Almost Famous: The South Louisiana High Series, #4

By Paula L. Jones

Fifteen-year-old Drew Everett loves acting almost as much as she loves herself.

But when her mother's efforts to overcome alcohol addiction result in the Everett family leaving their beloved Los Angeles home and moving near a renowned rehab facility in Swamp Rose, Louisiana, Drew is devastated.

Not only is Swamp Rose a backward town full of meddlesome gossips who spin yarns of "alien sightings," but for the first time in her life, Drew comes face to face with racial prejudice.

The cherry on top of Drew's nightmare sundae is when she experiences her first complete mental meltdown upon realizing she's inadvertently fallen for a geek- that's right, the Hollywood starlet falls in actual love with a nerdy fifteen-year-old Star Wars fanboy, Ben Morris.

Drew's relationship with Ben awakens a tenderness she's never felt before. She begins to realize she shouldn't have judged Ben, or anyone, by their appearance alone. Drew also starts to understand that Swamp Rose itself is much more than it appears on the surface. She begins to realize the seemingly sleepy town's mysteries center around its numerous "alien sightings."

When Ben jumps on the bandwagon and confesses that he's seen what he believes is an alien, he's soon thereafter held against his will by a group of scientists who claim he's "seen too much."

Drew immediately springs into action. Armed with unstoppable tenacity and the kind of courage that only an actress can have, Drew is determined to rescue the boy she loves and get to the bottom of Swamp Rose's secrets.

'Almost Famous' is the fourth book in the South Louisiana High Series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula L. Jones
• Release date: Dec 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223557180

Book preview

Prologue

Present Day – March 2, 2015

OK. Here's the truth: Whether Benjamin Morris is in love with me or not, I love him and I refuse to let him die.

I never thought I could love anyone, let alone Ben. But that’s exactly what’s happened and that’s why I’ve just knocked on the door of our pervy history teacher’s ratty apartment - this is all for a sixteen-year-old Star Wars obsessed geek named Ben.

I take a deep breath and meet Mr. Brown’s beady eyes. He’s waiting for me to answer his question…

Drew? The female voice that nearly deafens my left eardrum is not Mr. Brown’s. It belongs to a South Louisiana High cheerleader named Mia Reeves and it is way too loud as it comes through the tiny earpiece we bought from Tech Mania.

Why aren’t you saying anything? Mia demands. "Tell Mr. Brown yes, you do want to come in for a cup of coffee!"

As much as I despise Mia, she’s right. I’ve been standing here for nearly ten seconds in silence. I need to move this along. Ben’s life depends on it.

So, I adjust my backpack on my shoulders and offer our history teacher my sweetest smile. Mr. Brown tries to return it, but his grin looks like a grimace and a brief expression of panic takes hold of his features. I’ve definitely startled him, showing up on his doorstep like this.

I don’t usually drink coffee, but since you offered … I let my voice trail off, step out of his doorway and saunter across the rust-colored carpet that fills his dingy apartment. I pass his mud-colored couch and make my way to a brick wall where he’s got a mantelshelf filled with framed pictures and dust bunnies. Below this is a miniature fireplace that looks like it hasn’t been used in years.

I repress a sneeze. Yikes. This apartment is dustier than the inside of Mia’s skull.

Hurry up, Mia whispers. Get him to go to the kitchen.

I roll my eyes at her bossiness and stand on my tiptoes to get a good look at one of the mantelshelf’s framed pictures.

If I’m going to somehow find and then steal Mr. Brown’s hard drive without him noticing, the first thing I need to do is make him feel comfortable - too comfortable to realize what I’m stealing. So Mia and her bossiness will just have to wait until I’ve worked my magic.

I stare at the photo, which contains a younger version of my history teacher. He looks about eighteen and in addition to a graduation cap and gown, he wears a fake smile. He stands squashed between a poorly dressed elderly man and woman who aim proud grins at the camera.

I point to the picture. Is this you, Mr. Brown?

No small talk, Drew! Just get him to go to the kitchen, Mia hisses. His bedroom is just past there and it’ll be easier to get to if you’re already in the kitchen.

