Starlet Scarlett

Chapter 8 - 'Money fame parties Leonardo DiCaprio sex.'

"Let's get drunk and tell each other everything we're too afraid to say sober."

"Okay, is it... a car?" Fisher guesses loudly and I shake my head furiously, scribbling more lines onto my sheet of paper. "Right, eh, a boat? Tractor? Car? Is it a car? Car?"

"It's not a fucking car!" I screech, throwing my pen down just as our time runs out. "It's a bike! A bike!"

"How is that a bike?" Fisher shouts and I huff loudly.

"Those are the handlebars and there're the pedals and, actually, y'know what? Forget it, you suck at guessing."

"And you suck at drawing," Fisher counters and I hold up my hands.

"We both know that's not true," I begin saying but mom cuts me off.

"Guys, stop arguing," she says. Most people would worry if their parents used this tone of voice on them, but we know what's really on mom's mind. "It's my turn." She stands and starts drawing on the paper as Fisher and I continue quietly bickering between us.

"At least mine looked like a vehicle, yours looked like monkey on steroids."

"That's because mine was a bear, see, at least mine looked like an animal," Fisher hisses and I roll my eyes. Dad shouts out his guesses and when he says 'fireman', mom jumps and screams loudly, raising her hands in victory.

"Yes! We are the rulers of this game!" she squeals, running over and kissing dad. We all groan and laugh but it's nothing new. They always win. Years of practise, dad likes to tell us.

"Okay, time for pizza?" Jacob asks eagerly and I hop up from my seat.

"Sure thing, little brother," I say, ruffling his light hair as I walk past him. He complains and rushes to fix it. He's fourteen, the age where his phone is permanently attached to his hand and his best friend is a tub of hair gel. Scary, really. I enter the kitchen and lift the house phone from its holder. I'm about the dial the number to the pizza place, but a knock on the door halts me.

"Did you guys buzz someone in?" I shout through to my parents and I hear mum cough.

"Oh yeah, I did!" she says. "Would you get it?" I sigh and walk to open the door. I hate when mom has a client or someone over on game night, because then I can't beat Fisher's ass without mom lecturing us. I unlock the door and swing it inwards, barely looking up to see who it is.

"My mom'll be out in a sec," I begin to say, but the shoes I'm looking at make me groan. They're not the shoes of some business person, oh no, they're scruffy and laced and awfully familiar. "What are you doing here?"

"You invited me," Cameron says with a grin, slipping through the doorway and into the hall. As he passes me he drops a light kiss on my cheek, to which I slap his arm. I can't deny though that it makes me blush. He slides off his signature scuffed Converse and dumps them by the coat rack.

"No," I say, laying a hand on his arm. "I didn't, not officially."

"Everything between us is official now," he reminds me and I sigh.

"Yeah, you're right. Look, I'm about to order pizza, what d'you want?"

"What pizza do I want?"

"Yes, as in, what toppings?" I say to clear up any confusion.

"Pepperoni and mushroom," he says and I nod.

"Well, everyone's through in the living room, feel free to go and say hi."

"I will," he grins with a nod and he turns to leave me. I'm about to go back to the phone when he clears his throat. "Oh and, Scarlett?"

"Hm?"