by Zoey Dean
guy in a new light--he's a lot like Knox. And Kady, you're impressed--you always believed
you were in love with this essay writer--but you don't want Tommy to know that, so you're
pretending you're angry with him. Please, guys, let's nail this. Follow Jake's lead. He's got it."
Jake stared down at the pages of scribbles, trying not to grin like an idiot. He honestly had no
idea what he was doing to warrant all this praise. He'd just been trying to carry out Jojo's
advice--treating Kady like she was the only one in the room. As for his lines, he didn't feel like
he was doing anything special. He had a geek's gift for memorizing, and several years of Torah
recitations at Hebrew School aiding his enunciation. That was all. But as long as he had "it,"
for now he was, as in the words of many an L.A. bumper sticker, driving it like he stole it.
Gary clapped his hands twice. "This is it, I can feel it. We'll take it from Kady's line, 'Why do
you do this?' Let's roll."
Kady, Grant, and Amelie clustered in the doorway. Jake took one deep breath and posed with
his pen hovering over the pages of his composition notebook. He furrowed his brow. Like
Jake, Justin Klatch would treat his essays with the importance of a state basketball title.
"And, action!" Gary stage-whispered.
"Why do you do this?" Kady said, taking a few steps into the room so that she was hovering
above Jake. Kady crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, staring down at Jake with a
mixture of surprise and anger. "For shits and giggles? Do you think it's funny to give
nonconformists like me and Knox hope that there's someone at this school who doesn't think
cheerleaders and ballers deserve special treatment?"
Amelie piped up, as Class Angel, but Jake kept staring at Kady's concerned face, partially
because of Jojo's advice but also because he still felt like Amelie could see the remains of his
utter infatuation all over his face. "Remains" was the right word, he thought. His crush on
Amelie no longer hurt in the raw-wound way it had since the party. It was healing fast, but he
had a feeling it would leave a scar. "I told you he was different. I may just be an apprentice
angel, but I can read people."
"Shut up," Kady said through gritted teeth in Amelie's direction. She leaned down so close to
Jake, he breathed in the sugary aroma of her frosting-scented body lotion. "Are you going to
answer me?"
Jake searched her blue eyes, noticing that diamonds of gray circled her pupils. "Isn't it possible
that I just believe in sticking up for the little guy?" He puffed out his chest a little, liking
Tommy Archer more and more. The guy was like a high school superhero. Jake could see why
girls would go for him. He himself was a little in love with him too. "A jock like me wouldn't
have much credibility, so I made up a student. I don't need credit. But I'm guessing you like the
essays?"
Lizzie backed away, throwing up her hands.
Knox piped up. "Like them? Lizzie cuts them all out and saves them! She said, and I quote, 'If I
ever meet X. L. Thursday, I'm going to kiss him on the mouth.'"
Lizzie spun on her heel, embarrassed. Looking at Class Angel, she muttered, "I hate you."
Angel gamely shrugged. "They told me that would be part of the job."
Lizzie dashed out, her Angel at her heels. Knox hung back.
"This is like meeting Captain America and Jack Kerouac rolled into one muscular dude," he
said, holding out a fist toward Jake.
Jake panicked. The fist thing wasn't in the script. He extended a hand and awkwardly clasped
Grant's fist, pumping it up and down in a handshake. Then he realized he was supposed to be
fist-bumping. What kind of idiot didn't know that?
Jake's face was turning a dark shade of red when Gary yelled cut. "That was hilarious, Jake,
the handshake instead of the fist-bump. Good ad-libbing," he added, coming over to pat Jake
on the back. "We're actually going to finish in time."
"Nice work, bro," Grant said, looking into a mirror on the door. He ran his hands over his hair
to muss it more than it already was. "Can I give you a tip?"
Here it came. Grant Isaacson telling Jake not to be so transparently uncool. Tearing into him
because he didn't know what a fist-bump was.
