Sunset Boulevard Part 7

"Once a geek, always a geek," Myla dictated, like she was telling Jojo two plus two was four. "He might be appealing now, but he's PG. And when the movie's done, he'll go right back to being PG. Mathlete, dork, hopeless. Maybe even worse than that, if the movie bombs. I'll help you find an acceptable boy. You'll forget Jake. I mean, Jacob."

Jojo was about to argue further when the doorbell chimed Beethoven's "Ode to Joy."

"Myla, Jojo, we have company," Lailah trilled up the stairs. They could hear her Manolos tapping across the wood floor as she asked Lucy to set another place for dinner.

"I hope they didn't invite DeNiro over again," Myla sighed. "He just chews and stares. Worst dinner guest ever. Follow my lead, I'll introduce you."

She and Jojo headed down the winding staircase, Myla first. Just as she reached the curve from which the dining room was visible, Myla almost missed the four final steps in her shock, excitement, and delight.

Because standing there was her just-turned-eighteen ex-boyfriend, Ash.

A few hours and one dinner later, Lailah leaned back in her high-backed chair as Lucy reached in to clear her empty dinner plate. "Oh, Ash, we're so happy to see you. And on your birthday." She c.o.c.ked her perfectly shaped face to one side, a wave of dark hair tumbling in front of her violet eyes, as she studied Ash like he was a long-lost prodigal son returned home.

Ash grinned, feeling a little bad that he'd barely touched his polenta-crusted chicken and eaten only half of the beef Wellington prepared just for him. He was beyond stuffed after two meals. But while his stomach felt heavy, Ash felt lighter everywhere else. The Everharts' just felt like home. He sat at his usual spot, next to Myla's head-of-the-table dinner chair, with Jojo on the other side. He'd been worried that Jojo would be less than thrilled at his arrival, after he'd rejected her at Lewis' party. But he'd been pleasantly surprised when she said simply, "Hi, Ash," and given him a h.e.l.lo hug.

"And now, cake!" Barkley said, patting his "belly," if a ten-pack could be called that, over his blue b.u.t.ton-down Armani s.h.i.+rt. Barkley loved cake the way other men his age loved cla.s.sic cars or golf clubs. He admired cake, just reveling in its pleasures until he finally had to take that first bite. He looked around the table-at what Ash and Myla used to privately joke was the miniature U.N., with all its international children-for cake reactions. Mahalo, going on nine, gave Ash a double-thumbs-up and Ash chuckled, amazed at how long his hair was getting. Bobby, who'd sprouted from a chubby kindergartener to skinny first grader this year, hadn't removed his knit Spider-Man skullcap all during dinner. Now he threw the hat in the air and cheered, "Cake!" The toddlers-Nelson, Indigo, and Ajani-all clapped to no particular beat at all, chanting "Birf-day! Birf-day!"

Lucy emerged again from the kitchen, carrying a three-layer German chocolate cake with nineteen long, skinny candles lit on top of it. Setting it down in front of Ash, she said, "Eighteen, with one for good luck."

The family sang its rendition of "Happy Birthday," most everyone a little off-key. Lailah, who'd just taken a role in the movie version of Spring Awakening, demonstrated her perfect pitch. As he blew out his candles, Ash thought his happiness at this moment was more than good luck.

It was about being right where he belonged.

Twenty minutes later, Myla was still unsure that the feet inside her cuffed Jeffrey Campbell booties were hers. Her whole body felt like a fizzy champagne vapor, little sparkly clouds that surrounded her physical being. He'd actually shown up. For someone used to getting her own way, Myla should have been more blase about having Ash over. But she was surprised by how much she enjoyed getting something she wanted that she hadn't thought possible.

She tried now to climb the stairs calmly, Ash behind her, Jojo behind him. Myla wanted Jojo around, at least for a while, to serve as witness to her and Ash finally getting back together.

They reached her room, and Ash sank easily into his usual spot on her purple velvet couch. All of them were silent-Myla from a rare case of nerves; Ash from nerves, maybe, or just cake, chicken, and beef overload; Jojo probably from feeling like a third wheel.

Myla looked for something to do, hoping to get Ash to stay awhile. She glanced at Jojo, making a desperate say something! face. Jojo gave her best Myla-patented mocking half-smile, then said, "So Ash, Myla was just telling me which boys at BHH are good enough to date."

