Sammy Keyes and the Psycho Kitty Queen by Wendelin Van Draanen

you have any idea what a mess you've made of my life? First you dump me at Grams', then you pretend to be someone named Dominique Windsor and won't even admit you're mymother just so you can get a part on a smarmy
soap.
Then you waltz back into town to tell me I'm twelve when I thought I was thirteen, and now you fall in love with my archenemy's father!”
    She laughs again and says, “You do love to exaggerate, don't you?”
    “No!”
    “Oh?” She turns to face me. “Well, I didn't
dump
you at your grandmother's. And if you recall, I dropped the Dominique Windsor persona to make
you
happy. The soap is far from
smarmy.
And I'm certainly not in
love
with Warren.”
    “With
Warren?
You remember his name?”
    “Oh please, Samantha. Can you stop with the melo-dramatics?”
    I grab her by the arm. “Mom, listen to me—you have got to go back to using Dominique Windsor for
Lords.”
    “Why? I already went through all the trouble of reverting to Lana Keyes. I can't keep bouncing around! Besides, I rarely come to Santa Martina, and nobody reads the credits anyway. They just fly by!”
    “Haven't you ever heard of videotape?” I say through my teeth. “Or freeze-frame?”
    She laughs. “Who's going to do that?”
    “Heather!”
    “Heather? And so what if she does?”
    “Don't you get it? I'll be busted! Grams'll be busted! How can I be living with you when you're on a soap that's taped a million miles away?”
    All of a sudden she starts taking this a lot more seriously.She leans in a little and whispers, “I can't believe anyone would be that… meddlesome. What's it matter to them? It's the people at the Highrise who would care, not anyone else.”
    I snort. “You have no idea what we're dealing with here.”
    “Well, fine. If changing my name in the credits will fix all of this, that's what I'll do.”
    So we're heading back to our table, and I'm trying my best not to look over at the Acostas, but I slip up, okay? I look, just for a second, and there's Casey, grinning at me, while Heather's unrolling a large scroll.
    Now believe me, she's not unrolling a copy of the Declaration of Independence—Heather could give a rip about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
    She's more into inflicting pain.
    But aside from that, I know it's not the Declaration of Independence because the scroll is black. With tattered edges. And even without moving in any closer, I know exactly what's inside it. Silver writing. Silver moons. Stars. Suns. Astroglyphics.
    Heather's got one of Madame Nashira's birth charts.

All of a sudden things clicked together. Mrs. Acosta going into the House of Astrology… Gina telling me she was doing a rush job for a “classy lady.”
    Candi Acosta
classy?
    That's like saying Hannibal Lecter's a gentleman.
    But still. It made me sick to my stomach all over again.
I
was the one who should have a birth chart, not her.
    Which was stupid, I know. I was always saying I
didn't
want one, so why did I care that Heather had one?
    Now, thinking all that as I walked back toward our table took no more than three steps. Which is about as long as it took for Heather to put the birth chart aside and start opening the next present. And before I could even figure out why
that
was bugging me, my mother grabbed my arm and whispered, “They are so cute together!”
    “Who?” I asked, all in a panic.
    She nodded at our table. “Your grandmother and Hudson!”
    Their heads were sort of close together, and they were laughing. And it
was
really nice to see them like that. I mean, the two of them have had their ups and downs,and it's a lot more fun to be around either of them when they're getting along.
    Mom whispered, “So
is
there something going on with them?”
    “Nothing official, okay, so don't say anything stupid.” Then I added, “And you know, you'd know a whole lot more about what's going on with her—and me—if you'd
ask
once in a while.” She looked sort of shocked, so I said, “No offense,