I squelch my desire to rip my earpiece out and stomp it into oblivion. As much as I’d like to do this, it would be a bad move. So, I just turn to Mr. Brown with an expectant smile.

Yeah, he replies in that bizarre voice of his. That’s me when I graduated from high school.

I’d call Mr. Brown’s voice horny, but then I wouldn’t because it’d sound like I mean something else entirely. What I actually mean is that his voice sounds like a horn- nasally and soft and super-annoying.

Those people with you, are they your parents? I ask as I turn back to the picture.

My aunt and uncle.

Behind me, Mr. Brown’s footsteps, careful and slow, tread across the carpet and stop a few feet away from me.

I get it. He doesn’t want to stand too close to the jailbait who’s shown up at his doorstep on a Saturday afternoon. Well, good for him for not being as much of a creep as I expected. Still, though, I don’t trust him. He radiates with the kind of ick vibe a girl just shouldn’t ignore.

I shift my book bag on my shoulders and turn to him. They look really proud of you, your aunt and uncle.

Yeah. He clears his throat and runs a pale hand along the unshaved scruff at his jaw. They’re very supportive.

Hopefully one day I’ll have a picture of my aunt hugging me in my cap and gown. I widen my eyes in innocence and try not to think about the fact that I don’t actually have an aunt. "That’s why I wanted to talk to you about tutoring. My grades are terrible and I’m so scared I’m not going to pass. If I flunk, Celebrity Gossip will have a field day with that. They already post stories about my mother every week."

Mr. Brown smiles and pushes his glasses up on his nose. I can’t even imagine how rough that must be. But just because the media doesn’t give you a break doesn’t mean you have to be so hard on yourself. Your history grades are decent. And this is only your first year in a public school, right?

Mr. Brown is being so nice that I almost feel bad about what I’m doing - almost.

Yeah. Back home I had tutors. But they let me do whatever I wanted and now that I’m in a regular school, I feel like I’m way behind everyone else.

I see. Mr. Brown seems to relax a bit and he nods. Well, tenth grade can be tough, especially in your situation. I don’t have a problem with tutoring you maybe two or three nights a week and …

Drew! Mia’s voice sounds in my ear and I try not to visibly wince while she shouts, "We’re calling his phone in fifteen seconds. If you’re not already in the kitchen, tell him you want the coffee and follow him to the kitchen right now!"

As much as I hate her, she’s right. It’s time to get moving.

Oh em gee, I almost forgot! I exclaim, interrupting Mr. Brown. I have an appointment across town in, like, twenty minutes. So, would you mind if I got that coffee? And then I’d better head out so I won’t be late.

"Oh, uh, sure. He heads to the kitchen and I follow. All the while, I blast our would-be silence to smithereens by asking him whatever questions pop into my mind.

I learned this trick from my mother -although with her it’s not exactly a trick. It’s more like my mother has no brain-to-mouth filter when she’s been drinking. It’s a great way to distract people from paying attention to what I’m doing. They get so confused by the tons of questions I’m asking them that they don’t notice me grabbing their phone and rifling through their contacts for Bradley Cooper’s number. Trust me, it works. Just ask Bradley Cooper.

Do you like Starbucks? Or are you more of a Coffee Etc’s fan? I ramble. I’d never even heard of Coffee Etc’s until I moved here. Back home, I practically lived at Starbucks. I loved their hot chocolate. They have this great salted caramel hot chocolate. Have you ever tried it? And have you tried their pumpkin spice ...

Mr. Brown’s kitchen is surprisingly nice. The cheerful colors - happy yellow and warm red - are a huge difference from his living room, which appears to have been drenched in brown. Across from me, on the far side of the kitchen is the door to his bedroom, just like Mia said, and I hear noise coming from it. It sounds like a television.

Yes, I am a fan of Starbucks and no, I’ve never tried their salted caramel hot chocolate, but that sounds good. He’s reaching for the coffee pot, halfway turned to me when a phone rings in his living room.

Perfect. I bite down on my bottom lip.

I’d better get that, Mr. Brown says. Excuse me.

Okay, I’ll wait for you here. I grin.

You do that. He winks.

Gross. Trying not to look as uncomfortable as I feel, I fake a chuckle. He sets his coffee pot back down on the warming plate and returns to the living room.

