All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Frenemies: Glamnesia

© 2012 by Alloy Entertainment and Alexa Young

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written

permission of Alloy Entertainment. If you would like to use material from the book (other than

for review purposes), write to permission@alloyentertainment.com.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author

or third-party websites or their content.

Produced by Alloy Entertainment

151 West 26th Street

New York, NY 10001

www.alloyentertainment.com

First edition November 2012

ISBN 978-1-939106-00-1 (Nook)

ISBN 978-1-939106-01-8 (Kindle)

ISBN 978-1-939106-02-5 (iPad)

ISBN 978-1-939106-03-2 (Kobo)

ISBN 978-1-939106-04-9 (OverDrive)

For Jack, who never lets me forget what’s truly important

DON’T GET DRESSED WITHOUT US!

U-G-L-Y—Who Ain’t Got No Alibi? posted by avalon: sunday, october 26, at 10:27 a.m.

Have you heard the tragic news? Yup. It’s true. The Seaview Middle School Lions may have

been the regional cheerleading champions down in La Jolla last weekend, but today we’re

heading home from San Francisco without a state trophy. ! This doesn’t mean we’re all L-O-S-

E-R-S, though. You can blame the entire thing on a supposed “captain” with the initials H.B.

(which also stands for “has-been”—quelle coincidence!)—a.k.a. the girl who was anti-

cheerleading from day one and who is the polar opposite of pep: sad, tragic, and lame. Seriously,

if anyone out there is still wondering why Halvalon broke up, just click on these links, complete

with images of my ex-BFF’s many pep squad shortcomings and fashion offenses:

Rah-Rah-Wrong Halley

What’s-a-Herkie?-Halley

Halley “Tumble-and-Bumble” Brandon

Rocktarded Halley

Hella Hobo Halley

Bohemian Tragedy Halley

Scary, right? So, to steal a slogan that “artists” like Halley seem to embrace almost as

much as trees, I beg you all to think globally, act locally. In other words, if you can’t handle

your responsibilities—and especially if you can’t find something socially acceptable to wear—

dig yourself a hole, plant yourself in it and don’t come out until you’re ready to dress for success.

The world will be a better place if you stop messing up the view and dragging the rest of us

down.

Shop on,

COMMENTS (93)

Yikes. I don’t know if I could bail on my BFF just because of how she dresses (or cheers LOL!),

but I guess it does show your commitment to fashion and extracurriculars. Kind of. Hmmm.

posted by slave2fashun on 10/26 at 10:44 a.m.

OMG! So true! Halley totally ran the squad into the ground and everyone knows it. Just one

more reason Team Avalon needs to take over. Luv ya!!!

posted by rahdeal on 10/26 at 10:47 a.m.

I always knew you were both losers. But Berkeley rules! Have you seen the selection of

Birkenstocks they have up there? Oh, BTW: Check out the new Daily column—Fun with

Fungi—here.

posted by dissect_this on 10/26 at 11:02 a.m.

You definitely need a capable leader if you want to win, but isn’t the pep squad supposed to be

all about unity? Shouldn’t you stand by Halley—as a BFF and as a teammate?

posted by madameprez on 10/26 at 11:15 a.m.

The evil has landed

Avalon Greene stared out the window of her mother’s silver BMW, silently cursing the bumper-

to-bumper traffic. Every time Constance slammed on the brakes, Avalon felt herself tense up.

She could just see it now: They’d get into an accident and the already agonizing ride home from

San Diego International Airport would be that much worse.

“Look out!” Abigail Brandon gasped from the front passenger seat.

Constance swerved just in time to avoid a bright yellow Hummer darting in front of her.

“Oooh, I hate those bast—er, bullies!” Constance growled, shaking her platinum bob

angrily at the massive car. “Sorry, everyone.”

“It’s not your fault, Connie. That jerk should watch where he’s going, and he should have

his lights on,” Abigail noted before flipping her vixen-red manicured driving-finger at the

Hummer and shouting, “The sun went down twenty minutes ago, moron!”

As annoying as the din of screeching wheels, honking horns and motherly road rage was,

it couldn’t possibly compare to the grating sound of gum-smacking or the nauseating stench of

artificial grape flavor stinking up the backseat.

“Do you have to chew so loud?” Avalon finally snapped, curling her lip in disgust.

“Do you have to whine so loud?” Halley Brandon shot back, narrowing her pale blue eyes

at Avalon. She tossed her brunette ponytail and turned to look back out the window—studying

the four lanes of freeway traffic as if they were inspiring yet another one of her bizarre art

projects.

“Come on, you two,” Abigail said with more sympathy than scorn, touching up her dark

mauve lipstick while looking at the girls in the car’s illuminated visor mirror. “We know you’re

upset about the competition, but don’t take it out on each other. You both did great. The Lions

really should have won.”

Well, we would have won if I’d been captain instead of your evil daughter, Avalon

thought bitterly. But Halley just had to steal that opportunity away from me.

The whole thing was beyond weird. Just a few weeks ago, Halley was supposed to have

been helping Avalon become captain of the newly merged gymnastics and cheerleading team.

But at the last minute, Halley totally bailed on their plan and somehow got herself voted captain.

Sure, the squad had won the regional competition in La Jolla—but then Halley obviously lost her

focus, taking them to an abysmal fourth place at state. Fourth place! It was humiliating. Avalon

had already commenced damage control efforts so she and the real cheerleaders could show their

faces at school tomorrow without being completely mortified—just as an actual deserving

captain would. But it was going to take a serious intervention from the reputation-repairing gods

to turn the situation around completely.

“Well maybe we would have won if those schools from L.A. and Oakland hadn’t bribed

the judges.” Halley was the one whining now. “I swear, I think the whole thing was rigged.”

