Girls on Film (2 page)

Well
, Anna thought,
if I have to be in a class with one of them, Sam is certainly the least offensive—

At that moment Dee and Cammie sashayed through the door of Anna’s last class of the day, English. All three snouts of Cerebus present and accounted for. Damn.

“Hi, Anna. How was day one?” diminutive Dee chirped as she took a seat directly behind Sam’s.

“Fine.”

“You know, I looked for you at lunch,” Sam told Anna. “We went to Westside Pavilion for sushi and I wanted to invite you.” Evidently the girls were in friendly mode.

“I went for a walk,” Anna explained.

Cammie took a seat in front of Sam, swept her strawberry blond curls over her shoulder, and eyed Anna coolly. “Just out of idle curiosity, why are you dressed like that?”

Anna felt the prickly heat of a blush on the back of her neck. Back in Manhattan, torn and decrepit were considered hip. For her first day at Beverly Hills High School she’d put on a “normal” school outfit: a white T-shirt, a camel cashmere cardigan with a moth hole on the sleeve, and battered jeans. She’d pulled her long, silky blond hair into a simple ponytail and dabbed on a little Burt’s Bees cherry-flavored lip balm. That Anna could make this look terrific had everything to do with genetics and upbringing.

The three girls, though, were walking examples of Anna’s observation that in Beverly Hills, when it came to cosmetics, more was more, and when it came to square inches of flesh covered by designer fabric, more was less. Each of them sported so much lip gloss it looked as if one could skate across their lips. They each wore very small, very expensive sweaters with their extremely low slung pants and stiletto-heeled boots.

Of the three, pear-shaped Sam tried the hardest but had the least to work with. Dee got by on her big-eyed, shaggy blond, tiny preciousness. And Cammie … well, Cammie looked like the kind of girl who’d be featured in a men’s magazine with a staple in her navel. Her white sweater stopped more than four inches short of her cargo pants. Somehow she’d acquired a tan since Anna had first met her, which set off her lush I-just-had-insane-sex curls to perfection. Anna had learned on New Year’s Eve that Ben Birnbaum and Cammie had been a couple last year; Cammie had made it more than clear that she wanted Ben back.

Anna willed away her blush. “I wasn’t aware that I had to run my clothes by you for approval.”

“Just a tidbit of advice,” Cammie said, unfazed. “Don’t drink coffee from a paper cup. Someone might drop a quarter into it.”

“Give it a rest, Cammie,” Sam suggested.

Anna was surprised. Sam hadn’t struck her as secure enough to stand up to Cammie. But then, being the famous Jackson Sharpe’s daughter had to count for something. There were times when Anna had thought maybe Sam could be a friend. But since Anna could never be sure if Sam was moving in for a hug or a mugging, it made friendship a bit dicey.

Sam turned back to Anna. “We really do have to go shopping. We can hit the boutiques on Rodeo, but it has to be sometime when the tourists aren’t out. I so cannot deal with the primates at fashion feeding time.”

“I don’t need clothes, Sam,” Anna said. “Thanks anyway.”

The bell rang. Their English teacher, Mrs. Breckner, a middle-aged woman in an unfortunate floral pants ensemble, closed the door. “I’m sure you all read
The Great Gatsby
over winter break,” she began, “between gin-and-tonics in Aruba and powder runs at Mammoth.”

A few kids chuckled at the teacher’s dry wit. Others rolled their eyes or just looked bored. Mrs. Breckner launched into a lecture on the major themes in
Gatsby
, stopping every so often to pose a question. Anna didn’t volunteer any answers, though she certainly knew them all—she’d first read the Fitzgerald classic when she was thirteen.

“Rather than having you write the usual papers,” Mrs. Breckner went on, “let’s try something new and different. I’m going to have you pair up and create a presentation project on the book. Write a short play, make a sculpture, do a performance piece, whatever speaks to you.

“Don’t take the text literally, people,” she added. “We’re dealing with broad themes there—old wealth versus new wealth, individualism and self-discovery versus easy money and group-think. Okay, everyone in row one choose someone from row two; same thing for rows three and four.”

“How about it, Anna?” Sam asked. “Partners?”

Anna was too polite to say no. Besides, Sam seemed like a better option than a completely unknown quantity. “Sure,” she said. “That would be great.”

“Any brilliant ideas?”

“Not immediately.”

“How about a short film?” Sam suggested. “I’m thinking a clash-of-the-classes kinda thing. Daisy Buchanan meets Daisy Duke. At a party.”

