You're Not Alone

three.

2011. 2 Months Earlier.

I didn't know Kendall actually made it big time until earlier this year, around August. We didn't have cable, so of course I wouldn't have known he was on a TV show.

"Arabella!" my mom called one day. I sighed. I was in the middle of watching a NigaHiga video on YouTube, it was hilarious, and I could have cared less what she wanted.

I continued watching the video. But she continued annoying me, kept calling, "Arabella! Ari!"

"Uggg," I groaned, pausing it and finally getting up off my bed.

She was in her bed, the lights off, watching TV. "Look. It's Kendall! You remember Kendall Schmidt?"

I looked at the TV. The boy talking was cute, a Hispanic with short dark hair, brown eyes, and an adorable smile. Certainly not Kendall. "You missed him," she said sadly. "He'll be back on in a minute. Did you know he was in a band and on a TV show?" She patted the bed.

"No," I mumbled, sitting on the edge. This was some ABC Primetime special, apparently about the underage and famous, documenting Kendall's band.

I knew him the second I saw him. He was smiling in the shot, same dimples and sparkling green eyes, talking about being chased by girls. He was the only blonde in the group, so that was kind of my first clue; he did look different. His friends and apparent bandmates were really really hot. I wouldn't lie, Kendall was hot too. His eyebrows were a little...much, but somehow they still worked on his face.

"Kathy's never mentioned anything," my mom continued rambling. She still kept in touch with Mrs. Schmidt; she had her home phone, cell, email, even her California address. Even though she didn't need all that and they didn't talk that much anymore; maybe it would come in handy if we ever visited Cali and needed a place to stay.

"She probably assumed we're normal people with cable like everyone else, so we would have seen his show," I shot.

"Big Time Rush," the lady interviewing intoned, finally saying the band's (or show's?) name, and I couldn't watch anymore. I couldn't take the karma. He was famous, thousands and millions of girls fawning over him, and I was here, 20 years old and still living with my mother.

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2011. Present Day.

I've never flown before. Not that I've never wanted to, just that I've never been out of Kansas before. I don't really know plane etiquette, but I remember hearing something about no phones, but I'm not sure. Does that apply when you're already in the air? I don't care. Anyway, what are they gonna do, kick me out 2000 feet in the air?

I check my messages. There's one from Ben. Why would your MOM text me that?

Because, I reply quickly, stalling for time from what I'm about to do, she always tried to get us together, remember? She still thinks we're perfect. No getting through. As I wait for his reply, I reach into my bag that came in this part of the plane with me. I pull out my mom's address book; lucky I had the foresight to snag it. But I really, really don't want to do what I'm about to do, I'm nervous. I flip to the S's. My phone buzzes.

Oh.

OH? I remember why I always hated texting Ben. He only ever replies with one word answers, which drives me nuts. I take the time to type out something longer than one syllable, the least you can do is return the favor.

I left, I tell him. I'm sick of her. I don't know why I'm telling him. I know I'll never get our friendship back. Maybe I just feel that alone, that I have to talk to someone, anyone.

I take a deep breath and tell myself I have to do this before he texts back or I'll lose my nerve. I dial the number under Schmidt: Home.

A female answers on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, um, is Kendall there?"

"No," she says suspiciously, without further explanation or another place I could reach him at. Of course, I think, mentally kicking myself. Of course he wouldn't be at home. Of course he's probably on the road. He probably doesn't even live with his parents anymore. I immediately regret this, and am about to just hang up. But she says, "Can I take a message?" and I just can't. I squeeze my eyes shut, wrinkling my forehead.

"Um, is this Kathy?" I say, avoiding the question.

"Yes," she says, suspicious again.

"Hi, Mrs. Schmidt," I say. "This is, um, Arabella Carter."

"Arabella!" she cries, surprised now. "How are you?"

"Great," I lie. My phone beeps in my ear, and I quickly look at the message from Ben. Where are you going? I'm shocked he cares.

I quickly reply, L.A.

He responds almost immediately. Do you have a place to stay? I have friends in L.A. if you need one. I'm taken even more aback now. Why would he help me? Why is he warming up to me again? After the last time we spoke (not to mention our current texts, the mom thing) I've been under the impression he hates me, thinks I'm just a childish whiny kid with a crush. Why is he being friendly again?

I forget I'm still on the phone with Mrs. Schmidt until I hear a shrill, "Arabella? Arabella?"

I put the phone back to my ear. "Sorry," I apologize.

"Arabella," Mrs. Schmidt says firmly, "don't lie to me. What's wrong?" Dang. I forgot how intuitive she always was; much more so than my own mother. "Why do you need to speak to Kendall?"

I think of lying again. I can say something about how I'm on my way to California to go to college and was hoping Kendall could be my tour guide. Not completely a lie. Although, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I have no idea what I'd hoped to accomplish in reaching out to Kendall. I guess Evanescence put it best: anything is better than to be alone. Honestly, I probably wouldn't even be able to face him when the time came. Even if he had been there, had been the one to pick up the phone, I probably would have hung up immediately the second he said hello.

I consider Ben's offer. Do I really want to drag that heartache back into my life? The small part of me that's still not over him whispers yes, I'd do anything just to have him back in my life. Even though he has a girlfriend and it would mean just being friends. But the better, more rational part of me reminds me: is it worth the pain, the ache so strong I feel it physically not just emotionally, the crying?

"Ummm," I say—I've never said um so much in my entire life—deciding for (mostly) truth. "I'm coming to L.A. and need a tour guide, and Kendall's the only person there that I actually know..." Even though I technically don't really know him because, oh yeah, I haven't talked to or seen him in 15 years, I don't add.

"Oh!" she says, happy now. "Is your mom with you?"

"No...," I hedge. "I'd...rather she not know exactly where I am either." That was it. Well, partly it. The reason I'd picked Kendall: he, being close to my age and hopefully somewhat understanding, unless he still held a stupid grudge from when we were little freaking kids, more than likely wouldn't rat me out to my mom. Mrs. Schmidt...probably will. Let's not even mention the fact that I'm 20 and an adult. My mom treats me like such a child though, I swear.

"Oh," she says, understanding the truth now, sounding sad-ish. "Well. Do you need a place to stay, dear?"

I consider my options. Hmmm. Ben, who I'm still—even if I hate admitting it and try denying it, deep down I know—in love with but won't say a word to my mom, or the Schmidts, who, at least one of them probably—but hopefully not because that would be stupid and childish—hates me, or at the least wants to bring me down a notch with the fact I'm in this situation and they're famous, and will probably help my mom track me down as long as I'm in their care?