The A-List: Hollywood Royalty #1 Page 6

  low over his messy brown hair. The AD was sort of the director's right hand, dealing with all

  the business needs of the film so the director could do the creative part. On Class Angel, Gary

  was doing almost everything. He had to: The actual director, Dirk Wink--who'd only scored the

  job because he'd gotten the right combination of execs beyond wasted at one of his

  debaucherous pool parties--could only be bothered to yell at the cast or mumble his coffee

  order to the production assistants.

  "Yes?"

  "We're going to move some things around," Gary said, his eyes droopy and red. He reminded

  Amelie of the basset hound she'd had as a kid. "We're skipping the cheerleader fight for now.

  We want to do the scene where Hunter sees Kady doing her community service at the dance.

  Think you can handle switching gears? In about fifteen minutes?"

  She nodded, her stomach fluttering like the wings of Fairy Princess's favorite flying pony,

  Bubblelemon. "Sure, it's not a problem."

  "I knew you'd say that." The AD jogged over to the director and camerapeople, giving a nod to

  go.

  Hunter Sparks stood in the mock gymnasium, wearing a loose pair of vintage Levi's and a plain

  white tee. The cotton was thin enough that Amelie could almost see the abdominals Shape had

  devoted an entire feature to. She felt warm all over, and not just from the stifling heat. His dark

  hair was cropped close to his head, accentuating his strong, perfectly placed cheekbones. His

  eyes were the same rich brown as a dark chocolate cupcake from Sprinkles.

  Unfortunately, Amelie wasn't supposed to be staring at Hunter in this scene--or any of her

  scenes. As Class Angel, she was invisible to him, and if they accidentally made eye contact, it

  would ruin the take. But Amelie didn't care how many takes it took. She kept sneaking glances

  at him, unable to believe he was really standing here, five feet from her.

  "Okay, those last few lines once more," Gary hollered. They'd done seven takes of the school

  dance scene so far. It took place midway throughout the movie, when Lizzie Barnett, Kady's

  rebellious character, was still spurning the friendly advances of Tommy Archer, Hunter's jock.

  Kady sighed, jumping around to loosen up behind the dance's refreshment table. Hunter,

  wearing a cheesy Homecoming King sash over his casual ensemble, cracked his neck and

  bounced on his toes. Amelie assumed the Class Angel position, standing behind Kady so she

  could rattle off heavenly lines of advice.

  Extras milled around, most of them chatting with their dance partners. The Creases held their

  instruments on stage, preparing to play--or rather, to pretend to play. Noise would have

  overpowered the actors' dialogue.

  "Action," the AD called.

  Extras started bobbing up and down to whatever tune they had playing in their heads. They'd

  do another take where the Creases actually played, so they could get their rhythm right. For

  now, it was only important that dancers were in the background.

  "Look, I don't know why you have such a bug in your jockstrap," Lizzie snapped at Tommy,

  slapping a ladle of punch into a cup and handing it to a dancer. "I didn't steal the trophy, and I

  don't need your help. I'll get suspended or get out of it."

  "He only wants to help," Class Angel cooed behind her. "Try not to be so crass." Amelie

  peered over Kady's shoulder, trying to exchange a look with Hunter, but he was so focused on

  the scene, they hadn't so much as made eye contact yet.

  "Crass my ass. He's messing with me," Lizzie mumbled to Class Angel.

  "What was that?" Tommy asked Lizzie curiously, his eyes dancing with interest. As per the

  script, Hunter stared in Amelie's direction but seemed to look right through her. Amelie felt a

  twinge of disappointment, but reminded herself that he was just acting.

  "Nothing," Lizzie snarled, shoving another overflowing punch cup at a dancer.

  "I think you don't want my help because you're scared. What if you find out I'm not such a bad

  guy?" Tommy smiled challengingly, looking like an all-American stud.

  "I thought you said he was a dumb jock, Lizzie," Class Angel chirped. "That was quite

  insightful." It was ridiculously hot under the set lights, and Amelie felt like her thick layer of

  body glitter--a teen movie must if you were playing a diva or a supernatural being--was melting

  into her pores.

