“Please,” Stella shrieked, throwing up her arms. “I think we both know she can do way better than your piece of shit boyfriend. No offense, Xander.” Xander shrugged. “Now, either you be nice, or fuck off!” Odette’s jaw dropped. Stella turned to me sweetly. “I’m sorry you had to stand witness to all this, Va—Vaughn,” she said, putting an arm around me. What was happening exactly? Was she befriending me to piss off Odette?
I shook my head, bewildered. “It’s fine I guess,” I managed.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Odette shouted, storming off.
Everyone watched her go, unfeeling. Xander, in particular, seemed fixated on me, I noticed. My stomach floated to my chest. I had to play my cards right. He needed to come to me, not the other way around. Not after what he did at his party back in early November.
“So,” Stella crowed, steering me closer to the group. “Why didn’t you bring your boyfriend? Baron Caldwell, right?”
I smirked as Ava Goldmann, Ellis Leachman, Miller Toff, and Xander Carrington watched me, all rapt like puppies at my feet. I shrugged. “We got into a fight,” I said simply. “I’m not that into him anymore.” Ava’s jaw dropped. Xander’s eyes lit up.
“Aw, that’s too bad,” Stella whined. “So, what was he like, anyway?” she gushed.
I crossed my arms and looked at the ceiling, trying to muster up a description that didn’t involve the term “arrogant asshole.” “He was … confident. Definitely sexy. Just not exactly interesting,” I said nonchalantly.
Stella and Ava oooed and ahhhed.
“What are you doing after this?” Stella asked. “We were gonna go to Miller’s parents’ place. They have an Ambien prescription so we can, like, party as loud as we want,” she grinned. “But, you know,” she added, trying unsuccessfully to mask her ulterior motive, “if you have someplace cooler to go …” she trailed off, hoping I’d take the bait. I let her suffer for a moment, taking note of her brow, speckled with tiny pimples, which twitched slightly when she was on edge.
“There’s the NYLON magazine Young Hollywood party at Teddy’s,” I said. Stella and Ava gawked.
“Wow, yeah, that would be awesome,” Stella said.
“There’s a list,” I added smugly. Stella’s face fell. “Oh, well, okay …”
“Anais and I might be able to get you in,” I said.
Stella shifted her weight, arching an eyebrow skeptically. “Anais is going?” she asked.
I nodded. “She and her boyfriend, Austin—oh, you know Austin! Well, they can get in anywhere. They’re, like, an “it” couple,” I lied. I figured it was more of an exaggeration since they are an “it” couple to me.
Stella cracked her knuckles, wincing a little. “See the thing is,” she said, stepping closer to me, “We just kind of don’t get why you hang out with her.”
“Anais?” I said, frowning.
“Yeah,” Stella replied. “You’re just, like, so much cooler than her, you know?”
I grit my teeth, setting my lips in a thin line. “She’s my best friend,” I said sternly. “So if you’re not okay with her, you can forget about Teddy’s.”
Stella flinched and then rebounded quickly, laughing uncomfortably. She touched my shoulder lightly. “Hey,” she said, her bright eyes sparkling. “It’s just, like, seriously awkward for me since her mom does my hair. But if you like her, I like her. Okay?” She was practically begging.
I smiled coolly. “Then I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
* * *
I took off into the crowd, my organs roaring with excitement. I couldn’t believe what I had just pulled off. I felt like Tony Soprano or someone equally badass. I needed to find Anais and recount every last detail to her. I pushed past Benji Gladis grinding up on Suzy Brown, past Zoe von Liebling and Duke Wurtschafter having a laugh, past Alexis Klein, Cosmo Farrell, and Blue Livingston—a sullen little hipster triangle—stumbling over the hem of my dress in my towering platforms. Just as I resigned myself to falling smack on my face, desecrating whatever coolness I had managed to cultivate in the past few weeks, someone caught me, reclaiming my equilibrium. I turned to find none other than Xander Carrington’s strong hand gripping my upper arm. He had a strange look on his face: mostly blank with just a hint of confusion thrown in.
“Thanks,” I muttered. His face twitched into what I chose to interpret as a smile. The music shifted from Cee-Lo’s uptempo Forget You to Timbaland’s slow jam, Apologize.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked.