"Uh, sure," Jake croaked out, shifting uncomfortably under Grant's penetrating stare.
"You've had, what, four Diet Cokes today?" Grant's gold-colored eyes seemed to signal this
was a bad thing.
Jake shrugged. "I'm not sure," he replied. "I don't actually keep count."
"Just be careful," Grant said, the gravity of his tone making clear he wasn't joking around.
"Soda'll make you bloated and pasty. Keep it out of your system, and you'll be fine." Grant
cracked a rare smile, displaying slightly crooked top teeth. "I'm really glad we found you,
man."
"Me too," Jake said, meaning it. How else would he have known the power of the Klatch
without this movie? Or be trading actor tricks with Grant Isaacson, who could get any girl he
wanted? He stood up, handing the composition book to the prop master before heading into the
gymnasium. He couldn't believe that three professional actors had gotten notes to follow his
lead. He pictured himself as a guest on Inside the Actors Studio, telling James Lipton about his
first role. "And, then, James, I thought, 'What Would Justin Klatch Do?'"
He headed toward the craft services table, where Kady was already assembling a plate of salad
and cookies. Amelie was sitting in her chair about ten feet away, as a makeup artist removed
glitter from her cheeks.
Kady grinned as he approached, her lips like a perfect red bow across her heart-shaped face.
She set down her plate and hugged him. "That was spectacular, Jake," she said, her voice
muffled as she spoke into his chest. She was shorter than Amelie, and Jake felt strong and
manly against her tiny frame.
"Thanks," he said, looking down into her eyes. "You were amazing too."
Kady shrugged cutely as she pulled out of the hug, her hoodie falling down to expose one
shoulder. "So, are you ready for tonight?"
Tonight was the big football game scene. Jake, as Tommy, was playing quarterback, and
Lizzie, there to pull a prank on the cheerleaders, was supposed to get caught up in admiring
Tommy on the field, against her better judgment. All of BHH was going to be in the bleachers,
watching him make a perfect pass to win the game. After Saturday, with his ridiculous attempts
to even hold a football, he'd spent several hours at ESPN Zone playing Quarterback Challenge
with Miles as his coach. "Dude, what did you work out for all summer if you're not going to
put it to good use now?" Miles had said. "Throwing a football is all physics and geometry.
Inertia, arch, stuff geeks know way better than jocks." After a physics-driven football lesson,
Jake had emerged from the restaurant with a perfect spiral.
"Sure," Jake said, grinning in a confident but not cocky way. Even though the cameras were
off, he was still using his WWJKD training. "I think it will be fun."
Kady play-shoved him. "Yeah, fun. Even Hunter Sparks was nervous about filming that scene,
and he'd only be in front of a bunch of losers from Central Casting, not his whole high school."
Her eyes danced over Jake's body. "Do you play football? I bet you do."
Jake looked away for
one quick moment and saw Amelie looking his way too. She knew he
was no athlete. She also knew he was not a ladies' man. And, yeah, Justin Klatch probably
didn't lie, but he probably wouldn't have to say he'd never played football. Quarterback
Challenge counted, right?
"I did," Jake said, swigging some water to wash down the lie. "When I was younger."
"Oh, really?" Kady slid along the table, coming closer again. She reached for his bicep and
squeezed. Jake flexed at exactly the right moment. "Wow, yeah, you did. So, why not now?"
Jake flinched, he hoped not in a perceivable way. What now? He imagined the face of Justin
Klatch, who looked like Matt Damon crossed with Thor. Justin was saying, "ACL."
"I had this game and sort of got cocky. I didn't run the play like Coach said, and I was tearing
down the field when all these guys tackled me. I tore my ACL pretty bad and called it quits. I
learned my lesson, though." He nodded solemnly, hoping that sounded convincing.
"Wow." Kady raised an eyebrow, sliding an inch closer. He could feel her warm breath on his
neck. She looked up at him, her lips parted. "You wanna show me your scar?"
