enough to visit her in Prague, apparently. "I totally freaked Kady out. She says she's going to
Prague, and I'm practically booking a honeymoon suite in some old castle. Who does that?"
Jake quickly told Ash his unlikely story--that he'd crushed on Amelie, gotten in the movie, and
wound up with Kady after getting lessons from Jojo. For some reason, he didn't feel weird
telling Ash everything, even the Justin Klatch mantra.
"Well, you gotta try. And there's another girl out there," Ash said, laughing bitterly. He'd found
his other girl, and look how that had turned out. "Just don't screw it up."
Jake moved the car through an opening in the sea of brake lights, winding down the exit to
their street.
He pulled to a stop on the curb between their houses. Ash hopped out, while Jake remained in
the driver's seat. A few steps onto his lawn, Ash stopped and turned back. "Hey, want to come
inside, play some PS3?" He grinned. "The graphics are way better than that shit we used to
play on Nintendo 64."
Jake chuckled. "Oh yeah? Was it the graphics' fault that I beat your ass at Mortal Kombat?"
Ash shook his head, laughing. "No, that was 'cause you're a total freak."
Jake tinkered with the keys hanging from the ignition. A friend would be nice right now. But
he had a friend, one he had completely screwed over. One who had hunted high and low for
the perfect car that now sat lonely in the driveway. One who had begged Jake to take him to the
next big party, who never had a moment of disbelief or jealousy when Jake scored a date with
Kady, one who'd pretty much do anything for him out of friendship, not because he wanted
anything in return.
As Queen wound down the song with "You, you're my best friend," Jake knew what he had to
do. As tired as he was, it was time to pay Miles a visit. To make an apology. And to grab a
huge bag of In-N-Out burger with fries as both a peace offering and, thank God, the first starch
to enter his system in days.
"You know, it sounds good, dude," Jake said. "But I have somewhere to be tonight. And I
think you do too."
Ash nodded. "Yeah, I should probably do the whole find-her-and-tell-her-how-I-feel thing,
huh?" he said, heading to his Camaro instead of his front door. "But anytime."
As Jake headed in the direction of Miles's house, he decided that "anytime" would be sometime
soon.
PENCILS, BOOKS, AND DIRTY LOOKS
The day after the party, Amelie lugged her heavy Big Brown Bags through the corridors of the
Beverly Center. After she wrapped filming a movie or a season of Fairy Princess, she and her
mom always went on a shopping spree.
They passed a trio of girls about her age, all wearing nearly identical skinny jeans, high-top
Vans, and tank tops--skater girl chic. Amelie eyed them jealously, watching their bright yellow
Forever21 bags swing back and forth on their wrists. They'd probably just had more normal
teenage fun in the fitting rooms than she'd had in her whole life.
"Are you getting too old to shop with your mom?" Helen said, shoving her Aveda receipt into
her plaid Burberry tote. "Maybe you'd rather have called your girlfriends from Beverly Hills
High, or Kady?"
Amelie grinned wanly. She didn't feel too old to shop with her mom at all, though she did
sometimes wish she had a few girlfriends to call for these trips. Not only had Talia, Fortune,
and Billie swarmed Myla the second they'd realized Grant wasn't coming, they'd left Amelie
talking to the dullest adult in the room, the school principal, Dr. Nachez. They hadn't looked her
way again all night.
Her other potential shopping buddy, Kady, was headed to Prague. But, Amelie had decided,
she was a friend. Last night, Kady had pulled her aside just as Amelie was making her way out
and told her that she'd broken up with Jake.
"I can't do the long-distance romance thing, Amelie," she'd said. "It's just not me. And Prague
has an amazing club scene, tons of natives and backpackers just partying till dawn. If I'd
hooked up with someone else while dating Jake, I would never forgive myself."
Amelie's face had borne a mixture of pleasure and surprise. Pleasure that he was free. Surprise
that she'd be stupid enough to let Jake go. "Are you sure you want to do that?" she'd asked
Kady.
"OMG. Do you like him?" Kady had slapped her forehead like she should have seen it coming.
"I should have guessed. I'm usually good at those things. I saw your bliss face when you
kissed him. That's the kind of face a girl only gets when she's getting a Balinese massage at the
Four Seasons or is kissing a guy she's gaga for. But I guess I thought it was just acting. Still,
you should have seen how dazed he was after that kiss."
The words had cheered Amelie exponentially. But what would she do? Call him? And she
fretted about all the changes his recent fame had wrought. Would he ever like her if he became
the Next Big Thing? What chance did they have for a normal relationship?
Instead of answering her mom, Amelie grabbed Helen's wrist and steered her into the Ben
Sherman store. A song from the new Shout Out Louds' album was blaring, as salespeople
milled around modeling the label's punk rock-meets-prep school aesthetic. It was all very Kady,
and Amelie wanted a reminder of her friend after she left. She wanted to be as brave and as
open as Kady. A little less wild, though "wild" was probably not in Amelie's makeup, but more
willing to do things because she wanted to, and not because it was what someone else expected
of her.
