Sunset Boulevard Part 13

"At BHH?"

"With Grant?"

Billie and Fortune's necks seemed to lengthen with their excited questions.

"I don't know." Amelie shrugged, feeling more and more alone even as the tent grew more crowded. She'd known that her BHH friends' interest had been about Grant at first, but she'd really thought they'd started to like her. She'd hoped to stay friends after she returned to life as a sheltered, tutored teen star. But between last night's soup kitchen fiasco and this party, the chances of that were fading as fast as Tom Cruise's chance for an Oscar.

Amelie glanced around the tent again, praying for a Grant sighting. Instead, she saw Kady and Jake holding hands, getting their picture taken beneath a giant halo made of gold foilwrapped G.o.diva chocolates. She quickly looked away, wishing she could be anywhere but here.

"What do you say we ditch this party? Maybe order takeout at my house?" Amelie asked hopefully. A big girly sleepover was exactly what she needed right now. "I got a screener of the new Keira Knightly movie."

"Oh, that sounds fun," Fortune said distractedly. She was staring off at something outside the tent, and Amelie followed her gaze. Myla Everhart, in a sleek green dress, pranced into a tent offering Spa 415 treatments and mani-pedis. Talia and Billie turned to look too. They eyed Barbar's daughter hopefully-like she was the cupcake they could have if they cleared their plates of brussels sprouts.

And Amelie was the brussels sprouts.

"The three of us just really need to go talk to Myla about something, and then we'll be right back. 'Kay?"

Amelie didn't bother responding, and didn't even have time to. The girls zipped from the tent, making a beeline for Myla.

Even Amelie's trusty delusions couldn't trick her into believing they'd be back.

Jojo was an insider. Plain and simple. How many other sixteen-year-old girls got exclusive invites to wrap parties held at the famous Transnational lot?

Okay, so it wasn't exactly exclusive: Everyone at BHH had been invited, as a thank-you for letting the film shoot at the school. Still, she was here and not hiding in a corner. The party was outdoors, and the lot had been decorated to look like a metropolitan version of heaven. Even the tawny golden Transnational gates bore a glittery sign that read, THANK HEAVEN FOR BEVERLY HILLS HIGH SCHOOL. Each wrought-iron spike was topped with a halo fashioned from twinkle lights. Down the lot's New York street, beneath their cover of a white, glittery sheen, Jojo recognized the brownstone steps where Anne Hathaway and Chris Evans had kissed over spilled groceries in the remake of Barefoot in the Park. Amelie Adams stood on the steps now, talking to BHH's princ.i.p.al, Dr. Nachez, who had the unfortunate nickname Dr. Nachos thanks to his slight paunch. He was oblivious to the fact all his students were carrying flutes of champagne in open violations of BHH's no-tolerance policy-perhaps on purpose.

Jojo debated snapping a photo of Amelie Adams wearing a chic taupe Zac Posen dress that she recognized from Myla's spring runway collection flash cards. She could send it to Willa. But Willa still wasn't speaking to her. Myla had suggested sending a basket of exotic apology treats, but instead Jojo had gone the I f.u.c.ked up big-time route, admitting her lie and apologizing like crazy. All to no avail.

A waitress dressed as an angel, one who looked like she possibly stripped on the side, approached her with a tray of sweets. "Heavenly dessert?" Jojo scanned the tray of white chocolate ice cream scoops topped with white chocolate fudge in martini gla.s.ses, white brownies shaped like halos, and white frosted angel-wing sugar cookies.

Just as she was about to decide, Tucker appeared and grabbed two cookies in his fist. "Sweet," he said, handing Jojo a bottle of Corona, even though she'd asked for champagne.

"Thanks," Jojo said, immediately setting the beer down on a cloud-topped cafe table that had been set up outside the facade of a New York diner. Jojo was a little annoyed that Tucker didn't notice or apologize, but decided not to say anything. She'd attempted to ask Myla for advice on the Tucker front last night, but Myla had turned the conversation around, asking if Tucker had mentioned Ash. Jojo was able to repeat Tucker's lament that his "bro" had been babysitting Crazy Daisy a lot. Myla had been happy to hear that-happier than Jojo had seen her in days-and after that, Jojo hadn't wanted to ruin the mood by voicing her doubts about Tucker.

