by Zoey Dean
little sister."
That's exactly the problem, Amelie thought.
"Thanks, Hunter," she said, turning her key over in her hand.
"I mean it, Amelie," he said, a sad look on his face. "You need someone like me to look out for
you. Because, honestly, there are a lot of guys out there--guys like me, who can't resist you.
And you're too good for us." With that, he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He
hopped down the steps, leaving Amelie standing on the porch.
She watched him pull away from the curb, feeling a fresh glimmer of hope. Guys like me, who
can't resist you.
She could deal with that. At least for now.
MISERY LOVES EGGS BENEDICT
"Jacob, you haven't touched your pancakes." Jake's mom Gigi eyed his stack of buttermilk
pancakes with envy as she took another bite of her breakfast salad. One of her clients was
having a beach wedding in a few weeks, and Gigi was trying the veggie cleanse that Demi had
gushed about on Oprah the month before.
Gigi and Jonathan sat across from Jake, watching every bite he wasn't taking. Next to him, his
little brother, Brendan, plowed through his second stack of pancakes.
Jake was slumped in a booth at Hugo's in West Hollywood, possibly the most popular brunch
spot in the world. If you read the little history on the menu--which Jake had done on a dozen
different visits as his parents lingered over one last cappuccino--Hugo's credited itself with
starting Hollywood's power breakfast trend in the 1980s, when Spielberg, Lucas, and John
Landis met to do business over breakfast. Now, it was the place for Sunday brunch. As usual,
every table in the place was packed, the chatter of other diners drowning out Jake's thoughts. In
the booth next to them, Scott Caan read the L.A. Times over his Pasta Mama. Across the
crowded dining room, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze Jr. gave their orders to a tall,
skinny waiter, whose artfully gelled hair suggested he had a stack of head shots in his trunk.
Jake didn't understand why his mom thought he could eat at a time like this. He'd told his
family the whole sad story. That he'd thought Amelie--Amelie "Beautiful Starlet Worth
Millions" Adams--liked him. That he'd read maybe one thousand web pages in an effort to
learn everything about her. That he'd dropped pretty much all his summer camp earnings
buying overpriced jeans that Amelie wouldn't have noticed unless they caught fire. That he
hadn't guessed she was using him to take her to Lewis Buford's party until Hunter Sparks had
shown up. That he was going to feel like an idiot the next time he went to her trailer for tutoring
in his pathetic Corolla. That he'd left Lewis's party alone, feeling like every guest knew he'd
been rejected. Even Miles hadn't been able to console him with a deluded pep talk. His only
response had been, "That's rough, Jake, really rough."
Gigi sighed, relenting as she stabbed a pancake with her fork and made room for it on her plate.
Cutting it carefully, she closed her eyes and took a bite. Jonathan, with his oversize bowl of
Pasta Papa--a pasta dish made breakfast-friendly with eggs and sausage mixed in--laughed
with affection at his wife. Gigi reached across the table, putting her hand over Jake's.
"Do you know how many people I see make colossal mistakes every day?" Her wide brown
eyes surveyed Jake's hangdog face. "And people forget--they always forget. Nothing is ever as
bad as it seems."
"Except for thinking you can nail Fairy Princess," Brendan piped up through a mouthful of
pancake. "Moron."
Gigi slapped Brendan's hand. "Language! And how many times do I have to ask you to take
off that fucking hat?" Gigi had a tough time enforcing a no-swearing rule with her boys when
she was the household's worst offender.
Brendan rolled his eyes, removing his Dodgers cap and shaking out his light brown curls.
"Focus on Jake, mom, and his delusions of scoring hot chicks."
Jake poked his brother hard in the ribs. Brendan looked toward his parents to scold his older
sibling, but they turned a blind eye. They felt sorry for Jake. Which just made him feel worse.
"Are you paying attention to me, Jacob?" Gigi speared another bite of pancake as Jonathan let
loose a chuckle loud enough to make Sarah Michelle look their way.
He nodded halfheartedly, avoiding eye contact as he twirled a parsley sprig between his thumb
and forefinger.
Swallowing a sip of his coffee, Jonathan cleared his throat. He patted his wide belly and leaned
across the table so he was closer to his son.
"Maybe you should start with a lady-in-waiting, instead of the princess herself," he half
whispered. His dad chuckled at his own dumb joke and his mom slapped him playfully on the
shoulder.
Jake sighed. "Don't worry about it guys, it's no big deal."
His mom shook her head, as if to say, You idiot.
"You're our son, Jacob," she said, popping another sliver of pancake into her mouth. "Of
course it's a big deal."
Jonathan put his arm around Gigi. "Son, I didn't land your mother until I'd dated a dozen
women who weren't even half her equal. Brainy types like us have to start small. You don't
learn to mountain climb by heading straight for Everest." Brendan rolled his eyes, grossed out
by the parental affection.
Gigi snuggled into Jonathan's shoulder. "And you're not always going to be driving a Corolla,
Jake. Things get better after high school."
"You mean if he changes his identity and stuff, right?" Brendan gurgled through a swig of
orange juice. "Spell out all the conditions, guys."
