Page 8 of The Spotlight Effect

Faith

Lucky!!! I’m at practice and coach is being brutal

I’d doanything to be back in Carolina at cheer practice right now. It’s my happy place.

“How did you enjoy the flight?” I look over at my mom, knowing she’s trying to make conversation. She’s always trying to make conversation as we wait.

“It was fine,” I say.

“Are you looking forward to anything this week?” she asks.

“The concert,” I answer for the second time.

As soon as I spot my luggage, I go over to grab my suitcase. Mom’s large black suitcase comes around next and she grabs it. I grab Lia’s two suitcases while Mom gets Astrid’s three. Why the fuck did these two pack so much? Finally, we manage to figure out how to push them all and go wait by the restrooms with them.

Soon, Lia and Astrid emerge in little sundresses. Aaliyah is in green, and Astrid is in white. They both wear platform sandals with a little mini bag.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I mumble.

“How do we look?” Lia asks and turns so we can get a three-sixty view.

“Horrible, now get your stuff,” I say and walk around her with my suitcase.

“Someone is in a bad mood,” Astrid says.

“Isn’t she always?” I hear Lia agree, but I ignore her.

“The car should be outside,” Mom says, catching up to me.

Stepping outside, California is way hotter than South Carolina. I can feel the humidity. I just know it fizzed my hair. “Okay, where’s this car?” I ask.

“There,” Lia says, pointing. “It's a white Hummer H2 Stretch.”

The fact she knows that says a lot. There’s a man standing in front of the car, holding a sign with Aaliyah’s name on it. Astrid and Lia squeal while running to the limo. “I hate it here already,” I state, dragging my suitcases behind me.

“Hello, I’m Fez, and I’ll be your driver for the time you are here,” Fez introduces himself as he gets Lia and Astrid’s bags.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mom says as Lia and Astrid get inside the limo. Fez grabs my bag next, and I lightly smile at him before getting in. The interior has leather seats, lights around the inside, along with a bar that has unlimited drinks.My favorite part is the music from The MorningStars already playing, specifically the song “Roadside”.

“We need to change this,” Astrid says, grabbing a tablet off the table beside her. Of course she’s changing it.

Mom talks to Fez outside the car before she gets inside, and Fez closes the door then gets into the driver's seat. “Ladies, I will be taking you to your home for your two-week stay in Holmby Hills,” Fez tells us before pulling out.

I stare out the window as we drive through California. The sights entertain me as we go, and I just ignore Lia and Astrid as they look through all their magazines. All I have to do is make it through the week and I’ll be back home before I know it. Back to Faith, back to my room, back to cheer.

Turning into the Holmby Hills, we pull up to a gold gate that has a gray-white house behind it. The house has a roundabout with a fountain in the front. You can see the green curtains inside flowing around in the large windows. I’m actually excited to see the inside.

We say ‘Thank Yous’ as we get out of the limo. Fez takes our bags inside the house as we walk up to the lady dressed in a blue dress with curled strawberry blonde hair.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Tati. I’m the sweepstakes organizer and host,” Tati introduces herself.

“This is so exciting,” Astrid says. Why couldn’t she just go to the Hamptons with the rest of her family?

“I will be giving you all a tour of the house then you will have time to get settled before Fez and I come back to take you all go on a shopping spree then to dinner at Mastro’s steakhouse,” Tati explains while waving goodbye to Fez.

“Right this way.” Tati walks through the open door and lets us in first, then closes it. I don’t pay attention to much of the tour, I just remember where each room is.

Apparently, this house is owned by the rock legend, Rocky Myers, which explains why there are posters of him around the house. I admire him, he’s one of the artists that made me want to be a musician.

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