Um, hello? L.A. plus Oakland equals two schools, Avalon thought disdainfully. Even if

they both cheated, we still would have lost. Do the math. Fourth place. DUH!

“You’re probably right,” Abigail smiled, clearly as mathematically challenged as her

daughter. “Some people just take these things too seriously—but not our girls, right?”

“Yeah, but . . .” Halley cranked the whine up to nine.

“Come on, Hal, cheer up!” Abigail implored, running a few fingers through her long dark

hair and looking to Constance for backup. But Avalon’s mom was too focused on tailgating the

beat-up Volvo that had just crawled in front of her.

“Cheer up?” Avalon laughed quietly to herself. “Halley can’t cheer, period.”

“Enough of the negative energy!” Constance rejoined the conversation as the diesel-

blowing Volvo veered over to the shoulder of the freeway and turned on its hazard lights. There

was so much smoke, it looked like it might explode. “I’m having a hard enough time dealing

with this traffic, so could you both lighten up a little?”

“Maybe my news will help.” Abigail exchanged a sly smile with Constance, who nodded

a silent Go ahead—tell them.

“Oooh, I can hardly contain myself,” Avalon muttered under her breath, wiggling with

artificial enthusiasm in the gray leather seat. She knew she was being obnoxious, but the only

announcement that could make a dent in her mood would be one involving Halley moving to

another planet.

“I didn’t want to mention it earlier in case you made it to nationals, because the dates

would have conflicted,” Abigail began. “But, you know I used to work with Gia Lamberti?”

“You mean ‘the artist formerly known as G-Lam?’” Halley giggled in that annoying

little-girl way that made Avalon cringe—even though she used to think it was kind of cute.

“Uh-huh,” Abigail turned, her blue eyes sparkling through the dusky shadows in the car.

“She’s developed a pretty big following since appearing on VH1’s One Hit Wonders . . . so she’s

decided to start a fashion line.”

“How rad!” Avalon squealed. “Another has-been mock-star designing spandex

leggings.”

“Avalon!” Constance shot a stern look over her shoulder as she checked the traffic before

changing lanes.

“Judge all you want, kiddo.” Abigail shrugged, unfazed by Avalon’s sarcasm. “But I

think you’ll change your mind when you see these.” Halley’s mom proceeded to hold up four

laminated gold badges that read VIP—ALL ACCESS—L.A. FASHION WEEK.

OH. MY. GOD! Every bit of angst and irritability instantly drained from Avalon’s body.

This really was good news—a billion times better than the Brandons moving away. Avalon felt

herself becoming so giddy she had to resist the urge to hug Halley—which wasn’t exactly easy.

After all, this was their dream come true. Halley and Avalon had always talked about the day

they’d be able to go to Fashion Week, possibly as editors of their own style magazine, or as

designers of a couture clothing line—or both. Of course, the plan was to go to New York Fashion

Week, but Los Angeles was almost as cool. It was a definite start, and it would totally resurrect

their post–state competition social status.

“So who’s invited, exactly?” Halley grumbled without a trace of enthusiasm, crossing her

arms over her flat chest.

WHAT? Avalon glared at her beyond-awful ex–best friend. Wasn’t it obvious the four

passes were for the four people currently in the car? Did Halley honestly think she could rob

Avalon of the fashion fantasy that belonged to both of them? She wouldn’t stoop that low, would

she . . . ?

“We’re all going!” Constance confirmed, chasing away any shreds of doubt threatening

to taint the greatest moment of Avalon’s life so far.

“That’s right.” Abigail nodded, smiling broadly at Halley in the visor mirror. “We’ll go

up next weekend to meet Gia and hit a few trunk shows, stay an extra day since you have

Monday off school, and then we’ll go up the weekend after that for more shows and parties! I

told Gia how much you both love fashion, and she’s really excited to meet you.”

Halley just smacked her gum louder, her lightly freckled face awash in nothing but

indifference. Avalon couldn’t believe her attitude. Had she gone totally insane? Completely

forgotten the dream? Didn’t she care anymore? Well, whatever. Avalon gripped the edge of the

backseat as visions of white-hot runway shows filled her mind. She could almost see herself in

the front row, swapping stories with Hilary Duff and the Olsen twins, discussing which spring

pieces they’d acquire—two full seasons before they were even available to the rest of the world!

Just as Avalon’s runway reverie was getting really good (Paris and Nicky inviting her to

an exclusive after-party!), the sound of Britney Spears’s “Piece of Me” started playing in the side

pocket of her new turquoise Chloé tote. Avalon pulled out her hot pink–encased iPhone and

looked at the screen.

“Ohmygod, this is, like, the twentieth time he’s called today,” Avalon gloated before

lightly tapping the screen to answer. “Waaaade,” she cooed. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you more.” The warmth of his voice enveloped Avalon like a soft cashmere

blanket.

“Oh, Wade,” Avalon said, repeating his name for effect. Wade Houston was the singer of

the Dead Romeos, and the guy on whom Halley had an incurable crush. But just when Halley

stole the cheer captain position out from under Avalon, Wade realized—just as Avalon did—that

Halley was a two-faced freak and way too complicated to deal with. So he went for Avalon

instead. Dating him had been an irresistible opportunity on so many levels, not the least of which

was that it made Halley miserable. Revenge was so sweet.

While Avalon chatted away with her first-ever boyfriend, throwing out pet names like

“cutie” and “babe,” she watched the look on Halley’s face go from hostile to something way

more miserable. As far as she was concerned, that made it official: There was only one real loser

around here, and Avalon had every intention of keeping it that way.

Livin’ on a prayer

“Hal?” Abigail’s voice was full of concern as she opened the frosted-glass door of the Brandons’

house, the heels of her Gucci boots clicking rhythmically along the entryway floor.

