by Zoey Dean
club, fatigued dancers leaned back in buttery leather Warhol-era furniture and couples
shamelessly made out.
Kady poured herself another flute of Veuve, passing the bottle to Amelie, who quickly handed
it to Moira Lacey. It was 1:30 a.m., and Amelie had passed up alcohol for a few hours now.
She wanted to have fun, but that didn't mean she had to get drunk.
"You look bored," Kady commented, as Duffy faded into a new track by the Virgins. "Maybe
it's time you had a drink."
Amelie was bored. Bored with scanning the crowd every two seconds to see if she noticed
traces of Hunter's broad shoulders and dark hair. She'd joined Kady and the other girls on the
dance floor several times, shimmying with all the enthusiasm of a marionette controlled by a
Xanax-addled puppeteer. Now she just wanted to go home--actually, back to Kady's, given the
lie she'd told her mom--crawl into bed, and sleep off the whole experience. She wasn't a
nightclub person, plain and simple. Plus, the last time she'd gotten up to dance, she'd
remembered that she'd totally blown off her tutoring session with Jake. All because her mind
had been filled with Hunter, who wasn't even here. Now the guilt of ditching Jake clung to her
like a sticky film.
"I'm fine," Amelie said, smiling weakly. She didn't want to hurt Kady's feelings, or worse,
come off as judgmental. "Thanks for bringing me out with you."
DJ Homicide faded the Virgins into "Shut Up and Let Me Go," and DeAndra squealed, "I love
this song--let's dance!"
Staring at the area somewhere over Amelie's shoulder, Kady nodded. "Yeah. Amelie, you
probably want to wait here."
The other girls got up, bouncing their way to the dance floor. Amelie felt like a jerk. Had she
offended Kady? Sitting alone in the banquette, Amelie turned to catch sight of her group now
on the dance floor. Maybe if she joined them, she could patch things up with Kady.
Amelie stood up from the cushy seat, bumping into the shoulder of a guy who had been about
to sit down. "Sorry, no more pictures," Amelie said, speaking to the guy's arm.
"Amelie?" Hunter's unmistakably deep voice cut under the poppy beat. Amelie looked up to
find herself staring into his dark, liquid eyes. A shiver careened through her, rattling every
sequin on her dress. Hunter wore dark jeans and a plain dark blue button-down shirt, open at
the collar. His normally stoic face bore traces of surprise.
"Kady told me you might come out tonight," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'm
kind of surprised you actually did. Glad, too."
Amelie hoped her face wasn't shiny from her earlier time on the dance floor, even though
Hunter seemed to be eyeing the glimpse of her shoulder the black dress afforded. Finally
realizing I'm not eleven years old anymore? Amelie thought with satisfaction.
"Here I was, thinking you'd stayed in for the night," Amelie said, hoping she sounded teasing,
and not like she'd been anxiously awaiting his arrival.
Hunter laughed. "No, just got stuck at Hyde longer than I'd planned."
Amelie had a brief flash of Hunter surrounded by a bevy of Hyde beauties but quickly pushed
the jealous thought from her head. Hunter held up his cocktail glass. "I'm all out--want to have
a drink with me?" He held up a finger to the waitress in a short brown minidress and white gogo boots. She waited patiently a few feet away, sizing up both Hunter and Amelie.
"Whatever you're having," Amelie said, liking the easy way the words rolled off her tongue.
Hunter cocked his head toward the waitress. "Two Bombay and tonics," he said without
hesitation. "Put it on my tab."
The waitress smiled and quickly strode off in the direction of the bar.
"So, Amelie Adams, come here often?" Hunter's voice sounded playful as he sat down on the
wide banquette seat, patting a spot next to him for Amelie.
She folded herself into the chair, turning just enough that she could see Hunter's face. "It's my
first time, actually," she admitted. As Hunter's leg brushed her bare thigh, she reminded herself
to thank Kady for the alone time with him.
The waitress returned with their drinks, lowering her white-shadowed eyelids at Hunter. He
took a sip of his gin and tonic and Amelie did the same. The drink was strong, and the gin sent
a pleasant burn down her throat and into her chest. The warmth radiated from her middle
outward, covering her whole body like a blanket. With her second, bigger sip, she felt the
tension leave her shoulders and back, as though she'd just had a La Prairie deep-tissue
massage. It was her first cocktail. She was accustomed to champagne's fizzy tickle--she'd had
celebratory glasses at New Year's and the occasional wrap party. And she'd tried glasses of
wine at dinner with her mom, but never had more than a sip or two. This was different. Her
body happily vibrated along with the thumping music, the club's spinning, colored lights
washing over her like a warm rainbow.
"I like this dress on you," Hunter said, running two fingertips over the sequins near Amelie's
neck. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear black. You look like a whole new woman."
Amelie surveyed his face as coolly as she could, even though her heart was beating double
time. She wanted to look at him in a way that said, I think about you constantly and would like
nothing better than to be boyfriend and girlfriend, even if it means my virginity and your
sexuality are constantly debated in the press, and we frequently read about our impending
breakup in Life & Style.
Instead, she said, "I'm allowed to leave the princess outfit at home once in a while."