I scoffed. “Are you kidding?”
He shook his head.
I rolled my eyes. “Why would I dance with you?”
He shrugged. “Just do it, okay?” he urged.
I shook my head and grudgingly put my arms around him. A strange sensation pummeled through me. I felt enraged and excited at the same time.
“What’s this about?” I snapped. “Is Odette gonna pop out of the crowd and poison me or something?”
He sighed, frustrated. “Why do you have to be that way?” he groaned. I looked to my feet, stepping along with his. “I mean,” he shrugged, clearly struggling. “I guess I just—” he sighed, biting his lip. “I just—never noticed how good you looked,” he said finally.
My heart stopped. Was that—was he hitting on me? I searched his squinting eyes for signs of longing, but they were too hard to read.
“What about Odette?” I asked meekly.
He looked into the crowd, thoughtful. “What about her?” he asked sharply. “She’s a bitch. I mean, you know. You saw what she did to us, with the handcuffs and shit.”
“To us?” I squeaked.
“I’m tired of her,” he continued casually. “I’ve been with her for years. It’s time to sow my oats, you know? At least that’s what my dad always says.” As much as I hated Odette, it gave me no joy to hear him offhandedly dismiss the girl he’d been romantically linked to to “sow oats,” whatever the hell that meant.
I frowned. “You’re tired of her?” I asked. “Just like that?”
He shrugged. “What?” he asked defensively.
I shook my head. “It’s just sad, that’s all,” I murmured.
He rolled his eyes. “You women and your drama,” he noted, a smug smile crawling onto his face. He gazed at me, amused. “Come here,” he murmured, leaning closer to me.
I froze. This was the moment I had been waiting for. The moment I had dreamt about over and over. And yet, as his nose neared mine, I wondered if it was even what I wanted. I wondered if this was how I wanted it to play out. It seemed too fast, too sudden, too easy. I wanted it to be more of my doing, or something. Not some random, cataclysmic event like this.
Then the tip of his nose touched my cheek and he placed a finger under my chin, bringing my mouth to his. He kissed me. A slow, soft, romantic kiss. The way kissing was meant to be. His hands glided over my shoulder blades, smoothing my dress over my butt. I parted my lips, gasping lightly. It was as if all of the tension, hurt, and sadness fled my body. I felt free.
He pulled away abruptly as Apologize came to a close, his eyes darting away. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. I pushed my hair behind my ears.
“What was that for?” I murmured.
He shrugged. “Just felt like it,” he said.
I smiled shyly. “Why?” I pressed.
He sighed, frustrated. “Are you always going to be this needy?”
I looked to my feet, ashamed. “Sorry,” I said quietly.
He touched my cheek. “Forget it,” he said, running his hand through my hair.
I smiled, crossing my arms over my chest. He was so hot standing there squinting at me, his gray eyes sparkling, his brown hair wiry around the temples, that I didn’t even care that he had the temperament of a bipolar baboon. His smile dissolved as he glanced behind me, dread creeping onto his face. I turned to follow his gaze. It was Odette, apparently raging mad, her hands balled into fists.
“Where the fuck have you been?” she sn
apped, glaring at Xander. Xander averted his eyes and shrugged. Odette sighed. “Well, come on. I wanna go home,” she said, motioning to the door.
I turned to him, waiting for him to make some grand gesture or, at the very least, tell her to fuck off, but instead, he just shrugged again and followed her out the door without a word of farewell. After all we’d been through! I rolled my eyes, watching him lumber despondently after her. Were all boys, like, one hundred percent pathetic? I looked around the dance floor at all the bright, young faces, so into themselves. None of them aware of the crazy, soap opera love triangle unfolding between Xander, Odette, and me next to them, and I was suddenly, completely fed up with these people. With high school in general. I was ready to blow this popsicle stand, go to a real party.
I just needed to find Anais.
18.
MY BEST FRIEND, THE DOUBLE AGENT
Anais
I completely lost track of time. After Austin rescued me from Shrew Crew harassment, all I could stand to do was drag him out to the pool to make out on one of the glamorous, white lounge chairs. The pool, shifting electric pale green in the dark, was encircled by empty chairs lined up like pills in a perfect pillbox. Austin kissed my neck and the wind rattled the palm trees. I couldn’t believe he called me his girlfriend. I couldn’t believe he wanted me. Me. It was unreal.
