. Yummy. A whole new serving of chocolate ass with hints of ass. A girl from makeup adds more powder to my nose and the lighting guy keeps putting his meter up to my face. They scurry away and I give the director a thumbs up. 

“And…action!”

I look into the camera and give my signature Lexie Baker Is A Winner grin even though it feels like I have mold growing inside me. 

“Trust me,” I say, as if you, the viewer, are my bestie, “with all these awesome flavors, you won’t even remember you’re on a diet.” I take a sip and it is an act of fucking will not to vomit. I’ve been throwing out every box of this crap they’ve been sending me for weeks. “VitaLite: drink away the fat!”

“Cut!” the director, Tim, calls. He watches the take on the monitor, then nods and gives me a relieved smile. “Alright, folks, that’s a wrap!”

I cross over to where Ellen is leaning against a wall, talking to whoever’s coming in over her earpiece. Ryan’s next to her, his camera pointed at me.

“Jesus, why’d that take so long?” I say, as Ellen looks up. 

She glances at Ryan and makes a motion across her neck like, stop filming. The red light goes off and as he hoists the camera off his shoulder, Ellen hooks her arm through mine and leads me back toward wardrobe. 

“You were doing great,” she says. “They were just…trying to find the right angles.”

“The right angles?”

“So you don’t look…”

“…fat,” I finish. 

She nods, sympathy—not pity—in her eyes. We’ve gotten much closer ever since I confronted Jeremy and this has resulted in something like friendship. She’s on my side now.  

“I’ll delete the footage if you don’t want us to air it,” Ellen says. “I can make it look like an accident.”  

We’re drinking coffee in the hospital lobby and I stare at her over my cup. My brother is still in surgery and the last thing I care about is the show, but then I remember what she’s talking about: Ryan, filming everything that went down between Jeremy and I in my parents’ driveway. The only reason MetaReel would allow her and Jax to show my confrontation with Jeremy is because having it all out in the open makes them look better, like they’re not trying to hide anything.

“You would do that?” I say, shocked. What happened to the Ellen who’d guilt-tripped me about how if I didn’t get my ratings up people would lose their jobs? “Yeah. Yeah I would. You didn’t sign up for that. Or, you did, but you shouldn’t have had to.” Ellen’s eyes meet mine and I’m surprised to see tears in hers. “It happened to me, too,” she says softly. “And I never had the guts you had today.”

A choice—how novel. And since it is a choice, I say I want the footage to air. Because I want justice. For me. For Ellen. Because I want people to see how important it is to speak up. After the episode airs, I get thousands of emails from girls all over the country. Every one of them says thank you.

“Have you given any thought to what the nutritionist said?” Ellen’s asking me. A few days ago I had a meeting with a “health consultant”—the camera was there, naturally. Apparently, being 5’11 and a size ten is a crime against humanity. 

“Have I given any thought to what the nutritionist said?” I repeat. “Hmmmm, what with my brother being in a coma and every magazine reporting on how I was abused as a child, no, Ellen, I haven’t been focusing on my weight.”

Ellen stops, puts her hands on my shoulders. “I get it, I do. But The Lexie Project is about a girl who wants to be a star. Not about a quitter.”

“Who said I was quitting?” I stop in front of the wardrobe area and start rifling around for my clothes. 

“But—”

“If Hollywood doesn’t have a place for me, I’ll make it myself.”

***

I lean back in the vinyl booth and pat my stomach. 

“Worth it,” I say, glancing at the empty malt glass and the plate that once held the fries and burger I’ve just devoured. 

And by “malt” I mean a s’mores malt with extra whip cream and cherries. 

“Oh, yeah.” Liam nods, eyes glazed.  

We’re at Cafe 50’s, my very favorite place in LA. There are a few locations but the one on the west side is my favorite. The walls and ceilings are covered in old-school paraphernalia: an I Like Ike poster next to a picture of Marilyn, old Coke ads, even a bicycle attached to the ceiling. There’s a jukebox at every table and Liam and I go back and forth choosing songs for each other. The last one he chose was My Girl because he’s adorable like that. I stick a quarter in and choose The Supreme’s You Can’t Hurry Love.

You can’t hurry love, no you just have to wait…

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” I say. 