Myla smiled, relieved. Maybe Jojo was learning something. The subject of dating was exactly where Myla wanted Ash to be. She plopped down next to Ash on the sofa, making sure to maintain perfect posture, to hide the bloat of the cake she'd wolfed down anxiously. "Yeah, help us find a boy for Jojo."

Ash, who'd had his eyes half-closed in post-feast repose, opened one. "A challenge or a gimme?" he asked, using Myla's terms for unattainable versus attainable boys.

Myla examined Jojo. She was too pretty for a gimme, but too sweet for a challenge.

"Who's a little bit of both?" Myla said. Jojo made a what the h.e.l.l? face.

"Simple," Ash said, yawning. "Tucker. Guy keeps talking about you." He pointed at Jojo. "His crushes usually fade fast. Something you did lengthened his attention span."

Myla considered this, folding her arms in satisfaction. Tucker was the very definition of man meat: a pretty boy, not a ton going on upstairs, and thus not likely to play games. Granted, he might not be a long-haul boy, since he could be a little s.l.u.tty, but Jojo just needed a decent-looking guy to get her mind off losers like PG. And who knew? Maybe sweet Jojo would be just the girl to tame Mr. Prowl himself. "I would have slapped you if you said Geoff, but Tucker is good. Perfect. Give her the stats. Sit down, Jojo."

Jojo was so full, she'd slouched down in the pink chair. Catching herself going into slob mode in front of Myla, she straightened into a dignified position. Fred and Bradley would be glad to know she'd finally started to control her posture. Who'd known that all it would take was one glamorous, judgmental stepsister?

"Stats? On Tucker?"

Jojo felt flattered. Tucker was cute, and she'd seen other girls watch him covetously. She didn't know what he had going on in the brains or sense-of-humor department, but Jojo felt proud that Myla thought she could land such a wanted guy at BHH. Maybe it wasn't n.o.ble of her, but now that Myla had said it aloud, she wanted desperately to thrive, not just survive. She looked around Myla's room. Pictures of Myla and her girlfriends poked from every nook and cranny. Her iPhone, tossed carelessly on the bed, beeped constantly with incoming texts. And Ash Gilmour, one of the cutest guys Jojo had ever met, was leaning back on the couch like he lived here. Jojo wanted it all. Not just the closet and dresser bursting with desirable things but the mementos of the ultimate life. And Myla obviously knew how to get it. Besides, if Jojo succeeded, she'd someday rise to a level of power high enough that she could date any guy she wanted... even Jake. "Yeah, like what does he like to do? What books does he read?"

Ash laughed robustly. "Skip the books. Tucker likes surfing, surfing, and more surfing. Toss in a little music appreciation. Keep it simple. Between that and the fact that you're a cute girl, you're done."

"O-kay," Jojo said. That wasn't the best start, but she was still on board for the plan. "So what do I do?"

Myla snapped her fingers like a ch.o.r.eographer. "You have homework. Go to your room and pick an outfit a surf-loving, music-loving, cute girl-crazy guy would like. Modern. So nothing Victorian, Gatsbian, or even s.e.xy librarian."

"You got it," Jojo said, secretly thinking that "s.e.xy librarian" sounded exactly like something Jake might appreciate.

It had been nearly a half hour, and Jojo hadn't returned. Myla appreciated her sister for sensing that she wanted to be alone with Ash. Jojo was too smart to not have already thrown together a miniskirt, tank top, hoodie and embellished flip-flops-Tucker bait.

Now they were talking like old times. Not quite old times, since as a couple, their conversations often led to them making out. But close enough. They were on Myla's couch, only a few inches of soft fabric separating them.

"So what's up with your friends?" Ash asked, his playful smile teasing her. "Did you hear about the stalker cookies?"

"Yeah." Myla sighed, rolling her eyes at him. Her friends' ardor for Grant Isaacson had showed no signs of waning, and they hadn't even consulted her about their cookie plan, which, frankly, made her look bad by a.s.sociation. Rumor was, they'd used secret camera phone shots they'd taken of Grant during the football game scene and had them iced onto cookies. If they'd even bothered to ask, she'd have told them they were veering into restraining-order territory. But they'd hatched the plan without her, probably after the game. They'd invited her to go to dinner with them that night, but almost seemed relieved when she declined. Much as she wanted nothing to do with their plan, she couldn't believe how distracted they'd been acting toward her. "But I had nothing to do with it," she quickly added.

