Sunset Boulevard (31 page)

Jake faced facts: She was dumping him. The movie was over, she had to leave town, and she

was dumping him. Jake had never officially been dumped before, because he'd never had an

official girlfriend before. But instead of the news hitting him like a shot to the gut, he processed

it like a mathematical equation. There was only one possible outcome: Geek plus hot, famous

girl equals geek getting dumped. He wanted to tell Miles, who was like a geek anthropologist

when it came to this stuff. But he couldn't. He'd sent his buddy to do his dirty work, left him

standing alone, and now Miles wouldn't talk to him. His own
mom
had called him a douche

bag. And she was right. He'd sold his soul for fame. As if fame could make your life

everything you wanted it to be.

"Are you okay?" Kady said, squeezing his hands tightly, as if potentially breaking his

metacarpus would distract him from the pain of abandonment. "We had so much fun, and if I

was staying, there's no way this would happen. You're a great guy. You'll find a new girl in no

time."

"Don't worry about it," Jake said, squeezing her hands back. He couldn't be mad at her. His

status as dumpee was inevitable. He was lucky to even be in the position of getting dumped.

It had been fun. She was right on that. And maybe in some world, he was the kind of great guy

who'd find a girl in no time. But without a new role coming up--and probably with a lifelong

grounding and a pissed-off best friend--he somehow doubted his social life was going to be

awesome from here on out.

CHARMED, I'M SURE

Myla held still as one of the
Class Angel
makeup artists carefully applied a dusting of

highlighter to her cheekbones. She had to admit, the VIP tent for the party more than met her

standards.

Guys in dark jeans with Reavis High jackets open to expose their chiseled, glitter-coated chests

were giving neck and shoulder rubs, while the hair and makeup staff offered up their expertise.

As a woman who looked twelve but had the voice of Kathleen Turner worked on her face, a

flamboyant guy in a pink suit curled individual tendrils of Myla's hair, pinning them in a sexy,

messy arrangement along her head. A lot of the BHH guys were in the tent next door, which

was fully stocked with unreleased video games and girls in skimpy angel costumes offering

massages and reflexology.

Myla was trying her best to relax, after no word from Ash since the beach party. She'd heard

from Jojo via Tucker that Ash had been spending time with Daisy, which seemed to bode well.

Of course, she had no solid reason to believe Ash would kiss Daisy and come running back to

her. But she also had no reason to believe her plan
wouldn't
work. In one of her favorite

scenarios, Ash, about to kiss Daisy, stopped just before contact, and realized that Myla had

been telling the truth and that the kiss with Lewis had been less than meaningless.

Myla had taken extra care to look perfect when Ash arrived. She'd worn his favorite perfume,

Harajuku Lovers Music, and his favorite color, green, in the form of an Alice + Olivia draped

V-neck minidress. With her hair pulled up, her delicate neck and shoulder blades were

exposed. She even had her Green Lantern ring, strung on a new gold chain, tucked into her

violet Marc Jacobs clutch, for him to loop around her neck when they got back together. Her

mom had received the clutch, covered in dozens of cutout hearts, today, and Myla took the

hearts as a sign that tonight was her and Ash's night. It had to be.

"You have amazing bone structure," the makeup artist said in her husky voice. "So refined."

Myla half-smiled in thanks, flicking her eyes to the mirror on the table next to her. Talia, Billie,

and Fortune approached behind her. Even though they'd made no attempts to talk since she'd

ditched them in the cafeteria, now all three girls looked as frightened as kindergartners left

behind on a field trip. Clearly, Myla's closeness with Jojo had gotten to them, and they were

worried their absence hadn't been missed.

"You really do," Talia said, her apologetic frown contrasting with the cheery retro print of her

Juicy paisley silk dress. "I wish I had cheekbones like yours."

"I read that one of the most popular plastic surgeries with teens is to get Myla's cheekbones,"

Fortune said, trying to one-up Talia. "
Teen Vogue
, I think."

Billie bounced on the balls of her feet, looking ready to throw herself in Myla's arms for a hug.

She nervously grabbed a handful of her short, gathered Thakoon skirt, printed with tiny pink

petals. "We're so sorry for the last few weeks," Billie said, looking on the verge of tears. "And

for not listening to you about Grant."

Myla shrugged. In a way, her friends' sudden ass-kissing for forgiveness was annoying. They

were acting like they'd left
her
stranded. Which they had, right when she'd needed them. But

she'd never have admitted that. Still, she felt warmed by their urgent need to apologize. "I could

have helped you if you'd asked. Amelie's soup kitchen didn't work?"

"He didn't show. And he's not here tonight." Talia sighed heavily, flopping into the seat next to

Myla's. "I can't believe Amelie lied to us and dragged us to that place," she said, wrinkling her

nose. She picked up a makeup brush and swirled it absently into a container of powder. "I've

never seen that many homeless people in one place, Myla. Even in Santa Monica. And then

tonight Amelie tried to act all, 'Who cares if Grant's not here? We have each other.' Yeah, right.

She was totally just using us."

Myla nodded triumphantly.

"Anyway, we really missed you," Fortune said. "Can I give you a hug?"

