Paparazzi Page 2

  My heart skipped a beat as I let my eyes follow the gangplank’s path to where our movie-star host and his son were waiting to greet us. I’d seen pictures of both of them online, but none of the photos even came close to the real thing.

  Nikos Kouropolous—who, from what I had read in his online bio, was only about five months older than me—had heavy Mediterranean brows and thick, dark hair, his short curls ruffling in the breeze.

  His father, Constantine Kouropoulos, probably once had the same dark curls as Nikos, but now his hair was streaked with silver. He wore it brushed straight back from his forehead. Very cosmopolitan, even if I thought it was a little severe.

  But I wasn’t exactly giving Mr. Kouropolos or his hair much thought at that moment. I poked Victoria. “That’s him!” I whispered. “That’s Nikos.”

  From all I’d learned about him,

  Nikos Kouropoulos and I were a lot alike. My mom and dad were famous television personalities, and his dad was a famous actor. We both grew up one step away from the spotlight. That’s probably why the network chose the two of us to host their first-ever kids’ travel special. Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that his dad had offered the use of his yacht for the show.

  Whatever the reason, I was excited to become friends with Nikos. And to prove to my mom and dad that I could do just fine on the road—or the sea. After the (pretty huge) mistakes I’d made in Spain, I had a lot of proving to do if I was going to convince them to let me travel with them again.

  Travel tip: Greeks are known for being warm and hospitable. When meeting someone for the first time, smile and maintain direct eye contact.

  I was very aware of all eyes on Victoria and me as we walked up the gangplank toward the yacht. The paparazzi on the pier were still calling my name, but I could barely hear them anymore. Their little cameras were nothing compared to the two production cameras pointed at us from aboard the yacht. I’m talking serious movie cameras. One of them was on an aerial lift, the cameraman hovering over the water as he filmed us from the side, and the other was mounted on some kind of dolly that rolled smoothly along the deck, following our progress.

  “Wow,” I whispered to Victoria. “Our equipment looks amateur compared to these things.” My mom and dad’s crew did have one mounted camera they used for some of the food segments of their show, but most of the footage was filmed with standard on-the-shoulder models. My dad would have killed for the kind of budget this crew must have had.

  Meanwhile, no one had warned me they would be filming us before I had a chance to clean up from the flight, especially with equipment like that. Those things could pick up every zit or hair out of place. I suddenly missed our makeup guy, Daniel. He wouldn’t have let them shoot a frame without a quick powder and a spritz. But I had to be on, and that meant I didn’t get to let little things like airplane hair or super-ultra-mega high-definition cameras bother me. I had to smile and act like I had all the confidence in the world. Even when I didn’t.

  Nikos was the first one to greet us when we reached the top of the gangplank. “Yiasou,” he said. “Hello. Welcome to Greece.”

  His warm smile was echoed in his dark chocolate eyes so that when he looked at me, I immediately felt like I was the most important thing in his world. I could see why the fan pages called him the Greek Romeo. Of course, after the things that had been made up about me in Spain, I also knew better than to believe everything I read in the tabloids.

  “Hayro pohlee,” I answered, probably butchering the pronunciation. It meant “nice to meet you” and was about the only Greek phrase I’d had time to learn for the trip.

  Mr. Kouropoulos clapped his hands. “Very good!” I reluctantly pulled my attention from Nikos to thank him. Up close it was obvious he’d had time to sit in the makeup chair, judging from the matte finish to his skin, and the powder that had settled into the fine lines around his eyes. The lines were the only thing about him that looked old, though. Like Nikos, the rest of his olive skin was smooth and his teeth were impossibly white. But unlike Nikos, his broad smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, something about his eyes made me want to shiver.

  My own smile froze for an instant. I looked to Victoria in confusion, but just then one of the photographers on the pier called out to Mr. Kouropolous and suddenly his eyes lost their coldness. He turned and waved with such an easy smile, I wondered if I’d been imagining things.

  Like … had he started to turn toward the paparazzi half a breath before we heard the shout?