“Yeah?” Halley sighed. She dropped her brightly hued Tory Burch bags and looked

around distractedly. Even the warm glow from the dimmed overhead lights and the smell of her

dad’s gourmet garlic and rosemary chicken wafting out of the kitchen couldn’t ease her pain.

Sure, she was glad to finally be away from the pure evil that was Avalon, but her whole body felt

sore—like her ex–best friend hadn’t just been torturing her verbally and emotionally, but

physically, for the past two days.

“Are you okay?” Abigail tilted her head so her auburn hair cascaded over one shoulder.

She sat down on the white leather sofa in the sunken living room, her gray-blue eyes carefully

scanning her daughter.

“Uh-huh.” Halley felt about as convincing as a B-list actress.

“You know it’s not the end of the world, right?” Abigail frowned before pulling off her

red satin boots and tucking her dark stocking-covered feet underneath her. “I mean, there will be

other competitions. . . .”

“Yeah, I know.” Halley mashed her lips together and smiled weakly. “It’s not a big deal.

I’m just tired.”

She knew her mom could see right through her—but how could she explain what was

really going on? What words would accurately describe the downward spiral she’d been on for

the past few weeks? It wasn’t about some stupid cheerleading competition. Not really, anyway. It

was about Wade. Wade, who’d moved on to Avalon without so much as an explanation, and now

seemed determined to act like Halley didn’t even exist. And now, the one bright spot in Halley’s

otherwise desperate life—getting to go to L.A. Fashion Week—wasn’t even worth a shred of

excitement because she was going to have to endure the experience with her demonic, skanky,

crush-stealing ex-BFF.

“Well why don’t you go relax for a bit and we’ll talk more at dinner?” Abigail said softly,

getting up from the couch. She gave Halley an affectionate peck on her cheek before heading off

to find Halley’s dad.

Halley nodded lazily and headed for the stairs, already picturing herself in a nice, hot

bubble bath in her Jacuzzi-sized tub, when she heard a female voice coming from her brother’s

bedroom. Tyler? Hanging out with a girl? In his bedroom? There was no way. Halley figured he

was probably just watching a movie but she had to be sure. So she quietly tiptoed over to Tyler’s

door and peeked in.

“Ohmygod! You got the new Guitar Hero?” Halley squealed as she caught sight of her

fifteen-year-old brother rocking out on a white Wii guitar.

Tyler practically went into convulsions, and his pale face turned a sweaty red as he tried

to recover. But it was too late. He’d messed up the song and the audience booed him off the

stage. “Aw, man . . . your timing sucks, Hal!” Tyler groaned, slinging the guitar around his

skinny torso and storming over to his desk to take a long drink from an enormous ice-blue

Gatorade bottle.

“Apparently your timing sucks too,” Tyler’s female guest said, smirking. “A real guitar

hero would never let distractions steal his focus away from the music.”

“Sofee!” Halley laughed for the first time in what seemed like weeks. She headed over to

Tyler’s spaceship-shaped bed, nearly tripping over the piles of dirty clothes strewn all over the

floor as she went to hug her friend. Sofee Hughes and Halley had been hanging out a lot since

rooming together at art camp in Berkeley over the summer—a fact that hadn’t gone over so well

with Avalon when school started. Sofee was also the guitarist for the Dead Romeos. And Wade’s

ex. Not that life was complicated or anything.

“I missed you like crazy.” Sofee smiled, jumping up from the bed to hug Halley.

“I missed you, too.” Halley frowned as it dawned on her just how true those words were.

“And I missed you, too!” Tyler chimed in with an exaggerated girly voice. He pulled the

red bandana from his dark mop of hair and sat down between an empty pizza box and Pucci. “Of

course, this girl went into a serious doggy depression without her mommies around.”

Tyler began tying his bandana around Pucci’s neck, prompting Halley to race to her

dog’s rescue. “I’d be depressed with your sweatband strangling me too!” Halley tried to make

minimal skin contact as she pulled off the offending scarf. She quickly tossed the bandana back

at Tyler and kissed Pucci’s furry blond head.

“My groupies would kill for a drop of my perspiration!” Tyler crowed, reaching up to

grab his Gatorade. Some of the liquid dribbled down his face and onto his I’M HUGE IN JAPAN tee.

“Too bad your only groupie is a dog!” Sofee laughed, squatting down next to Halley and

giving Pucci an affectionate rub behind the ears. “Right, Pucci-pooch?”

“Ha! Totally!” Halley snorted as she and Sofee both stood and high-tenned each other.

“Come on, let’s go catch up. See you later, Ty.”

“But what about the game?” Tyler sulked at Sofee and motioned toward the flat-screen

TV mounted on the bluish-black wall. “It’s your turn.”

“You take it.” Sofee grinned, tugging the hem of her charcoal bubble tunic around the

hips of her bleach-splotched skinny jeans. “You kind of need the practice more than I do.”

“Ex-squeeze-me?” Tyler’s light blue eyes widened, sarcastically appalled. “You’re just

afraid of my mad guitar skills. It’s so obvious. It’s so pathetic. It’s so . . .”

“Okay!” Sofee cut Tyler off, shaking her head and exchanging an amused eye roll with

Halley. “You got me. You’re the real hero around here.”

“Well, as long as we’re clear on that . . . ,” Tyler deadpanned, turning back to the screen

and waving Halley and Sofee out the door as the Wii crowd went wild.

“So, how’re you holding up after the big L-O-S-S?” Sofee asked. She settled into the tan

suede beanbag in the corner of Halley’s room, kicking off her cobalt-blue ankle boots.

“Eh. Okay, I guess.” Halley shrugged and sat down cross-legged on her favorite orange

circular rug. Pucci immediately trotted over and curled up next to her. “I mean, cheerleaders

vying for a state trophy are already pretty scary—so maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have to

experience the clone wars on a national level, right?”