  Lizzie slammed the ladle into the punch bowl, sending orange liquid flying at an extra in a

  white strapless dress. "Would you leave me alone?"

  "Fine." Tommy stomped off, thinking Lizzie was talking to him, not her invisible angel.

  "And cut," the AD hollered.

  "Perfect," Dirk, the director, mumbled, barely looking up from his clipboard.

  Kady high-fived Hunter and Amelie. "It's freaky trying to play off of both of you without a

  group dynamic." She wriggled out of her hoodie, sticking her tongue out in feigned fatigue.

  "I'm overheating--be right back." Kady hustled off toward the craft services table, her

  character's Chuck Taylors almost silent on the wood floor.

  Amelie spun on her heel, happy to see Hunter still standing there.

  "Hey," he said, his dark eyes twinkling beneath the hot overhead lights. "It's so good to see

  you."

  He enveloped her in a hug. He smelled fresh, like Downy fabric softener and soap. Despite the

  wings on her back, some very unangelic thoughts popped into Amelie's brain.

  Hunter let her go and held her at arm's length. "It's weird not to be able to look at you while

  we're filming," he commented, and Amelie's heart beat heart-attack fast. "You look so

  different."

  Was he noticing that she'd grown? Um, everywhere? She was taller, with long, athletic legs.

  Her chubby little-kid cheeks had thinned out, making her lips look fuller. She'd had her teeth

  straightened with Invisalign braces, and her slight overbite had vanished. Most importantly, she

  wore a B-cup.

  "I know," Amelie said, wishing her voice sounded a little more Scarlett Johansson and less

  Minnie Mouse. She shrugged, the strap of her white Juicy Couture tank falling off her

  shoulder. Even though she was playing an angel, at least she got to dress like a teenager. Well,

  a teenager with wings. She was enjoying her modern costume, free of frills and princessy

  poufs. She looked up at him with what she hoped was a seductive gaze.

  "It's just so cool, you know, finally getting to work together again," Hunter said, his hand still

  folded warmly around hers. "You're half the reason I took the movie at the last minute."

  If the nylon wings strapped to Amelie's back had been real, she would have been hovering six

  feet off the ground right now. She tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. "Aww,

  thanks. That's sweet."

  "Come on, you taught me everything I know. At age eleven," Hunter teased, with a flirty wink.

  Amelie's skin prickled in excitement. She could almost hear the collective disappointed sigh of

  the eight million girls who'd prayed for Hunter Sparks to look at them the way he was looking

  at Amelie right now.

  You're the reason I took the movie. So all these years, Hunter had been waiting for his chance

  to see her again, too?

  "So what are you up to tonight?" Amelie asked boldly. "Is it Baskin-Robbins time yet?" She

  raised an eyebrow. Back when they'd first worked together, they'd go
ne for sundaes together at

  least once a week.

  "Actually, I--" Hunter began, but he was interrupted by the reappearance of Kady, a cold bottle

  of Fiji water in hand and the front of her tank top tied into a knot above her belly button.

  Several young male production assistants, arms laden with Starbucks trays, slowed to stare at

  Kady's tanned midriff, accentuated by a Swarovskicrystal star-shaped navel ring.

  Hunter high-fived her. "Parker. Friday night killed. The Standard's so much better than when it

  first opened."

  Kady shrugged nonchalantly. "Told you."

  Amelie felt like she'd been clocked over the head with a giant sign that read, LOSER! The

  Standard. The invitation Amelie had declined after the A-List party ... to go home with her

  mom. Hunter had been there? Of course he'd been there. Did she think everyone was like her,

  constantly worried about doing the wrong thing?

  "You headed to Hyde again tonight?" Hunter now fixed his dark eyes on Kady.

  She nodded. "Me. The twins. A few others. Just call me the social committee."

  "Sweet." Hunter grinned. "I wanted to drop in at Social really quick, see if Lindsay and Danny

  and those guys are there. That cool?"

