The A-List: Hollywood Royalty #2: Sunset Boulevard

by Zoey Dean

  sixteen-year-old best known for playing a girl who rode pink, winged ponies, and now she

  was telling a group of male bigwigs how to do their jobs? She was playing dangerously close

  to the edge with her first teen role. What if she not only lost Jake but also gambled away her

  career?

  Gary stared at her, almost like he knew why she was bringing this up. He offered her a

  sympathetic, fatherly smile.

  Devin finally spoke again, not looking at her. "Sanj, I don't know what to do with these kids."

  Amelie felt like she'd just been caught shoplifting. After years of being voted Most

  Professional and Most Likely to Succeed, she was about to be fired for the first time. She'd be

  blacklisted and turn up twenty years from now as a celebrity judge on some reality show about

  glamorous toddlers. Maybe she'd get to go to high school in the meantime. But if her mother

  heard about this, it would definitely be military school.

  "Is this a good idea?" Devin said. He was looking at Sanjay. Amelie knew Devin's type. When

  he'd started in the business, he'd probably been an "idea man" like Sanjay, but now that he was

  in his forties, he'd convinced himself he needed the insights of a young up-and-comer.

  Sanjay rubbed the back of his neck coolly. He was enjoying this dramatic pause. His eyes

  traveled from Gary to Devin to Amelie, drawing out the suspense, like one of them was about

  to be awarded a top secret prize on a high-stakes game show.

  "Personally, I think it's a fantastic idea," he finally said. "It could up our buzz with the twelveto-eighteen demo. It's so unexpected and so meta. We should just try it. If it doesn't work, we

  cut it, and it's still a great bonus feature for the DVD. Great idea, Amelie."

  Devin nodded, like this had been obvious to him the whole time. "Exactly," he said. "I'll have

  the writers do a few more pages, and we'll messenger them over in a couple days. Okay,

  Gary?"

  Gary raised both eyebrows, a look indecipherable to Amelie. He could easily break this idea by

  citing budget overruns, scheduling problems, or even saying that Jake and Kady's grand finale

  kiss was perfect and shouldn't be messed with. Amelie caught his eye and knew she looked

  desperate. "Of course, it won't take long to shoot," he said.

  Amelie grinned. It would take just long enough.

  SHOCKER ROOM

  Jake stared at himself in the mirror above the locker room sinks. Of course the first break in

  filming he'd had in a while came just in time for him to go to gym class. It was a cliché for a

  geek to hate gym, but technically he didn't hate gym--he hated the people in gym. Rod

  Stegerson in particular.

  But, in Justin Klatch fashion, Jake had decided to change right out in the open. Justin wouldn't

  be worried about noogies or swirlies or whatever torture method Rod had picked up in the

  latest edition of Psychopath Weekly.

  Jake headed toward the lockers, sitting on a bench that stretched across the dank locker room.

  He pried his feet out of the vintage Sambas Kady had talked him into buying and was shoving

  on his cross-training Nikes when a shadow fell over the bench. Jake looked up to see Rod

  Stegerson, surrounded by his football goons, arms folded over their BHH gym shirts. Why

  had he come to gym? It was totally unnecessary. Miles had cleared all Jake's absences with his

  teachers. And yet, Jake, who'd won the Perfect Attendance award for two years running, still

  harbored enough vestiges of geekdom that he insisted on making whatever classes he could.

  He'd really have to work on breaking this habit when he got his next movie.

  "Hey, Rod," Jake said as casually as he could. Maybe he could convince Rod to not give him a

  black eye or anything else that would mess up what was left to shoot of Class Angel.

  "Jake, my man." Rod slapped Jake's shoulder with his heavy palm.

  "What's up?" Jake said skeptically. Had Rod learned some new tactic? Act friendly but carry a

  big stick of pain?

  "So, we've always been bros, right?"

  Yeah, sure, Jake thought, if by bros you mean I felt a real bond every time every time you sent

  my head into my locker door. "Yeah, we're cool," he said, standing up to grab his shirt out of

  his locker. If he moved quickly enough, he could keep Rod's abuse to the verbal variety, at least

  until they got out on the gym floor. "We're"--he paused as he contemplated the word--"bros."

