“Of course we’re willing,” Juliet said, still reeling from the respect in Luca’s voice. “I’m sure we could convince Scout.”
“Hold your horses.” Cybele crossed her arms. “I’m not saying I like Gabriel Knox any better than the next girl, but you seem to be planning a war. Why should we sign up to march on the front lines? In case you haven’t heard, we’re already in enough trouble.”
Luca studied them for a moment. “I’ll tell you something I don’t tell most people,” she said quietly. “A lot of the women who join the Green Lions come to me drowning in guilt over who they’ve been in the past. They’re haunted by women they’ve let down, friends they didn’t watch out for, sisters and mothers and aunts who suffered, and they didn’t do enough. But they’re awake now. They want to make amends.”
The pull of Luca’s gaze was magnetic. “I have this theory: Women are experiencing a period of sped-up evolution. Scientists call it epigenetics, phases of fast transformation, when an entire subset of a species mutates quickly to respond to the demands of their environment. Women are starting to understand that things aren’t just going to magically work out for us—we’re not just going to eternally move forward on the timeline of progress. We need to become something different if we’re going to survive the coming world—the political division, the environmental damage, the social upheaval.Men aren’t evolving at the same rate. They simply don’t have to; it’s not being demanded of them.”
Luca took a step closer, and Juliet’s heart beat harder. “You ask me why you should sacrifice, be on the front lines,” Luca said. “But let me askyoua question. What kind of women have you been all your lives? Is there anything you need to repent for?”
Chapter 29Isabel, the Rising Star
TEN YEARS EARLIER, WESTWOOD
“Mallory Martin is a self-obsessedslut.” Emmy burst through the door to the women’s restroom, Dakota hot on her heels. “She thinks she’s God’s gift just because her parents are famous.”
Scout, Georgia, and I were perched atop the restroom counter, vigorously scrubbing the black X’s off the backs of our hands. Scout and I raised our eyebrows at each other. Great. The wonder twins were here.
“Mallory Martin, as in the daughter of Hardy and Marion Martin?” I squirted more soap on the stubborn Sharpie marks. “The next-generation Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman?”
“Who cares who her parents are?” Dakota blew her dark bangs off her forehead. It was an unprecedented display of emotion from Alden’s little sister, who normally tried to pretend she was supremely disinterested. “All the girls at Archer are bullies.”
High school drama, Georgia mouthed, and I coughed a laugh.
“Is Mallory the girl who wouldn’t let you into her VIP section?” Scout asked innocently. I rolled my eyes at her. What a shit-stirrer. “I thought you said she was your friend.”
Her missile hit its target. Emmy bristled. “We don’t want to sit at her stupid table anyway. She’s making out with Scott Tate just for the attention. Everyone’s knows he’s gay and won’t come out of the closet ’cause he thinks it’ll hurt his music career.”
“She has paparazzi waiting for her outside,” Dakota added bitterly. “You know she’s going to act all surprised, but her momcalledthem.” She sidled up to one of the sinks and examined her reflection.“My dad says her Q scores are terrible, but her parents are desperate to make her a star.”
Scout gave Georgia a weighted look. “You really had to drag Alden and Co. with you to the bar?” she whispered.
Georgia sighed. “He looked lonely.” She spoke under her breath, her words masked by running water from the sink. “I couldn’t leave him in the dorm.”
I glanced at Emmy and Dakota, who were now pursing their lips in the mirror. “And he insisted on bringingthem?”
“He loves his sister,” Georgia said.
“Hard to imagine,” Scout muttered, then hopped off the sink. “Anyway,” she said, lifting her voice for Emmy and Dakota’s benefit. “What are high school kids even doing in a bar? I thought this place was supposed to be the new hot spot for industry people.”
We’d come out tonight to celebrate booking our first jobs—but if you toasted your TV gig with no out-of-work actors to overhear and feel jealous, did it really even count?
“Itisthe new hot spot.” Dakota snorted, still staring at the mirror. “The industry people in question just happen to be the offspring of the world’s biggest stars. No bar owner in the city cares that they’re in high school.”
“Are you serious?” Scout groaned. “I spent fifty dollars on a cab ride for this?”
Emmy pulled an antique-looking silver hairbrush out of her purse and began to run it through her hair.
“What the hell?” Dakota spun to her. “You stole my brush.”
Emmy shrugged. “You weren’t using it.” She held it up to the light. “This was Marilyn Monroe’s hairbrush. It was in her room the night she died. Dakota’s dad bought it for her off some website.”
Dakota lunged and snatched the brush. “I can’t believe you took it.”
Emmy leaned closer to the mirror. “You said owning celebrity memorabilia is stupid. How was I supposed to know you actually wanted it?”
“What website?” Georgia asked, shaking water off her hands.
“Some site that sells, like, stolen stuff from celebs.” Emmy giggled. “There’s a pair of Mallory’s mom’s underwear on there. Used.”