“Totally!” Sofee smiled. “Dude. We should dress up like cheerleaders for Halloween—

zombie ones.”

“Ohmygod, how awesome would that be?” Halley giggled, biting a bit of blue polish off

her right thumbnail. “But maybe not the best costume concept for . . . um . . . the captain of the

squad?”

“I dunno. I guess it depends on what message you’re trying to send.” Sofee grinned

devilishly, adjusting the slouchy multicolored beret over her turquoise-streaked black curls. “I

mean, do you really care about the whole pep squad thing, or . . . ?” She trailed off, her dark eyes

challenging Halley for an answer.

“Good question.” Halley sighed and began rubbing her fingers against her temples,

breathing in her room’s familiar lemony cedar scent and trying to focus on anything but

cheerleading—which inevitably made her think of Avalon, which always made her tense. “So

how was your weekend?” Halley asked, eager to change the subject.

“Painful.” Sofee shook her head, inhaling deeply through her nose and rolling her eyes.

“How come?” Halley curled forward and hugged her legs toward her.

“Well, the band was supposed to be rehearsing for the Halloween dance this Friday,

but—just like I expected—the bimbo-distraction factor has totally invaded Wade’s brain.” Sofee

frowned. “If he even has one left at this point.”

Halley bit her lower lip and stared down at the bare wood floor, willing the tears to stop

stinging her eyes. She didn’t want Sofee to know how hurt she was by this revelation. Halley

needed to be angry—concerned for the band—not depressively lovesick. “So what happened?”

Halley asked softly without looking up.

“You mean aside from him literally wanting to leave town on the next available flight to

San Francisco?” Sofee scoffed. “I mean, I thought having Boobzilla gone for the weekend would

be a good thing. He was constantly trying to call or text her, and if he didn’t hear back right away

he would spend the entire rehearsal checking his phone for messages—just in case he missed her

call.”

“Wow.” Halley picked at a strand of orange yarn on her rug. For a fleeting moment, she

wondered if maybe Wade had really wanted to fly up to San Francisco to see her. But of course

that was impossible. Their relationship had ended before it even began. “Sounds serious.”

“I know, right?” Sofee shook her head in agony. “So anyway, Evan, Mason and I staged a

little intervention this morning.”

“Really?” Halley had to smile at the thought of Sofee getting the Dead Romeos’ bassist

and drummer to ambush Wade. “What did you do?”

“We stole his phone and said we wouldn’t give it back until he wrote one decent song.”

Sofee grinned.

“No way!” Halley giggled. “What did he do?”

“Um. He wrote one,” Sofee said slowly, a look of utter disgust washing over her face.

“It’s called ‘Avalon.’”

Halley felt a wave of nausea shoot through her stomach and instinctively made a retching

noise.

“Oh, you think that’s sick?” Sofee groaned. “Then get this: The song is actually good—

like, possibly one of our best. Evan and Mason think we should close the Halloween set with it.”

“Ohmygod, like her ego needs more stroking.” Halley cringed at the thought of heading

to L.A. in a full-on postparty depression, listening to Avalon drone on and on about the song

Wade wrote for her—how much he loves her, how he can’t live without her. “How am I going to

handle another trip with her?”

“Another trip?” Sofee tilted her head and narrowed her eyes quizzically.

“Yeah.” Halley nodded. “My mom just got VIP passes for L.A. Fashion Week—and of

course we’re taking Avalon and her mom with us.”

“Really?” Sofee frowned and crinkled her pierced nose like she smelled something

rotting. “Why do you have to take someone you don’t even like?”

“Because there’s all this history with our families, so I have to do everything with them,

whether I want to or not.” Halley suddenly felt the injustice of the situation closing around her

throat like an extra-small turtleneck.

“Well, that sucks,” Sofee sniffed, tucking her hair behind her ears so all seven

piercings—including the eyebrow hoop and tiny diamond nose ring—sparkled beneath the high

ceiling’s recessed lights. “I mean, your parents are so cool. Why wouldn’t your mom let you

invite whoever you want?”

“Um . . .” Halley was about to say that the Brandons would never consider doing

anything without the Greenes. But Sofee had a point. What if Halley wanted to bring someone

other than Avalon? What if she could make a case for it—one that her mom couldn’t refuse? “I

don’t know. But if she did, would you be interested . . . ?”

“Are you kidding me?” Sofee started bouncing her knees up and down so her legs looked

like two flapping wings, about to send her into orbit. “I would die.”

Halley was a little surprised. As much as Sofee had an alterna-cool rocker style all her

own, she didn’t really seem like the fashion show type. Sofee must have read Halley’s mind,

because she said, “I’ve been trying to figure out a way for the whole band to head up to L.A. for

the Fashion Week music showcase. It’s going to be out of control. Coldplay’s headlining! Do

you think your VIP passes would get us all in?”

“Ohmygod, I don’t know!” Halley squealed, ready to take flight herself. “But I’m totally

going to find out.”

As she and Sofee began talking about how they would change the face of Hollywood’s

fashion and music scenes forever—possibly even become BFFs with Gwyneth Paltrow, or at

least babysit for Apple and Moses—Halley could feel the real her returning: The girl who taped

all those high-fashion ads and magazine covers, as well as her own style ideas and sketches,

directly onto her cappuccino-colored bedroom walls. The girl who designed and sewed clothes

for all her Bratz dolls while Avalon just barked orders and claimed to be the “business manager

and brains” behind all that creative Brandon energy. The girl with passion and fire and positive

energy to spare. The girl whose spirit Avalon had sucked up with the speed of a Dyson vacuum.