  "Cool. Bros," Rod said monosyllabically, his jock army nodding emphatically behind him.

  "And I thought it was time to show you some respect. You landed Kady Parker, bro. It's only

  fair I congratulate you."

  Jake looked over Rod's shoulder, catching his own surprised face in the mirror.

  "So, how'd you do it, dude?" Rod's main sidekick, Dave Brandt, asked, cocking his square

  head. His neck was the width of Miles's torso.

  "Kady?" Jake said, willing his voice not to squeak. Should he tell them that he had no idea, that

  he'd seemingly become Kady Parker's boyfriend through sheer dumb luck? That he'd spent

  nights pondering that same question?

  What would Justin Klatch do?

  He was a nice guy, but this was a locker room. And even Jake knew locker rooms were where

  guys made themselves sound like bigger studs than they were, even if he'd never had the

  opportunity. Imaginary Justin smiled cockily in Jake's head.

  "She was all over me from day one," Jake began, liking the way it sounded. "Like, bam! I tried

  to keep it professional, but she kept getting me alone."

  Rod bobbed his head knowingly, like this sort of thing to him happened all the time. "And then

  you just had to go with it, right?"

  Jake grinned. If anyone had told him he'd be talking girls with Rod Stegerson a month ago,

  he'd have asked what alternate universe they were living in. But alternate universes were for

  dorks.

  Jake pictured Kady's pixielike face in his mind. Okay, so she hadn't exactly backed him in a

  corner and had her way with him, but she'd come close. "Well, I am a guy."

  Rod clapped him again on the back. "No way, dude, you're the man!"

  Rod's friends erupted in a chorus of "hell, yeahs," just as Jake's phone beeped, signaling an

  incoming message.

  Miles. He'd taken the day off school to hunt down the perfect Escalade. Wait till these jocks

  saw Jake pull up to school in a gleaming black badass-mobile. Jake clicked to the photo

  messages and pulled up four different pictures of fully loaded trucks in black, gunmetal, white,

  and navy. There's gotta be a winner here, read Miles's message.

  Rod peered down at the phone. "Is that your ride?"

  "One of them," Jake said, surveying the vehicles. "Which do you think?"

  Rod shook his head solemnly. "If you're gonna go Caddy, do it right. Get the ESV. It's bigger,

  and the way you pull chicks, you'll want something that can fit all of them."

  This sounded about right. He quickly pounded out a message to Miles. "Dude, show me the

  ESV."

  "Sweet," hollered Dave, high-fiving Jake. Jake high-fived back, then collected similar hand

  slaps from Rod and the rest of the guys. It occurred to him that this was the first time Rod had

  laid a hand on him in a nonviolent way.

  It paid to be the man.

  FIERY REDHEADS

  Myla wove around the cafeteria's blond wood tables, past the organic-dessert vending machine.

  Class Angel was starting t
o wrap its work at the school, and the cafeteria was finally reopened.

  Myla was relieved to have it back. She loved the maintenance of the social order here: nerds in

  the corners, Myla in the middle, everyone else fanned out around her. Besides, cafeteria time

  meant catching up on gossip, something she and her girlfriends hadn't done in weeks. While

  they'd been busy picnicking outside Grant's trailer with Amelie, or whatever the hell they'd

  been doing, Myla had made off-campus lunch plans, but now it was time to reclaim her

  territory.

  Talia, Fortune, and Billie had texted her during history to say they had a surprise for her. She

  was hoping that one of them had heard gossip about Ash kissing another girl. As bad as it

  sounded, even in her head, Myla couldn't help but hope that Ash was taking her suggestion

  seriously. She just needed some proof that he was willing to do anything to move forward. She

  certainly was.

  Myla grabbed a fro-yo parfait and a chicken avocado wrap from the Healthy Options window,

  then carried her tray to the center table, a five-seater that was the most exclusive in the whole

  room. For most of high school, she Talia, Billie, and Fortune had sat there every day, with one

  empty chair reserved for Ash's drop-bys. Today Jojo had gone off campus for lunch with

  Tucker, so it would be just the four of them, just like old times.