Hunter laughed again, a rich, deep laugh. Amelie beamed, feeling like the word "Yay!" was
flashing on her fore-head. "Let's dance," he said, picking up both their drinks.
What felt like minutes later, Amelie was sweaty and giddy at the center of the dance floor with
Kady, DeAndra, the Lacey twins, and Hunter. It was two thirty in the morning but she felt as
fresh as if she'd just woken up. Hunter had been just an arm's reach away all night, and had
never let her gin and tonic go dry.
Not that that was a good thing. Amelie definitely felt a little woozy, but thanks to the dancing,
she'd burned off enough alcohol not to feel drunk.
Now, the go-go-booted waitresses were making final rounds, announcing last call.
"We should get out of here before we're stuck with all the closers," Kady yelled over Blondie's
"One Way or Another."
Amelie nodded, following Kady off the dance floor.
Hunter was right behind them as they made it out onto the street, to waiting taxis and town
cars. Kady, DeAndra, and the twins took turns hugging Hunter goodbye, until just Amelie was
left standing in front of him.
"This was fun," he said, a bead of sweat on his cheekbone. "You should come out tomorrow
night. There's a party at this mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Lewis Buford's place. Have you
heard of him?"
Amelie shook her head, pulling her straightened red hair off her neck as she did so.
"Well, you don't need to know him. I'm inviting you. So come, if you want." With that, Hunter
reached down and enfolded her in his strong arms. It was all Amelie could do not to run her
hands down his solid back. As he let go, Hunter leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.
Without even thinking abou
t her schedule or if she'd be too tired, she beamed back at Hunter.
"I'll be there."
At ten thirty the next morning, Amelie strode through the door of the two-story Craftsman she
and her mom had purchased in Toluca Lake the previous year. Though it wasn't original by any
means, having been built in the 1990s and not the 1890s, they'd both fallen in love with the
expanse of white-railed patio on the red house's frame.
Amelie was still wearing the yoga pants and Class Angel production T-shirt she'd slept in the
night before. Well, barely slept in. Amelie's night had been one of a happy insomniac as she
replayed all of her and Hunter's moments like some kind of glorious dream.
The only not-so-great thing was that she'd missed call time for the Kidz Network promos she
was supposed to do. But she'd at least called to cancel and ask for a reschedule. She'd gone to
Fairy Princess shoots sick as a dog. So this was just like comp time, she rationalized.
She woke up with no sign of a hangover and now practically bounced on her Ugg-covered feet
into the house. She passed through what was once their unused dining room, now a shared
office for her and her mom. A chandelier hung in its center, and each side of the room
contained a matching oak desk with wing-backed chairs upholstered in a shiny pink leaf
pattern. Her mom's desk was spare, with room for her laptop, a vertical file sorter containing
several folders, copies of today's Hollywood Reporter and Variety, and an old-fashionedlooking phone. Amelie's desk contained a pile of scripts, some scattered across the desk's wide
surface, a white iMac with a twenty-four-inch monitor, and a Fairy Princess doll that had fallen
on its side next to her two-foot stack of fashion magazines.
Amelie skipped into the kitchen, an airy room with sunny yellow mosaic tiles along the walls,
cream granite countertops, and hand-carved oak cabinets. In the car on the way over, she'd
rehearsed her speech about all the fun she and Kady had had, if her mom asked. Natalie
Portman movie. Manipedis. Et cetera. Her mom was sitting at the breakfast bar, her laptop open
in front of her and an oversize mug of coffee at her side.
Helen looked up from the computer, her face set in an irritated frown, without a trace of
welcome for her daughter.
"Morning, Mom," Amelie chirped, heading to the Cuisinart coffeepot to pour herself a mug.
Most likely, Helen was just getting worked up over something on the Huffington Post. "What's
wrong in the world today?"
Helen sighed. "I don't know where to begin." She turned the MacBook Air so that the screen
was facing Amelie. Instantly, Amelie recognized the garish red lettering of the TMZ home
page. On the front page was a fuzzy, camera phone photo--unmistakably Amelie and Hunter,
bathed in Area's rainbow lights. Hunter clutched a drink in his hand and was grinning at
Amelie. Amelie had both arms in the air, and a cocktail in her right hand. Beneath the photo
was a simple headline, "Fairy Prudeness No More?" Amelie skimmed the text of the story
beneath it.
Adams, best known as Fairy Princess--the goodiest good girl ever--is a never-seen on the L.A.
club circuit, so her ease in tossing back cocktails and seducing in-demand Sparks is sure to be
big news to her fans, not to mention Kidz Network, which has praised its progeny for her
clean-living ways.
Helen pursed her lips. "As your manager, I can't tell you how bad a light this casts you in." She
closed the laptop before Amelie could read the rest of the story. "As your mother, I can't
believe you lied to me. I'm sad to say I've tacked this to the Board. You're grounded. Please go
to your room now."
Shame washed over Amelie as she took one long last look at her carefree face in the TMZ
photo. She padded out of the kitchen and up the oak staircase to her room.