Yes, Halley was back in control. This was her life—not Avalon’s. It was time to reclaim

what was rightfully hers. First up: taking back Avalon and Constance’s VIP Fashion Week

passes and giving them to somebody more deserving—like Sofee and . . . um . . . Wade?! From

there, anything was possible.

DON’T GET DRESSED WITHOUT US!

G Is for Goddess posted by avalon: monday, october 27, at 7:22 a.m.

Okay, people, it’s time to get back to the real reason we’re all here: FASHION! And have

I got some news for you: In just five days, I’ll be heading up to L.A. Fashion Week, where

I’ll be personally meeting none other than Gia Lamberti—the VH1 reality TV sensation

who’s about to launch one of the coolest new urban couture lines on the planet.

If you know the business of music and fashion (which is obviously a match made in

HEAVEN—just look at me and my boyfriend !), you probably already know about the artist

formerly known as G-Lam and her G.L.A.M. style. But for anyone who hasn’t been hipped to

how haute she is, here’s what I’ve heard: G.L.A.M. stands for Goddess. Living. Among.

Mortals.—so it’s less about the design and all about the DIVINE. Just like Gia said in her hit

single, “2 B Glam,” it’s going to be glam-bitious and glam-bitchin’—guaranteed! So stay tuned

and expect even more exclusive information straight from Fashion Week, as it happens.

Till then . . .

Shop on,

COMMENTS (157)

Are you kidding me? YOU are officially the coolest person on the planet. I hear the new

G.L.A.M. line is totally to die for, and half the songs from the Glamnation album are on my iPod

guilty pleasure playlist. Cannot wait to read more about Gia! She seems so awesome! WOO

HOO!!!!!

posted by vogue_us_baby on 10/27 at 7:32 a.m.

Sounds like Team Avalon scored a major Style Snarks coup in the battle of Halvalon. But my

sources tell me G-Lam’s new fashion line is, um, G-LAME. Can’t wait to see how this one

shakes down.

posted by luv2gossip on 10/27 at 7:44 a.m.

Whatever, luv2gossip. Fashion is soooo subjective. Of course some people are going to like

G.L.A.M. and some will hate it. As long as it gets people talking, right? lolz! I bet it’s awesome.

Keep us informed, Av! xoxo PS: Is Halley still Style Snarking, or did you steal the blog from her

too? !

posted by veepme on 10/27 at 7:56 a.m.

True love Wades

“How cute is my boyfriend?” Avalon sighed dreamily to Brianna Cho and Sydney McDowell,

who were sitting on either side of her in the Seaview Middle School music room.

Wade had specifically asked Avalon to come to the Dead Romeos’ afternoon rehearsals

this week, and to bring friends who could give the band some advance feedback on the set they’d

be playing at the school Halloween dance on Friday. So of course Avalon invited Brianna—who

was pretty much her new best friend, not to mention the former head cheerleader who’d been

knocked down to co-captain when Halley was so inappropriately elected to the top spot. She also

invited Sydney, who had previously been co-captain and Avalon’s arch-nemesis—until they

discovered a shared dislike of Halley and mutual admiration of each other.

“So cute,” Sydney giggled, bouncing up and down in her musical note–shaped chair as

she squeezed Avalon’s right arm, her violet eyes twinkling excitedly.

“Apparently someone else thinks so too,” Brianna noted, snapping her head in Halley’s

direction so fast that the ends of her long, satiny black hair whipped across Avalon’s cheek. Ew.

Halley was sitting and bobbing her head along to the music, so love-stupefied that Avalon half

expected to see a puddle of drool around Halley’s hideous suede moccasin boots. Groupie.

“How inappropriate,” Avalon muttered. It was so pathetic that Halley was still acting like

the Dead Romeos’ publicist and Sofee’s friend. After all, Sofee was Wade’s ex—the girl Halley

had claimed she didn’t want to hurt, even as she hung out with Wade, exploring the possibility

that he might be her “soul mate.” As if.

Avalon turned her attention back to her boyfriend, who was sitting at the black baby

grand piano, working on the closing melody of a new song he’d just written—the lyrics of which

he’d said were “top secret” until Friday’s show. He’d stared flirtatiously at Avalon when he said

that, making her stomach do a cheerleading championship–worthy flip. Was it possible he had

written the song about her? How amazing would that be? It would drive Halley insane with

jealousy!

“That’s it!” Mason announced, pounding on the drums and hitting the cymbals with a ba-

dum-bum-psssh when Wade finished playing. “You totally nailed the ending that time.”

“Really?” Wade sounded a little unsure, even after Sofee and Evan insisted it was

awesome. “What did you think?” Wade spun around on the piano bench and locked eyes with

Avalon.

Sigh. It was so cute how he deferred to her, like her opinion was the only one that really

mattered. At first, Avalon hadn’t understood Halley’s crush on Wade. But now she was really

starting to get it. Okay, maybe he kind of needed to step up his rocker style so he was less

garage-band grungy and more arena-god amazing—but that would be an easy makeover. He

already had the perfect pretty-boy pout, thick black hair and slim-but-solid body. A few button-

down shirts, fitted jackets, and new shoes and he’d be full-on mandsome.

“It was perfect.” Avalon smiled coyly, sitting up even straighter in her chair. She slowly

took her Benefit California Kissin’ gloss from her bow-dazzled Kate Spade clutch and

seductively applied a quick coat. “Just like you,” Avalon added with a quick toss of her long,

flaxen hair.

“Oooh, Wade, you’re so perfect!” Mason squealed, bopping his shaggy blond head from

side to side and dancing around the little platform stage in the front of the room, making kissing

noises, before returning to his drum stool.

“Cut it out, man.” Wade half laughed as he shook his head and dropped it back to look up

at the ceiling, which was painted silver—just like the musical notes on the cerulean blue walls.

