Being Hartley Read Online Free Page B

also signs autographs when asked and who doesn't actually throw things at the paparazzi. (But to be fair, she did once beat one half to death with a rolled-up magazine when his camera flash woke me up from my toddler nap in my stroller and he snapped one of those three photos I mentioned, but everyone thought that was totally justified and he dropped the charges because his mom made him.)
    Of course, by the time the rest of us have been processed, with our luggage collected from the conveyer belt and our group passed through customs, the fact that Cassie Hartley is in the terminal is practically old news. By this point, there's an airport security guy assigned to us, and as we head out of arrivals, there are already about thirty paparazzi waiting for us.
    "The car's waiting." Deb nods at Mom, cell to her ear. "We can go now." She turns to the security guy. "It's a black Mercedes SUV. Right out front."
    "We're waiting on security at the other end," the guy says, but then he gets a call on his radio. After he answers it, he points forward. "He's there, so we're good to go. Straight through. I'll lead the way. I'm sure you know the drill by now, Ms. Hartley."
    Mom turns to Deb, Anna , and me. "Like I told you. No stopping. Not for anything. And try to keep Thea between you two."
    "Mom," I groan. "I'm not a baby anymore."
    "And no arguments!" she snaps at me. We've only just landed in LA and she's already had enough.
    "Al l right already!" I say.
    We walk quickly —the security guy first, then Deb with a luggage cart, then Mom, me and Anna bringing up the rear with another cart. The flashes start almost instantly, bright and blinding, the voices yelling over the top of each other to get Mom's attention. I'd been feeling okay before, but now, with all the confusion, I'm suddenly a bit woozy from the long flight.
    "Cassie! Over here! Here! Cassie!" they call out, and Mom's hand grips mine tighter, pulling me toward her. "Cassie! Hey! Oh my god, I can't believe it! It's my lucky day—it's her daughter!" I hear as we keep walking. "Cleo! Over here!" someone else calls out. "It's not Cleo, it's Tia. No, Thea, that's it! Lose the hood, kid! Hey, Thea! Show us the hair!"
    When she hears my name, Mom pulls my hand again , and I jerk forward, losing the hood on my head that she made me pull up seconds before we hit arrivals.
    And there it is, in all its glory. The Hartley hair. The paparazzi go absolutely wild. The yelling gets louder and the flashes flash faster.
    "Thea! Thea! Hey, kid! Over here!"
    But it's too late. In a second we're outside, and I'm being shoved unceremoniously into the back of the SUV.
    As my mom sits down beside me and buckles up, she glances at my unhooded head and doesn't look one bit impressed. "Not. My. Fault." I point one finger at her. "You pulled me forward and it fell down."
    She leans back into the tan leather seat with a sigh and stares out the window, not even putting up a fight or pointing out that after my hood fell down, I didn't exactly rush to pull it back up again. "Ugh, I hate LA," she says, petulantly. "That Erik…"
    As for me? Well, as my mom is dealing with the fact that my hair and I are about to be seen by millions of people, I look out the window trying to hide my grin, because how my mom feels about LA? I have to admit I feel exactly the opposite way.
    * * *
    "Thea!" Rory waves and comes bounding down the wide front steps of her family's enormous Mediterranean-style villa as soon as the huge metal gates creep open. The paparazzi, lying in wait, snap the few shots they can before the gates close again, and we drive the short distance to where Rory's standing, waiting for us.
    I tumble out of the car like an overeager puppy and hug my cousin. Then we jump up and down a bit and hug each other again.
    "You two. Really. You saw each other a couple of months ago. And you Skype at least once a week!" my mom calls out as she exits the car behind me, pulling off her scarf as she goes. She steps