little twerp who lives there is probably selling peeks into our room through his telescope. I used to babysit him—total nightmare.” She pulls the curtains tight and picks up the telephone on her desk. “Mrs. Harvil, this is Emily Fine from across the street. I think you should know that Lenny is inviting a group of boys into his room to try to see Theodora through his telescope. And she’s practically naked at the moment.” She peers out the window and laughs. “I can hear his mom yelling her head off. They’re all scattering like flies now.”
“Can I have the first shower?” I ask her. “I need to look camera ready when Vic and Nicole get here. They’ll want to shoot us waking up for my first day of school.”
“Sure,” she says.
As I stand under the delicious hot spray, I wonder why I told Emily so much about myself last night. I need to shut up. I have no idea whether I can trust her.
A half hour later, primped and ready and changed into cute new pj’s—a pink tank top with GIRL spelled out in glittering white letters, and white yoga pants—I head back into the bedroom. Emily is staring at me. “Looking totally natural takes work,” I tell her. “You’d better hop to it unless you want to be filmed looking that that,” I add, eyeing her hair. She has total bed head.
She glances in the mirror and sighs. “The curse of wavy hair,” she says, disappearing into the bathroom.
Finally, some privacy! I grab my cell and punch in Bo’s number. No answer. Only voice mail. “Hi, Bo, it’s me. I miss you—call me. Then I punch in Brandon’s number. Voice mail. Argh! I am so sick of voice mail! I leave the same message for him, then bash the phone against my pillow.
“Not working?” Emily asks, emerging from the bathroom with a pink towel wrapped around her head. She’s in new pj’s of her own, a baby blue T-shirt and white sweats.
“Not answering. Where the hell are Bo and Brandon?” Shut up, Theodora. Stop telling her stuff!
“If they’re on tour, they’re probably just really busy,” she says, taking the towel off her head.
“Please. They’re getting massages and blow jobs from groupies is what they’re doing,” I snap. Her face turns such a bright shade of red that I have to laugh. “Ever given one?”
“Can we not talk about this at six-thirty in the morning?” she mutters, heading back into the bathroom.
I try not to laugh out loud and poke my head in the bathroom. She’s staring down at the countertop, looking sort of miserable. “I’ll do your hair and makeup if you want. We have fifteen minutes till the cameras descend.” She glances up at me and nods. Truce accepted. I check out her cosmetics bag and hair care products. “No. No. And more no,” I tell her. “We’ll use my stuff.”
“All my stuff is Girlie Girl cosmetics too,” she says.
“But all the wrong colors,” I tell her. “With your light brown hair, hazel eyes, and fair skin, black mascara is way too dark for you. And pink blush is way too light.” I open my kit. “Besides, Girlie Girl is great, but you can’t stay with only one brand.” Then I examine her. She really is cute. She has a friendly, approachable face. And great skin. I apply, dot, pat, brush. In ten minutes, she looks very cute. “I can help you pick out an outfit,” I say. “The paparazzi and news reporters will be out in full force today. You’ll want to look hot.”
“I don’t think I can,” she says. “Cute, maybe. Not hot.”
“I can make you look hot. Makeup, clothes. You have to supply the attitude, though.”
She laughs. “I’m seriously lacking in attitude.”
“Oh, you have attitude.”
She eyes me for a second. “That’s a compliment, isn’t it?”
I smile. “Yes. A big one.” As I use my lip brush to swipe some sheer brick-colored lipstick on her mouth, she stares at me.
“You’re so pretty, ” she says out of the blue. “What’s that like? To know that no matter where you go, every guy
“Can I have the first shower?” I ask her. “I need to look camera ready when Vic and Nicole get here. They’ll want to shoot us waking up for my first day of school.”
“Sure,” she says.
As I stand under the delicious hot spray, I wonder why I told Emily so much about myself last night. I need to shut up. I have no idea whether I can trust her.
A half hour later, primped and ready and changed into cute new pj’s—a pink tank top with GIRL spelled out in glittering white letters, and white yoga pants—I head back into the bedroom. Emily is staring at me. “Looking totally natural takes work,” I tell her. “You’d better hop to it unless you want to be filmed looking that that,” I add, eyeing her hair. She has total bed head.
She glances in the mirror and sighs. “The curse of wavy hair,” she says, disappearing into the bathroom.
Finally, some privacy! I grab my cell and punch in Bo’s number. No answer. Only voice mail. “Hi, Bo, it’s me. I miss you—call me. Then I punch in Brandon’s number. Voice mail. Argh! I am so sick of voice mail! I leave the same message for him, then bash the phone against my pillow.
“Not working?” Emily asks, emerging from the bathroom with a pink towel wrapped around her head. She’s in new pj’s of her own, a baby blue T-shirt and white sweats.
“Not answering. Where the hell are Bo and Brandon?” Shut up, Theodora. Stop telling her stuff!
“If they’re on tour, they’re probably just really busy,” she says, taking the towel off her head.
“Please. They’re getting massages and blow jobs from groupies is what they’re doing,” I snap. Her face turns such a bright shade of red that I have to laugh. “Ever given one?”
“Can we not talk about this at six-thirty in the morning?” she mutters, heading back into the bathroom.
I try not to laugh out loud and poke my head in the bathroom. She’s staring down at the countertop, looking sort of miserable. “I’ll do your hair and makeup if you want. We have fifteen minutes till the cameras descend.” She glances up at me and nods. Truce accepted. I check out her cosmetics bag and hair care products. “No. No. And more no,” I tell her. “We’ll use my stuff.”
“All my stuff is Girlie Girl cosmetics too,” she says.
“But all the wrong colors,” I tell her. “With your light brown hair, hazel eyes, and fair skin, black mascara is way too dark for you. And pink blush is way too light.” I open my kit. “Besides, Girlie Girl is great, but you can’t stay with only one brand.” Then I examine her. She really is cute. She has a friendly, approachable face. And great skin. I apply, dot, pat, brush. In ten minutes, she looks very cute. “I can help you pick out an outfit,” I say. “The paparazzi and news reporters will be out in full force today. You’ll want to look hot.”
“I don’t think I can,” she says. “Cute, maybe. Not hot.”
“I can make you look hot. Makeup, clothes. You have to supply the attitude, though.”
She laughs. “I’m seriously lacking in attitude.”
“Oh, you have attitude.”
She eyes me for a second. “That’s a compliment, isn’t it?”
I smile. “Yes. A big one.” As I use my lip brush to swipe some sheer brick-colored lipstick on her mouth, she stares at me.
“You’re so pretty, ” she says out of the blue. “What’s that like? To know that no matter where you go, every guy
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