Holy. Justin. Klatch. Kady Parker was flirting with him. Big-time. Jake jogged--no, sprinted--his memory, trying to remember where an ACL even was. In his head, Justin rolled his eyes:
"Leg, dude."
"Are you trying to get me to take off my pants?" Jake asked, before he even knew what he was
saying. Where did that come from? His imaginary Justin nodded encouragingly.
"Maybe," Kady said, her night-colored eyes teasing. "And so what if I am?"
As Jake felt every muscle, bone, and ACL in his body tense up pleasurably, he congratulated
himself. Totally Klatched it, he thought to himself.
BLEACHER BUMMERS
"Okay, we need to fill in these empty seats near Grant. Can we please have Talia Montgomery,
Billie Bollman, and Fortune Weathers?" The casting director, a plump blond woman wearing
oversize chunky blue beads, scanned the sidelines along BHH's bleachers. She looked like
Meryl Streep's younger sister.
Myla covered her ears as her friends let out a piercing squeal. She hadn't heard them get that
excited since she'd chartered a jet to take them all shopping in New York for her fifteenth
birthday.
"Omigod, it's happening. I get his right side, next to his dimple," Fortune said bossily,
adjusting the V-neck of her blue J.Crew sweater.
"Fine, I'll take his left. His hair looks better from that angle, anyway," Talia sniped back, her
hair tamed into two low pigtails wrapped in navy ribbons.
"What about me?" Billie said sadly, unzipping her hoodie and straightening her shoulders,
displaying the cleavage afforded by her navy tank top. It was clear to Myla that her friends had
dressed down in an effort to appear "authentic." But they could have gone suburbia casual in
C&C pieces from Fred Segal, instead of mall brands. Movie parts or not, nothing was worth
defiling one's skin with cheapo clothes.
"You can sit next to me," Fortune said, generously patting Billie on the shoulder. "I'll lean back
so you can see the dimple."
Myla rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe the whole school was being forced into servitude for
a dumb teen movie, or that her friends were so excited about it. She knew they'd gone to
Amelie Adams for "fashion" advice, and it annoyed her. Myla would have given them better
wardrobe counseling, but her three besties were all extra grateful because Amelie had
supposedly spoken to the casting director. Like that was such a big deal.
As her friends shoved their way past other students to get close to Grant, Myla scanned the
bleachers, pulling her hands into her cashmere sweater as a chilly breeze swept across the field.
The casting director had directed all the BHH B-listers to fill in the visitors' section across the
field. Olivia Abdabo had been sent to change out of her self-designed blue sequined jumpsuit
and was now glumly texting in the back row of the bleachers, wearing a shapeless Reavis High
sweatshirt and ill-fitting Gap jeans. Higher up, poor Jojo had been given a Reavis High band
uniform, and sat between two freshman boys, holding a trumpet. She was guaranteed to be oncamera in her foot-high plumed band cap. But Jojo held her shoulders back like she was daring
someone to tease her. She looked like a Zen master crossed with British royalty. Myla felt a
surge of pride. Jojo was definitely getting the hang of Everhart Life 101.
A few feet away, Ash and his buddies stood in a circle, playing Hacky Sack as they waited for
instructions. Ash knocked the little ball out of the game, and it landed with a dull plop by
Myla's feet. She bent to pick it up just as Ash arrived in front of her.
"Hey," she said, her voice catching in her throat. She hadn't spoken to him since they'd met at
their spot in Griffith Park to declare a truce. His sandy hair shone under the stadium's lights.
Instinctively, Myla reached to lift his hair from his face, then pulled her hand away.
"Hey," Ash said. His voice filtered through her every pore. They reached for the ball at the
same time, their hands brushing over its bumpy surface. Myla pulled hers away, laughing
nervously despite herself.
"You two." The casting director suddenly loomed over them, exhaling a plume of smoke from
her American Spirit. "You look adorable together. Sit behind Grant and the blondes."