Then he turned his gaze toward Brianna and Sydney with that determined give-it-to-me-straight

look of his. “So, how ’bout you two? Thoughts?”

Avalon was almost certain she heard Sydney gasp before she spoke. “I totally agree with

Avalon—I mean, um, about the song being perfect,” Sydney stammered as the color in her

cheeks went from peach to pink to crimson. With her round face, golden hair and stocky little

limbs, Sydney could have passed for Mason’s twin sister.

“Yeah, it was really good,” Brianna nodded, drumming her deep purple fingernails on the

knees of her black tights—which looked darling with her black turtleneck and green Juicy tank

dress. “It kind of reminded me of that one song by Coldplay. . . .”

“Really?” Sofee interjected, scrunching her face up skeptically as she took off her cherry-

red guitar and set it against its stand on the corner of the stage. “Which one?”

“Oh, um . . .” Brianna frowned. “I can’t remember the name of it right now, but, uh . . .”

“Well could you hum a few bars?” Sofee interrupted with a mischievous toss of her long,

tragically curly hair while placing one hand on her nonexistent hip. How crazy that Halley and

Avalon had once called her Softee in reference to her pudgy elementary school–era body. Now,

between the little black skullcap and the red-striped leggings sticking out of her cutoff denim

mini like two spindly Dr. Seuss hats gone wrong, her alterna-homeless look was a painful

homage to starving artists—emphasis on the starving.

“No. I don’t sing,” Brianna said in a sweetly apologetic tone, as if Sofee deserved even a

shred of her kindness. But that was the awesome thing about Brianna: She was pretty much nice

to everyone, and she probably figured that she was here to support Avalon’s boyfriend’s band—

which did, after all, include Sofee. “But my brother would know. We’re going to see them play

next Friday.”

“Oh yeah?” Sofee was obviously trying to sound blasé, but her already freakishly large

eyes practically doubled in size as the awe and envy sunk in. “At Fashion Week?”

“Uh-huh.” Brianna nodded.

“How’d you get tickets?” Mason shouted from behind his drums.

“Um, Brianna’s older brother is only, like, the best entertainment reporter ever,” Avalon

bragged on her friend’s behalf while playing with the ruffled hem of her pink-and-black plaid

miniskirt. “He writes for the L.A. Times and everything.”

“I thought David was your younger brother,” Evan said quietly, running a hand over his

close-cropped dark curls and staring intently at Brianna with his clear, blue-green eyes.

“I have two brothers,” Brianna explained. “Justin’s a journalism major at USC, so he

reviews concerts for the Daily Trojan and stuff.”

“Oh.” Sofee squinted her eyes like she was working on the world’s most challenging test

question—but then her face relaxed, as if she’d suddenly figured out the answer. “Well, then I

guess we’ll all be heading up for Fashion Week! Right, Halley?”

“Um . . . right!” Halley nodded and motioned Sofee over with a smile so broad it

twitched on one side. Ha! That was a look Avalon knew all too well: a sure sign that her ex-

bestie wasn’t feeling nearly as confident as she wanted people to think.

Still, Avalon couldn’t help but feel a prickle of nervous sweat cover her palms as she

watched the dismal duo whispering and laughing conspiratorially. Did Halley seriously think

she’d be taking Sofee to Fashion Week—like such a trashionista would be allowed anywhere

near a runway? After all, the girl was at least partly responsible for dragging Halley into the

glamour-deficient gutter—a fact that was all too apparent when the Moms had suggested a

postcompetition consolation shopping spree up in San Francisco, and Halley had insisted on

hitting some of the boho boutiques that she and Sofee had discovered while at art camp over the

summer. Now Halley was wearing some of her skid-row selections: a hideous gauzy orange

hippie top she bought off a street vendor, along with a bunch of “silver” accessories that would

probably turn her neck, wrists and fingers green any minute.

The look was so hideous, Avalon finally had to avert her eyes—which is when she caught

Wade staring at her. He grinned sheepishly and tilted his head a couple of times, signaling for

her to come sit by him at the piano.

Avalon draped her arms around his shoulders, quickly glancing over at Halley and Sofee

to make sure they saw her plant a kiss on his cheek. Score! Their shared look of horror and

disgust was even more priceless than Avalon could have hoped.

Wade ran his fingers along the length of her arm. Avalon could tell he was mesmerized

by the softness of her skin, and the citrusy-sweet floral smell of her Gucci Envy Me 2 perfume

was definitely delivering on its promise.

“Will you sing me the song you’re working on?” Avalon batted her eyelashes and twirled

a lock of hair. She so wanted to find out if the lyrics were about her—to be able to rub Halley’s

nose in it and show her who Wade’s true soul mate was.

“I can’t do that.” Wade shook his head slyly, making Avalon all the more eager to break

him down.

“Please!” Avalon begged, grabbing at the bottom of his brown Death Cab for Cutie T-

shirt and proffering her fullest and most dramatic pout.

“Nope!” Wade grinned and pulled away from her, jumping up from the bench.

Avalon laughed and chased him over to the silver music room door, demanding that he

sing the song now—right here in front of everyone. But the more she coaxed him, the more

Wade protested and the louder their little love spat grew. Finally, Wade grabbed Avalon’s wrists

and pulled her toward him, gazing into her eyes like he was about to kiss her.

Yikes.

“Ohmygod, get a room!” Sofee suddenly shouted, prompting Evan and Mason to catcall

and Brianna and Sydney to giggle self-consciously.

Avalon turned to look at the poseur posse—Sofee, appearing offended and defiant, and

Halley staring down at the ground, chewing frantically on a nail while her wavy dark hair

completely concealed her face. Avalon then fixed her gaze on Wade. “What do you think?” she

asked, her golden-brown eyes challenging him.

