City of Angels (A-List Hollywood Royalty Series #3)

The A-List Hollywood Royalty #3: City of Angels

Poppy

DRAMA QUEEN

Amelie Adams crammed the last of her textbooks into her narrow locker, managing at last to wedge her world history textbook in between Charles Dickens: A Biography and Jane Austen: A Life. (Her English lit teacher had been so delighted that someone had actually bought the supplementary reading for the first time in all her years at Beverly Hills High, she’d given Amelie extra credit.) All in all, Amelie Adams, a.k.a. Fairy Princess, the Kidz Network sensation, a.k.a. the only teen at BHH with squealing preteen fans, could say her first day as a regular high-school student at Beverly Hills High had been a success. She was posting solid numbers on her “normal girl” scorecard:

REMEMBERING THE COMBINATION TO YOUR LOCKER AND FILLING IT TO BURSTING

+2 NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

GETTING EXTRA-CREDIT POINTS

+1 NORMAL-GIRL POINT

EATING CAFETERIA FOOD INSTEAD OF CRAFT SERVICES

+5 NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

CHECKING YOUR AGENT’S TEXT DURING CONSUMER ECONOMICS

–2 NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

BELIEVING THAT BUYING RECOMMENDED READING IS IMPORTANT, NOT JUST A TEACHER’S PET THING

–1 NORMAL-GIRL POINT

Even with a few Hollyweird moments, her first day had gone almost scarily well. So scarily well that Amelie hoped she didn’t owe her firstborn child to the gods of high school happiness in return. It wasn’t like there’d been any standout moment. It definitely wasn’t like some teen movie where the new girl instantly rises to new heights of popularity.

She shut her locker, slinging her slouchy blueberry-colored Kooba tote over her shoulder. Play tryouts were starting soon, with the potential to add at least five normal-girl points to her tally. She was covertly consulting her map to figure out where to find the auditorium when she heard a trio of squeals.

“Oh my God, you’re really her!” said a petite girl who came up to roughly Amelie’s shoulder. She was clearly the leader of the group, even though she was a head shorter than her two friends—matching languid, brunette bookends to the speaking girl’s pert blond centerpiece. “Don’t tell anyone, but we totally had a slumber party to watch Fairy Princess Charms the Big Apple this summer. Before we became high schoolers. I’m Yvette. That’s Sasha, and she’s Palmer.” She pointed at the other two girls, who nodded in unison.

“Oh, thanks,” Amelie said, looking up and down the hallway and praying there were no witnesses. She had gone all day without a situation like this. The trio gazed at her, their eyes flicking over her face, her blue-and-brown plaid shirtdress, her yellow-gold Tiffany key necklace, and her fresh-from-the-box, distressed-leather cognac ankle boots. She smiled broadly, against her better instincts. It was all straight from the Kidz Network Handbook, under the “Greeting Fans in Unofficial Settings” chapter. The tally raged on in Amelie’s head.

BEING APPROACHED BY FANS AT YOUR LOCKER

–1 NORMAL-GIRL POINT

CONSIDERING KIDZ NETWORK GUIDELINES

–2 NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

Yvette whacked Sasha lightly on her thin arm. “Where’s the thing? Amelie Adams doesn’t have time to wait around on us.”

Sasha jumped to attention, producing a glossy magazine. Everything Fairy Princess, it screamed in lipstick-pink type across the cover, which was emblazoned with a dozen different shots of Amelie. Amelie in a tiara, Amelie holding an official Fairy Princess doll, Amelie at a premiere, Amelie on the set. It was an older magazine, the kind filled with pages to pull out and hang on your wall. Even though Fairy Princess was still superprofitable, all the covers Amelie had seen on her last Barnes & Noble visit were dedicated to Reese Rubello, the spunky new star of Lights, Camera, High School, a show about a regular high-school girl who secretly heads a hot TV show on her father’s television network by night, using her classmates’ antics as story fodder. Young girls didn’t care about magical ponies or sparkly dresses anymore; they wanted stories about being a superstar in Hollywood. If only they knew that the reality is so much lamer than they realize, Amelie thought, grimacing at a bad open-mouthed photo of her singing the national anthem at a Dodgers game.

