Sunset Boulevard (23 page)

Ash smirked. "Well, I'm not going to leave a girl at the Beverly Hills jail," he said, finding

himself unable to look away from her. "Even if it is fancier than the W."

Daisy cocked her head to one side, her shiny hair tumbling in front of her silvery eyes. "Just

admit it, Ash Gilmour. You're a nice guy."

Ash took a bite of his sandwich and chewed, sort of teasing her as he mulled it over. "Not to

everyone, I'm not," he finally said. It was true. He'd had no intention of being nice to Daisy

until that night at the Powerhouse. Watching all those guys act like they had the right to ogle

her had really upset him.

"Well, since you've been so nice to me, don't you think you deserve to know why I look so

different?" Daisy took a healthy gulp of milk, eyeing him over the glass.

"A little, yeah," Ash said, scanning her silky hair. "Where are the red and purple streaks?"

"My mum would kill me if I dyed my hair with permanent stuff," she said. "I either use the

wash-out stuff for all-over color or pin in dyed extensions."

"Okay..." Ash said slowly. "But, why do you care what your mom thinks? I mean, would you

be going around destroying cheap wine bottles if you were her little angel?"

Daisy laughed. "I really thought you could see right through me. Guess I'm better than I

thought. You can't say anything, not even to your dad...."

"Not much chance of him listening to me, so don't worry."

"It's an act," she continued, watching as the knowledge spread over Ash's face. "I'm not crazy.

Okay, no more crazy than any other girl."

Ash spun a piece of macaroni around on his plate. Could it really be
possible
? Did Daisy have

a split personality or something? Her crazy side had seemed so
real
. "But why?"

"It's a long story, and of course it involves a boy," she said.

"Really?" Ash had heard she'd met her boyfriend through a prison pen-pal program. "That guy

in jail?"

Daisy shook her head. "No, that's another stunt. This guy, you've probably heard of him,

Robbie Tartan, he's a rock star in London."

Ash nodded. Robbie Tartan and the Screeches were a punk band with a few okay songs, but

they'd never made it stateside.

Daisy shrugged. "We used to date, when I was sixteen. But I wasn't a pop star then. I did

mostly singer-songwriter stuff, on the piano. I had classical training as a kid, so my music was

kind of... mature. Not Billboard chart stuff, not stuff that gets you in the gossip columns. In

England, the tabloids are even worse than they are here. There's no 'Stars... They're Just Like

Us!' column. They want you to talk to pigeons and shoplift at Boots to take your picture. And

Robbie, he liked attention, and he didn't get it with me. We would go to events and they'd pass

right over us. So he dumped me."

Ash could see where this was going. "So Crazy Daisy was born out of a need for revenge?"

"More like out of insecurity." Daisy grimaced. "I wanted to show him that I could be bigger

and better than anyone he'd ever date. And I wanted to show myself that I wasn't just some

loser nobody. So far, so good. When I got the call from your dad, to record an American album

with More, Robbie called me wanting to hang out again. I told him to bugger off."

She smiled wanly, her dark red lips shining.

"That's good at least," Ash said. "But I'm sorry that a guy would treat you that way."

"It's okay. I mean, I'd be lying if I said there's not a side of me that sort of enjoys letting my

crazies out. And getting
rewarded
for it," she said. "I tell myself that as long as I know I'm

pulling a Crazy Daisy move, that I'm still okay. I'm not too far gone. The only bad part is, the

music I play now, it's not how I'd do it if I were just regular old Daisy. There wouldn't be a

dance club remix of 'Feather in Your Cap.' It's a ballad, actually sort of the way that redhead

was playing it at Powerhouse. It's about Robbie."

Ash was intrigued. He'd always liked "Feather in Your Cap," out of all Daisy's songs. The

lyrics were beautiful, and he knew she'd written them herself. "Can I hear it?" he asked,

gesturing to the piano.

Daisy nodded. "Sure." She took a seat at the baby grand, and began to play a slow, angelic

melody. Her voice seemed to come from somewhere outside herself as she sang.

"... I was just a notch upon your bedpost,

Some guys' night talk, a drunken boast.

Just a scribble in your datebook,

Someone you let off the hook.

You think I'm just a feather in your cap

Just a pin upon your map

That I'm just a number, in this urban jungle.

But when... will... you... realize...

I... will... cut... you... down... to... size..."

She ended the song with a flourish, the sigh of each key caressing Ash's eardrums. Lyrically,

the song bore no resemblance to his and Myla's epic romance, but the sad weight of the music

reminded him of how lonely he was without her.

Daisy drew out the last few notes on the piano, the last key like a cool breeze floating through

the room. She looked at him hopefully over the top of the dark wood instrument. "Did you like

it?"

Ash finally exhaled, and it felt like the first time he'd breathed in months. "I loved it. I was just

thinking... I can relate."

"Tell me," Daisy said, rising from the piano bench and crossing the room to take a seat next to

him on the couch.

He didn't know what came over him, but he started to tell Daisy the whole story. About Myla

being gone this summer, their fight, the Lewis thing, all of it. She listened intently, her eyes

filled with the sympathy of someone who had had their heart broken into a million pieces too.

