by Zoey Dean
was trying to stretch himself out of the shot. "He was so dorky! But he's still cute."
Myla's head swiveled in Jojo's direction. "Did you say cute?"
Jojo didn't take her eyes off the picture. "Yeah, in a hopeless kind of way. He's much cuter
now. Like he blossomed from geek to chic."
Myla stood up, yanking the yearbook from under Jojo's nose, closing the heavy hardcover with
a snap. Eyeing Jojo with the glare of a pet owner whose puppy had just peed on the floor, she
said, "No. No. And triple no. You cannot have a crush on Jacob Porter-Goldsmith."
Jojo felt a blush run up her neck at being called out for her crush. She'd been wanting to ask
him how WWJKD was going, but hadn't bumped into him since their lunch date. But when
she, like the rest of the school, saw him throw his amazing pass, it was clear the lessons had
worked. He looked cuter than ever as a quarterback. "I think he likes to be called Jake now,"
she said, tossing a strand of her loosely curled hair over one shoulder.
"Jake, Jacob, I don't care if his new name is James Dean," Myla said, a little more gently. "He's
an NFW boy."
"A what?" Jojo stood up, so she was at eye level with Myla.
"A No Fucking Way boy." Myla spelled it out. "Going out with him would cement you as
BarfBarf for the rest of your life."
So what? was Jojo's first thought, and it came as as much of a surprise to her as seeing Jake as
a reedy nerd. But she stopped herself from saying it aloud. After her dreadful first few weeks,
she didn't have a ton of faith in her own choices--and besides, maybe her sister knew what she
needed more than she did. Myla's advice had worked so far. Jojo turned and shuffled to her
vanity, a hand-carved table stained silver with different-size drawers and a moon-shaped oval
mirror, which Barkley had made for her. Sitting down and flipping her hairbrush in her hands,
she looked back at Myla's reflection. "He's in a movie, though. You saw him make that pass,"
she pointed out.
Myla came up beside Jojo, putting a light hand on her shoulder. She perched on the edge of the
vanity and offered Jojo a sympathetic look. "I know it sounds parental of me, but it's for your
own good. What we're working on here is so much bigger than you realize. I'm not showing
you how to survive BHH. I'm teaching you how to thrive. Do you understand why Jake's not
part of that?"
Emotions swirled in Jojo's chest. She didn't get why Myla was talking to her like a child. Then
again, she didn't understand why she was resisting what seemed like sincere, sisterly advice.
But most of all, the idea of being somebody at BHH pulled at her. Not so much for the
popularity, but to be closer to Myla. What good was it having a sister who ruled the school if
you were always hiding out in the library? "Not really," she said, hoping she didn't sound as
petulant as she felt.
"Once a geek, always a geek," Myla dictated, like she was telling Jojo two plus two was four.
"He might be appealing now, but he's PG. And when the movie's done, he'll go right back to
being PG. Mathlete, dork, hopeless. Maybe even worse than that, if the movie bombs. I'll help
you find an acceptable boy. You'll forget Jake. I mean, Jacob."
Jojo was about to argue further when the doorbell chimed Beethoven's "Ode to Joy."
"Myla, Jojo, we have company," Lailah trilled up the stairs. They could hear her Manolos
tapping across the wood floor as she asked Lucy to set another place for dinner.
"I hope they didn't invite DeNiro over again," Myla sighed. "He just chews and stares. Worst
dinner guest ever. Follow my lead, I'll introduce you."
She and Jojo headed down the winding staircase, Myla first. Just as she reached the curve from
which the dining room was visible, Myla almost missed the four final steps in her shock,
excitement, and delight.
Because standing there was her just-turned-eighteen ex-boyfriend, Ash.
A few hours and one dinner later, Lailah leaned back in her high-backed chair as Lucy reached
in to clear her empty dinner plate. "Oh, Ash, we're so happy to see you. And on your
birthday." She cocked her perfectly shaped face to one side, a wave of dark hair tumbling in
front of her violet eyes, as she studied Ash like he was a long-lost prodigal son returned home.
