Chapter 1
Before the car comes to a full stop, my friends and I can hear the paparazzi. Everywhere I go, it’s always the same:
“Elena! Over here!”
“Elena, are you wearing an original?”
“Elena, is it true about [insert latest gossip here]?”
I’m only seventeen, and yet, everywhere I go, my fame precedes me. It comes with the territory when your family owns It’s Ok!, one of the fastest-growing clothing brands. It’s a play on our last name, Ok, which is spelled likeokaybut sounds likeoak. My haters say that as a soon-to-be senior in high school, I haven’t done anything to merit this amount of attention, but take it from me: Being in my familyiswork.
Since my friends and I are early for our seven o’clock dinner reservation, we aren’t prepared for the photographers in front of Koi when the car pulls up to the entrance. Not that it matters. With high-profile families like ours, we’re always red-carpet ready. Faith’s dad is a theater director, Melody’s dad is a record producer, and Brynn’s mom is a celebrity attorney. Willow’s parents are prominent plastic surgeons, but she has aspirations for the silver screen. Aside from being classmates at Brenthaven Prep, we all have hopes to one day follow in the glittery footsteps of our successful parents. And yet aswe step out of the car, it’s obvious the paparazzi are here for one of us more than the others.
“Elena, who designed your outfit?”
“Elena, are you excited about the event tonight?”
“Elena, who was that guy you were with last week?”
Not only am I known for my family’s successful business, I get paid to make appearances at parties—I’m the ultimate influencer. Tonight Steve Aoki is DJ-ing at an event to launch his collaboration with Billie Banks at the Hollywood Palladium. Something to do with sportswear or sporting goods? I don’t know and frankly don’t care, because the events aren’t really about the products, are they? They’re about drawing attention. And I’m good at that.
We barely get through the tunnel o’ paparazzi unscathed. In the restaurant, as the maître d’ swiftly ushers us to our usual table, we overhear the restaurant manager in a slight altercation. The five of us casually glance over.
“Who’s that?” Brynn points to a disheveled guy with unkempt hair. He’s talking to the waitstaff, gesturing wildly with his hands. “He’s giving serial killer energy.”
“He’s looking straight at you, Elena. Do you know him?” Faith has her hands to her mouth like she’s horrified. She takes after her father’s dramatic flair.
“As if I’d know someone dressed in head-to-toe vinyl.” I chuff. Pleather, maybe. But his jacket looks like a straight-up trash bag.
“Ew, I think he’s trying to sit with us.” Melody points as the guy takes two steps in our direction.
“If some rando thinks he can walk over to you like you’re just someregularperson, he’ll have to get through the four of us first.” Willow pretends to roll up her sleeves. Ever since I introduced her to the producer who offered her the lead role inParks and Trailers, anew sitcom about teens living in a mobile home community, Willow has professed her undying loyalty to me.
Before the guy gets any closer, the manager swiftly steps in and ushers the unwanted guest out. When the door to the restaurant opens, it’s like someone turns the volume up on the street noise. “Elena! Elena! Elena!” Then the door swings shut, and the sound becomes muted again.
Okay, so I know I’m not, like, supposed to admit this, but I love hearing the sound of my name being called out. Can’t get enough of it. I’mobsessedwith it.
“This is how it started with Kim K. My mom told me about it when she was representing her in the lawsuit against her stalker,” Brynn says. “First they show up in public places. Then it’s only a matter of time before they appear in your private home.” She tsks, shaking her head.
Melody gasps. “God, I can’t imagine what you have to endure. You poor thing,” she says with an expression that’s half sincere, half envious. She’s doing voice-overs for animations in an attempt at becoming a pop star, and with her stardom not yet on the rise, who can blame her? Our friendships with one another boost our already high degree of social cachet, but it’s no secret that I am by far the most established in my own right. Brynn, Willow, and Faith nod at me sympathetically with Melody.
“Aw, you guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I say, touched by their concern even though I’m far from concerned. I have enough sense to know it’s not particularly en vogue to admit my excitement over reaching stalker status. But, wow. Talk about milestones.
“Love you, ladies.” I blow air-kisses at them.
“Love you more,” they squawk back in unison.
I take it all in. My friends, the fans, the press—with all eyes on me, it’s not an exaggeration, by any means, when I say I’m the envy ofeveryone.
My phone rings, and when I see who it is, my mood takes a complete nosedive. It’s the one outlier who does not, in any way, want to be me.
“What?”I say in my usual greeting to my brother.
“Just because it’s a club doesn’t mean you have to drink,” Gavin says, bypassing any form of a greeting. “Or at least be discreet about it. And because I know you don’t know the meaning of the word, I’ll tell you. It’s to do something quietly without drawing attention to yourself. Oh, wait, you don’t know what that means either.”
The eye roll comes at once. “Okay,Mom.” Which is kind of a funny thing to say, considering our mom doesn’t get involved in my influencer business. In fact, she hasn’t had an opinion about my life for as long as I can remember.
“Don’t you take anything seriously?” Gavin sighs loudly into the phone. “You’re going to have to grow up one day, and I’m not always going to clean up your messes.”