  And … did Nikos flinch just a little when his dad patted him on the back?

  I didn’t have much time to consider either question. Because just then, Nikos grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the railing next to him and his dad. He lifted our joined hands in the air, and he waved at the cameras on the pier with his other hand.

  I forgot about whatever weird vibe I thought I had felt and decided just to enjoy the moment. Following Nikos’s lead, I posed and waved and pulled out my Miss America smile, and I might even have started blowing kisses if Victoria hadn’t cleared her throat behind me.

  I shot her a look and she shot me one right back, mouthing that I should tone it down a little. I rolled my eyes. Please. I wasn’t hamming it up that much.

  But then Victoria signaled me with a nod of her head, pointing out a woman on the deck I hadn’t noticed before. She was speaking into a headset microphone, consulting the clipboard in her hand, and pointing here and there with little stabs of her finger. The director, I guessed. Another thing not like When in Rome. Our director never micromanaged the shoots the way it looked like she was doing. He’d tell everyone what he wanted and then stand back and let them do it. But then, she didn’t look like the type who would leave that much out of her control.

  This lady had uptight written all over her, from her blunt-cut no-nonsense hairdo to her man-tailored white linen suit. Plus, the way she pursed her lips together was so—uh-oh.

  Uptight Director Lady glanced up and noticed I was watching her. She made a face that looked like a cross between a grimace and a snarl and yanked off her headset. “Cut!”

  She stalked toward me, brushing past Victoria like she wasn’t even there. “Cassidy, darling,” the woman said with a tone that made me feel anything but darling, “you’re new to this, so let me explain. When we do the rehearsed segments, I’ll want you to pay attention to me, but for the candid shots, you are to pretend I’m not here. Pretend we’re not here.” She pointed to the camera on the dolly and then back to herself. “Can you do that, sweetheart?”

  I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t her sweetheart and I wasn’t “new to this.” I grew up around a television crew. Maybe not in front of the camera the whole time, but still. I knew how things were done—at least with my mom and dad’s show.

  Of course, different crews had different ways of doing things, and if I was going to show my mom and dad I could be a professional, I had to get used to that. So I nodded and apologized.

  “Hmmm.” She gave me the up-and-down in a way that made me feel very small and un–TV starish. I was trying to think of something to say to lighten the moment when Victoria came to my rescue.

  She reached out to shake the director’s hand. “You must be CJ,” she said. “I’m Victoria Chen, Miss Barnett’s tutor. John Pareo from the network said I should speak to you about her lesson schedule.”

  For a heartbeat, I thought CJ wasn’t going to answer Victoria, judging by the snotty way she was looking at her. But then she said, “Of course. We will be going over the agenda and procedures with Mr. Kouropolous and the children shortly. You’re welcome to join us.”

  Victoria managed to keep her smile from slipping, even though I’m sure she didn’t like being invited to a planning meeting as an afterthought any more than I liked being called a child. “I would appreciate that,” she said. “Thank you.”

  CJ didn’t even acknowledge Victoria’s thanks, but turned to the guys with the cameras and the microphones and yelled,
“That’s it for now. Set up for the harbor shots and we’ll reconvene at one.”

  Once the cameras had been turned off, Mr. Kouropoulos abandoned the railing. “We are very pleased to have you with us,” he said to Victoria and me. “I hope this experience will be both profitable and enjoyable.”

  Profitable wasn’t something I usually thought much about, although I did suppose if this trip wasn’t meant to be profitable, the network wouldn’t have sent me. “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

  “Come,” Nikos said, “I will show you to the salon.” He held out his arm like he was going to escort me into a dance or something. His smile was very charming, but the arm thing didn’t look like a natural move for him.

  Nikos’s dad watched intently, and I supposed he was the one who choreographed the scene. Parents can be kind of awkward sometimes.

  “Oh. Thank you.” I slipped my hand around the crook of his elbow, hoping that was what I was supposed to do.

