When the notebook containing their deepest, darkest secrets is stolen, two former best friends must unite, despite crushing on the same heart-stopping boy.
*****
Best friends, Al...
I'm sorry I can't help you get ready for your date with Hugo. Sloane and Bri surprised me with Shawn Mendes tickets, and I've been DYING to see him in concert. Let me know if you need to borrow my clothes or curling iron or anything. My closet is your closet. Have fun on your date and be sure to write down everything (well, not everything—he is my brother after all), so I can read on Monday. Hugo can be so stingy with details. -Georgie aka Alexx
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Alex should have been disappointed, and a bit annoyed that her best friend couldn't make it, but in reality, she was relieved. If Alexx had come tonight, she would have been peppered her with questions about Keya and the drama club, and frankly, Alex didn't want to go there. Even thinking about it made her groan in frustration.
The club was made up of Playhouse rejects or naive first-year students Keya had duped into joining. Turns out when Keya said "they" had made it happen, she really meant herself. She spearheaded the whole thing along with her best friend, Cleo.
It was clear Cleo wasn't sold on Alex. As soon as Alex walked through the doors, Cleo eyed her like a wolf hunting its prey.
"If you're here to spy on us for Alexx then you can get the hell out," Cleo ordered in a nasal voice that went against her girl-next-door looks. Her mouth, wide like Julia Roberts, was set in a severe frown.
"Cleo," Keya admonished in a low tone. "You know she's here to help. Not spy."
Cleo tipped back in her chair, arms folded. "Seems suspicious that she'd help her best friend's enemy."
"Keya approached me. Not the other way around," Alex pointed out. She could feel eyes on her. Accessing. Judging. But she refused to squirm.
Cleo tugged on the ends of her chestnut hair, which was pulled back into a tight ponytail, highlighting her full cheeks and hazel eyes. "Whatever. Just do your job, and we won't have any problems."
"Cleo's our stage manager," Keya told her.
Great. If Alex wanted to get trampled on, she would have stayed with Wendy.
As Keya introduced her to everyone, Alex silently sized them up, roughly calculating the amount of fabric she required for each person. She was so busy working the numbers, she didn't realize the room had gone silent.
Keya motioned for her to speak. "Introduce yourself," she mouthed.
"Um, hi." She gave a small wave, feeling her shoulders close in on themselves as they gave her blank looks. "I'm Alex, and I'm a sophomore. I'll be the one making your costumes."
No one seemed impressed, which made her question her decision for the hundredth time. What the heck was she doing here?
She searched for a teacher or an adult, but the room was empty. "Shouldn't there be a supervisor?" All school clubs needed one.
Keya gave an indifferent wave. "Mrs. Piccola is around here somewhere."
"Probably passed out in her car with her nose in the bottle," murmured one of the boys in the back. She could see the grease glistening in his unwashed hair. Freshman. Still hadn't learned the art of cleanliness.
