her troops know she held out hope, either. She turned to the cluster of girls around her, all of
whom stared at her expectantly.
"Okay, let's get started," Myla said, walking down the row of girls. "As you all know, the days
of Myla and Ash are O-V-E-R."
"Over!" Billie exclaimed, looking teary-eyed. "That's so permanent."
Myla smiled patiently at her and continued, clutching her notebook to her chest as she paced in
front of the girls. "I hope you all know what this means," she continued, her voice powerful.
"Take one last look at the bonehead parade over there."
Myla pointed carelessly toward the group of mostly covetable guys on the other side of the
courtyard. "We're done with them," she said. "Ash and I have split, and this is how the line has
been drawn. Those burnouts, losers, pathetic nothings--they won't plague you any longer. As
of today, they're dead to you."
Talia gasped. "But Mark got so cute over the summer," she whined, glancing over at Mark
Bauman, who had finally stopped wearing vintage clothes this year and did smell a lot better.
"Enough of that, Talia," Myla snapped, feeling less sure of herself. Where was the loyalty?
Billie spoke up. "But what about social events? Geoff has the best parties. We can't be expected
to miss those."
Myla focused her most withering stare on Billie. "You can be expected to miss those. Really,
we're talking junior boys here."
Moira Lacey raised her hand haughtily. "So what are we going to do without boys? Become
nuns?" she asked, a sneer on her recently improved face. Moira and her twin sister, Deven, had
had a hard time landing roles in even school plays until a famous plastic surgeon repaired both
girls' "deviated septums." A few snips, one CW show, standing color appointments at Fekkai,
and suddenly they could question Myla Everhart?
Myla's stomach clenched as she took in her friends' dubious expressions. Even Talia, who was
usually loyal to a fault, squinted skeptically. What would they do without boys? Make sliceand-bake cookies and watch High School Musical together?
She turned to look at the boys on the other side of the courtyard. Ash had finally made it, and
each of his friends--scuzzy Geoff and that moron Tucker--gave a cheer and clapped Ash on the
back like he'd just returned from battle. Probably congratulating him on nailing Cassie Eastman,
like that was a real accomplishment. She wondered how long it would be before she could hold
Ash's callused musician's hand again, or push his cowlicks off his face to see those hopeful,
loving eyes. It couldn't be long, could it? This wasn't for real. It wasn't.
She turned back to her new subjects, lengthening her spine in her most regal posture.
"No one said there'd be no boys," she assured them, shifting her steely gaze from Billie to Talia
to Deven and Moira, who wore identical sour expressions under their matching curtains of
caramel hair. "Just not those boys."
The girls nodded, not entirely convinced but not about to challenge her.
"I for one think this is an ideal situation," Fortune asserted, her nose practically turning brown.
"Myla knows what's she's doing. She landed Ash, didn't she? I bet by midterms, she'll have us
all hooked up with hot college guys. Isn't that right, Myla?"
Myla resisted the urge to push Fortune off the wall. It was one thing for her to kiss ass and
quite another for her to make empty promises to Myla's friends. Still, the other girls nodded,
albeit halfheartedly. Myla sighed, wishing her supposed allies could muster half the energy that
Ash was getting from his meathead friends across the way. But no queen kept her throne by
giving her subjects free rein. She was a leader. And a good leader had to get used to being
feared rather than loved. Right?
"Dude, I was down in Venice yesterday and these hot chicks from the coffee shop on AbbottKinney were, like, all over me. This little blonde is so perfect for you, Gilmour."
Geoff was practically pulling out his stringy dark hair with excitement over Ash's newly single
status. He and Myla hadn't exactly gotten along, mostly because Geoff had once "borrowed"
Barkley's medical marijuana card and then lost it. It was stupid, but Geoff hadn't meant
anything by it. Girls who liked a project always went for Geoff, hoping to find the Jake
Gyllenhaal beneath the grease.