Jonathan scowled at his younger son. His features softened and he looked Jacob in the eye.
"Trust us, Jake."
Jake broke the parsley sprig between his fingers. He knew he was lucky to have parents who'd
work so hard to try to cheer him up. But all the parental support in the world wasn't going to
heal his broken heart.
THE LAST WALTZ
Ash played with his iPhone's touch screen, pressing Myla Everhart in his contacts list. A photo
he'd taken of her at Manhattan Beach came up next to her number. She was blowing a kiss at
him, her face half shaded by the wide, white sun hat she wore.
He lay on his bed, a copy of Guitar magazine open on his chest. He'd had trouble falling asleep
after the party last night. He'd kept closing his eyes to see Myla with Lewis, locked at the lips.
At 3 a.m., he'd given up on sleep and tinkered with his guitar for a few hours. Finally, he'd
drifted off into dreamless sleep. When he woke at noon, he felt purposeful, like he knew what
he had to do.
He pressed the call button. Myla's phone rang three times, then four. On the fifth ring, she
picked up. Her voice sounded hazy and tired.
"Can you meet me at our place?" Ash asked shortly.
"Yeah, of course." She sounded confused.
"Okay, see you at three." Ash hung up. They'd talk later.
For once, Ash was early. He plopped down in the shade of a knotty, gigantic tree and watched
the Griffith Park carousel as it spun a little too fast, playing a tinny waltz that was barely
audible over the kids' shrieks and giggles. Parents clicked away on cameras or stared in terror
as their babies clung to the old wooden horses.
This spot of the park was his and Myla's place. Two years ago, A
sh had taken her here for a
picnic on her birthday. He'd called Canter's Deli and ordered a massive spread--miniature
sandwiches, sparkling grape juice, homemade potato chips, and chocolate cake. He'd even
snuck a bottle of Dom from his dad's wine cellar--the first time he'd ever stolen from his
parents' alcohol stash. It was a school day but they'd ditched, and the park had been nearly
empty except for them. On the way there, they'd stopped at a grocery store in Silver Lake
because Ash had forgotten cups. They'd bought surprises for each other from the store's '50s
bubble gum machine and traded them while toasting with Solo cups of Dom. He'd given her a
Green Lantern plastic band and she'd presented him with a flimsy pseudo-gold lightning bolt.
They'd been wearing each other's rings since then.
Even though it butted right up to the Golden State Freeway, Griffith Park made you feel like
you weren't in L.A. anymore. You couldn't hear any of the traffic or noise of the city, and the
park felt slightly wild and untamed in places, so you could almost imagine what the rest of L.A.
had been like before it became populated with freeways, movie studios, and shopping malls.
The last time they'd been here was right before Myla left on her trip. She and Ash wanted to get
away from their families and friends. They'd come to the park to look for the L.A. zoo's old
animal cages, which now sat next to a picnic area. Myla had even tried hiking, making it about
twenty feet up a dirt path in her kitten heels. Ash had had to carry her back down. Then he'd
paid the carousel operators to let them ride it by themselves for three songs in a row. They'd
shared a horse, which Myla named Sparky, and giggled crazily through the whole ride. They
got off, giddy and dizzy, before collapsing next to each other in the grass under the tree where
Ash was sitting now.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree's rough bark, running his finger over a
small hole near the bottom of the Rolling Stones T-shirt he held in his lap.
"Hi Ash." Myla's voice tinkled in his ear. He opened one eyelid and gazed up at her. She
looked angelic. Rays of sunlight lit her from behind, and the emerald hoop earrings she wore
sparkled around her face. Her huge white Gucci sunglasses were perched on her head, and Ash
found himself staring at her glittering green eyes underneath the fringe of her long eyelashes.
The sounds of the carousel and the kids faded, and all Ash could hear was his heart beating and
Myla's breathing. If he could create the most beautiful girl in the world, he'd end up with one
that looked just like Myla right now, with her dark pink lips in their familiar half smile.
"Hi Myla," he finally managed. He didn't know what he wanted--not exactly. As much as he
wanted to pull her close and feel her soft cheek against his neck, the image of Myla entwined
with Lewis rushed into his head, overtaking everything. Calling up every ounce of strength and
willpower he had, he launched into the speech he'd been mulling since that morning.
"Okay, I just wanted to finally clear the air," Ash began. "We've both been acting like jerks
because we're broken up, and we're so used to being together. But we have to act like human
beings. We see each other all the time; we have a lot of the same friends. We've been a couple
since we were kids, so maybe it's hard to be mature. But we need to be." He thrust the balledup Stones shirt at Myla. "I thought you should have this back," he said. "It looks better on you
anyway."
Myla tentatively took the shirt. The worn, familiar cotton felt foreign in her hands. This hadn't
been what she was expecting at all. She knew Ash was mad after what happened last night, but
she'd really thought he'd asked her here to get back together. That seeing her with Lewis had
pushed him over the edge and he needed to know she was still his girl.
The ground beneath Myla's ivory Lanvin flats felt like it was pulling her down. She and Ash
were really done. Truly over. He didn't seem mad at her at all, which actually made her feel
worse. Like his feelings had evaporated overnight.