“You look so gorgeous,” he marveled, running his hand over my hip.
I shook my head shyly. “Stop,” I urged, smiling. I was so flattered I thought I might throw up. He chuckled, pulling me into the crook of his arm. I looked up at the sky, splayed out over us. It was really too bad the smog obscured the stars. Or maybe the smog was precisely what was keeping me from fainting like one of those ridiculous women in my mom’s cheesy romance novels. The stars might put this romantic moment over the edge. I heard my purse vibrate on the ceramic end table. I reached for it, rubbing my eyes. It was Vaughn, of course.
Where are you?? Time to go to Teddys!
I sighed, lifting myself up.
Austin frowned, pulling me back onto the chair. “Oh, no you don’t,” he warned.
I laughed, yanking myself back upright. “Oh, yes I do,” I said, standing. “And I’m taking you with me.” I reached out for him, and he reluctantly took my hands.
He lifted himself off the chair, groaning. “Back to work,” he murmured.
I laughed.
* * *
We met Vaughn at the door. It was a mob scene. A cluster of photographers crouched around a small red carpet, furiously snapping DJ Steve Aoki’s picture. Publicists and assistants flanked them, prepping Vanessa Hudgens and Austin Butler for the photo op. There was a line of young, toned guests, dressed to the nines, waiting to get in. An officious twit with a clipboard doled out hot pink wristbands to those deemed worthy of entry. Vaughn waved us over enthusiastically, grabbing my arm.
“I have so much to tell you, you have no idea,” she gushed, dragging me to the door. “Wait,” I said, digging in my heels, “Shouldn’t we, like, have a plan or something? I mean, we’re not on the list.”
Vaughn shrugged. I guess she figured she was semi-famous now, after getting caught with Baron Caldwell and everything.
Austin furrowed his brow, assessing the scene. “I have an idea,” he said, heading back downstairs. “Follow me.”
We darted after him, making our way back through the elaborate lobby and toward a magazine and sundries stand. He stood before the racks of Photoshopped glory, scanning the images with his hands in his pockets. Vaughn and I exchanged skeptical expressions.
“Ah-ha!” he exclaimed, his eyes landing on Star magazine. He quickly pulled three issues from the slip and brought them over to the register. “Do you have a pair of scissors I could borrow?” he asked the stern cashier as he shelled out ten bucks. The man nodded, silently handing it over by the red, plastic handle. “Thanks, boss,” Austin said.
“Um, what am I missing?” Vaughn asked, perplexed.
“Check this out,” Austin said, cutting strips from the hot pink banner across the bottom of the magazine.
I smirked. “The wristbands,” I said, figuring it out. “They were hot pink.”
Austin winked at me. “’Atta girl,” he said, wrapping the hot pink, glossy paper around my wrist. “These might pass from afar, but up close, they’ll look like shit.” He christened Vaughn’s wrist and then his own. “The trick is to walk by quickly and confidently, like we were already inside.”
Vaughn and I nodded diligently. This had better work. We hadn’t posted an original story since we caught Chloë Sevingy scanning the racks at the Rose Bowl and needed something juicy, like, yesterday.
As we approached the velvet rope, I kept my head held high, reminding myself that I looked as good as I ever had. We strutted past the line without an issue, party girls casting envious glances at our makeshift wristbands. The PR girl with the clipboard scowled suspiciously at us as we walked by, but seemed too frazzled to stop us. We wandered past a long bar under vaulted stone ceilings, awed. A petite girl in red lipstick and a little black dress passed with a tray of champagne flutes. Austin took one for each of us. Vaughn squealed, stamping her feet on the ground excitedly as we clinked glasses. We were in.
“Oh, I don’t believe it,” a voice shouted over my shoulder from one of the studded leather barstools. I turned to find Raven, my mom’s friend and makeover guru, perched at the bar, his eyebrows frozen in surprise. I wasn’t sure if it was from the Botox, clearly paralyzing his forehead to oblivion, or from dismay that I, the sixteen-year-old daughter of his coworker and friend, was guzzling champagne at the hottest party in L.A.