Ash nodded, looking over Geoff's shoulder across the courtyard. Myla paced back and forth in
front of her girlfriends in her cute plaid skirt and boots. She looked like a super-hot military
general, rallying her troops. He wondered how long she'd torture him like this. A meeting to
split their friends? Did she really think he didn't see through this? Myla wanted to scare him a
little, so he'd come running back. But their fight this weekend had been her fault. Yeah, maybe
he'd been being whiny, but she didn't have to pull out the bitch card.
"Dude, are you even listening?" Geoff practically barked at him. Ash recoiled from his friend's
pungent breath. Geoff had had too many of the cafeteria's garlic fries.
"Yeah, man, chicks in Hermosa, right?" Ash pushed back his hair, trying to discern what Myla
and her friends were discussing.
Tucker Swanson showed up on Ash's other side, punching him hard in the arm. "Venice, bro,"
Tucker said, nodding the "there be hot chicks" nod. "But we can score in Hermosa, too, for
sure." He ran a hand over his freshly shaved head, covered in white-blond fuzz. He always got
a drastic cut at the start of the school year and let it grow back to shoulder length over the next
twelve months. Girls loved it, almost as much as they dug Tucker's lean surfer's physique--which he showed off by purchasing all of his tees at least a size too small.
Ash was surprised Tucker was even still around. Word was Zuma had some great waves
today, and Tucker tried to hit the best surf before and after school. At least, when he and Ash
weren't meeting at Ash's house or Tucker's garage to try getting a band going. Tucker's dad,
who used the stage name Dell Pearl, had been a pretty huge pop star in the '70s, famous for a
song "Dear Amy," about Jimmy Carter's daughter. Tucker's plans for what kind of band he
wanted to start all depended on the girl he was chasing at the moment. He fell in love with
someone new every day.
"Dude, by the way, have you seen Myla's sister?" he whispered to Ash.
Ash hadn't seen the infamous Jojo yet, but he'd heard buzz about her in the halls. He briefly
wondered how Myla was holding up: New siblings always sank her into a self-pitying "I'm so
alone" mood. Not that she was ever alone, with her collection of free-trade siblings and the
ever-present Fashionista Task Force. If anything, Jojo was probably the one feeling lonely. But
Ash was too wrapped up in his own problems to haul out the Welcome Wagon for a new girl,
even if she was Myla's sister.
"She looks so nice, you know? Plus, you already know she's got a hot mom. Bo-nus," Tucker
continued, grinning lasciviously and dancing from side to side in his Havaianas.
Ash shrugged him off. Tucker was a dog sometimes, but he was also Ash's oldest friend--if
you didn't count Jacob Porter-Goldsmith. They'd been friends growing up, but had stopped
hanging out when Ash got cool and Jake got . . . well, not. Now they exchanged the briefest of
nods if they both happened to be in their front yards at the same time
.
"You're free again, player!" Julius Grand practically howled. He tacked on a wolf whistle, at
odds with his dapper argyle sweater vest. Myla always said he classed up Ash's group.
Mark Bauman stepped forward to high-five Ash. Ash limply slapped his hand. Gone were
Mark's trademark nasty-ass dreads that creeped Myla out. He now sported a Zac Efron haircut
that made him look like a total douche, but word was he'd already gotten "digits" from four hot
sophomores today. Mark's parents were big-shot environmentalists, and Mark--formerly a
kind-of-shy kid in the ecology club--used that cred to scam chicks. He had played the "let's
save the Earth ... together in my Prius" card with many a naïve, dolphin-loving female. His
ecoplayer persona was rounded out by his collection of hemp shirts and organic Levi's. "Wait
until the chickees get a load of you," Mark said. "Ash Gilmour's on the prowl. We gotta take
you to the Valley. Just the fact that you bagged Myla Everhart is enough to make girls in
Burbank want to compete for your affections. Dude, I'll take your fucking leftovers!" Mark
whooped loudly, making a humping motion with his hips like a wildebeest on Animal Planet.
