I don’t know.”
“Why’d you break up?” she asks. “And I assume from the horns that he dumped you?”
I nod. “I . . . wouldn’t sleep with him.” Am I really telling Theodora Twist the most personal details of my life? Crazy.
“No one’s ever broken up with me for that reason,” she says, laughing. “I mean because I’ve never not slept with someone.”
I stare at her for a moment. “How’d you know you were ready?”
“I wasn’t. I just did it.”
“But if you weren’t ready, why did you?” I ask.
She shrugs. “To get what I wanted at the time. Like, if you wanted to keep Zach, you would have slept with him.”
“I did want to keep him, though,” I point out.
“Not bad enough,” she says.
“Not bad enough to have sex when I’m not ready.”
“Then either you didn’t really like him that much or you’re just a prude.”
“Then I guess I’m just a prude,” I mutter, getting up and flopping onto my own bed.
“You were madly in love, huh?” she asks.
My eyes are filled with tears and I can’t even speak. I hear her come off the bed and around the side of mine.
She sits down on the floor and leans against the wall, facing me. “Sorry, okay? Do you want to give each other pedicures? Do regular teens do that?”
I laugh. “Yeah.”
We spend the next half hour painting each other’s toes ridiculous colors. My big toes are both sparkly green. Hers are blue with yellow dots.
“Well, we can’t go to sleep with wet nails,” she says. “So you’re gonna have to tell me all about Zach until they dry.”
“I’d rather hear about Bo and Brandon. I mean—about how you’re doing.”
She blows at her toes. “Maybe they are just really busy. It’s not their fault I don’t have a life all of a sudden.”
Uh, thanks. “You are busy filming a reality TV show,” I point out.
“I’m sitting in your bedroom polishing your nails,” she says. “That’s what I’m doing. They’re flying all over Europe, having groupies fling themselves at them.”
“You’re worried?” I ask. It’s hard to imagine she could be. Hard to imagine any guy, let alone two, dumping Theodora Twist.
“A little,” she says, eyeing her toes. “I think they’re dry. So what should we do tonight? Movies? Club in the city?”
“It’s almost ten o’clock,” I point out.
“The clubs don’t really get going till eleven,” she says, “so if we leave now, we’ll get there just in time.”
“But we have school tomorrow,” I remind her.
“So?”
“So . . . I can’t. My mom won’t let me, anyway. I have to be home by nine on school nights.”
She stares at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” I say, my cheeks burning. At least I can blame it on my mom.
Theodora
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Changes to be made Can you talk to someone about building an extra room for me at the Stewarts? There’s no spare bedroom for me.
tx . . . TT
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: Changes to be made As discussed ad nauseam, you’re sharing Emily’s bedroom. Point of the show, Theodora.
xoAB
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: RE: Changes to be made I’m supposed to sleep in her room every night? Are you kidding me? WTF? Can’t they just film me getting into bed or getting up in the morning, etc.? I’m not sharing a room with someone for a month.
tx . . . TT
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Changes to be made Yeah, you are. Be a good girl. Or find yourself a new agent (you’ll need one for your career in soaps). Or there’s always soft porn.
xoxo AB
“What is all that noise?” I mutter at six a.m., removing my pink satin eye mask. “Don’t tell me the paparazzi are out there already.”
Emily jumps out of bed and heads to the window. “Nope. There’s a line of twelve-year-olds in front of the house across the street. The
“Why’d you break up?” she asks. “And I assume from the horns that he dumped you?”
I nod. “I . . . wouldn’t sleep with him.” Am I really telling Theodora Twist the most personal details of my life? Crazy.
“No one’s ever broken up with me for that reason,” she says, laughing. “I mean because I’ve never not slept with someone.”
I stare at her for a moment. “How’d you know you were ready?”
“I wasn’t. I just did it.”
“But if you weren’t ready, why did you?” I ask.
She shrugs. “To get what I wanted at the time. Like, if you wanted to keep Zach, you would have slept with him.”
“I did want to keep him, though,” I point out.
“Not bad enough,” she says.
“Not bad enough to have sex when I’m not ready.”
“Then either you didn’t really like him that much or you’re just a prude.”
“Then I guess I’m just a prude,” I mutter, getting up and flopping onto my own bed.
“You were madly in love, huh?” she asks.
My eyes are filled with tears and I can’t even speak. I hear her come off the bed and around the side of mine.
She sits down on the floor and leans against the wall, facing me. “Sorry, okay? Do you want to give each other pedicures? Do regular teens do that?”
I laugh. “Yeah.”
We spend the next half hour painting each other’s toes ridiculous colors. My big toes are both sparkly green. Hers are blue with yellow dots.
“Well, we can’t go to sleep with wet nails,” she says. “So you’re gonna have to tell me all about Zach until they dry.”
“I’d rather hear about Bo and Brandon. I mean—about how you’re doing.”
She blows at her toes. “Maybe they are just really busy. It’s not their fault I don’t have a life all of a sudden.”
Uh, thanks. “You are busy filming a reality TV show,” I point out.
“I’m sitting in your bedroom polishing your nails,” she says. “That’s what I’m doing. They’re flying all over Europe, having groupies fling themselves at them.”
“You’re worried?” I ask. It’s hard to imagine she could be. Hard to imagine any guy, let alone two, dumping Theodora Twist.
“A little,” she says, eyeing her toes. “I think they’re dry. So what should we do tonight? Movies? Club in the city?”
“It’s almost ten o’clock,” I point out.
“The clubs don’t really get going till eleven,” she says, “so if we leave now, we’ll get there just in time.”
“But we have school tomorrow,” I remind her.
“So?”
“So . . . I can’t. My mom won’t let me, anyway. I have to be home by nine on school nights.”
She stares at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” I say, my cheeks burning. At least I can blame it on my mom.
Theodora
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Changes to be made Can you talk to someone about building an extra room for me at the Stewarts? There’s no spare bedroom for me.
tx . . . TT
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: Changes to be made As discussed ad nauseam, you’re sharing Emily’s bedroom. Point of the show, Theodora.
xoAB
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: RE: Changes to be made I’m supposed to sleep in her room every night? Are you kidding me? WTF? Can’t they just film me getting into bed or getting up in the morning, etc.? I’m not sharing a room with someone for a month.
tx . . . TT
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: Changes to be made Yeah, you are. Be a good girl. Or find yourself a new agent (you’ll need one for your career in soaps). Or there’s always soft porn.
xoxo AB
“What is all that noise?” I mutter at six a.m., removing my pink satin eye mask. “Don’t tell me the paparazzi are out there already.”
Emily jumps out of bed and heads to the window. “Nope. There’s a line of twelve-year-olds in front of the house across the street. The
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