"I kinda figured," Ash said, making eye contact, still laughing. "Not your style. You can tell them it's the lamest and creepiest thing I've heard in a while."

Myla giggled, feeling like she was with the old Ash. Before her trip, before the breakup, before Lewis Buford. "At least my friends wouldn't forget my birthday," she retorted, before realizing what she'd said. Her eyes got wide, and she brought her fingertips to cover her mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Ash waved it off. "My friends? Come on. Could you see Tucker and Geoff out getting a hundred red velvet cupcakes with my name spelled out in little candy guitars?"

Myla blushed. The cupcakes were something she'd served at Ash's birthday bash last year at Big Bear. "I'd think they could manage at least a taquito or something."

Ash smirked. "Not those guys. Unluckily for me, they don't have a Myla Everhart bone in their bodies. Jake Porter-Goldsmith remembered, though. Weird, huh?"

What's with everyone's obsession with PG? Myla wondered. She didn't want to talk about Ash's birthday anymore, because she didn't want to think about the party she'd planned to throw. She'd had the idea to rent out Club 33, a top secret New Orleans-style honky-tonk hidden in Disneyland. Ash secretly loved the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, which was right below it. She'd wanted to close it down so the two of them could ride through the "seas" as if on their own private love boat.

Saddened by the things they'd already missed in just the short time they'd been broken up, Myla changed the subject. "So your dad asked you to an investor party for Daisy Morton? Are you sure it wasn't a surprise birthday party?" she asked, leaning closer to Ash on the plush cus.h.i.+ons. At dinner, he'd told Lailah and Barkley that Gordon was busy with the fete. Much as her own parents got on her nerves, she felt grateful to not have a father as completely unavailable as Gordon. She also knew she was probably the only person in the world, besides his sister, with whom Ash would discuss his relations.h.i.+p with his dad.

Ash shook his head. "Definitely not," he monotoned. "The worst of it is, she's staying in Beverly Hills, and he appointed me her babysitter. I had to go to the s.h.i.+ttiest bar in Hollywood so she could try to kick this poor girl's a.s.s last night."

"So she's really as nuts as they say?" Myla said. She was hoping the answer was yes. Even though Daisy Morton was a complete and utter mess, she was also hot in that completely ungroomed way that a lot of guys found s.e.xy.

Ash shrugged. "I guess. But I hate that s.h.i.+t. I mean, my dad's label used to stand for something. Integrity. Quality. Actual musical skills. But even if you cleaned her up, she's still not that talented. People are just interested in seeing a train wreck. And I'm stuck with her against my will."

Myla leaned back a little into the couch, relieved. When they'd been dating, Myla sometimes had creeping insecurities. Every time Ash got hooked on some new female singer-songwriter, or a girl band, Myla worried he'd start to wish she played guitar, or wrote songs, or some other hippie, soulful stuff. "It can't last forever. She's probably a one-hit wonder," Myla reasoned. "But I think your dad has a long career as an a.s.shole ahead of him." She straightened herself up into her Gordon Gilmour, I'm so awesome pose-shoulders back, chin jutting out, eyes squinting, and her hand tucked into an invisible blazer like a tiny Asian Napoleon. Then she spoke in an approximation of Gordon's booming voice. "Ash Gibson Gilmour, are you trying to tell me that you're sixteen and rich and good-looking and don't want to follow around a hygiene-hating head case like some entry-level nursing home employee? What's wrong with you? You should appreciate these things I let you do for me." Myla watched as Ash's frown tugged upward in a smile. "Are you smiling?" she continued in the Gordon voice. "The celebrity lunatic market is booming. And it's serious business. If you walk around smiling when you're getting Daisy's tutus dry-cleaned, you're going to cost me years of future profits."

Ash burst out laughing. Myla cracked up too, and they collided in the kind of exertive laughter that felt like a heavy make-out session, leaving them barely able to breathe. Just as they came up for air, Myla looked into Ash's eyes and couldn't take the temptation.

She leaned in and kissed him. It was like those old movies. Fireworks burst behind her eyelids; a symphony played in her ears. If they'd been standing up, Myla's leg would have involuntarily bent at the knee, the heel of her bootie pointing heavenward.

To Ash, great kisses were like great music. You felt a good song with your whole body, and you felt a great song with your whole body and something more. A great kiss brought to life parts of you that could never be detailed or diagramed in any textbook. The glow around your heart. That tickle in the back of your brain. The starburst just behind your eyes. He and Myla were kissing. Great kissing. Kissing like they needed each other, wanted each other, could never be torn apart. Until, unbidden, his mind flashed to Myla kissing Lewis. Myla curled next to Lewis, his hands all over her.