It’s only been a few days, but Liam’s been bogged-down with his classes. Not only does he work night and day on the documentary, he’s a teaching assistant for an undergrad class (he has, like, office hours) and is taking two film theory classes. Something about deconstructionist narrative and postmodern blah blah blah.   

He sighs. “I know. I can’t wait for school to be over. I was up until four a.m. grading papers.”

“You’re, like, a legit grown-up, Liam. I kinda feel like you’re sitting at the kiddie table right now.” 

He laughs. “Right. Because starring in your own show and documentary is a walk in the park.”

It’s his turn at the jukebox again. I hand him our last quarter. 

“Better make it a good one,” I say. 

“Oh, I will.” 

A few seconds later, All You Need Is Love starts playing. 

“One of my favorite movie scenes has this song,” he says. 

“Wait—Love, Actually?”

“Yes! When the musicians stand up one by one in the crowd—”

“So, so great. I thought film nerds weren’t allowed to like sappy movies,” I tease.

“We have our moments.” He scoots over to the far side of the red vinyl booth. “Come here. You’re too far away.” 

I slide in next to him and throw my legs over his knees and put my head against his chest when he wraps his arms around me. 

“We’re disgusting,” I say.

“Yep.” His lips brush my hair and I smile, burrowing into him. 

“This was supposed to be a business meeting,” I add.

We’d started off pretty well discussing budgets, shoots, interviews. He’s going up to talk to my mom next week so he can get her on camera. He’s also working on getting the rights to some old Baker’s Dozen and Lexie footage, but there’s not a chance in hell MetaReel will let Liam have anything, especially when they find out that his documentary is essentially the anti-Lexie Project. He did, however, manage to get the rights to a few episodes of Real Life. 

“We talked lots of business,” he says. 

The waitress comes by with the check and she smiles at us and lets out a little, “Awwwwww.”

  “Sorry, we’re the worst,” I say. 

“Girl, you keep right on doing what you’re doing,” she says as she clears our table. “It gives the rest of us hope.”

I watch the waitress clear away my empty dishes and I feel a slight twinge. After shooting the episode about my visit to the nutritionist, I’m not feeling too great in the body department. 

I listen, numb, while the nutritionist explains that, according to Hollywood standards, I’m plus-sized. I shouldn’t care about this right now, but I do. I care that I’m being told that I’m basically obese in Hollywood’s eyes. 

“It’s true, Lexie,” Jax says. “We’ll have to change your resume—say you’re, I don’t know, ‘curvy.’ Honestly, it’s part of why you haven’t booked any of the jobs I’ve sent you out for.”

Ouch. I knew from Peter’s class that I wasn’t the best actress in the world, but to have my weight thrown in my face too sucks, like, a ton. 

“I will never be a size two,” I say to the nutritionist. “And I’m not spending half my day in the gym anymore so that I can fit into a pair of jeans that were designed for crack whores and heroin addicts.”

“But with a balanced diet—” the nutritionist starts, but I raise my hand to stop her. 

“Save your breath, sister. The diet you’re suggesting totally blows. First, it’s fascist. Like, so fascist. Also, it doesn’t matter. I’m telling you, my body won’t ever be that thin. It’s impossible. And I don’t care anymore.”

During and after high school I used to obsess about my weight, but ever since I started my show, something’s come over me. I guess I’m getting tired of playing the game. Or at least playing it by these rules.  

I turn to the camera. “Take me or leave me, bitches.” 

Once the episode airs, I know me saying this will go viral. I don’t say it for that reason, but as soon as I do Jax grins. Funny, isn’t it, how I seem to do my best job at being a reality TV star when I can just be myself. 

The nutritionist frowns. “Why don’t we take another look at your goals—” I stand up. “Right now my goal is to eat some Oreos when I get home. This diet—pawn it off on some other sucker. I’m not your girl.”

Ten points to Jax and Ellen for airing that. Now I’m getting emails from girls with body issues who’re saying I inspired them to quit their diet or stop throwing up their dinner. I’m realizing that what I say and do has actual power in the real world. It’s the first time there’s been any reality in my reality TV life. 

After the waitress finishes wiping down our table and leaves, Liam whispers against my ear, “Come home with me tonight.”

I go still. How many times has he hung out at my place? How many dates have we had just watching movies on my couch? But we’ve never been to his apartment. He lives alone. Me going there would mean… 

Am I ready?