Did that fool really just wink at me? Shaking my head in disgust, I turn on my heel, and head for the door from which television noises are emitting.

Go through the door that’s right by the calendar pinned to the wall, Mia whispers. That’s Mr. Brown’s bedroom.

I know, Mia, I retort. I’m looking right at it.

How does she know the layout of his apartment anyway? I frown. Actually, considering the rumors I’ve heard about Mia, I don’t even want to know the answer to that question.

I creep into my history teacher’s bedroom and look around. In the middle of the room is an unmade king-sized bed, its light blue sheets strewn every which way. A small television is mounted to the wall across from the bed.

One of my favorite Sonic commercials is on, one of the funnier ones featuring two guys arguing about whether they should order tater tots or fries. I turn away from it and continue to scan the room, searching for Mr. Brown’s laptop.

It’s got to be here somewhere. It has to. It’s the only thing that will save Ben’s life. My heart pounding, I turn to a dresser at my right. On top of it sits a picture of Mr. Brown’s aunt and uncle, a current copy of the South Louisiana High yearbook, and a flip phone that looks like a relic from the early 2000’s. No hard drive.

My heart takes a nose dive straight into my stomach. I need to find this stupid thing!

Drew, Mia hisses. Kyle’s got him on the phone for, like, sixty more seconds, you need to hurry up.

I know, I whisper-shout, panic creeping into my voice. I turn to a small nightstand at the left of Mr. Brown’s bed.

Frantic, I scan its contents. An alarm clock, a lamp, a laptop with a hard drive, a self-help book … the hard drive! Thank God.

I race towards the tiny black device and pick it up, relief washing over me.

I’m Chad Block, a familiar voice announces, "and this is a commercial for Late Night with Chad Block on MVS."

The hard drive in hand and my panic temporarily allayed, I turn my attention to Mr. Brown’s television. Chad Block’s familiar smile stares back at me. Behind him, the Late Night set is just as I remember.

It’s hard to believe that less than six months ago, that’s where I was. I had no idea who Benjamin Morris was and I’d never even heard of Swamp Rose, Louisiana. I was living in Los Angeles and I was almost famous. It was an entirely different life and, somehow, it led to this …

Chapter 1

Six Months Ago- Burbank, California

All I’d ever wanted, was to be a star. And now, this was my opportunity to shine-

Drew? A whiny voice interrupted my thoughts and I rolled my eyes.

What? I snapped.

As much as I wanted to ignore the voice, I couldn’t. After all, who ignores their own mother?

Lenora Everett was stretched out on one of the plush purple couches in the green room of America’s most watched late show, Late Night with Chad Block. And as usual, she was wasted.

I can’t believe you’re here, Lenora drawled. She shoved a strand of her honey blonde hair out of her eyes. Everything about her seemed stuck in slow motion, her voice, her movements, even her every blink. My baby girl on Chad Block’s show. I always knew your sister would make it, she’s got my looks. But you? Who would’ve guessed you’d make it this far?

I rolled my eyes and turned away from her. I couldn’t let her ruin this. When one of the world’s most prestigious filmmakers was depending on you to promote her movie on Chad Block’s late show, you didn’t let anything get in your way. Not even your alcoholic mother.

I straightened my posture, tuned out the sound of Lenora’s voice, and forced my thoughts back to the Amelia Hearth film I shot last summer.

Spending three months in a mosquito-infested Louisiana swamp with an overly intense director definitely had its downside. Amelia was a perfectionist, with a tendency to reshoot every scene eighty billion times. But her eccentricities also made her an Oscar-winning genius. And because of her, for the first time in my career, I’d starred in a buzzworthy feature film.

So, with a killer black and gold Versace dress clinging to my curves, a sleek new haircut that Celebrity Gossip said, enunciated my cheekbones, and a simple black sharpie in my right hand, I peered at the other names on the cement wall Chad Block’s stage manager had instructed me to sign.

My gold, May The Force Be With You engraved bracelets clanged against each other as I lifted a hand and prepared to add my autograph to the slew of famous signatures already on the wall.