“Can you sign a picture for each of us?” Yvette asked, thrusting the magazine and a Sharpie at Amelie. “I flagged them.”

Pink glittery Post-it flags stuck off the top of three pages, each one marked with a different girl’s name. “Sure,” Amelie said sunnily, brandishing the marker and quickly autographing the designated pages. Without even realizing it, she flicked her forearm in the signature Fairy Princess wand wave. Elbow left, wrist swish, elbow right, wrist swish.

Minus two more points. Or maybe ten.

“Here you go,” she said when she finished, handing the magazine back to Yvette. Amelie tried her hardest to beam brightly, even though these freshmen were ruining her daily tally.

“You. Are. So. Awwwwe-some,” Yvette said, as Sasha and Palmer flashed their first smiles of the whole exchange. “Thanks!” She tinkled away on her floral-print flats, clutching her signed photo of Amelie and Ryan Seacrest to her chest. Amelie prayed silently that Yvette wouldn’t hang it in her locker.

She closed her own locker and made for play tryouts. Drama Club sounded like a lame thing for a professional actress to do, but wouldn’t it prove that she wasn’t some egotistical Hollywood star if she was willing to try out for a high school production? Her normal-girl points would be through the roof.

Her boots clicked across the crisp white tile, and Amelie found herself fizzing with excitement, imagining a day when she wouldn’t have to tally points. She’d just be normal, with her days as Fairy Princess a rosy memory. She turned a corner, her eyes raking over the details of a poster for Homecoming next month, and crashed head-first into a chest. One that smelled of cotton and Downy and, inexplicably, toast.

Amelie looked up. “Jake,” she said, too breathlessly for someone who hadn’t been running. “What are you doing here?” It came out like an accusation. She cringed. She’d been fantasizing about her first run-in with Jake Porter-Goldsmith, her former tutor and current crush—the real reason she’d come to BHH. But this was so not the spotting-each-other-across-a-crowded-cafeteria moment she’d been hoping for.

Jake grinned. “Um, I go here,” he said. “Remember?”

Amelie beamed up at him, praying the power of her GO SMiLE–whitened teeth would erase her awkward opening. “Of course, silly,” she chided, giving him a big hug. She had to remind herself they weren’t dating—yet—and pulled away from his solid chest with a little regret. “I go here now, too.”

Jake smiled, more loosely now. Amelie tried to get a read on his face. Was he happy to see her? “I heard,” he said. “So I guess your mom finally got where you were coming from.”

Amelie’s heart did a backflip on her internal trampoline. He remembered. “She finally got it,” she said, nodding. It definitely hadn’t been professional momager Helen Adams’ idea to send her budding-starlet daughter to high school. In fact, it had been Jake who’d first suggested it.

When Amelie’s most recent teen movie, Class Angel, had been filming at BHH, the producers had decided to cast a regular high-school student to fill the down-to-earth male lead. Jake had shown up one day to take Amelie to tutoring and had left with the part. Over the course of filming, he’d started dating their co-star, Kady Parker, and suddenly Amelie was seeing him not as Jacob Porter-Goldsmith, math tutor, but as Jake, boyfriend material. But it wasn’t just her feelings for Jake that were changing. Showing up to BHH every day during filming, Amelie had found herself longing for that kind of normalcy. Pulling into a high school parking lot instead of a movie studio. Eating lunch in the school cafeteria. Maybe even—gasp!—being walked to her locker by a real, live boyfriend. A heart-to-heart with Jake one night after a long day on set had led her to the simple solution: Take some time off from Fairy Princess, and enroll at BHH.

And now, here she was. And here was Jake, suddenly single after Kady had left to film a movie in Prague and dumped him. “I’m glad we ran into each other. Maybe you can walk me to tryouts? If it’s not out of your way.…”

Jake nodded, one of his brown curls flopping adorably onto his forehead. “Sounds better than Mathletes practice,” he said. He took a few steps down the hall and waited for her to catch up. “Consider me your personal welcome wagon.”