I’m terrified to sleep with someone I love. I’m so afraid I’ll ruin it, that I’ll break whatever magic is happening between Liam and I. And didn’t I think I loved Seth? And you know what happened with that (to jog your memory: an empty box of condoms and a break-up note written in Sharpie). 

But the way Liam’s looking at me—he’s a total open book, heart-on-your-sleeve kind of guy. A guy I really, really, really want in every kind of way you can want someone. 

I nod. “Okay.”

Liam leans back a little, his eyes roving across my face. “Unless you’re not ready. I don’t want to push—”

I stop him with a kiss. “I’m ready,” I whisper against his lips. 

There’s a flash and we look up at the same time—a paparazzo, right outside the window. We freeze, but then I turn toward him and smile. Usually we run away from them or stop touching—anything not to give them the shot they want. But after a while, that just gets old. 

“You know what?” I say. “I don’t care if the whole world knows how I feel about you.”

Before he can respond, I grip his collar with both my hands and pull him closer. Liam’s lips fall onto mine and his kiss is hungry—a bad boy kiss. The kind of kiss that gives the whole world the finger. 

We forget about the press and the other people in the restaurant and we don’t stop until Liam pulls away and whispers, “Home. Now.”

He speeds and I distract him by nuzzling his neck and kissing him at the red lights. When he’s not shifting gears, Liam has one hand on my thigh, one on the wheel. The closer we get to his apartment in Santa Monica, the higher that hand gets. When he finally stops the car in front of his apartment, we collide. It takes us ten minutes to get out of the car, to break apart for the three seconds it takes to step out of the vehicle. 

Liam lives in a Spanish-style apartment building, on the third floor. I barely notice it because I’m paying attention to how warm his hand is, how every few seconds he stops and kisses me. It takes us forever to get to the front door, to get it open, to walk through. 

A quick glance around once we’re inside: this is unmistakably Liam’s place. From the vintage film posters to the classy but comfy furniture, I immediately feel at home. 

“I’ll give you the tour later,” he whispers against my neck, hugging me from behind. His fingers slide over my waist, then start unbuttoning my jeans. Twelve steps. One more doorway.

The bed is impossibly soft and I laugh as I sink into it, as he pulls off my jeans. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this moment,” he says, smiling down at me. 

“I’m sure I was wearing sexy lingerie,” I say.

He shakes his head as he crawls on top of me, straddling my hips, his knees sinking into the mattress.  

“No,” he whispers, brushing my forehead with his lips. “I like you best this way—just Lexie.”

My fingers slip under his shirt and slide over his skin and then the shirt is gone and I just stare at him because damn. Liam’s hands fall to my blouse and my skin explodes in goosebumps as he slowly undoes each button.  

“You’re perfect,” I murmur, arching my back as my fingers skim his chest. Warm, hard muscles beneath my fingertips—ridges and curves and dips that are all mine to explore. 

“Then that makes two of us,” he says just as he unbuttons the last button. I feel high, dizzy with want as I reach for his belt, as he slips his fingers along my spine, undoing my bra then bringing his mouth down to my chest. Soon there are no layers between us, just lips and hands, fingers and breath and sweat. We are not quiet. We laugh and moan and gasp our way closer than we’ve ever been to another person. This is what making love is. This is why it’s different than sex, different from what happened in Jax’s office or with Seth on Real Life or with any of the other guys I’ve done this with. 

I lay beneath him, our hands clasped above my head as Liam moves slowly over me. Slow, then faster and faster, our eyes locked. He smiles at me, deliciously wicked and I gasp, “Don’t you dare stop, Liam Kim” and he doesn’t and then we become exploding stars and heat rushes through me like a California forest fire burning everything in its path. 

Liam collapses against me and we hold each other, legs intertwined and we don’t let go for the longest time. I can feel his heartbeat inside me, a pulse that matches mine. 

I am not used to this.

Usually the guy gets what he wants, then pulls out and maybe pecks me on the cheek. Not Liam. 

“I love you,” he whispers, brushing his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss. And then I’m crying. Great big tears, messy tears. “I…love…you…too,” I sob, and he holds me even closer. 

I don’t even know why I’m crying. I just know that something inside me that’s been broken for a long time suddenly feels whole again. 

After a while, he gently tilts my chin up. “What do you need?” 

The answer surprises me. “My brother.”