“Uh . . . sure?” Wade shrugged and smiled back, grabbing Avalon’s hand and gently

pulling her out the door.

As soon as they found themselves in the school hallway, Avalon dropped Wade’s hand

for fear he’d feel the sweat on her palm, and adjusted one of the pink cap sleeves on her C&C

California tee. A few sixth-graders were hanging out near one of the banks of gold lockers, but

otherwise they were totally alone.

“So, are we really getting a room?” Wade asked with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice,

reaching an arm out and pulling Avalon back toward him.

Ohmygod. Now what? Avalon tried to steady her breathing. She and Wade had only been

officially dating for about a week, and so far things had been pretty tame. Of course he was

obviously kidding about the “getting a room” thing—but exactly how serious was he expecting

this relationship to get, and how soon? As much as Avalon liked Wade, she believed that having

a boyfriend was kind of like getting a brand-new outfit: totally exciting when you first try it on,

but even better when you can show it off in public.

“Um, in your dreams,” Avalon finally laughed as she wriggled away, jogging a few paces

ahead in her brown velvet ballet flats. She hoped Wade couldn’t sense the hesitation in her

voice—and that he found her behavior more flirtatious than what it kind of was: ever so slightly

freaked out.

DON’T GET DRESSED WITHOUT US!

G-Lam Fashion Week EXCLUSIVE! posted by halley: wednesday, october 29, at 7:41 a.m.

Hey, everyone. Sorry I’ve been so absent from the blog this week—but I have been BUSY,

mostly dealing with plans for my big trip up to L.A. Fashion Week. That’s right. While some

“style reporters” masquerade as journalists by plagiarizing press releases, there’s only one person

at SMS who has the real scoop on the amazing style showcases starting this weekend: ME! To

get things rolling, check out my exclusive interview with the former Capitol Records executive

who launched G-Lam’s recording career back in the day:

Q: Why did you sign G-Lam to a record deal?

A: She was a pop singer with an urban edge, and she had a sound we hadn’t heard

before. She really changed the face of music at that time—from dirty, angry and

male to fresh, fun and female.

Q: What was Gia’s signature style back in the day?

A: Well, she singlehandedly launched the femullet and fluoro-pants. Her spiky-

top and long-braided-back bi-level haircut and the Day-Glo clothes in her “2 B

Glam” video sent G-Lammabes into a fashion-following frenzy. I’ve never seen a

trend take off so quickly.

Q: How successful do you think her G.L.A.M. line will be?

A: If I know Gia, it’s going to be huge. I mean, she’s the ultimate multihyphenate:

singer-songwriter-dancer-fashion-icon-designer. It’s hard to imagine it being

anything but groundbreaking.

So there you have it. For exclusive Fashion Week news, there’s really only one Style Snark

worth reading.

Word to your closet,

COMMENTS (142)

Yay! So glad you’re back. And how did you get an interview with the person who signed G-

Lam? How cool is THAT? Can’t wait to get the real scoop on fashion week from YOU! xxoo

posted by hautestuff on 10/29 at 7:48 a.m.

OMG, Avalon plagiarized a press release? That is a serious allegation. Got proof? !

posted by luv2gossip on 10/29 at 7:49 a.m.

Um, pulling a few quotes from a press release is so not plagiarism. And interviewing your MOM

isn’t exactly cutting-edge journalism either. LOL (at you, not w/ you!!!)

posted by cheeriously on 10/29 at 7:53 a.m.

Awesome interview! (Who cares if it’s with your mom? She obviously has the inside scoop and

rocks!) Fashion Week is going 2 be AMAZING. Awwwyeah. !

posted by rockgirrrl on 10/29 at 8:06 a.m.

Snitching and moaning

Halley snuggled into the corner of the living room sofa, pulling a golden-hued chenille blanket

up over her bare feet and faded blue Lucky Brand sweats. She loved that it finally felt like fall, at

least as much as it could in a SoCal beach town like La Jolla. There was something so

comforting about the wood crackling in the white marble fireplace while the wind whistled

outside and sent leaves rustling against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the house. Tonight felt

especially magical—like anything was possible. Yes, it was the perfect time for Halley to bring

up Fashion Week with her mom. Again.

“Hey, Mom?” Halley said softly. She looked over at her parents, who were drinking

herbal tea and reading in their matching white leather recliners. It was sort of their after-dinner

ritual—and one Halley wouldn’t interrupt unless absolutely necessary.

“Hmmm?” Abigail responded, her gaze still focused on the latest issue of Real Simple.

She was wrapped up in a creamy vintage cable-knit sweater and black leggings, squinting

through her reading glasses like an old lady—even though she could have passed for a college

student with her smooth skin, lithe yoga body and hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

“I need to talk to you about Avalon.” Halley leaned forward and took a sip of hot

chocolate to steel her resolve, then placed her black mug back on the clear Lucite coffee table

and sunk back into the couch.

“Uh-oh . . .” Charles set his Anthony Bourdain book down on the little table between his

chair and Abigail’s and stood up. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

“Oh—no, Dad. You don’t have to go. In fact, you should stay. Please?” The truth was,

Halley was hoping her father would be just the ally she needed in the quest to disinvite Avalon

and Constance to Fashion Week—particularly since all Halley’s attempts so far had been denied,

dismissed and defeated. Logic hadn’t worked (“But Avalon and I aren’t as close as we used to

be” received Abigail’s equally and annoyingly methodical “Then this is the perfect opportunity

for you to work on that”). Nor had defensive accusations (“Avalon has been publicly slamming

me on the Style Snarks blog” got “You haven’t exactly been kind either—and going to Fashion

Week might help you both remember why you started a style blog in the first place”). She’d even

tearfully confessed that Avalon had ripped her heart out—seriously hurt her—but when Abigail

pressed for details, Halley froze up; the Wade situation was just too complicated and

embarrassing to explain, and Halley wasn’t sure if that was the sole source of her grief, anyway.