Ash grinned, feeling a little bad that he'd barely touched his polenta-crusted chicken and eaten
only half of the beef Wellington prepared just for him. He was beyond stuffed after two meals.
But while his stomach felt heavy, Ash felt lighter everywhere else. The Everharts' just felt like
home. He sat at his usual spot, next to Myla's head-of-the-table dinner chair, with Jojo on the
other side. He'd been worried that Jojo would be less than thrilled at his arrival, after he'd
rejected her at Lewis' party. But he'd been pleasantly surprised when she said simply, "Hi,
Ash," and given him a hello hug.
"And now, cake!" Barkley said, patting his "belly," if a ten-pack could be called that, over his
blue button-down Armani shirt. Barkley loved cake the way other men his age loved classic
cars or golf clubs. He admired cake, just reveling in its pleasures until he finally had to take
that first bite. He looked around the table--at what Ash and Myla used to privately joke was the
miniature U.N., with all its international children--for cake reactions. Mahalo, going on nine,
gave Ash a double-thumbs-up and Ash chuckled, amazed at how long his hair was getting.
Bobby, who'd sprouted from a chubby kindergartener to skinny first grader this year, hadn't
removed his knit Spider-Man skullcap all during dinner. Now he threw the hat in the air and
cheered, "Cake!" The toddlers--Nelson, Indigo, and Ajani--all clapped to no particular beat at
all, chanting "Birf-day! Birf-day!"
Lucy emerged again from the kitchen, carrying a three-layer German chocolate cake with
nineteen long, skinny candles lit on top of it. Setting it down in front of Ash, she said,
"Eighteen, with one for good luck."
The family sang its rendition of "Happy Birthday," most everyone a little off-key. Lailah,
who'd just taken a role in the movie version of Spring Awakening, demonstrated her perfect
pitch. As he blew out his candles, Ash thought his happiness at this moment was more than
good luck.
It was about being right where he belonged.
Twenty minutes later, Myla was still unsure that the feet inside her cuffed Jeffrey Campbell
booties were hers. Her whole body felt like a fizzy champagne vapor, little sparkly clouds that
surrounded her physical being. He'd actually shown up. For someone used to getting her own
way, Myla should have been more blasé about having Ash over. But she was surprised by
how much she enjoyed getting something she wanted that she hadn't thought possible.
She tried now to climb the stairs calmly, Ash behind her, Jojo behind him. Myla wanted Jojo
around, at least for a while, to serve as witness to her and Ash finally getting back together.
They reached her room, and Ash sank easily into his usual spot on her purple velvet couch. All
of them were silent--Myla from a rare case of nerves; Ash from nerves, maybe, or just cake,
chicken, and beef overload; Jojo probably from feeling like a third wheel.
Myla looked for something to do, hoping to get Ash to stay awhile. She glanced at Jojo,
making a desperate say something! face. Joj
o gave her best Myla-patented mocking half-smile,
then said, "So Ash, Myla was just telling me which boys at BHH are good enough to date."
Myla smiled, relieved. Maybe Jojo was learning something. The subject of dating was exactly
where Myla wanted Ash to be. She plopped down next to Ash on the sofa, making sure to
maintain perfect posture, to hide the bloat of the cake she'd wolfed down anxiously. "Yeah,
help us find a boy for Jojo."
Ash, who'd had his eyes half-closed in post-feast repose, opened one. "A challenge or a
gimme?" he asked, using Myla's terms for unattainable versus attainable boys.
Myla examined Jojo. She was too pretty for a gimme, but too sweet for a challenge.
"Who's a little bit of both?" Myla said. Jojo made a what the hell? face.
"Simple," Ash said, yawning. "Tucker. Guy keeps talking about you." He pointed at Jojo. "His
crushes usually fade fast. Something you did lengthened his attention span."