"No problem," Tucker said, guzzling his beer. "This party's kind of lame, huh?"

Jojo was thinking quite the opposite. Maybe it was touristy of her, but she loved being surrounded by the familiar backdrops of her favorite movies. "It's okay, I think."

Tucker nodded, looking around, his attention consumed by the barely dressed angels who pa.s.sed with trays of food. His eyes landed on the long bar that stretched from the brownstone down to the old-fashioned fire department. Silver buckets of ice holding Moet champagne lined one side of the bar.

"Oh, hold on a sec," he said, touching Jojo's arm and jogging over to the bar. Jojo felt moderately better. He'd remembered the champagne. She watched as he sidled down the bar, peering into the buckets. He waggled his fingers at several of the waitresses, who flocked to him. Jojo hoped he wasn't going to make some big gesture and bring her the whole bottle of Moet. She just wanted a flute.

Tucker lifted one of the buckets from the table and carried it over to her, the waitresses following him like a flock of glittery birds. His face formed the mischievous grin that Jojo actually liked.

"I had an idea for how we can liven this place up," he said.

"Stealing an ice bucket?" Jojo chided. "Really?"

"No, Jo," he replied, and she winced at the dreaded nickname. "Wet T-shirt contest."

A horrified look crossed Jojo's face. She'd heard Tucker was a horndog, but this was a little too Girls Gone Wild even for him.

He hefted the bucket, which contained water from melted ice, onto his shoulder. "You wanna go first, since you're my girlfriend and everything?"

She stepped out of the way just as Tucker flung the cold water in her direction. The giant splash hit the waitress behind her. The girl shrieked, but giddily, as her near-sheer white negligee went from PG-13 to NC-17.

"What the h.e.l.l, Tucker?" Jojo screamed, but Tucker was already running to the bar for more water, a trail of squealing waitresses behind him, yelling, "Me next!"

"Jojo, come here, this is awesome," Tucker yelled, waving her over. He really thought she would be his cohort in an impromptu wet T-shirt contest?

She was so dumping him. At least she still had her sister.

"To us," Kady said, raising her champagne flute high.

"To us," Jake clinked her gla.s.s with his own, conscious of cameras firing away.

When he'd made his way into the party, he'd collected high fives and congrats from BHH cla.s.smates who'd only talked to him before to get homework help. Life as half of a superstar couple was treating him well. The only thing better was the way Kady looked tonight. She wore a short black sequined skirt with a red cotton racerback tank over it, a skinny blue scarf tossed around her neck. Her chin-length jet-black hair was pulled back on one side, enhancing her deep-set dark blue eyes and dewy olive skin. Sneaking out, even in the Corolla, had been worth it.

They were standing in a roped-off area reserved for princ.i.p.al cast and crew, studio execs, and BHH administrators. Jake was on full display-for the first time in his life, he was hanging out somewhere other people actually wanted to be. Other students looked at him with envy and admiration as they made their way past. Rod Stegerson and his buddies had even checked out Kady, her legs dusted with shimmer atop a pair of candy-apple red DSquared2 high heels that brought her closer to Jake's height. Rod had given Jake the "guy's nod" of acknowledgment.

If this was to be his life from here on out, he could definitely deal.

Kady took advantage of her added height and kissed Jake in the s.p.a.ce behind his ear. Geoff Schaffer and Tucker Swanson, each carrying a bucket of melted ice, gave him the thumbs-up. Jake usually closed his eyes when Kady kissed him, but tonight he wanted to witness people seeing him as something other than the geek who could speak j.a.panese and Vulcan.