  She moved past a table overflowing with band kids and saw Billie, Talia, and Fortune at their

  table, with a redhead who had to be Amelie Adams. Maybe she hadn't been here in a few

  weeks, but who would have the audacity to sit there without her express permission? BHH's

  administration might have gone lax on some policies with the movie's arrival, but Myla hadn't.

  As she got closer, Myla gaped in surprise. Her friends were all wearing filmy white dresses of

  indeterminate designer origin. And Amelie Adams was sitting in her seat.

  She counted to ten, staring at the swirl of pomegranate curving up her parfait cup. This is not

  real. This is not real. This is not real. When she looked again, Amelie would be gone. And her

  friends would not be dressed like members of a whorish cult.

  But when she looked, the whore-or was still there.

  Myla swished to the table, her baby blue Fendi stiletto sandals pounding out a dangerous

  rhythm. She ignored Amelie, looking from friend to friend. "What's up with the outfits?" she

  asked point-blank, mustering her best sour face.

  "It's for Amelie," Talia said, tugging a fallen strap back up her tanned shoulder. "Like a tribute

  thing. It was this or angel wings." She giggled, and so did Fortune and Billie. Amelie laughed

  nervously, as if humbled--maybe even a little embarrassed--by the gesture.

  Myla rolled her eyes. "Oh, how sweet of you," she said sarcastically. She was still standing

  above the table, not really wanting to sit down until Amelie was gone, and noticed that people

  were starting to stare. A gaggle of cheerleaders whispered to each other, and a table packed

  with jocks looked over, their curiosity piqued by the strange scene: Myla Everhart giving up

  her lunch chair to Amelie Adams, interloper. Even the band nerds collectively shifted their gaze

  in her direction, not wanting to miss history being made. One of them was probably composing

  an original orchestral piece inspired by the event.

  Myla wasn't about to get in a catfight with her former besties. That kind of low-rent behavior

  was fine for the Lohans and Hiltons of the world, but she was real Hollywood royalty.

  Subterfuge and mind games worked so much better. She slid into the empty seat. Even out of

  the corner of her eye, she could see that Amelie had one of those preternaturally perfect faces

  that looked gorgeous from any angle. Her Caribbean blue eyes were clear and innocent, like

  she hadn't just taken over another girl's lunch table, not to mention her social status and her

  friends.

  Myla smiled sweetly at Amelie. "So, Amelie, which of the girls do you think has the best shot

  with Grant?" she asked. Really, she was asking, You know why they're hanging with you,

  right? From Amelie's taken aback expression, Myla knew she'd understood her meaning

  perfectly.

  Talia shot an apologetic smile at Amelie, as if to say, Sorry Myla's being such a bitch.

  Billie glared at Myla. "Why would you ask something like that?" she snapped. "Don't listen to

  her, Am. She's just PMS-y."

  Amelie said nothing. She simply returned Myla's sweet smile, as calm and unflappable as an

  angel.

  Myla tucked into her parfait, barely tasting the fresh-cut strawberries. She begrudgingly

  awarded a point to the princess.

  Jojo was trying her best to see what other girls saw in Tucker. They were sitting shoulder to

  shoulder in one of Jacopo's red booths, sharing a pizza called the Don. The pie was cut into

  squares, the crust thin and crispy, the sauce an ideal blend of tangy and sweet, and the cheese

  warm and bubbly, just like at Sadie's, back home. It was perfect.

  Tucker, on the other hand, was not. At least not for Jojo. Every time Jojo managed to turn the

  conversation to something new, Tucker brought it right back to his favorite subject: surfing. He

  knew more about Kelly Slater and Laird Hamilton than their own mothers did.

  "So, who do you have for English?" she asked, watching as Tucker served himself another

  four squares of pizza. The second their order had arrived, he'd claimed all four triangle-shaped

  corner pieces for himself. Jojo and Willa had a pact to always share those pieces, two and two.