  Kady rolled her eyes at Amelie, as though Hunter wouldn't know Hollywood from Vine if it

  weren't for her expertise. "Yeah, that's cool."

  "Nice," Hunter said, running a hand over his short hair before turning back to Amelie. "See ya,

  li'l sis." He gave her another hug. It couldn't have been more brotherly if they were Baldwins.

  Slinging an arm casually over Kady's shoulder, Hunter strolled off.

  Amelie watched them walk away, Kady's head casually nestled in the crook of Hunter's arm.

  She felt like her white outfit was turning green with envy, and turned around to stop torturing

  herself.

  Li'l sis. So that was it. Hunter did love her ... like a little sister.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Amelie turned, hoping it was Hunter, having changed his

  mind. Instead, Gary slouched in front of her, his ball cap in his hands.

  "Amelie, you can get going now," he said. "We're going to wrap up the dance shots now, and

  we don't need you."

  Amelie nodded glumly, turning on her white Lanvin flats to walk--alone--back to her trailer.

  He was right. Who needed a little sister getting in the way of the big kids' fun?

  PLEASED TO MEET YOU

  Monday morning, Jojo stared out the tinted window of Barbar's bodyguards' Escalade, her

  whole body alive with nervous excitement. Outside, rows of palm trees and sixteen-foot

  hedges shielded stars' homes from view. It was hard to believe she was living in one now. The

  best one, no less.

  After a lengthy long-distance call with her dads last night, they'd all agreed it was best for Jojo

  to stay in Beverly Hills. It turned out that Barkley and Lailah had proposed the idea to her dads

  before Jojo had even come to L.A. Fred and Bradley admitted that when they left her at the

  Sacramento airport, they'd had a feeling it was a real goodbye. "Our place here isn't exactly a

  teenage girl's dream," Fred had said, trying to laugh but sounding a little rueful. "Don't worry

  about us," Bradley had chimed in, hearing the concern in Jojo's voice. "Think of this as our

  extended honeymoon." As she hung up the phone, Jojo had felt sad. But this morning, as the

  sun rose higher over Beverly Hills, excitement had overtaken her.

  Just twelve hours ago, she'd thought she was headed to icy Greenland; now, she was headed to

  Beverly Hills High. The Beverly Hills High, where Tori Spelling, Alicia Silverstone, and

  Angelina Jolie had spent their teenage years. She was sitting in the back of a sleek black

  Escalade with Myla, who was listening to Kanye and scribbling in a black Moleskine

  notebook. Myla wore cream Maison Martin Margiela knee-high boots with a supershort

  L.A.M.B. plaid mini and a white Zac Posen blouse that tied at the neck. All her school gear

  was tucked into an oversize red Dior hobo.

  Jojo told herself not to stare, even though her new sister was even more gorgeous in person

  than in photographs. Myla had felt sick yesterday and spent the better part of the day in her

  room. She looked pretty great now, though, and Jojo couldn't wait till she was 100 percent. In

  last month's Seventeen poll, "What celeb would you like to go shopping with?" Myla had won

  79 percent of the vote--including Jojo's. Jojo couldn't believe that soon enough she'd actually

  get to do it.

  The driver turned from Beverly Glen onto Santa Monica Boulevard. Jojo watched men and

  women in suits head into Century City's chrome-and-glass office buildings. They passed a

  Coffee Bean, and when the driver turned again, Jojo almost gasped. Set back from Moreno

  Drive, Beverly Hills High's pristine white buildings practically gleamed in the sun. A vast

  expanse of lush green lawn spread out before the school.

  Graceful girls in Vogue-caliber outfits stepped out of dark town cars, checking BlackBerries

  and iPhones as they went. Tanned guys with artfully messy surfer hair high-fived their friends.

  Preppy, wannabe-agent types sat on the stair railings, sizing up the female student body like

  they were scouting talent. It was so different from JFK High in Sacramento, a '70s-looking

  building surrounded by strips of patchy lawn and a cracked gray parking lot. Jojo clenched

  every muscle in her body to stop herself from hurtling out the door and spinning Sound of

  Music style on BHH's front lawn.

