TweetyGram

16 - #TreatDayPart2

"What's the magic word?" Jake teased.

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "Please do your magic."

"Atta girl." To my exasperation, he patted the top of my head.

I shot him a death glare, but he ignored me. He motioned me to follow him to the kitchen, where he'd set up his laptop and scanner on the dining table, and pulled out a chair for me. Settling on the seat next to me, he laced his fingers together and stretched his arms forward.

"Alright." He clicked the mouse a few times. "I just need some background music . . ."

"Hey, Jake." My eyes almost popped out of my head when I heard my voice coming from the laptop. "Happy eleventh birthday! I wrote this song just for you."

Cheerful yet somewhat muted down strums of a guitar blasted my eardrums. Panicked, I stretched my arms toward the laptop to stop the music from playing, but Jake covered the keyboard with his much bigger arms.

"You're like my peanut butter to my jelly.
You're like my meatball to my spaghetti.
We're inseparable, we're unbreakable.
It's always gonna be you and me . . ."

As 9-year-old me started singing the silly song, heat crept up my neck and across my cheeks. "Quit playing around, will you?"

"What? You sound nice." There was a genuine note of appreciation in his voice.

"No, I don't. I sound like a screeching kitten."

He chuckled. "Oh, come on. 9-year-old you sang better than any 9-year-olds I know." As I suppressed a smile, he continued, "I always thought you'd be a singer or an actress or something."

"Yeah, well, I was this close"—I pinched my thumb and finger almost together—"to become one. Remember that audition I told you about?"

"The teen soap opera?"

"Mm-hmm."

"What was it called?"

"Hollywood Hills."

He snapped his fingers. "You auditioned for that pop star role, right?"

"Yep. Believe it or not, I actually got the part." A thrill of pride ran through me at the memory. "I even recorded some demos for the show's soundtrack." I pointed at his laptop and added, "Including that horrible song."

He blinked at me in surprise. "You never told me that."

"I was going to, but then the accident happened. I spent too much time in the hospital and eventually lost the part. So I figured there was no need to tell anyone about it." Disappointment still flowed through me when I remembered what had happened, but I stretched my mouth into a tight smile to conceal it.

"Right." Jake nodded. "Well, don't feel too bad about it. It's not like that show ever got made anyway."

"It did. It's still airing. Seven seasons and counting."  I held up seven fingers for emphasis.

His smooth forehead wrinkled. "Really? How come I've never heard of it?"

"It got a new title."

"What's the new title?"

"Malibu, 90265."

His jaw dropped wide open and stayed that way for 5.7 seconds or so. Blinking rapidly, he tried to gulp down his surprise. "You're kidding."

"Nope," I replied with a shake of my head. "Nat and I were supposed to star in it together. We used to joke about how we'd be archenemies on TV and BFFs in real life."