"Of course," Myla said, a sense of calm flowing through her body as Fortune smothered her in

a hug and the other girls followed suit, a tangle of spray-tanned limbs, perfume, and hair

products. But Myla drank it all in. She'd been feeling untethered in the weeks since her friends

started drifting. Coupled with Ash's distance, she felt like everyone was abandoning her. Jojo

didn't count. Because as much as Myla was starting to love her new sister, she knew Jojo

would always be there. Jojo depended on Myla for everything--style, confidence, even a

boyfriend. She wasn't going anywhere.

"Thanks guys," she said, drawing back from the hug. "Now, I was about to get a manicure. Do

you want to join me?" She was careful to play the part of Old Myla, girl in charge. Showing

too much emotion would be like displaying her weaknesses for the world to see.

The girls clapped and squealed with such enthusiasm, Myla thought they would break into an

impromptu chorus of "Kumbaya."

The manicurist had just removed Myla's practically fresh violet coat of OPI Caffeine Fix when

someone tapped her on the shoulder. Ash. He'd found her. Maybe all the pieces of her

jigsawed life
were
going to be put back together tonight. She looked up, anxious to be staring

into Ash's teddy bear eyes.

Instead, she got Jojo's violet eyes, peering down at her. Jojo's gaze shifted to Talia, seated in

the manicure chair next to her. Talia smiled perkily but resumed giving orders to her manicurist.

Jojo shrugged, and rolled up another manicure chair between Talia and Myla.

She plopped down, spinning the chair so she could have a private audience with Myla. All of

Myla's fair-weather friends had returned, Jojo noticed. After all this time of having Myla all to

herself, Jojo wasn't crazy about suddenly having to share her.

"You will never believe what just happened," Jojo whispered, raising one eyebrow. She knew

Myla would be surprised at first to hear that she'd dumped Tucker, but proud of Jojo for not

putting up with a complete ass. "I dumped Tucker."

"You did what?" Myla's face was not the curious, bemused one Jojo was expecting. She just

looked confused. "Why?"

Jojo shook her head as if to say,
Why not?
She looked seriously into Myla's eyes, ignoring

Talia and the girls, who were already talking in hushed tones about Jojo and Tucker's split.

"One, I don't know if he was ever really right for me. And two, about twenty minutes ago he

decided this party needed a wet T-shirt contest. It almost cost me my Prada." Jojo gestured to

her cream sundress.

"Is that seriously why you
dumped
the second-most popular guy in school? Why didn't you

consult me first?"

"You're joking, right?" Jojo said, her eyes flicking to Talia, Billie, and Fortune. They watched

with casual detachment, like Jojo was a minor character on a teen soap who was about to be

killed off.

Myla rolled her eyes and patted Jojo's arm in faux sympathy. She wasn't planning to exile Jojo

or anything, but she also didn't want her friends to see she'd formed a serious bond with Jojo in

the short time they'd spent apart. Besides, for the girls to know she'd made a faulty Jojo-Tucker

match was no good at all. To her friends, Myla's blessing a relationship was more powerful

than the pope on Easter.

"Look, if you can't control your boyfriend, it's not my problem," Myla said, turning back and

extending a hand so the manicurist could keep working.

Jojo felt her whole body quake. She scanned the seats on either side of Myla, where Billie,

Talia, and Fortune sat placidly, looking at her like they weren't sure what she was doing here

now that the Fantastic Four had been reunited.

It dawned on Jojo that they knew better than she did. All the time, she had been nothing more

than a project for Myla, a way to pass the time while her friends' attention was elsewhere.

Myla hadn't been helping Jojo
.
She'd been helping herself. She'd made Jojo dress like her, talk

like her, walk like her. She'd made her squelch her feelings for a guy she actually liked--Jake-and pimped her out to a guy she didn't. And Jojo had gone along with it. Thinking about how

willingly she'd gone along with Myla's scheme, Jojo hated herself almost as much as she hated

Myla right now. She'd lied to Willa, her best friend in the world. The only true friend she'd ever

had. Who didn't even want to be her friend anymore.

Jojo felt words pile up in her throat, like those last few moves on a Tetris game when the

shapes are falling so fast you know you're going to lose.

"You know what? This is it. Thus endeth the lessons," Jojo said, hovering over Myla in the

four-inch heels that were killing her. "I'm not some experiment. I'm not some robot you can

dress like you and teach to talk like you and to act like you." Jojo cast a meaningful look at

Talia, Billie, and Fortune, who looked like shelved marionette puppets with their mouths

hanging open.

Myla sighed, as though bored, but wrenched her hand out from under the nail tech's cotton ball.

She stood up, straightening her back so she was nearly Jojo's height, wishing Jojo were in

flats.

"You know what? You're lucky--I took an interest in you," Myla sneered, already sick of

Jojo's ungrateful tirade. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be Miss Sacra-demento who can't hold

her liquor. How could you be so ungrateful?"

Jojo cocked her head bitchily to the side, a move Myla recognized as one of her own. "Should I

be
thanking
you?" Billie was texting wildly, probably live-blogging the showdown. "Shouldn't

you be thanking
me
? I was fun for a while, right? A little project to keep you busy while you