  He led me—somewhat stiffly—into a huge room that was lined with windows on three sides. The polished wood floor and all the brass fixtures gleamed softly in the light. A collection of white couches and chairs were arranged among bookcases; tall, sprawling plants; and end tables. There was even a mahogany baby grand piano in the corner.

  “Wow. This is really nice,” I told Nikos.

  “We try,” he said drily.

  Mr. Kouropoulos’s cell phone rang and he excused himself to answer it. Whatever the person on the other end of the line said to him didn’t make him happy. Not that I was trying to watch him, but it was kind of hard to miss the tone of his voice and the way he gestured angrily as he replied.

  The rest of us stood there awkwardly until Victoria discreetly suggested we take a seat. And just in time, too, because just then, CJ blustered into the room, followed by one of the crew members.

  CJ snapped her fingers like she was summoning a waiter, and the assistant handed her her clipboard and a pencil. She took them both without a word and then waved Mr. Kouropoulos over.

  He abruptly ended his phone call and stalked back to the chairs, but by the time he settled into his seat, he was all smiles and charm again. “Now where were we?”

  CJ pulled a small stack of papers from the clipboard and passed a few sheets to each one of us. I shuffled through them to see our itinerary as well as a copy of the bylaws the network had sent along with my contract earlier.

  “We have a lot to accomplish in our short ten days together,” she said, “so please pay attention. You will notice the days are broken down into rather small chunks. This is to ensure your offscreen time as well as your schooltime each day.”

  I studied the page and noticed the way each day was divided. No more than four hours of work per day … and no less than three hours of schoolwork. My mom and dad had explained the regulations to me when they filled out all the paperwork and permission forms. I slid a quick glance at Nikos. Would he be required to do schoolwork as well? Or was that an American regulation?

  He glanced up at that moment and caught me looking at him. He waggled his eyebrows at me. Give me a break. I rolled my eyes back at him, and he laughed.

  “Nikos!” his dad said. That’s all. Just one word. But it sucked all the joy right out of Nikos. His shoulders drooped, caving inward as if he was a parade balloon and someone had just let too much air out of him.

  I watched him for a moment, hoping he’d look up, hoping we’d make eye contact again so I could let him know I was sorry. That confrontation wouldn’t have just happened if it weren’t for me.

  “Cassidy?” Victoria nudged me gently. Another one-word reminder, but hers felt so much different. I turned back to my itinerary.

  “We will dock in Mykonos early this evening and overnight at port,” CJ continued. “In the morning, we will take the smaller boat to Delos, where we’ll begin shooting the first segment.” She glanced up at me sharply. “I trust you’ve memorized your lines?”

  I nodded. My mom had made me recite them to her before she even signed all the papers to let me come. I peeked over at Nikos to see if he’d learned his lines as well, but he didn’t look as if he was even listening.

  “The next few days,” CJ said, “are earmarked for wrapping up the segment and sailing throughout the Cyclades islands. If we need to take more time filming in Delos, you will have less time for recreation on those days.”

  “What kind of recreation?” I asked.

  “You will be responsible for your own downtime.”

  Nikos perked up. So he was listening after all. “Some of the islands have great beaches,” he told me. “There is swimming, snorkeling, wakeboarding. …”

  CJ cleared her throat. “May we continue?” She slowly and painfully outlined the rest of the shoots. We’d have six on-location shoots and two days at sea to get onboard shots. Which I already knew since I’d been over my copy of the itinerary, like, a million times since I got it. But maybe CJ needed to go over everything anyway, just to make sure we all understood what we were supposed to be doing. At least that much felt familiar. Our executive director did the same thing at the beginning of the shoots for When in Rome.

  Our executive director. Cavin. Logan’s dad. Another lonely pang twisted in my stomach. How much longer until I could talk to Logan?

  Beneath the table, I snuck my cell phone from my pocket and leaned back just enough so I could see the time display. One o’clock in the afternoon. Papua was eight hours ahead of Greece, which meant where Logan was, it was already nine at night. We had agreed to sign in if we could at ten his time. Another hour. I sighed.