“That sounds promising,” Anna said. “Maybe we could we give this party? Mix actors and real people? And film it?”

Sam tapped a finger on her lips thoughtfully. “Dunno. Haven’t thought it through. We should talk later, okay? I’ll call you.”

“Fine.”

Then Anna remembered that she’d chucked her cell phone that morning because Ben wouldn’t stop calling her.

No. She was not, not, not going to think about Ben. Or rather,
Ben who?

“Don’t use my cell,” Anna added. “I’m … changing numbers.” She quickly scribbled her father’s home number on a piece of paper.

Sam slipped the paper into her Chanel purse, then fiddled with the top button of her paisley Stella McCartney sweater. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you: Didn’t I see Ben Birnbaum here this morning, talking to you?”

Anna shrugged. She did
not
want to get into this with Sam.

“He looked awful,” Sam went on, undeterred. “Like he’d been up all night partying or something. What’s up with that? I’m only asking you because I’m concerned.”

“I have no idea,” Anna replied, hoping the frost in her voice would dissuade Sam. It didn’t.

“Did he tell you why he hasn’t gone back to Princeton yet? I know classes started.”

“I really don’t want to talk about Ben.”

“Please,” Sam scoffed. “You’ve known him, what, three days? I’ve known him my whole life. So you might as well tell me, because I’m going to find out anyway.”

“If you and Ben are such good friends, Sam, ask him yourself.”

Sam raised her perfectly-shaped-by-Valerie eyebrows. “Touchy, touchy.”

What the hell
, Anna thought. “Look, Sam, if you’re asking me whether Ben and I are seeing each other, the answer is no.”

A joy that Anna could not understand suffused Sam’s face. “Are you saying that you
broke up
with Ben Birnbaum?” Sam asked, grabbing Anna’s arm.

Anna shrugged off Sam’s hand. “We had one date. There wasn’t anything to break up.”

The bell rang to end the school day; Anna retrieved her books and her purse. As she departed, she saw Sam huddle with Cammie and Dee. Anna refused to care. If they want to obsess over Ben, that was their business. She was over him.

But …

As Anna dodged bodies on her way out of the classroom, a little voice in the back of her brain kept asking the niggling question, If she was so over him, why the hell did she need to keep thinking about how much she was over him?

High School for the Highly Overprivileged

“W
hoa, careful! Planet hopping?”

As Anna stepped into the crowded hallway, she nearly collided with Adam Flood, another person she’d met at the Jackson Sharpe nuptials. Anna liked him more than anyone else she’d met so far in Beverly Hills. Maybe it was because, like Anna, he was a transplant, having come to California two years earlier from Michigan. Fortunately, his seven-hundred-odd days of exposure to the rarefied air of Beverly Hills hadn’t seemed to affect his refreshing midwestern lack of artifice. He was also tall and lanky, sweet and smart, and allegedly an ace basketball player.

“Sorry, I was thinking,” Anna said as Adam fell in beside her. They headed for the door closest to the student parking lot.

“Good thinking, bad thinking, none-of-the-above thinking?”

She smiled up at him. He had a small blue star tattoo behind his left ear that was very cute. “I was thinking about how nice it is to see you, actually.”

“
Definitely
good thinking,” Adam said. “So how was your first day at Beverly Hills High School for the Highly Overprivileged?”

“Mixed reviews. American lit was okay. Chem was good, until my lab mate gave me a blow-by-blow of her seduction of a sitcom star. And I mean that literally.”

“Don’t tell me. Shakti Carter.” Adam held the door open for her and they stepped into the afternoon sun.

She laughed. “How did you know?”

“She’s famous for ‘oversharing,’ if you know what I mean. What do you think of Breckner?”

Anna shrugged. “I like her. I’m working on a
Gatsby
project with Sam.”

They strolled across the parking lot, where everyone seemed to be getting into their Porsches or BMWs. “Sam’s smart,” Adam said.

“Yeah, I got that. I almost feel like we could be friends, but …”

“Ah, the infamous
but
,” Adam joked.

“There are her two appendages to consider.”

“Dee and Cammie,” Adam filled in. “Little Girl Lost and Not So Little Girl Even More Lost.”

“This is me,” Anna said when they reached the pearl-gray Lexus that Anna’s father had leased for her. She shielded her eyes from the sun with her right hand. “Dee, maybe. But Cammie Sheppard? She strikes me as something of a barracuda.”