Amelie began scanning the racks of sweaters, jumpers, skirts, and dresses, picking out a gray
miniskirt with angled zippers along the sides and a funky blouse with white cuffs and a tuxedo
ruffle down the center. She could wear black eyeliner in the smudgy way Kady had taught her,
and get blunt bangs cut. Bangs were the mark of courageous girls, Amelie had decided after her
days of studying BHH's student body.
Helen came up at Amelie's side, a blazer draped over her arm. It was navy, very prep school
style, with a Union Jack crest embroidered on the left pocket.
"Try this on," Helen said, holding out the hanger, blowing a wisp of hair out of her mascaraed
lashes.
Amelie studied the coat. "I have so many jackets, though."
"Just try it. For me." Helen took the coat off the hanger and handed it to Amelie. Her mom's
hazel eyes watched expectantly as Amelie slid out of her cardigan and threw the jacket on over
her dress. It was cute, with a nipped-in waist, and double vents so it rested perfectly over her
hips. Amelie turned side to side in the mirror, appeasing her mom.
"That looks great on you, love," called out a salesguy whose hair had been plastered with so
much product his scalp might crack.
Helen nodded approvingly. "I think it would be perfect for your first day of school."
"What do you mean?" Was this a joke?
Helen took a step closer and put a hand on each of her daughter's shoulders. "I think I was too
quick to turn you down," she said. "It was selfish of me. I got a call this morning, from Dr.
Nachez."
Dr. Nachos, Amelie thought, suppressing a giggle.
"I guess he spoke to you last night and was really impressed," Helen said, beaming. "He said
you're very levelheaded for a girl who's been in th
is business for so long, and said you
expressed a real interest in academics."
She had? Amelie remembered listening politely--a skill acquired through tons of eternal chat
sessions with the middle-aged at parties--as Dr. Nachez talked about test scores, student-toteacher ratio, and the benefits of an education that covered the arts and sciences. Amelie barely
remembered it now, but she'd probably rattled off some of the facts and viewpoints she'd
learned at many an education fund-raiser.
"He said BHH could use a role model like you," Helen continued. "And promised me he'd do
his best to help you maintain your career. You'd probably work a little less, or maybe just do
Fairy Princess. Kidz Network said you could shoot full episodes on weekends."
Amelie couldn't believe all the details were already worked out. Apparently, Helen was a better
momager, and mom, than she'd ever realized. "So you're going to let me go to school?" Amelie
said, filled with pleasant jitters. She'd have real textbooks, not just tutoring worksheets. And an
English class where she could answer questions about her favorite literature. She wondered if
they'd read Jane Eyre yet. She'd have a locker. She pictured Jake leaning against it, waiting for
her between classes.
Helen nodded. "I enrolled you this morning. You're now a BHH Knight. You even get a
sweatshirt, because I made a booster club donation."
Amelie couldn't believe it. She was going to BHH. She was going to be normal. As normal as
a girl could be at a school like Beverly Hills High, anyway. She stared at her face in the mirror.
No bangs. She wanted to look studious. Maybe she'd trade contacts for glasses, the darkframed kind that made her look smarter.
She squealed and spun around, grabbing her mom in a hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank
you!"
Helen squeezed her tight. "You're welcome," she said. "But remember, this isn't something to
take lightly. This is about education. Dr. Nachez said you seemed more levelheaded than the
rest of the student body. So I don't want to hear that you're putting off homework to chase
boys."
Amelie knew she wouldn't be chasing boys. Boys plural, anyway.
For her, there was only the one.
EX-DIVAS' SWAN SONGS
Jake stuffed the last of his textbooks into his straining backpack, each heavy addition bringing
him more back down to earth.
It was amazing what a weekend could do. He was grounded, for his tantrum and for sneaking
out. His Escalade had been returned and the lease canceled. The bulk of his Class Angel money
had been placed in his college fund. He was single. But at least he and Miles were friends
again, though he could tell Miles was still a little hurt. As soon as his grounding was up, Jake
was going to take him comic shopping and buy him a little peace offering.
He was definitely out of the movie business. After Jake's little episode last week, his mom had
put out an all-points bulletin to every agent she knew, telling them and their colleagues that
Jacob Porter-Goldsmith was not allowed to have representation or any further film offers. He
had been offered a one-episode gig on Bromance, as a clueless underling that Brody Jenner
would take under his girl-groping wing, but his mom had picked up the phone and given MTV
a stern talking-to. It had to be the first time in film history that a young star turned down a role
because his mommy wouldn't let him take it.
It was fine with him, in a way. Plowing through a few weeks' worth of physics and math
homework made him conscious of how much he actually missed school. And his English
teacher was starting his "science fiction as literature" series, starting with Kurt Vonnegut's
Cat's Cradle, followed by Philip K. Dick stories--they'd be comparing the original text to the
film versions, and it didn't really get any better than that. If he'd gotten anything out of his
stardom, it was that he now felt fairly comfortable with his geekdom. And that, he thought, was
what Justin Klatch would do.