  I don’t know if she noticed me checking my phone or not, but CJ finally stopped talking. “You must be tired,” she said, even though there was no sympathy in the tone of her voice. She straightened her papers and shoved them back under the metal claw on her clipboard. “Why don’t you go get rested and cleaned up and we’ll reconvene at three for lunch.” And with that, she turned and walked off.

  Part of me was happy to be released, but the bigger part of me worried that I might have just offended her, which wouldn’t be good for convincing the network—and my parents—I was ready to be on camera.

  “Thanks!” I called after her.

  She didn’t turn around.

  “You’ll want to see your cabins,” Mr. Kouropolous said. Nikos started to stand, but his dad shook his head and Nikos dropped back into his chair, frowning. “Zoe!” Mr. Kouropoulos called.

  A girl with really pretty, long, wavy, black hair, wearing a white uniform, appeared out of nowhere (well, obviously she was somewhere nearby when he called her, but I hadn’t seen her before). She did a kind of half curtsy and said, “Yes, sir!”

  “Could you please show our guests to their rooms?”

  Zoe bobbed her head in turn to Victoria and me. “You come with me, please.” She said each word with the kind of slow, careful enunciation that came with speaking a foreign language. I knew that kind of hesitancy well; it sounded like me every time we visited another country.

  What was the working age in Greece? I wondered. Zoe didn’t look like she could be much older than me. She was about my height, and had big, brown eyes and long, black eyelashes that curled up at the tips the way I tried to make mine do with mascara but pretty much failed.

  “Please, this way.” She gestured for us to follow her and led us down a short flight of steps into a wide, carpeted hallway the next level down.

  “She’s a beautiful yacht,” Victoria said.

  Zoe’s fingers trailed lightly, almost lovingly, along the handrail. “Yes, she is.”

  “Have you sailed with her often?” Victoria asked.

  “Oh.” Zoe looked unsure, but said, “Yes.” She paused for a moment to pull open a glass-and-brass door that led to a narrower, but still-spacious corridor. “Your cabins are this way, please,” she said softly.

  The walls of the corridor were paneled in some kind of deep-colored wood, with beveled glass sconces spaced about every three fe
et so that it didn’t seem dark at all. There were maybe five or six gleaming wooden doors along the corridor. Zoe stopped in front of one with a brass plate on it that read, GALENE.

  “Oh, look.” Victoria turned to me. “Our room is named for a sea nymph.”

  “Your room,” Zoe corrected, and swung the door open wide. “Miss Cassidy will stay across the hall.” She pointed to another door with the name DIONE on its brass plate.

  Okay, that was weird. Not the name on the door or the fact that I got my own room when Victoria’s looked plenty big for the both of us—I liked that part. But having someone (presumably) my own age calling me ‘miss’? That was just too much. “You can just call me Cassidy,” I said.

  Zoe nodded slowly, as if she had to turn the request over in her mind. “This way … Cassidy.”

  The first thing I noticed as I walked

  into my cabin was the size. I always imagined that cabins on yachts would be small because, well, they were on most boats I had been on. But this room was huge.

  A king-size bed sprawled near one wall, framed by sheer white curtains that draped down from the ceiling. An intricately carved desk sat at an angle in the middle of the room, behind a cushy white sofa that was scattered with gold and blue pillows.

  A row of built-in shelves, drawers, and cupboards ran the entire length of the wall opposite the bed. The wall at the far end of the cabin wasn’t a wall at all, but a row of windows and sliding doors that led out to a private balcony.

  The second thing I noticed about my cabin was my grampa’s picture propped up on the desk. And my laptop next to that. And my string of lights, winding around the doorway. And my little brass incense burner, sitting on the nightstand, its sweet-smelling smoke gently curling up into the air. It took me a second to realize what it all meant: Someone had unpacked my suitcase for me. I wasn’t used to that.

  “Everything is okay?” Zoe asked.

  “What? Oh, yes.” I took just a few steps into the room. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Here is your bath,” she said, sliding open a door beside us.