"You never know," Daisy said, when he was done. "It might work out for the best."

"Yeah," Ash said, feeling slightly embarrassed. Daisy was a great listener, just when he'd

needed a great listener. Tucker and Geoff had never been in serious relationships, so he never

thought they'd understand his Myla stuff. But it wasn't like Ash really
knew
Daisy, or like they

were even friends. For all he knew, she was just being nice because he was Gordon's son. He

wanted to change the subject. "So, if you're not really nuts, does that mean Amy Winehouse is

an act too?"

Daisy giggled, shaking her head so that waves of her light hair spun around her face like

sunbeams. "No way. Girl needs some major repairs. She's absolutely
mental.
And that's

coming from someone who just attacked a case of frozen shrimp with cheap merlot."

Ash threw his head back and laughed like a madman. Daisy was right. It
did
feel good to let his

crazies out.

TUCKER IN

Jojo sat in the back of the Everharts' hybrid SUV on Saturday, flipping through old photos on

her new iPhone. There was one of her and Willa, each with an arm inside a triple-extra-large

JFK soccer hoodie that had arrived by accident from the uniform company. One of Willa,

Samantha, and Debs, all huddled under a canopy during a game they'd played in the rain last

year. Willa's beaming face seemed to say, "Wish you were here."

"What are you doing?" Myla asked, craning her neck from the row of leather seats opposite

Jojo.

"Nothing," Jojo said, flipping the screen back to its wallpaper, a shot of her and Myla taken a

few days ago in Myla's room. They both wore sheer Dolce & Gabbana bow blouses, Myla's in

royal blue, Jojo's a deep green. Both girls' hair had the same sleek sheen, and their identical

matte-red half-smiles were straight out of
Teen Vogue
.

"Your swimsuit is coming untied," Myla said, sliding along the seat and yanking the halter

straps of Jojo's Trina Turk orange leaf-print bikini tight against her neck. Jojo winced as a

strand of her hair got caught in the knot. Myla freed it, not as delicately as Jojo would've liked.

Satisfied, Myla smoothed her own Milly daisy-print cover-up over her Betsey Johnson Black

Magic bikini, which was basically waterproof lingerie.

Charlie, their driver, turned off the PCH onto Malibu Road, high up above the Pacific Ocean.

The water was an inky blue dappled in sunlight, and all along the bluffs on the opposite side

were homes teetering on precipices above the sea. Some were enormous, castlelike estates that

reminded Jojo of the Everhart mansion in Beverly Hills. Others were modern, three-story

squares, whole sides made of windows that overlooked the ocean. Behind them stood

mountains. To live here would mean walking out your front door to the Pacific, with your back

door leading you right into the hills.

As they drove further, the SUV came closer to land, until they were driving down a small road

lined with beachfront homes, each one gated. Some had tiered buildings like Chinese pagodas

painted in reds and oranges. Others looked like Spanish missions unfolding along the rocks.

Finally, they pulled into a narrow wraparound drive, on the back end of what Jojo could only

describe as an impossible house. It swooped and curved, with rounded walls made entirely of

glass that reflected yellow and blue, with the rays of the sun and the rippling of the water.

Orange blossom bushes and star jasmine encircled a rooftop balcony. Jojo could already see

most of her BHH classmates gathered there, on a patio with a pool and a mile-long thatched

roof bar.

She felt her nerves activate, and her stomach began to whine from anxiety. She widened her

eyes at perfectly poised Myla, as if to say,
Should I really be here?

By way of answer, Myla said plainly, "It's Tucker's dad's place."

Hitching her Dior beach bag on one shoulder, Myla hopped out and impatiently gestured for

Jojo to follow. Jojo stepped out tentatively, wishing she'd worn her beat-up Havaianas instead

of Myla's four-inch Gucci heels.

Myla led the way, slipping in through the open glass doors. Every face at the party turned and

waved. Jojo took in Tucker, Ash, their friends Geoff, Mark, and Julius, Billie, Talia, Fortune,

Mai, Tosha, and a whole array of BHH's best and most beautiful.

Her body tensed. It was the first time she was seeing these people in a social setting since

Lewis's party, and she was wearing a bikini and a skimpy cover-up.
Maybe this is how those

dreams where you're naked in front of your whole class feel,
Jojo thought. Finally, Tucker

cried, "Jojo and Myla are here!"

The guys, already feeling the effects of whatever was in the hollowed-out coconuts they sipped

from, let out a "woo-hoo!"

Jojo smiled, relieved. Okay, so maybe a bikini and heels made that entire gender forget past

party blunders. The girls weren't so easily impressed, though, offering Jojo a mostly bland

chorus of hellos with a few stronger welcomes from hangers-on who'd never quite gotten in

Myla's elite circle. Billie waved spastically at Myla, giving Jojo only a tight-lipped smile. Talia

none-too-subtly scanned Jojo's outfit, comparing it to her own white halter one-piece and dark

shades. Fortune Weathers hid her distaste for Jojo about as well as her two-tone green string

bikini disguised her hips. She sighed audibly, allowing herself an irritated split-second smirk

before sucking in her stomach again.

For a few seconds, Jojo imagined the soccer invitational, where her teammates would have