Ash pulled away, hearing in his mind the familiar ripping sound of a needle being pulled abruptly from a vinyl record. The Myla-Lewis scene sent waves of pain through his body, like he was getting kicked in the b.a.l.l.s while his heart was being stomped on.

"What's wrong?" Myla said, her lush green eyes glittering and wet at the corners. She leaned in again, putting her hands on his chest.

Ash sprang back from the couch, standing above her. Nothing and everything was wrong. He wanted more than anything to kiss her again. But his vision stood between them like an invisible force field. Kisses like his and Myla's were supposed to be all theirs. But she'd kissed Lewis, and maybe that kiss had been just as great. "I can't do this," he said, looking at Myla but feeling half-blind, like he could only see the bad things. "Every time I see you, I see... that night."

Myla hastily wiped away a tear. She pressed her eyes closed, and when she opened them again, all signs of tears were gone. "The thing with Lewis, it meant nothing," she said, sounding businesslike, rational, even though there was a telltale quaver under the words.

"Doesn't matter," Ash said, grabbing his Paul Smith jacket off her bed. Of course she would tell him it meant nothing. What else would she say? That it was a great, amazing kiss and she'd never forget that night with Lewis?

Myla rose, striding silently over to Ash. He was right. How could he believe her? She'd scrubbed her mind, and her lips, dozens of times to forget the sliminess of Lewis's mouth on hers, and the way Ash had looked at her when he saw it happen. But for all Ash knew, the kiss with Lewis might have been her idea of everything a kiss should be-the symphony. She left a gap between them, staying close enough that he could feel her warm breath on his neck. She didn't know what she was going to say. She just knew she wanted to be between Ash and the door. "How can I make you believe me?" she uttered, more to herself than to him.

Ash shrugged, pulling his coat tight around his shoulders. Even behind the stubborn lock of hair that fell in front of them, Myla could see his eyes were glistening. She hated that she'd hurt him. Knowing she'd betrayed him hurt worse than if she'd been the one to catch him in the act. Which gave her an idea...

"Kiss someone else," she blurted out.

A small, sad chuckle broke free from Ash's lips. "Why, to make you feel better?'

Myla shook her head, regaining her strength. "No. Because it's the only way you could ever understand." Myla grabbed for his hand with urgency, locking her green eyes onto his. "I want you to. Kiss someone else, and see that the only kisses that matter are the ones between you and me."

Ash looked at her like she was Crazy Daisy. Wouldn't another kiss be another scar on their relations.h.i.+p? More irreparable damage?

"That's ridiculous, Myla," he said, ambling toward the door. "Look, I need to go. I'll see you... at school."

And then he left.

Myla folded herself into a corner of the couch, her knees pressed to her chest, and let the tears fall.

SPARKS WILL FLY.

"Are you at all freaked out by those three girls who are following Grant around?" Kady said, tearing off a piece of her pretzel croissant and "mmm"-ing in ecstasy as she took a bite. It was Wednesday afternoon, and Amelie was sharing a table with Kady and Jake at the City Bakery in Brentwood. She'd finally gotten Jake to talk to her long enough to schedule a tutoring session. She'd agreed to meet him here, at the only Western outpost of the famous New York bakery, before realizing it was the spot where he and Kady would be filming a scene without her later that day.

So much for tutoring. Kady never shut up, and Jake had lazily checked Amelie's worksheet, but seemed distracted as he listened to Kady. The three of them were crammed around a small circular table only meant for two. Kady had pulled up a chair and smushed herself between Jake and Amelie.

The place was packed to the point where three teenage celebrities could skate by unnoticed. Not that Brentwood's rich denizens didn't see celebrities every day. A dozen or so trophy wives cl.u.s.tered around the salad bar, competing to see who could make the smallest salad. A honey-tressed woman, baring her slim but defined upper arms in a sleeveless tank, placed three roasted brussels sprouts on her otherwise empty plate. Her narrow-waisted brunette friend added just one to a plate that contained four small tufts of arugula.