This was it. I was only sixteen and I’d already made it. I steadied myself on my heels and signed the wall. I always knew I’d make it. Even when the media insisted on comparing me to my older sister and when I found myself stuck in typecast hell, only able to score roles as the sassy black friend in made-for-television movies - even then I’d known I’d make it. I was right.

I scrawled my name on the bumpy cement, a chill shimmying down my spine.

I wasn’t nervous. I was just excited.

I took a step back and appraised my work.My autograph was perfect. Bold and elegant, it sat between J.J. Abrams and Zac Efron’s.

Perfect. I was right between the director of one of my favorite movies (Star Wars!) and the cutest guy in Hollywood.

I put the top on the Sharpie and tried to ignore the one, very drunk problem who wouldn’t stop talking.

…you’re on in, what? Fifteen minutes. Where’s your hair and makeup lady? Lenora said, her voice loud and her words garbled. She should’ve been here at least thirty minutes ago.

True, I agreed, glancing at the time on my phone. Actually, I think I’m on in less than five minutes. My heart skipped a beat. I took a quick selfie and examined it.

Flawless. My anxiety lessened and I smiled. I didn’t even need hair and makeup.

Drew, baby girl, I have to say - I hate those earrings on you. Here, wear mine. Come and get these earrings, baby. Lenora’s slurred command was followed by a crashing noise - a sound that was all too familiar.

When you’re raised by an actress who’s been addicted to every prescription drug known to woman, you grow accustomed to the sound of a falling bottle of pills.

I turned around and Lenora was slumped forward, trying to grab a fallen bottle of meds. Anger rose in my chest and I clenched my fists. Pills? She promised she was over that. She said her only problem left was alcohol!

Lenora fell off the couch and onto the floor. It was the slowest and most pathetic tumble I’d ever seen- her large, collagen-infused lips hitting the floor before the rest of her face. But I was too angry to laugh. Instead, I cursed under my breath.

Why am I even surprised by this?

I tossed the Sharpie onto a nearby chair and headed for my mother.Unsteady on my four-inch heels as I teetered towards her, I tried to remind myself of the things her AA sponsor had explained: this isn’t who Lenora really is; she has a disease and what I’m seeing right now is the disease.

But sometimes even those justifications didn’t help - sometimes they just felt like excuses.

How could this be a disease when it was something she chose? She decided to get high and every time she did, she was deciding to ruin my life!

Am I bleeding? I feel like I’m bleeding, Lenora drawled, her words barely understandable as she used both of her hands to paw around the linoleum.

When did you take the pills? I demanded as I stumbled over the fallen meds. Did you take them on the way here? I knew we shouldn’t have taken separate cars… I shook my head at my own stupidity.

I thought I could leave her alone for a forty-five minute car ride. I thought, "Sure. I can let Chad Block’s limo pick me up and enjoy a peaceful Lenora-free ride to the studio. My mother can be trusted on her own for the length of a car ride."

Why did I think that was possible? I was an idiot for trusting her.

Drew, it’s not what you think, Lenora whined. The pills are for my scoliosis. Placing her palms flat against the linoleum, she finally managed to lift her top half from the floor. I had to take something because my spine was trying to realign, and-

"You don’t have scoliosis, I snapped. The only thing you have is an addiction prob-" Several pills rolled under the platform of my right shoe and sent me sliding forwards. I fell back and landed on my butt with a thud.

At first, I didn’t feel anything except shock. I just lay on the floor, staring at the green room’s ceiling and trying to catch my breath.

A few feet away, I heard Lenora shout, My pills!

That’s when my butt and right arm began to throb. I groaned and pushed myself up with my good arm.

Lenora was already back on her feet. Drew, get up, she ordered, her hands shaking while she pointed at me. Get off my pills; you’re crushing them. Do you know how expensive those were?

The pain in my arm worsened.

This can’t be happening. I’m supposed to be on live television in less than five minutes!

I thought about my dance teacher, Winnie, and wished she were there with me instead of my mother. I could nearly hear her voice: Drew, you’re a star. Act like one.

I was a star. With Winnie’s voice in my head, I grabbed the edge of a nearby chair and pushed myself to my feet. Pain shot from my shoulder to my elbow. I cringed. The ache was so sharp, it made my stomach turn.Mind over matter. If I told myself I was all right, eventually I’d really be all right.