Her mom was right. Now that Amelie really thought about it, she couldn't believe how easily
she'd canceled her appointment this morning. How carelessly she'd stood up Jake. She cringed,
imagining Kidz Network president Dan Davies--who'd always been her biggest fan--seeing the
photo. I can't believe I did that, she thought, stopping on the fourth stair and staring at a photo
of her nine-year-old self in full Fairy Princess regalia. The tabloids would have a field day with
her. What if she lost everything? She knew the time was drawing closer when she'd need a
post-Fairy Princess career, but she'd always imagined her departure would be on her own
terms. Had she just thrown away her good reputation?
Reaching her bedroom, with its vaulted ceilings, hardwood floors, and a nook for studying and
reading, Amelie flopped down on her four-poster bed. It was the bed she'd always wanted as a
child. Her mom had had it custom-made after Amelie's first Fairy Princess paycheck arrived.
She stared up at the white lace canopy, the sick feeling of guilt bubbling in her stomach. She
wished she could erase the night before. Her mom was mad at her. Dan Davies was probably
mad at her. Her fans' parents were probably lighting up the web with nasty comments about
how disappointed they were that their kids' role model had proved to be just another bad
influence.
This is what I get for being good all this time, Amelie thought. If I hadn't been on my "I'm
better than everyone" high horse, it would be no big deal now if I got spotted drinking at a
club. With Hunter Sparks.
But that was true: She was sixteen years old, not twelve. Wasn't she long overdue to sneak out
and do something that pissed off the adults in her life? Wasn't it her right to get into the kind of
trouble sixteen-year-olds everywhere else in the country did? Wasn't one night at Area the same
as if she went to some wild house party? She hadn't driven home drunk. She hadn't hurt
anyone. So she was guilty of a little underage drinking. Weren't, like, 90 percent of girls her
age guilty of the same thing? The little girls who watched her show didn't care--or probably
even know--that Amelie had had three gin and tonics and stayed out until 3 a.m. Or flirted with
Hunter.
She smirked in spite of herself. He'd finally asked her out. He could easily have any girl in a
twenty-mile radius, and he'd invited her. But she was grounded. Banished to her ivory tower.
Those twenty-mile-radius girls were going to have a field day at tomorrow's big party. Hunter
would probably forget all about her.
Amelie knew she was being childish, lying there feeling sorry for herself. But to her, clubbing
was a means to an end: Hunter. She would fully relinquish any partying opportunities once she
and he were a solid It couple.
If she didn't go, Hunter would think she was a baby all over again. Or worse, think she didn't
like him and had stood him up. Amelie couldn't bear the thought of Hunter waiting for her at
Lewis Buford's house, wondering why she hadn't shown up. She had to go to that party.
Hearing footfalls on the staircase, Amelie rolled over.
Her mom's voice scolded her through the door. "Also, you left your calendar open on your
computer, and I saw you missed tutoring," Helen said sharply. "Call Jacob immediately,
apologize, and reschedule."
So much for growing up. Amelie rolled back to her stomach, burying her face in a down
pillow. Her perfect night out had officially become a pity party.
ENEM
IES CLOSER
"Do you want your nails the same color as your toes?" Tracy, Myla's favorite manicurist at
Paint Shop, wiggled the bottle of Dior Vernis Golden Nugget under Myla's nose.
"Please." Myla nodded as Tracy began massaging Myla's hands and wrists with the shop's
green tea lotion. Myla leaned back in her chair, half closing her eyes. The narrow salon's line of
overhead lights cast their gentle glow on her face. The Pierces' haunting, spooky vocals driftedthrough the shop, at once girly and ghostly. Myla had provided the sound track--she needed to
wallow a little bit, and didn't think she could handle Paint Shop's usual upbeat playlist.
On either side of Myla sat Billie and Talia, also in the midst of manicures. Fortune was absent
due to a bad bout of swimmer's ear. She'd also missed the pool party. Not that anyone really
minded--Fortune was sweet, but she could be a little much sometimes. The three girls were the
only people in the tiny shop on Robertson. Myla had called ahead and paid to have the salon
reserved for two hours so she and her friends could enjoy girl talk in private. Paint Shop
sometimes overflowed with customers from the Valley who drove down in hopes of spotting
regulars like Kate Beckinsale and Gwen Stefani.
Myla opened her eyes, stretching her neck from side to side. On her left, Billie was getting her
nails painted in Calvin Klein's Bombshell. Talia had chosen the same shade as Myla. Normally,
this would have bothered her, but today she had bigger things on her mind.
"I still don't understand how they even met," Myla said again. She'd been complaining about
Ash and Jojo all day at school, the whole ride to the nail salon, and in dozens of text messages
to her friends, all with variations on the same note: Do u think they r 2-gether? Jojo + Ash =
bad couple rt? and Did A seem
in class 2-day?
What she'd left out was her hurt over Lailah taking Jojo shopping. Myla always resisted
Lailah's offers of mother-daughter time because, unlike Jojo, she had friends and a life. But
when she'd seen the way Jojo and their mother kissed goodbye this morning, Lailah smoothing
her genetic daughter's hair, an act like something off a Mother's Day card, Myla had felt envy
rise inside her. And it wasn't just because Jojo looked dazzling in a white and black Rag &