FLIRTING WITH A CUTE GUY WHO ISN’T YOUR CO-STAR

+3 NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

WALKING DOWN THE HALL OF YOUR HIGH SCHOOL WITH SAID CUTE GUY

+5 NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

BELIEVING THAT CUTE GUY INTERACTION IN FRONT OF HOMECOMING POSTER IS A SURE SIGN THAT YOU WILL BE GOING TO HOMECOMING DANCE TOGETHER

+10 NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

I am glad you are no relation of mine.

You’ve always been cruel, never learned kind.

Memories of how you treated me live on in my head,

And I’ll never forget, even once you are dead…

Still flying high on her meet-cute with Jake, Amelie was almost surprised by her enthusiasm as she belted out the folk rock–inspired “Song to Mrs. Reed.” Making eye contact for the briefest of moments with the director before raking her gaze over the freshman girl asked to stand in for Mrs. Reed, Jane Eyre’s mean aunt, Amelie fought the corner of her lip as it threatened to turn into a satisfied smirk.

She had reason to be confident. She’d risen through the ranks of Kidz Network’s in-house talent program. You had to prove yourself to be a worthy backup singer and dancer before moving to tier two, “featured secondary.” Tier three meant graduating to being a “name performer,” and once you did that, you got your own franchise. (Provided, of course, you had high enough ratings and a face fit for a twelve-inch doll.) When she’d taken on the role of Fairy Princess at the tender age of eight, she’d become the youngest franchise in Kidz Network history. If she could handle the cutthroat world of Hollywood, she could handle the rigors of a high school drama club tryout.

Amelie wrapped up her song and let her body loosen up. She belonged on this stage, under the warm glow of a spotlight, with the faces of the director and a smattering of fellow auditioners a little hazy through the glare. Or maybe they were hazy because she was still in a dreamlike trance from being so close to Jake. “Is there anything else you want to see?” she asked, looking at the director in anticipation of another directive.

“That was very nice,” Mr. Potter, the director, said. He nodded approvingly, his pale face a moonish orb floating above his black turtleneck. He was very into the musical, probably because he’d written it. Amelie remembered reading in the trades about a Jane Eyre musical a few years ago. Apparently, Mr. Potter’s script had been to development hell and never emerged. So now it was a high school production. “Lovely voice. Now, we just want to see you alongside our Mr. Rochester.”

Amelie nodded amicably, working out the kinks in her neck and exhaling for a count of six, just as her mom’s yogi chiropractor had taught her. She refastened the bottom button of her pink Lela Rose cardigan, which had come undone while she sang, and flicked a strand of strawberry-colored hair out of her eyes. A group of stage crew boys watched her from the wings.

A tall guy emerged from behind a background painted to look like the inside of the Thornfield parlor. It was as nice as any of Amelie’s movie sets. From what she had heard, the original director of this semester’s play had defected to head the student film production, a short movie called Student Body, about a student serial killer who targeted corrupt class presidents. The original play had been scrapped, and now they were supposed to put on Jane Eyre: The Musical with just a few weeks’ rehearsal. The short rehearsal time gave Amelie an even bigger confidence boost: They’d need a pro like her if they wanted to get this show off the ground in a hurry.

“Hi,” the tall guy said, wiping paint on his Levi’s as he unbuckled a tool belt. His eyes were a deep green. “I’m Nick Hautman.” A strand of dark hair fell across his forehead. He had a slightly nervous bearing, and his shoulders seemed tense. Almost as if he were afraid the athlete he’d stolen his 6'3" height and broad shoulders from was coming back to claim his body. His presence was all drama geek, and Amelie found herself wishing Jake would be playing the Rochester to her Jane. This guy was just a little too nerdy.

After a pause, she remembered to say, “I’m Amelie Adams,” feeling a little jerky for just figuring the guy would know who she was. Minus two normal-girl points. She stretched out a hand, and Nick clasped it firmly.

“I know,” he said, looking down at his shoes as he blushed. “You probably don’t remember me, but we starred in a Kidz Network TV movie together when we were six. Juice Sleuths?”