To Ash's friends, the only thing better than actually scoring with chicks was talking about it.
Ash knew Mark was right. Girls swarmed him just because of his high-powered father. It also
didn't hurt that he had muscles and a tan from hours spent surfing, could play "Sympathy for
the Devil" with his eyes closed, and drove a sweet vintage Camaro that he could smoothly
whip around the curves of Mulholland Drive.
It was true: He could have had anyone he wanted. But he wanted Myla.
God, this was stupid. He couldn't wait until a week or a month from now, when he'd get to
tease Myla about her first-day-of-school insanity. They could name it, like, Fake Breakup Day.
He snuck a glance at her. She was twenty feet away, probably hearing from her friends how
many guys were dying to go out with her. The thought hit him like a bad Baja Fresh taco. He
briefly wondered how Myla would respond if he crossed the courtyard, grabbed her by the
waist, and pulled her in for the kiss of her life. Maybe she'd love it. Probably she'd kick him
right in the nuts with one of those wicked boots.
Ash just grinned weakly at Mark. "They're all yours," he said.
LOSERVILLE, POPULATION TWO
Amelie Adams, 16, is best known for her role as Kidz Network's Fairy Princess. Acting since
she was a toddler, Adams got her start in a national Pampers campaign as a spokesbaby for a
new line of pull-up diapers.
Unlike some of her Hollywood peers, Adams isn't a Hollywood club scene regular. She is
most frequently photographed at Kidz Network events, or while shopping in Beverly Hills
with her mother and manager, Helen.
Currently, Amelie is playing the title role in the upcoming teen comedy Class Angel. It is
rumored she was considered for the part of Emma Hardy in The A-List, but producers thought
her Fairy Princess past would cause fans not to take her seriously in a such a mature role.
According to interviews, Amelie loves Meryl Streep movies, the San Diego Zoo, and Mexican
cuisine, especially carne asada tacos. Her favorite books include Jane Eyre, the Harry Potter
series, and Bridget Jones's Diary.
Jacob reread Amelie Adams' Wikipedia page for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. He'd spent
most of his lunch period in the computer lab, absorbing everything he could find out about
Amelie Adams. He'd even been to the Fairy Princess fan club page.
His tutoring session with Amelie yesterday had gone so well. She seemed genuinely interested
in learning geometry, and she was easy to talk to. Jacob always felt like the girls at BHH were
speaking another language, one that infinite studying couldn't help him to learn. Not that they
talked to him much anyway.
He gazed at Amelie's head shot as he mentally recited what he'd learned about her from
Wikipedia, the Internet Movie Database, and her fan club page: Had one dog, a basset hound
named Sylvio, until she was twelve; loves carne asada tacos; dream costars include Meryl
Streep and Johnny Depp; first line on Fairy Princess was, "Bubblelemon, we need to fly to the
Enchanted Forest right away!"
He clicked to the official Fairy Princess show page. The theme song blared from the iMac's
speakers, and he scrambled to find the volume control. "We can laugh and play all day /
Charming the kingdom with our magical ways. / Let's all fly to Fragonia to make friends / With
Fairy Princess!"
A feminine giggle rang out behind him.
Jacob clicked the mute button and turned around. A cute brunette with almost purple eyes was
smirking at him.
Jojo slapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to laugh. With her luck, this cute guy
was probably, like, senior class president or something. So maybe he had a Fairy Princess
fetish, but now that she'd laughed at him, he'd ensure no one talked to her all school year. If
Myla hadn't done that already.
Jojo had wandered into the computer lab after sitting in a corner of the modernly appointed
cafeteria, picking at her whole-grain-mac-and-asiago-cheese, trying not to notice everyone
staring at her. Myla had been holding court at a table populated by girls whose handbags alone
could have bought Jojo the 2001 Ford Explorer she'd been coveting back in Sacramento. She'd
heard titters from Myla's seatmates as she walked past to get a fork, and she knew why: Earlier
today, two cheerleaders at a locker only five feet from Jojo had been discussing how "that
Milford girl" had only come to live with Barbar to steal money to support her meth habit. Even
and wearing two-hundred-dollar, rather than four-hundred-dollar, jeans--had giggled and
coughed non-subtle exclamations to one another when Jojo passed. She had distinctly heard the
words head lice.