I glanced at Lenora as she popped one of the floor’s half-crushed pills into her mouth. An invisible weight sank down onto my shoulders.

I wished kids could choose their parents. Life would be so much easier if we could design our own DNA.

Lenora adjusted her dress and one of her boobs popped out.

But that wasn’t the way it worked. We were supposed to make the best of what we’d been given. And in my case, I’d gotten DNA of nothing but failure. And I was, somehow, supposed to make the best of it.

The green room door swung open and Late Night’s head-set wearing stage manager, a woman named Dawn Bennett, rushed our way. Her gaze was glued to the clipboard in her hands as she said my name, Drew!

Yes? Preparing myself, I straightened my spine. I might have Lenora’s DNA, but that doesn’t mean I have her weaknesses.

Dawn’s brown hair was pulled into a ponytail that swung from side to side as she hurried towards us. Her gaze still glued to the clipboard, she spoke quickly. "Sorry it took me so long to get back here. We’re running way behind and you’re on in-" Dawn finally looked up and her eyes widened. She came to an abrupt halt, her gaze going from Lenora - who was exposed, cross-eyed, and eating pills from the floor - to me.

Dawn. I spoke with as much dignity as I could muster. My mother is, obviously, very high at the moment and as a result, she’s suffered a bad fall. The petite stage manager’s eyes were all over me, assessing my posture, my hair, my dress, my everything. I held her gaze while I continued, So, while I’m being interviewed would you have someone sit with her to make sure she’s okay? I’m not sure how many pills she took.

Absolutely. I can arrange that. No worries. Dawn nodded and, without skipping a beat, grabbed my arm. Come with me so I can get you to Chad. In fact, once you’re onstage, I’ll check on your mom myself.

Okay, perfect. I winced as pain shot up my arm.

Are you all right? Dawn asked, immediately releasing my arm.

I hurt my arm when I was trying to help my mother, I confessed. But I’m all right.

Are you sure?

Yes. My stomach turned and I stifled a rush of puke. Mostly.

Don’t worry. You’re going to do great. You’re a pro! Dawn offered me a bright smile.

It almost covered the panic in her eyes. But I’m an actress. I can spot a lie from a mile away. And Dawn’s panic was legit. If I botched this interview, my screw up wouldn’t just come back to haunt me - but as the stage manager, Dawn would get in trouble too. She would be blamed for running behind schedule. Not to mention that a failed interview would piss off Amelia Hearth and everyone who had invested in the movie she was trusting me to promote.

So, no matter how much I wanted to duck into a corner and vomit while crying over my possibly broken arm, I couldn’t. I had to pull myself together and walk onto that stage with a 1,000-watt smile.

Dawn gestured to the door. Now, let’s get to the stage as quickly as possible, okay?

Yep, let’s do this! I returned her smile with a gusto that I hoped to God looked real.

Dawn rushed to the door ahead and I followed, wishing I’d worn flats. We made our way through several winding corridors and Dawn told me that some makeup artist named Breezy would catch up with us and give me a touch up.

Unfortunately, Breezy never showed up. And before I knew it, Dawn had come to a halt in a dark backstage corridor where Chad’s voice surrounded us.

"We are so late. Chad’s going to have my head," Dawn murmured while she fumbled with a tiny lapel microphone.

I shifted on my feet and listened to Chad’s amplified voice as it rang out around us. "…and that’s what Gaga thought too! No, I’m joking, I love Lady Gaga, she’s amazing. Gaga aside, our next guest has been referred to as ‘Hollywood’s next rising star’ and Amelia Hearth called her, ‘the kind of actress every director loves to work with.’ Please welcome the star of Amelia Hearth’s latest film, I Already Knew …"

Thunderous applause filled my ears and Dawn, facing me as she stuck the tiny microphone to the front of my dress, pointed to a well-lit area just ahead. Jabbing the air with her finger, she nodded in the same direction and whispered, "You’re mic’d and we’re just in time - go now! You’ve got this, Drew."

Dear God, please don’t let me vomit.

I plastered on a dazzling smile, smoothed down my dress, and forced my shaking legs towards the light.