"I never thought we'd find groupies at a Beverly Hills high school. We were doing his big speech about how he, well, Knox, used to be in love with me," Kady continued, tearing off another piece of pretzel croissant and hastily chewing it. "Oh my G.o.d, this is so good. Anyway, Grant's fan club were all staring at me so hard, like they wanted to switch bodies with me. I got this freaky chill. They're like cute versions of Macbeth's witches."

Jake laughed, catching Kady's eye over a forkful of his tofu salad. "I've been trying to tell people that for years," he said, emptying his second bottle of Smart Water.

Amelie giggled, feeling a little guilty as she did. "They're harmless, though," she protested. Amelie had had lunch with Billie, Talia, and Fortune again yesterday, and she'd had a blast, flipping through fas.h.i.+on magazines and letting the girls try out a braided updo from the Phillip Lim show on her red hair. Maybe they weren't officially her friends, but gossiping about them made her uneasy. Someday, when she went to BHH, they'd be more than just lunch buddies, and friends.h.i.+p meant not saying nasty things behind one another's backs.

Kady rolled her eyes. "I know. It's just so weird. They're not even really fighting over Grant. They're like the three lovesick Musketeers-all for one and one for all. Imagine asking them out. He'd have to buy three dinners, hold three doors, look deeply into six eyes. I don't even want to know what happens during a make-out session. I'm a woman of the world, but that's too worldly for even me."

Amelie noticed a blush creep up Jake's face and he instantly reached for his empty water bottle.

"Oh, I'm out of water," he said, shaking the bottle. "I'll go get another one."

"You can have some of my Diet c.o.ke. I forgot I had one from craft services when I ordered," Amelie offered, pulling the fresh bottle from her tote bag.

Jake smiled politely. "I'm trying to stay away from soda. Grant says it makes you pasty," he explained. "I'll be right back."

Kady watched as Jake ambled to the cooler in the corner. She wrapped her red Free People cardigan tightly around her tiny frame and turned to Amelie conspiratorially. "I don't fully get Grant mania. What's the appeal? He's so broody, and way more full of himself than he lets on." Her gaze trailed over to the cas.h.i.+er, where Jake was paying. "Jake, on the other hand, is so cute and sweet. And hot. Where are his groupies?"

Amelie mulled this a.s.sessment with a swig of tea. Kady was right, of course. With his new leading-man status, Amelie expected Jake to be surrounded by eager females. But then again, Jake was no Hollywood himbo. "He's smart, so maybe they're intimidated," Amelie reasoned.

Kady flipped up her hood, so that just a fringe of her silky black hair wisped around her tiny doll face. "I'm going to tell you something, and you can't make that face where you look like you've digested a bad tuna roll." She paused, her sapphire eyes scanning Amelie's face. "I like Jake."

Oh, big news, Amelie thought with a touch of annoyance. Instead, she smiled and teasingly said, "Yeah, I know. You've been flirting with him since pretty much the first time you saw him."

Kady took a deep breath, rolling one of her croissant's oversize salt grains around on the placemat. "I know. But I think maybe I actually really like him."

Every muscle tensed beneath Amelie's breezy gown. She'd known Kady had a crush, but the thought of her and Jake actually in a relations.h.i.+p made her s.h.i.+ver like she was stranded atop a diamond run at Big Bear ski lodge. Kady was a force of nature or, well, of nightlife, and Jake was several ego trips short of ruling the club scene. The last thing she wanted was for Kady to change him into the kind of guy who talked about "the scene" all the time.

Instead, Amelie just said, "Jake? Is he really your type?"

Kady, who never got embarra.s.sed-not even when she'd tripped over a camera wire and split her pants the other day-actually blushed. "I can't stop thinking about him. He's not a scraggly, unshaven hipster, true, but there's something. But I don't know if he likes me."

"You're asking me for advice on that?" Amelie laughed, breaking off a piece of her molten chocolate cookie. "I don't really have much luck in the guy department. I mean, he seems to be paying a lot of attention to you." And ignoring me, even though I'm three chapters behind on geometry, Amelie thought. She knew she should be more helpful. Kady had helped her be alone with Hunter that night at Area. She had no say about who Jake should date. He was just her tutor. And, okay, the guy who made her laugh even when she was feeling sorry for herself. But she didn't own him or anything.

Jake returned with his fresh Smart Water, plopping down in his seat. Kady had nudged her chair a little bit closer while he'd been gone. "When are we supposed to shoot this scene?" he asked, looking at Kady.