He glanced at Amelie, who was talking to his princ.i.p.al and one of the deans. She didn't look his way. Across the way, he saw Miles, Rush Baxter, an AV buddy who was a student PA on the movie, and a few other AV squad guys making their way to the PS3 tent. Miles wore a new jacket, a gray blazer that actually fit him. Rush half-smiled, but like he was afraid of Jake, not like they were friends. Jake waved at the guys. Rush's hand went halfway up, until Miles raised an eyebrow. Rush retracted his hand, and they all looked straight ahead and kept walking. So Miles was mad at him? A p.r.i.c.kle of irritation tugged at Jake. This whole manager thing had been Miles's idea, not his.

Jake turned back to Kady. He had a special evening planned tomorrow night: He was going to take her to the Little Door. Last night at Citizen Smith, Brent Bolthouse, the club promoter, had recommended it. It was supposed to be an ultra-romantic restaurant, and really exclusive.

"I was thinking..." he started, holding Kady a little tighter. Just then, as eager photogs closed in, her BlackBerry beeped with an incoming e-mail.

"Hold on a sec," Kady said, squeezing his hand. She fished the device from inside the waistband of her skirt.

"Wow," she breathed. "I don't believe it."

"What's up?" Jake asked, snaking his arm around Kady's waist and pulling her close.

"I got a part in Ridley Scott's new World War II movie," she said, taking a deep breath and looking at Jake with a message behind her eyes. "Have you heard about it? The one about the time travelers from the present who go back to meet the Greatest Generation?"

Jake had heard about it, all right. The script was a collaboration between Ridley Scott and Christopher Nolan, and the cast so far included Christian Bale, Will Smith, and Eric Bana. And now his girlfriend. Jake was impressed as he catalogued all the awesome movies Ridley Scott had made: Alien, Blade Runner, Gladiator.... It was a habit from his geek days he couldn't quite break, but at least he didn't say the names out loud. "Congratulations," he said instead.

Kady kissed him happily. "I'm so excited. I auditioned months ago and never heard anything about it. It was such a long shot. But now I'm going to working with Ridley Scott." She shivered with happiness. Jake brushed his hands up and down her bare arms to warm her.

"I'm so happy for you. And for us," Jake said. And he was. If Kady was landing major roles in sci-fi historical epics, who knew what might be in store for him?

Kady gazed up at him, her long lashes half-shielding her dark blue eyes. "Well, that's the thing," she said, squeezing his hand. "It's filming in Prague. I leave next week."

He imagined himself visiting Kady in Prague. They'd stroll down cobblestone streets, tour all the castles and cathedrals, happen upon the shadowy nooks and crannies of the atmospheric city and steal kisses beneath the romantically dreary gray sky. "I've always wanted to go. Franz Kafka's from there. There's a museum for his work," he blurted. He winced at the involuntary emission of a nerd fact, and quickly backpedaled. "We wouldn't have to go or anything."

Kady's eyes popped, as if Jake just told her he was pregnant. "But Jake," she protested like she was talking to a child. "You have no idea how bad long-distance can be. I don't want to be a b.i.t.c.h, but it would just be impossible."

Jake took a step back, trying to remember to breathe. "But I thought..." he began, not knowing what words could bring her back to five minutes ago, when everything was still ahead of them. "We're Kake." Their couple name wilted in the air for a second. Jake wondered if he could have made a lamer argument.

Kady pushed a curl away from his forehead, looking at him pitifully, like he was in a full-body cast. "We'll always be Kake," she said, smiling dolefully.

Jake faced facts: She was dumping him. The movie was over, she had to leave town, and she was dumping him. Jake had never officially been dumped before, because he'd never had an official girlfriend before. But instead of the news. .h.i.tting him like a shot to the gut, he processed it like a mathematical equation. There was only one possible outcome: Geek plus hot, famous girl equals geek getting dumped. He wanted to tell Miles, who was like a geek anthropologist when it came to this stuff. But he couldn't. He'd sent his buddy to do his dirty work, left him standing alone, and now Miles wouldn't talk to him. His own mom had called him a douche bag. And she was right. He'd sold his soul for fame. As if fame could make your life everything you wanted it to be.