Amelie clasped a hand to her mouth, bangles jangling loudly. “Oh my God! Nicky!” They’d played the younger siblings of two friends who operated a kid detective agency out of their lemonade stand. She hugged him. “So, what have you done recently?” Instantly, she cringed at the question. It was such a business thing to ask, and not very normal-high-school-girl of her. Her numbers were plummeting.

Nick gestured wide with his arms, as if to say, This. He leaned in and whispered, “I sort of retired after that. Told my mom I just wanted to go to school with my friends. So far, it’s worked out okay. You’ve done a bit better, though.” He grinned sheepishly, his green eyes only half meeting hers.

Exhibit A, Amelie thought, beaming at Nick. He was her proof: It was possible to transform from childhood star to above-average high-schooler.

“Flip to page eighty in your scripts, the scene between Jane and Mr. Rochester on the eve of their wedding.” The director flipped eagerly through his pages, as if he couldn’t wait to reread what he’d written. Amelie found the mark and quickly skimmed the page.

“Do you really think this is a good scene to audition with?” she blurted, before she knew what she was saying. “At this point in the book, Jane is overcome with emotion. And she’s normally such a reticent character. It’s not really illustrative of the bulk of the role.” Amelie smushed her lips before she could go on.

“I think this scene will be fine, Miss Adams,” Mr. Potter sniped. “Please begin.”

Nick took her hands in his and gave her a little wink before they began. His palms were warm and dry. “Are you nervous, Jane? Hungry? Does the thought of our London trip take away your appetite?” Nick let his hands linger in hers before letting go. He crossed to an ornately carved red sofa, folding his tall frame into it.

“I can barely see my prospects ahead of me, sir,” Amelie said, passing before him, staring out over the mostly empty auditorium. Unlike Jane, she could see her prospects. Playing out in her mind’s eye was a fantasy of her and Jake as BHH’s reigning couple. She could practically see the yearbook layouts now: CUTEST COUPLE, with a heart-shaped photo of her and Jake looking into each other’s eyes. And DRAMA QUEEN, with Amelie wearing her Fairy Princess tiara while holding a playbill from Jane Eyre: The Musical. Hmm, yearbook. That was another possibility….

“I hardly know what thoughts I have in my head. Everything seems unreal,” Amelie continued, crossing the stage and sitting at Nick’s feet. This line, she could get behind. She was performing not on a soundstage, but on a high school stage. Along the far ceiling were banners celebrating the award-winning mock trial team. In cases next to the rows of seats were trophies and framed photographs of past Drama Club stars.

“I’m real. I have substance. Go ahead, touch and see if I’m real,” Nick said, stretching an arm in front of her face. Amelie patted his bicep daintily. It was impressively chiseled and made her think of Jake’s arms around her when they’d shared an onscreen kiss. Amelie forced her thoughts back to the audition as Nick came to his next line. “Now tell me, how do you feel, on this eve of your life changing?”

“I just wish this hour would never end. It’s perfect, and I fear what comes tomorrow,” Amelie said breathlessly.

“That was lovely, and full of emotion,” the director said, cutting her off. “Now you see why I wanted you to do that scene.”

“You’re right,” Amelie agreed. She flashed him her most agreeable smile, and Mr. Potter beamed back. Perfect. Five normal-girl points for knowing when to be a kiss-up.

Amelie followed Nick offstage. “You were great,” he said, picking up his tool belt and refastening it.

Amelie smiled, grateful. “I probably shouldn’t have questioned him like that, though,” she said. The director probably thought she was annoying, and her classmates probably thought she was a show-off.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll be glad to have a professional in the lead,” Nick said. “You should stick around. You’ll see you don’t have much competition.”

“Maybe I will,” she said, grinning. “Thanks for the pep talk.” She hopped down the stage steps and took a seat a few rows behind the director. Nick was watching her and gave a little wave. She waved back and settled into her chair as a high-voiced freshman tried out for the part of Adèle. It couldn’t hurt to get the good news in person. Besides, nothing said school spirit like rooting on your fellow thespians.

BECOMING THE DRAMA CLUB’S STAR MEMBER

BONUS NORMAL-GIRL POINTS

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Excerpted from The A-List Hollywood Royalty #3: City of Angels by Dean, Zoey Copyright © 2010 by Dean, Zoey. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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