As if to prove things were really back to normal, the words Now You're Really PG! were
scrawled in red on his locker. Someone had gone the extra mile and cut a pair of angel wings
and a halo from construction paper and glued them to the door. A note poked through the
vents. From your friends at pep club! Congrats on the movie! Okay, so it was embarrassing,
but they'd come in peace for a change. That was the only perk of fame he'd like to keep.
As she headed to her Spanish class, Jojo realized things were quiet at BHH today. And not
lazy, rainy Monday quiet. She was sure her classmates were talking about her. Or would be, as
soon as Myla crafted a rumor to explain how Jojo had gone from Myla's closest confidante to
the female equivalent of a No Fucking Way boy.
The weekend had been a lonely one for Jojo, since Willa still wasn't taking her calls--after tons
of begging, Jojo had tried Myla's tactic. But apparently, an I'm sorry arrangement of designer
baked goods and specialty candies from Dylan's Candy Bar in New York did not make up for
lying to your best friend either. Jojo had spent the weekend pretending she had a ton of
homework. She'd had her first two-hour-long conversation with her dads, Fred and Bradley, in
days--they'd gotten a Mac with a webcam. Both of them had horrible colds, and their noses
were like Rudolph's on her screen. She'd gone to Saturday and Sunday night dinners with her
The two days away from Myla had been good for her, though. She'd spent her first few weeks
in L.A. desperately trying to make Myla like her and her second two weeks trying desperately
to be like Myla. And she just wasn't that girl. She wasn't sure who she was, exactly, but she
had a feeling the real Jojo resided somewhere between the soccer-playing, goofing-aroundwith-Willa version and the focus-on-my-fabulosity model.
She lugged her backpack, overloaded with books in true PM (pre-Myla) fashion, past
classmates who seemed unsure whether to say hi, mock her, or hide from her. She turned
down the hallway toward her Spanish class, and saw Jake Porter-Goldsmith struggling to cram
another book in his backpack. Speaking of No Fucking Way boys...
Her heart sped up a little too fast for her liking. After all, this guy had been dating Kady Parker
and shooting love scenes with Amelie Adams for the last few weeks. But it couldn't hurt to say
hi.
"Don't you have someone to carry those for you?" she joked, sidling up to Jake's locker just as
he shut the door. She broke out in the half-smile she couldn't seem to give up. She felt like it
had been her smile all along. There'd been some positives from the Myla makeover.
"Hey, Jojo," Jake said, blushing as Jojo looked at the girlish graffiti. "What's going on?"
Jojo shrugged, focusing her violet eyes intently on his hazel ones. She noticed a green, heartshaped fleck on his left iris. "You tell me, Mr. Movie Star."
Jake laughed, looking sheepish. "Those days are past me already. I didn't even get to fade
away. I did a supernova." He looked nervously down at his Chuck Taylors. "Um, that means
exploded." And it was kind of my fault, Jake thought, still not believing that a week ago, he'd
been wearing sunglasses indoors and letting himself be referred to as Kake. He must have
subconsciously wanted to live out his superstar days in on
e heavily compacted burst, just so he
could go back to normal.
Jojo ran her hand up and down her backpack strap, the nylon making a faint scratching noise.
"I know. I had a field trip to the Griffith Observatory last week. When you were busy with the
whole leading-man thing."
"Yeah, some leading man," Jake said, pushing one of his unruly curls from his face. "But in
case I never said it, thanks. Your Justin Klatch advice really worked."
Jojo fake-punched Jake in the arm, wondering even as she did it why she was acting like such
a dork. Her gaze fell on the red writing on Jake's locker. "What about your advice to me?
Shouldn't you be scrubbing your locker?"
Jake bit his lip. "No, that's actually a good thing. From the pep club. It's just kind of weird,
right?" He grinned goofily. Having his existence acknowledged at school actually felt pretty
good.
"No, it's not," Jojo said, touching one of the angel wings. "It's about time you got some respect
at this school, Porter-Goldsmith. Even if you kind of went over to the douche side."
Jake's face turned the same red as his backpack. "I did bag on my best friend," he said. He
wanted to say it out loud, because he still hadn't fully forgiven himself for the shitty way he'd
treated Miles.
"I was just teasing you," Jojo said, worrying she'd taken it too far. In her heart, she knew the
movie star Jake of Class Angel hadn't been the real Jake who she'd come to know and like.
"But it happens to the best of us." She shook her head, thinking of Willa and knowing exactly
what he meant. Was best-friend ditchage a side effect of the charmed life? Couldn't you be
fabulous and a decent person? Maybe she could try that next. "Anyway, I'll forgive you if you
walk me to class." She looked up at him with her flirtiest stare.
Jake brightened. "You sure you want to be seen with PG?" He reached out, and adjusted her
backpack so that it sat straight on her shoulder. Jojo felt a tickle dance along her collarbone.
"I'm sure."
NO PICNIC
Myla sat in her usual chair at the best table in the cafeteria, her boxy Prada bag on a chair of its
own. Fortune had insisted she not let the buttery leather touch the table.
Things were back to normal. Or, back to two-weeks-ago normal. No signs of Class Angel