  The car came to a stop and Myla gracefully extracted herself from the vehicle. Jojo hopped out

  next. No sooner had her Steve Madden flats hit the asphalt than a crowd of photographers

  appeared, surrounding the two girls like hyenas around their prey. Jojo gasped, wondering

  how she'd failed to notice so many telephoto lenses. Just seconds before, all of the paps had

  looked like slightly shabby pedestrians or parents taking their kids to school.

  Cameras fired in a symphony of clicks, whirs, and dings, as questions came at them rapid-fire.

  "Jojo, what's it like finding out you're Barbar's daughter? And Myla's sister?"

  "Jojo, is it true you were raised by two men? And how do they feel about this?"

  "Myla, how are you handling your parents having a real, biological child? Are you jealous?"

  "Come on, guys. Stop causing trouble," Myla scoffed, almost flirtatiously. She coolly fluffed

  her hair, her perfect berry-stained pout growing into a wide smile. "What girl wouldn't want a

  sister her age? It's going to be like one big sleepover."

  Myla reached to clutch Jojo's arm. She pulled her in close, and Jojo was engulfed in Myla's

  Chanel Chance perfume.

  Jojo relaxed into Myla's grip as the paparazzi eagerly snapped shots of the sisters side by side.

  She was glad Myla was here, because she would have been completely paralyzed facing the

  photogs on her own.

  "Jojo, is that true?" A pudgy guy in a stained and faded Team Aniston tee pushed a handheld

  video camera near Jojo's face, his fishlike eyes probing her.

  Jojo laughed nervously. "I'm still getting used to everything. But I feel so lucky to be here, and

  to finally have met my parents." She smiled at Myla, who grinned right back. "And my sister,

  too."

  Suddenly she pictured kids at JFK High, passing around the Us Weekly with her and Myla on

  the cover. It would fall into Justin Klatch's h
ands, and he'd stare at Jojo's glossy face, regretting

  that he'd missed his chance with her and wondering if he'd ever see her again. The thought

  made Jojo smile.

  The cameras fired away. The pudgy guy squinted his eyes at Jojo again. "Are you nervous

  about starting Beverly Hills High?"

  Jojo frowned. Why should she be nervous? It looked like a country club. But before she could

  answer, Myla pulled her protectively through an opening between two of the photographers.

  "That's enough, guys, we're on school grounds," Myla cooed. "You know the rules. And you

  got enough for one day. Show's over." She smiled demurely, giving them a wave that was part

  friendly, part "do what I say now." Amazingly, the photographers instantly departed. Jojo

  stared at Myla with awe.

  Myla let go of Jojo and rehitched her hobo bag on her shoulder. She strode toward the doors of

  the school, and Jojo followed.

  "That was insane," Jojo said, her North Face backpack slapping against her shoulder blade.

  Willa had overnighted some of Jojo's things from Sacramento, and along with her usual school

  bag, she wore a pair of gray pin-striped trousers from H&M, her silver Steve Madden flats,

  and a red Gap V-neck. "I guess I need to practice my 'no pictures, please!' pose. And I have to

  get some giant sunglasses. How did they even know we were coming? Lailah--I mean Mom-just enrolled me this morning!"

  Without answering, Myla headed purposefully toward a set of trees lining the front of the

  school. The other students seemed to clear a path for Myla as she walked by, like Moses

  parting the Red Sea. Jojo felt proud to be walking beside her. That's right, we're Barbar's kids,

  Jojo thought. Me and my sister.

  Finally Myla slowed, reaching three girls who stood in the shade of the library building. The

  bobbed brunette in the center dropped her BlackBerry into her royal blue tote and shrieked

  gleefully at Myla's approach. She wore olive-colored Lanvin platform gladiator sandals with a

  sleeveless Marc Jacobs peony-print dress.

  The girls on either side, one with impossibly long legs and long blond waves, the other with

  buttery hair pulled in a high ponytail, gave excited two-handed waves, their handbags--a yellow

  Kooba tote and a black patent Miu Miu shopper, respectively--swinging rapidly. They each