Adam scratched his tattoo. “Yeah, she puts up a good front, I admit. But she hasn’t had an easy go of it. Did you know her mom died in a freak accident? Her stepmother hates her, and her father’s nuts. I think she’s worse off than Dee.”

“Don’t you ever say anything mean to anyone?”

“Oh, yeah,” Adam replied, eyeing Anna’s car. “How about, ‘Damn girl, you’ve got one fine-ass ride and you’re the only one in it. Didn’t you ever hear about conserving energy?’”

Anna smiled. “Is that a hint you’d like a ride home?”

Adam plunged an invisible dagger into his heart. “Painful as it is to admit, I’m pretty sure I’m the only senior with a
b
word. As in bicycle. Don’t let it get around.”

Annie held up her palm. “Promise.”

“I usually scrounge a ride with someone,” Adam added.

“Just call me someone,” Anna quipped. “Hop in.”

Adam opened the door for her, then went around to his side and got into the car. Between the balmy afternoon and Adam sitting next to her, Anna started to feel better about life as she pulled onto Sunset Boulevard. Happy, even.

A car horn beeped. Anna turned to see a classic cherry-red Jensen Interceptor, top down, in the lane to her right. Sam was behind the wheel, Cammie in the passenger seat, and Dee in the back. “You two look really cute together!” Sam shouted mockingly. Cammie gave them a laconic wave. “Talk to you later!”

“Well, it’s better than the finger,” Adam remarked, taking in Cammie’s salute. “I think she’s jealous that you got Ben. They used to be a couple.”

“So I’ve been told. But to clarify things, I don’t in any way, shape, or form ‘have Ben.’ Nor has Ben
had
me.” Her eyes flicked to Adam, then back to the road.

“Turn right on Rexford and go toward Coldwater. So … you’re not madly, passionately in love with Ben Birnbaum?”

“I don’t even like him, Adam.”

“Really?” Adam’s eyes lit up.

“Really. Why is that such a surprise?”

“Know how there’s one guy at every school every girl seems to want? I think God doles ’em out. Ben was that guy last year. And the year before that.”

“Well, then, I guess I’m not every girl.”

“Good to know. Slow down. My house is on the right, with the hoop in the driveway.” Anna pulled in and stopped. Adam swiveled to her. “So. Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome.”

Adam drummed his long, narrow fingers on the dashboard. “So …”

It appeared to Anna that Adam wanted to say something, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. She waited patiently. It was the well-bred thing to do.

“Do you like dogs?” Adam blurted.

That’s
what he wanted to say? “Sure.”

He nodded. “I’ve got one.”

“What kind?”

“Serious Heinz. You know. Fifty-seven varieties of mutt. Name’s Bowser. I adopted him right after we moved here.”

That was a nice thing to do
, Anna thought. More waiting and more finger drumming. “So … ,” Adam finally said. “I’m taking him for a run later. Out by Gladstone’s. You know it?”

Anna shook her head. “What’s Gladstone’s?”

“Seafood restaurant between Santa Monica and Pacific Palisades. A ton of tourists, but the beach is lit. I thought if you weren’t doing anything, maybe you’d like to come along. Just to hang out.”

Was Adam asking her out? As in a date? Or did he mean “hang out” in the just-friends sense? Huh. She hadn’t given him a moment’s thought as a possible romance because her head had been too full of—

Shut up, head
, she scolded herself. “Sounds like fun,” she agreed.

“Yeah? Wow. Cool. Oh, dress warm. It gets chilly out there after dark. I’ll pick you up at … six, okay?”

“With what?” Anna asked. “I thought you didn’t have a car.”

“If I call my mom at her office and grovel, she might let me borrow hers. She and my dad commute to work together—they have for years. It’s almost too sweet to witness.” He got out and waved as Anna pulled out of his driveway.

During the five minutes it took Anna to drive to her dad’s house, she thought about what a truly nice guy Adam was. The kind of guy she
should
be dating.

Should.

But Anna hadn’t moved three thousand miles for “should.”

Anna saw them the moment she pulled into the circular drive of her father’s house. The elegant house, built by Anna’s grandparents in the 1950s, was massive. White stucco with red shutters, shaded by giant palm and eucalyptus trees. Crimson, pink, purple, and lavender flowers flanked the path to the front door. And today, for extra-added fun, the redbrick front walkway just happened to be lined with hundreds of red and white helium balloons, strings anchored by beanbags on the ground.