"Are you okay?" Kady said, squeezing his hands tightly, as if potentially breaking his metacarpus would distract him from the pain of abandonment. "We had so much fun, and if I was staying, there's no way this would happen. You're a great guy. You'll find a new girl in no time."

"Don't worry about it," Jake said, squeezing her hands back. He couldn't be mad at her. His status as dumpee was inevitable. He was lucky to even be in the position of getting dumped.

It had been fun. She was right on that. And maybe in some world, he was the kind of great guy who'd find a girl in no time. But without a new role coming up-and probably with a lifelong grounding and a p.i.s.sed-off best friend-he somehow doubted his social life was going to be awesome from here on out.

CHARMED, I'M SURE Myla held still as one of the Cla.s.s Angel makeup artists carefully applied a dusting of highlighter to her cheekbones. She had to admit, the VIP tent for the party more than met her standards.

Guys in dark jeans with Reavis High jackets open to expose their chiseled, glitter-coated chests were giving neck and shoulder rubs, while the hair and makeup staff offered up their expertise. As a woman who looked twelve but had the voice of Kathleen Turner worked on her face, a flamboyant guy in a pink suit curled individual tendrils of Myla's hair, pinning them in a s.e.xy, messy arrangement along her head. A lot of the BHH guys were in the tent next door, which was fully stocked with unreleased video games and girls in skimpy angel costumes offering ma.s.sages and reflexology.

Myla was trying her best to relax, after no word from Ash since the beach party. She'd heard from Jojo via Tucker that Ash had been spending time with Daisy, which seemed to bode well. Of course, she had no solid reason to believe Ash would kiss Daisy and come running back to her. But she also had no reason to believe her plan wouldn't work. In one of her favorite scenarios, Ash, about to kiss Daisy, stopped just before contact, and realized that Myla had been telling the truth and that the kiss with Lewis had been less than meaningless.

Myla had taken extra care to look perfect when Ash arrived. She'd worn his favorite perfume, Harajuku Lovers Music, and his favorite color, green, in the form of an Alice + Olivia draped V-neck minidress. With her hair pulled up, her delicate neck and shoulder blades were exposed. She even had her Green Lantern ring, strung on a new gold chain, tucked into her violet Marc Jacobs clutch, for him to loop around her neck when they got back together. Her mom had received the clutch, covered in dozens of cutout hearts, today, and Myla took the hearts as a sign that tonight was her and Ash's night. It had to be.

"You have amazing bone structure," the makeup artist said in her husky voice. "So refined." Myla half-smiled in thanks, flicking her eyes to the mirror on the table next to her. Talia, Billie, and Fortune approached behind her. Even though they'd made no attempts to talk since she'd ditched them in the cafeteria, now all three girls looked as frightened as kindergartners left behind on a field trip. Clearly, Myla's closeness with Jojo had gotten to them, and they were worried their absence hadn't been missed.

"You really do," Talia said, her apologetic frown contrasting with the cheery retro print of her Juicy paisley silk dress. "I wish I had cheekbones like yours."

"I read that one of the most popular plastic surgeries with teens is to get Myla's cheekbones," Fortune said, trying to one-up Talia. "Teen Vogue, I think."

Billie bounced on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet, looking ready to throw herself in Myla's arms for a hug. She nervously grabbed a handful of her short, gathered Thakoon skirt, printed with tiny pink petals. "We're so sorry for the last few weeks," Billie said, looking on the verge of tears. "And for not listening to you about Grant."

Myla shrugged. In a way, her friends' sudden a.s.s-kissing for forgiveness was annoying. They were acting like they'd left her stranded. Which they had, right when she'd needed them. But she'd never have admitted that. Still, she felt warmed by their urgent need to apologize. "I could have helped you if you'd asked. Amelie's soup kitchen didn't work?"