  Her best friend would be horrified to hear a guy had hogged them all. On a date.

  "Uh," Tucker said through a mouthful of cheese. "Hot chick? Youngish? Miss Butterworth?"

  "You mean Mrs. Ballman?" Jojo looked at Tucker skeptically. Could he really be so oblivious

  that he didn't even learn teachers' names? Or worse, did he confuse all of their names with

  mass-produced food brands? Mrs. Ballman, a thirtyish Megan Fox look-alike, was a favorite

  among the male students. Tucker tossed his arm lazily across the back of the booth, his

  fingertips tracing her shoulder blade. Smiling through gritted teeth, Jojo did her best to stay

  still. His grabby hands only served to remind her that they were hanging out again tonight. Last

  night's date had consisted of "movie night," except she'd only seen ten minutes of Lords of

  Dogtown as she fought to keep Tucker's hand from traveling up her shirt. Tucker was growing

  more irritating by the second, and she didn't think they'd be the new super couple much longer.

  "Yeah," Tucker said, grinning appreciatively. "Who do you have?"

  "Mr. Dietz," she said, wishing she could be in her honors English class right now. Mostly to

  get away from Tucker. "Have you guys read Catcher in the Rye yet?" Every guy Jojo had ever

  known had loved, or at least claimed to love, Catcher in the Rye. From Justin Klatch, whom

  she'd seen reading a dog-eared copy on her summer stalking missions, to--she bet--Jake. She

  didn't care if Tucker liked the book or not. She just thought she would scream if she had to

  listen to him describe again the yearlong process behind the hand-carved surfboard he'd

  ordered from an Australian surf company.

  "Uh, I'm not really into baseball," Tucker said, slurping his Diet Coke noisily. "It's so slow and

  boring."

  Look who's talking, Jojo thought meanly. Out of ideas,
she reached for the last slice of pizza,

  greedily biting into it. Giving her taste buds a little joy was the least she could do, since every

  other part of her was suffering.

  "Dude, you took the last slice," Tucker said flirtily, pulling her to him for a kiss. "You owe me

  next time." Jojo clamped her lips tightly as she kissed him back. She really did need to speak to

  Myla about breakup protocol.

  She was starting to craft a lie about needing to meet Myla before lunch ended when her cell

  buzzed with an incoming text. Willa's face popped up on the screen. Jojo scooted away from

  Tucker so she could check the message in private.

  Family function, yeah right. Thanks for missing the invitational. Beneath the text was a

  forwarded TMZ article, accompanied by a photo of Jojo on the beach at Malibu, laughing with

  Myla and the rest of the girls. Barbar's Daughters Spotted at Malibu Bash, read the headline.

  Jojo tasted the acidic tomato sauce rise back up her throat, picturing Willa as she realized Jojo

  had lied to her.

  She clicked away from the text message, not looking Tucker in the eye. "'Sup?" he asked, in his

  annoyingly casual way.

  "I just want to go back now," Jojo said flatly. Back to school, or to her old way of life, she

  wasn't sure.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jojo marched into the cafeteria with Tucker, holding hands. Jojo kept her

  grip limp.

  Myla was sitting at her usual table, with Talia, Billie, and Fortune, who'd all dressed like slutty

  angels. Jojo rolled her eyes when she saw why: Amelie Adams was sitting in Myla's seat.

  Jojo led Tucker to the table. Every table turned to watch as they made their way past.

  After the only awkward lunch period of her teenage life, Myla was relieved to see Jojo and

  Tucker walk through the cafeteria's double doors. Her friends really seemed to like Amelie.

  Maybe at first they'd just viewed her as an instrument to get closer to Grant, but their affection

  actually seemed genuine. None of them had even asked Myla what was going on with Ash.

  She really wanted to spill about telling him to kiss Crazy Daisy, to see if they thought she'd

  gone completely nuts. But apparently, none of her friends cared what was happening in her life

  anymore.

  "Myla, did you hear me?" Talia, oblivious to Jojo's approach, cut into her thoughts. Myla