I arranged my face into a smile. “Hi,” I crowed innocently, kissing him on both cheeks. “I must be dreaming,” he said, shaking his head. “How the hell did you get into this party?” I cringed, guiltily displaying my fake wristband. Raven threw his head back, laughing decadently. “The girl’s industrious,” he marveled, checking out Austin’s handiwork. “And pretty damn good-looking,” he said, taking in my hair, makeup, dress, and shoes.
I smiled. “You trained me well,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to have to tell your mother about this, you know that, right?” he said sternly.
I took him by the hand. “Please don’t,” I begged. “Our Winter Formal is downstairs. Happening right now. Stella Beldon was flirting with my boyfriend so I left and snuck in here. Please.”
Raven peered over my shoulder at Austin, who was clearly busy scanning the room for celebrity gossip. “Your boyfriend?” Raven said. “Is that him?”
I nodded, smiling. “Not bad,” he said, squinting, getting a better look. “Your mom know about him?”
“Sort of …” I trailed off nervously.
Raven laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep your little secret.”
I sighed. “Thank you,” I breathed, squeezing his shoulder.
He smiled. “I remember what it was like to be your age,” he said. “Hey, you wanna meet BobbyAnn?”
I frowned. “Who?”
“BobbyAnn McGhee, my client. She’s an actress on the new version of Dynasty? I’m her date tonight. Her boyfriend’s out of town.”
My eyes widened. “Sure,” I exclaimed.
He tapped the toned shoulder of a perfectly sculpted blonde on the edge of the barstool next to him, chatting with the bartender. I was mesmerized by her perfect posterior and couldn’t help but wonder how many squats and lunges it had taken her to become that bootylicious. No wonder she was famous for her apple bottom. She turned, beaming.
“BobbyAnn, this is my dear friend Anais,” Raven said, taking my arm. “She is the daughter of a very dear friend.” I smiled.
BobbyAnn held out her hand to me. “How are you?” she asked.
“Fine,” I replied meekly. I shook her hand and introduced her to Austin, who I’m sure covertly snapped her photo with his hidden camera, and to Vaughn, a huge Dynasty fan, who gushed like crazy. I, for one, pre
fer the original. The one from, like, the eighties or something that they sometimes rerun on SoapNet. Old women in puffy pastel dresses bitch-slapping each other for forty-two minutes. What’s not to love? The new one, as far as I can tell, is some pathetic retread featuring hot twenty-somethings in lycra whining for forty-two minutes. Blah. Vaughn checked her phone, which, I noticed, had been buzzing incessantly.
“Who is it?” I murmured, peering over her shoulder.
She sighed, obviously conflicted. “It’s Stella,” she said.
My eyes widened. “Stella? What does she want? How does she even have your number?”
Vaughn shrugged. “I gave it to her. We’re kind of friends now. Well, frenemies, the way I see it.”
“What?” I exclaimed, at a loss.
“I told you we had a lot to discuss,” Vaughn said. “Anyway, she’s outside with Ava.
They want to get in.”
I shook my head. “Ignore them!” I exclaimed.
Vaughn bit her lip, pensive. “It would be a lot cooler if we did get them in …” Vaughn murmured. “That way, they’d have to kiss our asses until the end of time.”
“Well, we can’t,” I said sternly. “We could barely get ourselves in.”
Raven daintily raised his index finger. “I have a suggestion,” he said. We peered at him quizzically. “Why don’t we get them in,” Raven said, motioning to BobbyAnn. “Personally, I’d like to one-up that bitch myself.”
I sighed, shaking my head. Austin put his arm around me, drawing me close to him. Despite my concerns, BobbyAnn had her publicist pluck Stella and Ava from the line outside, explaining to them sharply that next time, they would need to get themselves on the list, and that they were lucky to have us as friends. The publicist slinked over to us, trailed by the surprisingly star-struck Stella and Ava.
“Hiiiiiii,” Stella cooed, throwing her arms around Vaughn. Vaughn returned the hug condescendingly. “Thank you so much for getting us in,” she said.
“Don’t thank me,” Vaughn said. “It was Anais who introduced me to BobbyAnn, who was able to pull some strings for you.”
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