Myla considered this, folding her arms in satisfaction. Tucker was the very definition of man
meat: a pretty boy, not a ton going on upstairs, and thus not likely to play games. Granted, he
might not be a long-haul boy, since he could be a little slutty, but Jojo just needed a decentlooking guy to get her mind off losers like PG. And who knew? Maybe sweet Jojo would be
just the girl to tame Mr. Prowl himself. "I would have slapped you if you said Geoff, but
Tucker is good. Perfect. Give her the stats. Sit down, Jojo."
Jojo was so full, she'd slouched down in the pink chair. Catching herself going into slob mode
in front of Myla, she straightened into a dignified position. Fred and Bradley would be glad to
know she'd finally started to control her posture. Who'd known that all it would take was one
glamorous, judgmental stepsister?
"Stats? On Tucker?"
Jojo felt flattered. Tucker was cute, and she'd seen other girls watch him covetously. She didn't
know what he had going on in the brains or sense-of-humor department, but Jojo felt proud
that Myla thought she could land such a wanted guy at BHH. Maybe it wasn't noble of her, but
now that Myla had said it aloud, she wanted desperately to thrive, not just survive. She looked
around Myla's room. Pictures of Myla and her girlfriends poked from every nook and cranny.
Her iPhone, tossed carelessly on the bed, beeped constantly with incoming texts. And Ash
Gilmour, one of the cutest guys Jojo had ever met, was leaning back on the couch like he lived
here. Jojo wanted it all. Not just the closet and dresser bursting with desirable things but the
mementos of the ultimate life. And Myla obviously knew how to get it. Besides, if Jojo
succeeded, she'd someday rise to a level of power high enough that she could date any guy she
wanted... even Jake. "Yeah, like what does he like to do? What books does he read?"
Ash laughed robustly. "Skip the books. Tucker likes surfing, surfing, and more surfing. Toss
in a little music appreciation. Keep it simple. Between that and the fact that you're a cute girl,
you're done."
"O-kay," Jojo said. That wasn't the best start, but she was still on board for the plan. "So what
do I do?"
Myla snapped her fingers like a choreographer. "You have homework. Go to your room and
pick an outfit a surf-loving, music-loving, cute girl-crazy guy would like. Modern. So nothing
Victorian, Gatsbian, or even sexy librarian."
"You got it," Jojo said, secretly thinking that "sexy librarian" sounded exactly like something
Jake might appreciate.
It had been nearly a half hour, and Jojo hadn't returned. Myla appreciated her sister for sensing
that she wanted to be alone with Ash. Jojo was too smart to not have already thrown together a
miniskirt, tank top, hoodie and embellished flip-flops--Tucker bait.
Now they were talking like old times. Not quite old times, since as a couple, their conversations
often led to them making out. But close enough. They were on Myla's couch, only a few inches
of soft fabric separating them.
"So what's up with your friends?" Ash asked, his playful smile teasing her. "Did you hear
about the stalker cookies?"
"Yeah." Myla sighed, rolling her eyes at him. Her friends' ardor for Grant Isaacson had
showed no signs of waning, and they hadn't even consulted her about their cookie plan, which,
frankly, made her look bad by association. Rumor was, they'd used secret camera phone shots
they'd taken of Grant during the football game scene and had them iced onto cookies. If they'd
even bothered to ask, she'd have told them they were veering into restraining-order territory.
But they'd hatched the plan without her, probably after the game. They'd invited her to go to
dinner with them that night, but almost seemed relieved when she declined. Much as she
wanted nothing to do with their plan, she couldn't believe how distracted they'd been acting
toward her. "But I had nothing to do with it," she quickly added.
"I kinda figured," Ash said, making eye contact, still laughing. "Not your style. You can tell
them it's the lamest and creepiest thing I've heard in a while."