"We have time," she said, gazing at Jake like he was the only person in the room. "Have you ever tried one of these?" She waved her pretzel croissant under Jake's nose temptingly. Jake's eyes surveyed her pixie-like face. Amelie felt as invisible as Ryan Seacrest on the red carpet with Brangelina.

"Uh, I don't know if I should eat so much salt," Jake said, evidently taking all of Grant's food rules to heart. Amelie rolled her eyes. Grant's health obsessions were ridiculous, especially from a guy who hadn't set foot outdoors since he'd left the birth ca.n.a.l. "Maybe a little piece. It's kind of carby."

Kady tore a piece from the pastry and brought it to Jake's lips. Feeling like a ridiculously unnecessary chaperone, Amelie stared down at the open geometry textbook until her eyes blurred. Jake "mmm"-ed in delight. Amelie couldn't have felt more embarra.s.sed than if he and Kady had been making out. Mercifully, her cell phone vibrated across the table, the number coming up restricted.

"h.e.l.lo?" she said tentatively.

"Amelie? It's Hunter."

Amelie took a deep breath. Hunter sounded tinny and far away. Still, it was unmistakably his toe-curling baritone coming through the receiver. She watched from the corner of her eye as Kady fed Jake another bite of pretzel. You have Hunter on the phone. Pay attention! She focused on making her voice sound less irritated.

"Hi, Hunter," she said. Kady and Jake looked up at his name. Jake's face flickered with something, maybe worry that Hunter would swoop in and take his part. Or maybe it was just surprise that Amelie was there and had a life of her own. Good, she thought. She had concerns beyond Cla.s.s Angel and tutoring, too.

"Can you... meet me for coffee? The 101 Coffee Shop? I just... I need to talk."

"Meet you now?" Amelie's eyes blurred, but she saw Kady give an enthusiastic nod. Whether she was enthused for Amelie's romantic prospects or her own was unclear. Let Kady have the tutor, Amelie thought. Hunter Sparks was calling her. It was what she'd been waiting for.

The 101 Coffee Shop teemed with teenage hipsters in skinny jeans, beat-up Vans, and ironic tees. Right now, they were all staring at Amelie, who stuck out like something larger and more glittery than a sore thumb in her sugary white dress. Her new white metallic Chloe bag seemed to scream, I cost more than a used Hyundai! under the low lights. A girl with rumpled black hair wore an American Apparel tee screen-printed with Amelie as Fairy Princess, Miley Cyrus as Hannah Montana, and Demi Lovato, all standing beneath the words Girl Power? She whispered something to her guy friends, and the table laughed caustically.

The 101 looked like a family room from the 1970s, and it was poorly lit. A long cordovan banquette ran along one wall that was a mosaic of flat brown, white, and beige rocks. Along the other wall were booths in the same brown hue, each table beneath a dangling spherical light fixture. Amelie finally spotted Hunter, sitting alone at the booth farthest from the door. He gave her a little wave.

She slid into the booth, feeling his eyes on her. Even sitting down, Hunter's five feet eleven inches of gorgeous was apparent. He leaned forward, his chiseled jaw resting atop one of his muscular forearms.

"Hey, Amelie," he said, reaching over to touch her arm. "I'm glad you could make it. I ordered us both cappuccinos, hope that's okay."

Amelie nodded. "Yeah, that's fine," she said, pleased that he'd ordered for her. It meant he'd been thinking about her before she arrived. Hunter stared forlornly at his reflection in the stainless-steel napkin dispenser. Amelie wondered if they were on a date. If so, why was Hunter acting like it was the end of the world?

"Is everything okay?" she asked gently. Maybe he'd been regretting that they hadn't seen each other since the night of Lewis Buford's party. Or maybe he felt shy about what he'd said that night, when he'd admitted he couldn't resist her.

Hunter heaved a sigh. "No," he said, glancing up with a polite nod as the waitress set down a cappuccino in front of each of them. "I've never been fired before, Amelie."

Oh. So he wasn't thinking about them; he was still caught up in getting the boot from Cla.s.s Angel. "I don't think I'd call it fired, Hunter," she said, giving him her best soothing smile. She wished she knew whether to listen wholeheartedly or try to flirt him out of his doldrums. "I don't think you were bad. I think producers just get ideas in their heads sometimes and think they need to change things." It was true. Sometimes studios made last-minute changes just to exert their power. But after watching the dailies, Amelie knew that Hunter really had been phoning it in. She didn't have the heart to tell him, though.