So now here she was, looking for an open computer so she could IM--make that Instant
Misery--Willa with her woeful tales of being a BHH outcast on day two of school.
"It's not what it looks like," the cute guy said, his voice cracking. Despite his cool-guy curly
hair and tightish blue tee, he was wearing a too-short pair of Old Navy carpenter-style jeans
and brighter-than-bright white sneakers. In her Roxy hoodie and Bebe miniskirt--which would
have crowned her fashion queen in Sacramento but apparently made her thoroughly Valleyesque here--she was actually beating this guy for style points. Maybe she didn't need to feel
intimidated after all.
Jojo plopped down at the empty iMac next to him. He quickly clicked on another Firefox tab,
hiding the evidence of his Fairy Princess fandom. Another Amelie Adams page popped up in
its place.
"Sooo, you're into Fairy Princess?" Jojo smiled. She spun her chair so she was facing him.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, like some CEO lazing in his corner office. "You've just
met her number one fan."
Jojo laughed again. A guy who looked like a mini-lawyer shushed her from the row behind
them.
The guy smiled. "Actually, I'm tutoring Amelie Adams in geometry."
Jojo whistled, impressed. "Nice gig," she said, stretching out a hand. "I'm Jojo Milford, the
new girl."
"Ohhh," Jacob said, registering her lavender eyes. This wasn't just any cute brunette he was
talking to, but Barbar's daughter. Miles had recounted in detail seeing Jojo and Myla facing
down a paparazzi attack before school, describing Jojo's wide, deep-set eyes as "sci-fi, animegirl hot." For once, Miles hadn't been far off the mark. "I've heard about you," he said with a
polite nod.
Jojo bit her lip. Was her entire body covered in Myla's REJECT stamp? "That stuff--it's not
true. At all," Jojo mumbled.
The guy shrugged. "I just heard you were Barbar's daughter. Myla's sister."
"Oh," Jojo said, blushing. Of course she'd assumed the worst. "Well . . . people are saying
things. I guess I should've expected it, being suddenly famous or whatever," she said, looking
down at the diamond-patterned carpet. It wasn't like her to be opening up to someone she'd
only just met, but it actually didn't feel weird at all. Then again, stranger things had happened
over the last few days. "I feel like everyone's staring at me, and every new rumor is way worse
than the last one. I'm just . . . embarrassed. And I really don't have head lice." She smiled
weakly.
The guy ran a hand through his messy curls. "It's better than being invisible, believe me. I
mean, the talk, not the head lice." He chuckled, his hazel eyes smiling. "And, no offense, but
this is BHH. Everyone here is sort of famous. Today it's you, but don't worry--by the end of
the week, they'll have moved onto something, or someone, else."
The guy shook her hand. "By the way, I'm Jake Porter-Goldsmith." He grinned dorkily. "Fairy
Princess lover and proud of it. But, really, don't tell anyone. This school makes Shark Week
look like Disneyland."
Jojo raised her eyebrows. She hoped Jake Porter-Goldsmith was right. If so, she couldn't help
but feel a little sorry for BHH's next victim.
HOBOS WITH BALENCIAGAS
Later that afternoon, Jojo sat with Lailah and Myla near the far edge of the pool, where
miniature palm trees gave way to an actual waterfall. Sunlight bounced off the pool's
aquamarine surface, and she breathed in the sweet aromas of orange blossoms and star jasmine.
Lailah was stretched out on a lounge, an array of sunscreens assembled on the teak table next to
her. She wore a black Versace string bikini that showcased a figure Jojo prayed to inherit and a