The Fame Game, Starstruck, Infamous: 3 book Collection

Doing as she was told, Madison saw Sophie in the distance, slowly wending her way through the crowd. She knew she had a few more minutes before the cameras began to roll.

SO WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS? Madison texted back.

IT WAS A JOINT EFFORT, Laurel wrote.

Madison took that to mean that she’d come up with it and Trevor had approved. She also assumed the smiley face was sarcastic. Bitch.

She put her BlackBerry back into her purse. “You better not have us on any rides,” she yelled. “Those things are filthy.”

“Only the Ferris wheel,” Laurel called back. Then she quickly ducked behind the cameraman, as if she thought Madison might throw something at her.

Great. Madison hated heights. But this wasn’t something she wanted Laurel or Trevor to know, otherwise they’d schedule some outing where all The Fame Game girls went skydiving.

“And after the Ferris wheel we’ll do cotton candy and the shooting range,” Laurel added.

Madison rolled her eyes. Processed sugar and firearms. Perfect. Sophie was getting closer, and she squared her shoulders. It was time for some family bonding, maybe a trip down memory lane. She couldn’t think of anything she’d like less. Except for maybe riding the Ferris wheel.

“Maddy!” Sophie yelled, belatedly spotting the cameras and bounding toward them. She wore a giant floppy hat, another maxidress, and a pair of Birkenstocks. Her look was boho—hold the chic.

“Namaste,” Sophie said and wrapped Madison in a patchouli-scented hug.

Madison peeled her sister’s arms off her. She hated patchouli. And what was with the yogi act? The cameras weren’t even on yet.

“Where’s—you-know-who?” Madison said. She didn’t exactly want to call him Charlie, but she still had a hard time with Dad.

“Parking the car.”

Laurel walked toward them, grasping her earpiece. “Okay, on it,” she was saying. She turned her attention to them. “I’ll be right back. Stay here, and we’ll start in a few minutes.” Laurel jogged toward the far side of the pier, her ever-present travel mug of coffee in hand.

Sophie reached out and clutched Madison’s arm. “Dad desperately wants your forgiveness. This anger you’re carrying around really puts off bad energy. It’s affecting everything around you.”

“Cut the crap,” Madison said, tugging her arm from Sophie’s grasp. “That might play on-camera, but it’s just you and me right now.”

Sophie blinked at her with her beautiful, long-lashed eyes. “This is who I am,” she said. “I’ve spent a long time becoming this person—”

“Six months?” Madison scoffed.

“A person of forgiveness and love. It’s really good. You don’t have to be filled with rage and pain.”

Madison rolled her eyes. “Screw you.”

“I can see the anger in your aura. It’s bright orange.”

Madison barely stifled a guffaw. “Oh really? My aura? Well, I’ll be sure to get it bleached along with my roots next time I’m at the salon. Seriously, Sophie, give it a rest.”

Sophie pressed her palms together in front of her chest and bowed her head. “What are you doing?” Madison asked.

“Seeking the love of the Divine Goddess for you,” Sophie said, without looking up.

Madison turned away in disgust. Either Sophie had taken some acting classes or she was insane. Or, Madison thought, both.

She saw a hand waving eagerly at them then: Charlie. He still looked like he’d dressed himself out of the Goodwill reject box, but he was trying. His shirt was pressed and his khaki pants looked cleaner.

“Good morning, Madison.” He rubbed his palms together and appeared uncertain about whether to hug his oldest daughter or shake her hand. He didn’t have to make the choice, though, because Laurel came bustling up with two more mike packs in hand.

“The gang’s all here,” she said brightly, “so let’s get started.”

Madison clutched the seat bar of the Ferris wheel as it shuddered to a halt. She might vomit. She might pass out. Or—if she was capable of speech—she might call Trevor and give him hell. She didn’t care if the cameras were rolling or not. They’d been pointed straight at her for the last painful hour, as three-quarters of the Wardell family from Armpit Falls, New York, spun around and around on a giant rickety wheel above the Pacific Ocean. Sophie was giddy, squealing. Meanwhile Madison had been clutching her stomach in a combination of nausea and fear. She prayed that Laurel wouldn’t add a roller-coaster ride to the shooting schedule, because if she did, Madison might not make it.

“I loved it!” Sophie cried, leaping from the still-swinging seat. “Do we have time to go again?”

Laurel shook her head no, and Madison breathed a sigh of relief. She steadied herself against the gate as a dirty-looking carnival worker leered at her.

“You all right?” Charlie asked, touching Madison’s elbow. “Here, come here.”

She was too queasy to protest as her dad led her to a bench and gently sat her down. “I’ll get you some water,” he said.

“You know what I want?” Sophie asked, her eyes wide as a little kid’s. “I want some cotton candy!”

Madison put her head in her hands. Wow, Sophie was (a) oblivious to her suffering, and (b) hitting every mark and location with the subtlety of a hammer. How much were Trevor and Dana working with Sophie on the Wardell family story line? From the looks of it, a lot—which did not make Madison happy.

Charlie returned and handed her a bottle of water. “Four bucks for that,” he said to no one in particular.

Madison took a few sips and eventually stood up. She felt a little better now; the ground wasn’t moving beneath her feet. “How about we skip the cotton candy and try the air rifle.” She slipped her arm through her father’s. It was a small thing, changing the shooting order, but it said that she was in control of the situation. Without waiting for Sophie’s response, she began to walk through the crowd, Charlie Wardell at her side. It seemed like the right time to play the role of the forgiving daughter to the repentant father.

At the air rifle booth, cheap stuffed animals—hot-pink pandas, blue kangaroos, acid-green turtles—hung from the rafters in sad-looking clumps. The carnival worker wore a striped apron and desperately needed a shave.

Charlie stepped up to the booth. “You remember the Harvest Festival in that little town on the Hudson, the one I used to take you girls to?” he asked.

A dim memory of cool evenings, carnival rides, and baby animals that you paid ten cents to pet flickered at the edges of Madison’s mind. She kept it there at the edges, though, and said nothing. She watched as her father handed over a five-dollar bill to the worker and picked up an air rifle.

“This was always your favorite part,” he said.

“Shooting a gun was my favorite?” Madison said skeptically.

“Nope,” Charlie said. “Me shooting the gun and you winning a stuffed animal was your favorite.” He bent over the counter and let three air pellets fly. Miss. Miss. And . . . a miss. He stood up and shrugged sadly. “I guess my aim’s not what it used to be.”

“Well, I’m a little old for stuffed animals,” Madison said, inexplicably wanting to comfort him. “I like shoes now. Do you think there’s a booth where you can win me a pair of the new Marc Jacobs wedges?”

Charlie smiled wistfully. “You’re so grown-up,” he said. “So sophisticated. You probably don’t even remember that old purple unicorn I won you.”

“What?” Madison looked at him closely.

“There was this unicorn,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, I got that part,” Madison said. “It was purple.”

“You were only three or four, and you named it Bitsy,” Charlie went on, smiling at the memory. “You carried it with you everywhere. I seem to recall wrapping Bitsy in a plastic bag so she could take a bath with you.”