Was it? Now it was time to go for a full-on assault—and between Halley’s dad and mom,

Charles definitely saw the darker side of the little Greene monster more than Abigail, whose

friendship with Constance completely blinded her to any wrong Avalon could possibly do.

“If you say so. . . .” Charles’s ocean-blue eyes sparkled against his surfer-bronze skin as

he raised his white mug, toasted Halley, took a sip of tea and sat back down.

“Well,” Halley began, staring wistfully over at the embers glowing in the fireplace. “I’m

worried about her.”

“About Avalon? Why?” Abigail dropped her magazine to her lap, picked up the stereo

remote and turned down the classic rock piping through the living room speakers. The song was

“Don’t Stop Believin’”—just the mantra Halley needed now that she had her mom’s undivided

attention.

Halley shrugged and blinked her eyes a few times before turning to give Abigail her most

concerned look. “She just hasn’t been herself since we got back from San Francisco.”

“Meaning . . . ?” Abigail tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, already looking a little

skeptical about where this was heading.

“Um, she’s been pretty depressed,” Halley revealed soberly, biting at the corner of her

lower lip before continuing. “You know, pretty messed up.”

“Well, you’ve both been a little down,” Abigail noted with an exaggerated frown.

“But I’m not letting it affect me to the point where my whole personality has changed,”

Halley insisted.

“And Avalon is?” Abigail asked, glancing over at Charles, who volleyed back her

confused-meets-bemused look.

“Well, I’m not sure what you’d call ditching class so you can hang out with your

boyfriend, but . . .” Halley trailed off. It wasn’t a complete lie. Avalon hadn’t been in first-period

journalism yesterday, and Sofee said she was pretty sure she’d seen Boobzillade—their new

name for Avalon and Wade—hanging out together before school.

“That doesn’t sound like Avalon.” Abigail looked at Halley sideways.

“Exactly!” Halley squealed. She took another sip of hot chocolate before continuing.

“And she’s also one of the prime suspects in a plagiarism scandal at school.”

“Excuse me?” Abigail’s thick-lashed pale-blue eyes widened. “Does Connie know about

that?”

“I doubt it,” Halley scoffed. “Avalon’s not exactly one to offer up incriminating

information about herself.”

Abigail and Charles exchanged a look of quizzical concern. They were always discussing

things with just their eyes—no words necessary. After what felt like hours, Abigail finally spoke.

“Hal, I know you don’t want Avalon to come with us to Fashion Week, but this is not the way to

get what you want.”

HUH?

“But Mom, this isn’t about Fashion Week. I mean, aren’t you the least bit worried?”

Halley leapt up from the couch and began pacing, channeling all the dramatic flair she’d learned

from years of observing Avalon at her daughter-of-two-lawyers, belligerent best. “I mean,

Avalon is on the fast track to failing out of school! Somebody needs to talk to Connie and Marty

before she hits rock bottom. She’s becoming a social deviant in all the worst ways! I’ve even

heard talk of . . . drugs being involved.” That last part was really just in reference to the time

Halley saw Avalon hitting the Midol pretty hard, but desperate times called for scandal—and

nothing freaked out parents more than a little substance abuse.

“Halley,” Abigail said flatly, shaking her head and smirking. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

“So you’re going to talk to Connie?” Halley tried to convince herself the drugs had

worked.

“Yeah, I am.” Abigail nodded. “I’m going to talk to her about how we can reel in all the

lies you and Avalon are spreading about each other.”

“I’m not lying!” Halley insisted.

“Well, you’re definitely stretching the truth,” Abigail said, picking agitatedly at a loose

thread on her sweater.

“Seriously, Hal,” Charles finally spoke. So much for the father-daughter alliance. “If you

want something, you’ve got to play up the positives. Smear campaigns never work. They only

backfire and make the accuser look worse than the accused.”

“But Dad! You know Avalon can be pure evil!” Halley wailed as she dropped back down

to the couch.

“I know you can both bring out the worst in each other, and I’m a little bummed to see

you acting so devious,” Charles said with a frown, picking up his book and shaking his head.

“I am too.” Abigail nodded. “And honestly? If you’re so opposed to going to Fashion

Week with Avalon, maybe you’re the one who should stay home.”

Halley couldn’t believe how unfair and uncool her parents were being. Was her mom

picking Avalon over her own flesh and blood? How was that even possible? It was genetic

injustice at its worst.

“Fine! Maybe I will stay home!” Halley screamed, leaping to her bare feet and racing

upstairs to her room, where she jumped onto her bed and immediately speed-dialed Sofee.

“So?” Sofee said when she picked up.

Before she could even speak, Halley burst into tears. “It didn’t work,” she sobbed,

holding the iPhone screen away from her face to avoid getting it all wet.

“Seriously?” Sofee sighed loudly.

“It’s so depressing,” Halley groaned, wiping the back of her left hand across her eyes.

“What am I gonna do? I just can’t go up there with Avalon. I can’t.”

“But, Hal, you can’t not go.”

“Really? Because I’m totally ready to bail.” Halley’s voice cracked.

“That’s not an option,” Sofee insisted. “This is a huge opportunity for you. Don’t let

Avalon ruin it. Just go up there and show them who the real Style Snark is.”

“But what about the music showcase?” Halley moaned. “I so wanted to get you and the

guys in.”

“Well, we’ll have to work our other connections and see what happens,” Sofee said, the

picture of composure and common sense. “Don’t worry about that. Just focus on all that

couture—and ripping Avalon apart at the seams.”

It sounded fine in theory. But in practice? Halley felt like there wasn’t a stitch ripper big

enough to shred the seemingly indestructible Avalon Greene.