Myla giggled, feeling like she was with the old Ash. Before her trip, before the breakup, before
Lewis Buford. "At least my friends wouldn't forget my birthday," she retorted, before realizing
what she'd said. Her eyes got wide, and she brought her fingertips to cover her mouth. "I'm
sorry, I didn't mean--"
Ash waved it off. "My friends? Come on. Could you see Tucker and Geoff out getting a
hundred red velvet cupcakes with my name spelled out in little candy guitars?"
Myla blushed. The cupcakes were something she'd served at Ash's birthday bash last year at
Big Bear. "I'd think they could manage at least a taquito or something."
Ash smirked. "Not those guys. Unluckily for me, they don't have a Myla Everhart bone in their
bodies. Jake Porter-Goldsmith remembered, though. Weird, huh?"
What's with everyone's obsession with PG? Myla wondered. She didn't want to talk about
Ash's birthday anymore, because she didn't want to think about the party she'd planned to
throw. She'd had the idea to rent out Club 33, a top secret New Orleans--style honky-tonk
hidden in Disneyland. Ash secretly loved the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, which was right
below it. She'd wanted to close it down so the two of them could ride through the "seas" as if
on their own private love boat.
Saddened by the things they'd already missed in just the short time they'd been broken up,
Myla changed the subject. "So your dad asked you to an investor party for Daisy Morton? Are
you sure it wasn't a surprise birthday party?" she asked, leaning closer to Ash on the plush
cushions. At dinner, he'd told Lailah and Barkley that Gordon was busy with the fête. Much as
her own parents got on her nerves, she felt grateful to not have a father as completely
unavailable as Gordon. She also knew she was probably the only person in the world, besides
his sister, with whom Ash would discuss his relationship with his dad.
Ash shook his head. "Definitely not," he monotoned. "The worst of it is, she's staying in
Beverly Hills, and he appointed me her babysitter. I had to go to the shittiest bar in Hollywood
so she could try to kick this poor girl's ass last night."
"So she's really as nuts as they say?" Myla said. She was hoping the answer was yes. Even
though Daisy Morton was a complete
and utter mess, she was also hot in that completely
ungroomed way that a lot of guys found sexy.
Ash shrugged. "I guess. But I hate that shit. I mean, my dad's label used to stand for
something. Integrity. Quality. Actual musical skills. But even if you cleaned her up, she's still
not that talented. People are just interested in seeing a train wreck. And I'm stuck with her
against my will."
Myla leaned back a little into the couch, relieved. When they'd been dating, Myla sometimes
had creeping insecurities. Every time Ash got hooked on some new female singer-songwriter,
or a girl band, Myla worried he'd start to wish she played guitar, or wrote songs, or some other
hippie, soulful stuff. "It can't last forever. She's probably a one-hit wonder," Myla reasoned.
"But I think your dad has a long career as an asshole ahead of him." She straightened herself
up into her Gordon Gilmour, I'm so awesome pose--shoulders back, chin jutting out, eyes
squinting, and her hand tucked into an invisible blazer like a tiny Asian Napoleon. Then she
spoke in an approximation of Gordon's booming voice. "Ash Gibson Gilmour, are you trying
to tell me that you're sixteen and rich and good-looking and don't want to follow around a
hygiene-hating head case like some entry-level nursing home employee? What's wrong with
you? You should appreciate these things I let you do for me." Myla watched as Ash's frown
tugged upward in a smile. "Are you smiling?" she continued in the Gordon voice. "The
celebrity lunatic market is booming. And it's serious business. If you walk around smiling
when you're getting Daisy's tutus dry-cleaned, you're going to cost me years of future profits."
Ash burst out laughing. Myla cracked up too, and they collided in the kind of exertive laughter
that felt like a heavy make-out session, leaving them barely able to breathe. Just as they came
up for air, Myla looked into Ash's eyes and couldn't take the temptation.
She leaned in and kissed him. It was like those old movies. Fireworks burst behind her eyelids;
a symphony played in her ears. If they'd been standing up, Myla's leg would have involuntarily
bent at the knee, the heel of her bootie pointing heavenward.
To Ash, great kisses were like great music. You felt a good song with your whole body, and