When I get to the hospital it’s quiet and dim. And freezing. I imagine Liam, naked and warm in bed, waiting for me. I pull his hoodie closer as I take the familiar route from the hospital parking lot to Benny’s room. The patients are all in their beds, the nurses talking quietly at their stations. 

I hear Chloe’s voice and when I round the corner she’s pacing up and down the corridor, talking, I’m sure, to Patrick. When she sees me, she says, “hang on, baby,” then walks toward me, a question in her eyes. 

“You’re glowing,” she says. “Why are you glowing?” And then—“Ohhhhhh.”

Is it that obvious?

“Don’t talk about this with Patrick.” 

“I totally am. We have no secrets.” She grins. 

I roll my eyes and point to Benny’s room. “Give us a few minutes?”

She nods and puts the phone back up to her ear while I push open the door to Room 401. 

The only light in Benny’s room is the little one that spans the length of the headboard. It’s on all the time because if Bens does wake up in the middle of the night, we want to make sure he doesn’t freak out. At least he’ll be able to tell he’s in a hospital and that one of his sisters is there. I close the door behind me, then tiptoe over to the bed. 

“It’s me, Bens,” I whisper as I lay down next to him. I gently run my fingers through his hair as I talk. I tell him everything that’s happened between Liam and I since that night Bens ran through the fountains. I tell him I’m in love. “I know you’re in there somewhere listening,” I murmur. “I need my twin. I need you to know that I just had sex with Liam and I get it now, I get what you were saying about how it could be with someone you love. And I want you to have that feeling again, too. So, please, wake the fuck up.”

His finger twitches and I sit bolt upright. 

“Benny?” My voice is barely a whisper.

Nothing.

I must have imagined it and yet…his eyelids move. Oh my fucking god his eyelids are moving. 

“Wake up,” I whisper. “Benny, I’m here. Wake up. Please, please. You can do it.”

My brother has the bluest eyes. They put Crayola to shame. When I see them now, I burst into tears for the second time tonight and throw my arms around him. 

And of course his first words are a raspy “You and Liam had sex?”

Stargazer Weekly

IS LEXIE’S HAPPILY EVER AFTER ALREADY OVER? Jax Wilson Steps Down As Head Producer After Lexie Baker Scandal By Allison Racine

Lexie Baker’s love life is starting to look like a cross between a Taylor Swift song and a raunchy Christina Aguilera four-on-the-floor circa 2001. As if her abortion scandal wasn’t enough, an anonymous Hollywood insider has come forward saying that Lexie Baker and her producer Jax Wilson were definitely having an affair.

“It wasn’t just that one night at his party after the reality TV awards,” a close friend of Jax’s says. “She stayed over at his house when Gerri was out of town.”

A member of the crew on the Guy Anderson Show confirms that the two were a not-so-secret couple.

“Just before she went onstage for her interview, Jax kissed her. It didn’t look like the first time that had happened,” the source says.

Though both Lexie and Jax were unavailable for comment, Gerri Thatcher, Jax’s ex, had no problem speaking out.

“It’s over between Jax and I,” Thatcher told reporters outside MetaReel headquarters. “And his unprofessionalism has forced MetaReel’s hand—he’s no longer one of our employees.”

MetaReel’s already in hot water over allegations that one of their cameramen molested Lexie when she was a child. So how is Lexie holding up with all this drama in her life?

“Lexie’s strong,” Ellen Kensington, the new head producer of her show says. “She’s been through a lot this year, but she always rallies.”

But what about Liam Kim? Photos of the couple canoodling at an LA diner came out just hours before the news about Jax and Lexie.

“Liam’s head over heels for Lexie,” one of his classmates says. “He’s making a documentary about her—she’s his muse. For all we know, he already knew about Jax.”

“Lexie’s made some poor choice this year,” her mother, Beth Baker-Miller, says. “But I’ll say this about Liam Kim: he’s a keeper. Everyone in the family loves him and he takes good care of our Lexie.”

Justin Daley, one of Lexie’s high school exes, says, “This is typical Lexie, going from guy to guy. This Kim guy won’t last any longer than the rest. She’s had—what—twenty boyfriends?”

With her court date against both Jeremy White and MetaReel looming, will Lexie be able to convince Liam that she’s in it with him for the long haul?

“They love each other,” Noelle Non Merci, Lexie’s roommate, says. “And they’re good for each other. That’s all that matters.”