I can do this. I am not my mother …

Cameras and bright lights blocked the studio audience from view, but I pretended to see them as I smiled, waved, and mouthed, Thank you! With this, I turned away from the lights and came face-to-face with Chad Block, who was clapping as wildly as the audience.

Jesus, he’s hot.

Six-foot-something with sun-kissed blond hair and those trademark blue eyes of his, Chad Block was the most effective pain killer I’d ever seen; my butt-pain, arm-throbbing, and nausea diminished in a way that was nearly mystical.

Blowing him a kiss, which he pretended to catch and put in his pocket, I made my way to the handsome host. Chad took my hands and lightly kissed me on my cheek. He smelled straight up divine - like sandalwood and fresh mint. And to my surprise, he lingered at my cheek to whisper, You okay?

Never better, I replied, widening my smile.

With this, Chad released me and gestured to the navy-blue couch beside his desk. Please, Drew, make yourself comfortable. Welcome to my humble abode.

I sat down and turned to him. He wiped the corner of one of his eyes. I smiled into those blue eyes of his, trying to remember how old he was. I think he’s twenty-six… that’s only ten years older than me. I could work with that. He gave me a pointed look and wiped the corner of his eye again.

Wait…is he trying to tell me something?

While the audience’s applause died down, Chad’s lips twitched with a smile. He glanced down at his desk and then back at me. So … hi, Drew.

The audience laughed.

Why are they laughing?

Confused, I looked at the audience. No one was telling them to laugh. But for some reason every one of the potato-faced randos occupying a chair was cackling.

I realized that my best option was to pretend like I was in on the joke. So, I giggled and said, Hi, Chad. How’s it going? I shifted around on the couch and accidently moved my bad arm a little too far to the left.

The temporarily plugged pain sprung a leak, making me wince. I covered the wince with a quick smile and glanced at Chad.

My heart plunged when I saw that he was frowning at me. Forgive me, he said. But I have to ask; while you were backstage, did you and Stage Hand Sam get into a fight?

Stage Hand Sam? This must be a joke.

I nodded and faked a chuckle. Yep. Knock-down, drag out.

The audience laughed and I turned to give them a conspiratorial smile when I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the camera’s view screens. Blotches of makeup and mascara had given me raccoon eyes and a large white stain, care of Lenora’s crushed pills, graced the shoulder of my once beautiful black Versace dress.

Oh my God, I look like a crackhead on live television! Over two million people watch this show!

So, what was that fight about? Chad asked.

I tried not to panic. Thinking quickly, I clasped my clammy palms together in my lap and said the first thing that came to mind. We were … arguing about which one of my movies is the best.

Well, that was a pretty rough fight. I think we managed to get some footage. Chad pointed to a camera just ahead and said, Let’s see it.

Footage?I watched Chad motion to a guy who sat offstage, surrounded by computer equipment. At the sight of Chad’s gesture, the man nodded and bent down, working on something. I guessed he was trying to recover a clip that would somehow save this unscripted moment.

The clip began to roll, and the audience howled with laughter. I turned to Chad, but he wasn’t looking at me. A finger at his left ear, he whispered, While we’re playing this clip, get Breezy to the stage. Drew needs her. He turned to me and sighed sympathetically. I heard you had a fall backstage. Sorry about that. Do I need to fire anyone? I can do that you know. I’m very important.

He was so hot.I smiled. Take me to dinner this Friday and I’ll let you off the hook.

Chad chuckled. Maybe in a few years. The first Friday of your twenty-first birthday, I’ll give you a call. How about that?

Deal. I grinned and offered him my hand. He laughed and shook it. And I’m going to hold you to that.

I bet you will, he said with a shake of his head. All jokes aside, we’re stoked to have you here. How’s the infamous Amelia Hearth, by the way? I heard she’s been spending a lot of time at her new studio in Louisiana.

Yeah. I nodded. Since she finished building Alyssum Studios South, Louisiana’s been like home to her.

I heard the new studio’s gorgeous, Chad said. Did you get to film any scenes there?

Yeah, a ton! And Alyssum Studios is the prettiest thing in that mosquito-ridden swamp of a state.

Chad gave me a look. I take it you didn’t like Louisiana very much?

"Let’s just say