Ash blinked, a shy smile crossing his face. He helped Myla up from her crouched position. As
their fingers touched again, a surge both familiar and fresh shot through Myla.
"Sure," Ash said to the casting director. He dropped Myla's hand and she followed him to a
seat behind Fortune and Billie, who both looked shell-shocked by their proximity to Grant.
Myla shot the girls a significant look, trying to convey the excitement she was keeping reined
in. But her friends were too starstruck by Grant to even notice. Irked, Myla vowed to ignore
them for the rest of the scene. Let them have Grant. Ash, in Myla's eyes, was much hotter. His
hair, though shaggy as always, was obviously clean, contrasting with Grant's "the more
buildup the better" style. Ash had classic features--slightly sun-tinged skin, a strong chin, a
perfect aquiline nose, sculpted red lips, and deep, soulful eyes that even when sleepy or stoned
could reduce a girl to butter. Grant had the dimple and high cheekbones, but was what Myla
would call sugly--surly and ugly--with his nocturnal pallor, perma-pout, glinty amber eyes, and
a nose that looked like it had been broken on more than one occasion. In profile, he looked like
a bad Picasso knockoff, the features all slightly off but not arranged in a way that qualified
them as art. But she could guess at his allure. He had that whole I'll ravage your body right
after I finish this bottle of whiskey look to him.
Myla settled next to Ash on the bleachers, feeling warmth coming off him even though he wore
just a light black windbreaker over a vintage Led Zeppelin tee. There was a foot of space
between them.
"Honey," the casting director called to Myla, gesturing with a freshly lit cigarette. "Scoot
closer, like you like him." Myla nodded and slid six inches over, not closing the gap entirely.
She couldn't just lean into him like she would have a month ago. The casting director gave her
the eye. "When we start rolling, a little closer. Not like two
kids who take their purity rings
seriously." Myla glared at her. The woman had no clue something far more important than her
stupid movie was going on here.
"How have you been?" Ash asked, not looking at Myla. Instead, he stared at the field, where
Jacob Porter-Goldsmith was throwing passes with surprising skill. Like the rest of BHH, Ash
had been semi-shocked at the news Jake made the lead in the movie. Jake was probably the last
person most of their classmates would expect to play a star athlete. More power to him, Ash
thought.
"Good," Myla said, even though the last week had been far from one of her best. She felt
awkward and not like herself. Their truce gave her no sense of purpose. "So, this is weird,
right?" she said, testing the water.
"What's weird?" Now Ash made eye contact, his eyes grazing over her face.
Myla gestured to the field, blushing as she realized how else her words could have been
interpreted. "Jacob Porter-Goldsmith, movie star." As if on cue, Jake tossed the ball to a
receiver at the twenty-yard line. Myla stopped herself from saying, Do you think he invented
some geeky robot arm so he could throw like that? Ash hated when she ripped on his
neighbor. Even though they weren't friends anymore, Ash annoyingly stood up for Jacob PG.
He even hated when Myla called him PG, a nickname that had gotten started when a bunch of
BHHers saw Jake getting turned away from a PG-13 movie--when he was fourteen. Boys had
an odd sense of loyalty.
Ash shrugged. "People change, I guess."
Myla's head spun. Was he talking about Jacob, or about them? Did he mean he'd changed, and
he'd never love her again? Or did it mean she had to change to win him back?
The director paced in front of them, megaphone pressed to his mouth. "We're going to start
now, people," he boomed. "Everyone, look like you're enjoying yourself and in awe of your
quarterback." He gestured to Jake, who was swigging from a bottle of Gatorade on the
sidelines. The crowd giggled, but only slightly. Jake's success was getting to them, Myla
thought. "Couples, cuddle. No one's asking you to get married."
Ash did as he was told, his arm circling Myla's shoulder stiffly. The crowd was dead silent
now, waiting for further orders. The deafening quiet, and Ash's tenseness, made Myla feel like