"He didn't show. And he's not here tonight." Talia sighed heavily, flopping into the seat next to Myla's. "I can't believe Amelie lied to us and dragged us to that place," she said, wrinkling her nose. She picked up a makeup brush and swirled it absently into a container of powder. "I've never seen that many homeless people in one place, Myla. Even in Santa Monica. And then tonight Amelie tried to act all, 'Who cares if Grant's not here? We have each other.' Yeah, right. She was totally just using us."

Myla nodded triumphantly.

"Anyway, we really missed you," Fortune said. "Can I give you a hug?"

"Of course," Myla said, a sense of calm flowing through her body as Fortune smothered her in a hug and the other girls followed suit, a tangle of spray-tanned limbs, perfume, and hair products. But Myla drank it all in. She'd been feeling untethered in the weeks since her friends started drifting. Coupled with Ash's distance, she felt like everyone was abandoning her. Jojo didn't count. Because as much as Myla was starting to love her new sister, she knew Jojo would always be there. Jojo depended on Myla for everything-style, confidence, even a boyfriend. She wasn't going anywhere.

"Thanks guys," she said, drawing back from the hug. "Now, I was about to get a manicure. Do you want to join me?" She was careful to play the part of Old Myla, girl in charge. Showing too much emotion would be like displaying her weaknesses for the world to see.

The girls clapped and squealed with such enthusiasm, Myla thought they would break into an impromptu chorus of "k.u.mbaya."

The manicurist had just removed Myla's practically fresh violet coat of OPI Caffeine Fix when someone tapped her on the shoulder. Ash. He'd found her. Maybe all the pieces of her jigsawed life were going to be put back together tonight. She looked up, anxious to be staring into Ash's teddy bear eyes.

Instead, she got Jojo's violet eyes, peering down at her. Jojo's gaze shifted to Talia, seated in the manicure chair next to her. Talia smiled perkily but resumed giving orders to her manicurist. Jojo shrugged, and rolled up another manicure chair between Talia and Myla.

She plopped down, spinning the chair so she could have a private audience with Myla. All of Myla's fair-weather friends had returned, Jojo noticed. After all this time of having Myla all to herself, Jojo wasn't crazy about suddenly having to share her.

"You will never believe what just happened," Jojo whispered, raising one eyebrow. She knew Myla would be surprised at first to hear that she'd dumped Tucker, but proud of Jojo for not putting up with a complete a.s.s. "I dumped Tucker."

"You did what?" Myla's face was not the curious, bemused one Jojo was expecting. She just looked confused. "Why?"

Jojo shook her head as if to say, Why not? She looked seriously into Myla's eyes, ignoring Talia and the girls, who were already talking in hushed tones about Jojo and Tucker's split. "One, I don't know if he was ever really right for me. And two, about twenty minutes ago he decided this party needed a wet T-shirt contest. It almost cost me my Prada." Jojo gestured to her cream sundress.

"Is that seriously why you dumped the second-most popular guy in school? Why didn't you consult me first?"

"You're joking, right?" Jojo said, her eyes flicking to Talia, Billie, and Fortune. They watched with casual detachment, like Jojo was a minor character on a teen soap who was about to be killed off.

Myla rolled her eyes and patted Jojo's arm in faux sympathy. She wasn't planning to exile Jojo or anything, but she also didn't want her friends to see she'd formed a serious bond with Jojo in the short time they'd spent apart. Besides, for the girls to know she'd made a faulty Jojo-Tucker match was no good at all. To her friends, Myla's blessing a relationship was more powerful than the pope on Easter.

"Look, if you can't control your boyfriend, it's not my problem," Myla said, turning back and extending a hand so the manicurist could keep working.

Jojo felt her whole body quake. She scanned the seats on either side of Myla, where Billie, Talia, and Fortune sat placidly, looking at her like they weren't sure what she was doing here now that the Fantastic Four had been reunited.

It dawned on Jojo that they knew better than she did. All the time, she had been nothing more than a project for Myla, a way to pa.s.s the time while her friends' attention was elsewhere.