Myla pretended to squint into the sun, so she'd have an excuse to pull her sunglasses down
over her eyes. She tucked the T-shirt into the Martin Rittenhouse bag Jojo had given her. The
shirt was no longer part of their future together. It had become nothing more than an artifact of
something long gone.
Finally, she nodded, nervously smoothing her white silk BCBG empire-waist sundress.
"Thanks," she said, her voice as even as her recently filed fingernails. "I've always liked this
shirt." She turned to head to the waiting SUV, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.
"Hey Myla?" Ash was still standing under their tree, the hint of a smile on his lips.
She turned back, praying her face didn't look like a telethon orphan's. "Yeah?"
"Remember that night? How you did your whole badass act with the bouncer, and told him
your parents were Barkley Everhart and Lailah Barton and if they didn't let us backstage, you
could have the Avalon shut down?" Ash's eyes were dancing with laughter.
"Oh yeah, I wanted to impress you. But we really got back there because your dad had the
whole concert set up just for our date. And you didn't have the heart to tell me, even though I'd
already called my parents and their agents were calling the band's people to get us back there."
Myla couldn't help but laugh too, remembering.
Ash shrugged, watching as a guy jogged by with four Great Danes. "Well, you were so proud
of yourself. And I thought it was so cool a girl would threaten the Stones' security guards just
for me."
"I barely knew who the band even was." Myla ran the flat sole of her gladiator sandal over the
dry ground. "I remember telling the guard, 'Rick and Heath will have to personally answer to
my parents.'"
Ash widened his eyes, incredulous. "You seriously called Mick Jagger and Keith Richards
Rick and Heath? Wow. I'll have to burn you a few CDs soon. You need an education."
Myla rolled her eyes. "Come on, who was it that took you to see the Arctic Monkeys before
you'd even heard of them?" She'd been so pleased, discovering the band before Ash did in a
copy of Q her dad had brought back from a trip to London. She'd taken Ash to the band's first
U.S. show at the Wiltern for his birthday.
Ash shrugged, his sandy hair falling in front of his sleepy puppy-dog eyes. "Yeah, okay. But
I'll bring you a few CDs anyway. It can't hurt."
Myla grinned, pulling her sunglasses back to the top of her head. She giggled as a half-dozen
little kids ran past, red helium balloons tied to their chubby wrists. "No, probably not."
Ash nodded, satisfied. "Cool. So, I guess I'll . . . see you?"
Myla smiled, not exactly sure how she felt but knowing she wasn't going to cry. "Yeah, see
you."
She took a few steps backwards, waving to Ash as she went. He didn't take his eyes off her.
Suddenly, even her fingertips felt tingly.
She finally turned away from Ash, the park's brush-covered ground springy under her feet.
When she knew he couldn't see her any longer, she reached in her purse, running her fingertips
along the shirt's soft, brushed cotton.
Softly she sang the opening verse of her favorite Stones song, "Happy." She'd memorized the
lyrics after listening to it about a hundred times on
the beach with Ash.
Well I never kept a dollar past sunset. / It always burned a hole in my pants. / Never made a
school mama happy. / Never blew a second chance, oh no.
Never blew a second chance, oh no, indeed.
HOLLYWOOD ENDING
Jojo watched as David, the Everharts' backup driver, loaded her overstuffed Samsonite suitcase
into the town car's vast trunk. She felt bad that she wouldn't get to see Charlie. He'd taken Myla
somewhere earlier this afternoon and wasn't back yet.
"Remember, you can come back whenever you want." Lailah's hand was on Jojo's shoulder as
they watched David load up the car.
"Anytime you need anything at all, just call," Barkley chimed in, his hand over Lailah's.
Jojo felt a flood of sadness overtake her. She was so confused. One half of her brain couldn't
wait to be back with Fred and Bradley. She hoped their apartment in Greenland had a couch as
comfy as their beat-up Crate and Barrel pullout in Sacramento. She pictured the three of them
curled up on movie night, watching a so-bad-it's-good campy horror movie. (Provided they had
Netflix, or at least Blockbuster, in Nuuk.) She longed for her dads' familiar hugs and bad
jokes--even for an apartment that was five degrees too cold because they refused to blast the
heat.
But the other half of her brain wanted to cling to Barkley and Lailah for dear life. These were
her parents too. She'd finally had a mom who took her shopping, and told her she looked
pretty, and smoothed her hair with long, graceful fingers. And Barkley's hugs felt like they
could protect her from anything--maybe even her own stupid decisions. And she was leaving
them behind, after only a week, just when she was getting to know them.
She turned her teary face toward her mom and dad, clutching them both in another hug. Mahalo
threw his wiry arms around her waist, Bobby grabbed her side, and Nelson her right knee.
Adjani and Indigo wobbled across the grass on their chubby little legs and threw their arms
around her left knee. Jojo felt like she might topple over, but the family hug felt good. Maybe
she could come live here again. Someday, anyway. When she was thirty and Barnsley Toole
was nothing more than a snapshot in People's Where Are They Now? issue.
