“MTV will never use a song called ‘Heat Me Up (Love Microwave).’ ”
“You don’t know. These
are
the people making a show about teen bullfighters,” Max pointed out.
Teddy snapped off a piece of his taco salad’s shell. “There are a lot of great unsigned bands in Los Angeles, and I am okay with the fact that Mental Hygienist is not one of them,” he said, scooping up some guacamole. “Bone has his hopes up, though. He told me yesterday that he really wants a Lamborghini.”
He stuck out his hand. “Now, give me my dollar,” he said. “That didn’t have anything to do with You Know Who.”
“Lord Voldemort?” Max asked, grinning.
“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been called that,” Molly noted. “Probably not even this week. But lunch isn’t over yet.”
It was the only time all day Max got a break from the words
Brooke Berlin
. People whispered incessantly, fervently,about Brooke’s blog. It took all Max’s inner fortitude to keep her poker face in place. She had just texted Molly that she was ditching the carnival meeting in favor of a nerve-soothing nap when—of course—her mother’s head poked out the door of the main office.
“Maxine! You are headed in the wrong direction.”
Max shuffled to a stop and reshouldered her backpack. “You mean, like, in a spiritual sense?”
“Cute. Mr. Kemp’s room is that way.”
“Mom, can’t I skip this one?” she pleaded. “I was up so late working with Brooke on her bl—um, biology.”
To keep her parents from asking questions, Max had told them she was tutoring Brooke in… well, everything. By the time her mother got wind that Brooke’s grades were exactly the same—and, in fact, not sufficiently bad to require tutoring (the great surprise about Brooke was her solid GPA)—this whole blogographer thing probably would be over and Max would have enough cash to get out of Dodge for the summer.
“I am very proud of how industrious you are,” Mrs. McCormack said. “And I am also totally unmoved. Go to the meeting. You will never get this wonderful high school time back.”
Max just looked at her. Apparently, her mother’s formative years were one big glossy picnic, where nobody threw elbows in the hallway, or thought “budget shopping” meant buying only
one
Issa dress, or got a huge zit on their noses that ended in half the grade calling them MountKermitmonjaro (Chaz had been so pleased with that one). Max loved her mother, but she suspected that she would love her mother a thousand times more when the woman wasn’t up in her grill every single day.
Like when I go to New York.
If
I go to New York.
But all she said was, “Fine,” then spun around on her boot and stomped toward Mr. Kemp’s classroom.
“And so it is with deep regret that I must step down as the head of the Spring Carnival Planning Committee,” she could hear Brooke saying. Max leaned against the doorjamb to watch. Anna Fury looked thrilled, and Jake was sitting with his back to Jennifer and texting someone, apparently not having heard a word of it.
“Oh, my God! That’s just so sad for us!” Anna said, clicking into sycophant mode. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve never been better,” Brooke said. “But, as I said in my statement, I simply have too many professional and creative obligations on my plate to give the Spring Carnival the attention it deserves. That being said, I am confident that I’m leaving you in good hands.”
Anna’s grin consumed her whole head. Brooke turned around and looked at the classroom’s ticking clock.
“She ought to be here any minute,” she said.
Anna’s face fell. “Wait. Shouldn’t we vote on—” she began.
“I’m here, Brooke,” said a voice from behind Max. Brie squeezed past her with an apologetic smile.
“Excellent!” Brooke said, clapping her hands in a waythat reminded Max of Brick. She gave Brie her front-and-center spot. “You all know my assistant, Brie. As of today, she is the acting
“You don’t know. These
are
the people making a show about teen bullfighters,” Max pointed out.
Teddy snapped off a piece of his taco salad’s shell. “There are a lot of great unsigned bands in Los Angeles, and I am okay with the fact that Mental Hygienist is not one of them,” he said, scooping up some guacamole. “Bone has his hopes up, though. He told me yesterday that he really wants a Lamborghini.”
He stuck out his hand. “Now, give me my dollar,” he said. “That didn’t have anything to do with You Know Who.”
“Lord Voldemort?” Max asked, grinning.
“It wouldn’t be the first time she’s been called that,” Molly noted. “Probably not even this week. But lunch isn’t over yet.”
It was the only time all day Max got a break from the words
Brooke Berlin
. People whispered incessantly, fervently,about Brooke’s blog. It took all Max’s inner fortitude to keep her poker face in place. She had just texted Molly that she was ditching the carnival meeting in favor of a nerve-soothing nap when—of course—her mother’s head poked out the door of the main office.
“Maxine! You are headed in the wrong direction.”
Max shuffled to a stop and reshouldered her backpack. “You mean, like, in a spiritual sense?”
“Cute. Mr. Kemp’s room is that way.”
“Mom, can’t I skip this one?” she pleaded. “I was up so late working with Brooke on her bl—um, biology.”
To keep her parents from asking questions, Max had told them she was tutoring Brooke in… well, everything. By the time her mother got wind that Brooke’s grades were exactly the same—and, in fact, not sufficiently bad to require tutoring (the great surprise about Brooke was her solid GPA)—this whole blogographer thing probably would be over and Max would have enough cash to get out of Dodge for the summer.
“I am very proud of how industrious you are,” Mrs. McCormack said. “And I am also totally unmoved. Go to the meeting. You will never get this wonderful high school time back.”
Max just looked at her. Apparently, her mother’s formative years were one big glossy picnic, where nobody threw elbows in the hallway, or thought “budget shopping” meant buying only
one
Issa dress, or got a huge zit on their noses that ended in half the grade calling them MountKermitmonjaro (Chaz had been so pleased with that one). Max loved her mother, but she suspected that she would love her mother a thousand times more when the woman wasn’t up in her grill every single day.
Like when I go to New York.
If
I go to New York.
But all she said was, “Fine,” then spun around on her boot and stomped toward Mr. Kemp’s classroom.
“And so it is with deep regret that I must step down as the head of the Spring Carnival Planning Committee,” she could hear Brooke saying. Max leaned against the doorjamb to watch. Anna Fury looked thrilled, and Jake was sitting with his back to Jennifer and texting someone, apparently not having heard a word of it.
“Oh, my God! That’s just so sad for us!” Anna said, clicking into sycophant mode. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve never been better,” Brooke said. “But, as I said in my statement, I simply have too many professional and creative obligations on my plate to give the Spring Carnival the attention it deserves. That being said, I am confident that I’m leaving you in good hands.”
Anna’s grin consumed her whole head. Brooke turned around and looked at the classroom’s ticking clock.
“She ought to be here any minute,” she said.
Anna’s face fell. “Wait. Shouldn’t we vote on—” she began.
“I’m here, Brooke,” said a voice from behind Max. Brie squeezed past her with an apologetic smile.
“Excellent!” Brooke said, clapping her hands in a waythat reminded Max of Brick. She gave Brie her front-and-center spot. “You all know my assistant, Brie. As of today, she is the acting
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