Myla hadn't been helping Jojo. She'd been helping herself. She'd made Jojo dress like her, talk like her, walk like her. She'd made her squelch her feelings for a guy she actually liked-Jake-and pimped her out to a guy she didn't. And Jojo had gone along with it. Thinking about how willingly she'd gone along with Myla's scheme, Jojo hated herself almost as much as she hated Myla right now. She'd lied to Willa, her best friend in the world. The only true friend she'd ever had. Who didn't even want to be her friend anymore.

Jojo felt words pile up in her throat, like those last few moves on a Tetris game when the shapes are falling so fast you know you're going to lose.

"You know what? This is it. Thus endeth the lessons," Jojo said, hovering over Myla in the four-inch heels that were killing her. "I'm not some experiment. I'm not some robot you can dress like you and teach to talk like you and to act like you." Jojo cast a meaningful look at Talia, Billie, and Fortune, who looked like shelved marionette puppets with their mouths hanging open.

Myla sighed, as though bored, but wrenched her hand out from under the nail tech's cotton ball. She stood up, straightening her back so she was nearly Jojo's height, wishing Jojo were in flats.

"You know what? You're lucky-I took an interest in you," Myla sneered, already sick of Jojo's ungrateful tirade. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be Miss Sacra-demento who can't hold her liquor. How could you be so ungrateful?"

Jojo c.o.c.ked her head b.i.t.c.hily to the side, a move Myla recognized as one of her own. "Should I be thanking you?" Billie was texting wildly, probably live-blogging the showdown. "Shouldn't you be thanking me? I was fun for a while, right? A little project to keep you busy while you waited for your loyal subjects to come running back. 'Oh, Jojo will be so happy to have her life hijacked while I wait for my BFFs to get bored with Amelie Adams.'"

Myla took a step forward, so that she and Jojo were mere inches away. Jabbing her sister's chest with her polishless index finger, she spat out her words. "Whatever, BarfBarf. I didn't hear you complaining when I lent you my shoes, or took you shopping, or taught you how to walk upright instead of like some Central California cavewoman. Yakking on YouTube is about as entertaining as you'll get."

Jojo shook her head, willing herself not to stammer in front of the crowd that had gathered. Myla's friends, the manicurists, and dozens of other students were staring.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Jojo said. "You should appreciate all the people in this world who see enough in you that they're willing to put up with your s.h.i.t. Instead, you think they're worthless unless you can make them do anything you want them to. As if having you pull the strings and call the shots makes them the luckiest people on earth. You know your rule, 'It's not you, it's them'? Myla, in your case, it's all you. You screw up the only things worth having, for, I don't know what, popularity? Power? You probably don't even know. But you can have it." Jojo yanked off the painful Stuart Weitzman platform heels Myla had lent her and dropped them at her sister's feet. "And you can have your shoes back."

Myla stared at the shoes like they were a pair of dead rats. She couldn't believe Jojo had the nerve to take her on in front of the entire school. And she couldn't believe she was letting it happen. But worst of all, what if what Jojo was saying was true? She pursed her lips and fanned her gaze around the nosy onlookers. Glaring at Jojo, she said, "You have no idea who you're messing with. You're over."

Myla expected tears. But instead, Jojo shook her head, looked over Myla's shoulder, and grinned.

"Okay, Myla," Jojo said, in a sincerely sweet voice. "Good luck with that. And good luck with Ash." Then she winked, and spun on her bare heel, striding out of the party.

Myla took a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would purify her. That was done, at least. For now. She should have known better than to reach out to Jojo. She'd created a monster.

But she didn't have the chance to breathe for long, because coming toward her was Ash.

With Daisy Morton. Holding hands.

Make that two monsters.

Ash caught her eye and whispered in Daisy's ear. Myla strode in their direction, too wobbly to look any of her friends or cla.s.smates in the eye. There was an explanation for this. There had to be. Maybe Daisy was wasted again, and the hand-holding was just a maneuver to keep her from pa.s.sing out.