much for, you know the Rockin’ Republicans? You can wear them with the white ribbed tank top, under that kind of billowy, gauzy, blue tunic top, and those three-inch cork wedge heels that you also overspent on.”
I just stand there and stare at her, wondering when she became Rachel Zoe. “It’s Rock & Republic, you big dork,” I finally say, even though she’s just given me the perfect solution.
I mean, hello? Mix ‘n’ match, why couldn’t I see that?
But she just smiles. “I was making a joke,” she says, apparently so accustomed to my bad attitude that she’s able to ignoreit now. Which, I gotta admit, makes me feel so bad about being such a mean, older sister, that I make a real effort to soften my tone and ask her about school, while I change into her suggested outfit.
“School is awesome.” She shrugs, continuing her sketch.
“Any cute guys?” I glance at her.
But she just laughs and makes a face. “Crosby told Marc to ask Sage to ask me if I liked him. But I said no.”
I button my jeans and stare at her.
This is freaking unbelievable!
“You don’t mean Crosby Davis? Cash Davis’s little hottie brother?” I ask.
But she just nods.
“Why don’t you like him?” I ask.
“He’s not my type. Besides, I don’t want to get all tied down.” She laughs.
“Not your type?” I gape at her. I mean, how can she be serious? He’s like a Cash Mini-Me!
“He doesn’t even know who Jimi Hendrix is!” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Um, Autumn, I hate to break it to ya, but Mom has turned you into a freak, because most kids don’t know who Jimi Hendix is,” I inform her, as I slip my feet into my shoes.
But she just shrugs. “Their loss.”
I just stand there, staring at her in shock. I mean, the hottest sixth grader in Laguna Beach likes my art-fart baby sister, and she rejects him because he doesn’t worship a guy who’s famous for playing the national anthem—on his electric guitar—
with his teeth!
I shake my head, grab my bag, and head out the door. I swear, life is so freaking unfair.
Since I’m the first to get to Dietrich’s I just go ahead and order our usual, two coffees and a chocolate chip scone, then I carry it over to our usual table.
”Hey!” Sloane, says, rushing through the door. But this time, Claire is trailing right behind her.
“Oh, sorry, I only got two coffees, I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, smiling even wider for Claire’s benefit and shrugging apologetically.
But she just shakes her head and waves it away. And then, gaping at my scone with her eyes practically bugged-out of their sockets, she goes, “Omigod! Don’t tell me you’re really gonna eat all that? That’s like a trillion calories, not to mention all the fat grams and carbs!”
I gaze down at my scone, curious to see if maybe it’s tripled in size since I last looked at it, but it looks pretty much the same to me. Then I glance at Claire’s face, noticing how it’s all scrunched up and judgmental, like she just smelled something truly awful and suspects I’m to blame. “Well, usually Sloane and I split it,” I finally say, feeling totally ridiculous for having to defend my breakfast.
Claire gapes at Sloane, while Sloane rolls her eyes at me, and goes, “Please. I’m
so
off the carbs. One more bite of anything and I’ll totally explode out of these jeans!”
I look at Sloane, watching as she pats her perfectly flat belly, feeling pretty awful and depressed to hear her say something as stupid as that. Because the truth is she looks amazing in her stovepipe Earnest Sewn jeans, striped T-shirt, and little ballet flats. I mean, she looks just like that picture of Sienna Miller she ripped out of
InStyle
and hung on her wall. And even though I know how a lot of girls like to whine about imaginary cellulite and pockets of fat that don’t even exist, seeing Sloane acting like that is really starting to freak me out.
It’s also making me wonder if maybe I
I just stand there and stare at her, wondering when she became Rachel Zoe. “It’s Rock & Republic, you big dork,” I finally say, even though she’s just given me the perfect solution.
I mean, hello? Mix ‘n’ match, why couldn’t I see that?
But she just smiles. “I was making a joke,” she says, apparently so accustomed to my bad attitude that she’s able to ignoreit now. Which, I gotta admit, makes me feel so bad about being such a mean, older sister, that I make a real effort to soften my tone and ask her about school, while I change into her suggested outfit.
“School is awesome.” She shrugs, continuing her sketch.
“Any cute guys?” I glance at her.
But she just laughs and makes a face. “Crosby told Marc to ask Sage to ask me if I liked him. But I said no.”
I button my jeans and stare at her.
This is freaking unbelievable!
“You don’t mean Crosby Davis? Cash Davis’s little hottie brother?” I ask.
But she just nods.
“Why don’t you like him?” I ask.
“He’s not my type. Besides, I don’t want to get all tied down.” She laughs.
“Not your type?” I gape at her. I mean, how can she be serious? He’s like a Cash Mini-Me!
“He doesn’t even know who Jimi Hendrix is!” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Um, Autumn, I hate to break it to ya, but Mom has turned you into a freak, because most kids don’t know who Jimi Hendix is,” I inform her, as I slip my feet into my shoes.
But she just shrugs. “Their loss.”
I just stand there, staring at her in shock. I mean, the hottest sixth grader in Laguna Beach likes my art-fart baby sister, and she rejects him because he doesn’t worship a guy who’s famous for playing the national anthem—on his electric guitar—
with his teeth!
I shake my head, grab my bag, and head out the door. I swear, life is so freaking unfair.
Since I’m the first to get to Dietrich’s I just go ahead and order our usual, two coffees and a chocolate chip scone, then I carry it over to our usual table.
”Hey!” Sloane, says, rushing through the door. But this time, Claire is trailing right behind her.
“Oh, sorry, I only got two coffees, I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, smiling even wider for Claire’s benefit and shrugging apologetically.
But she just shakes her head and waves it away. And then, gaping at my scone with her eyes practically bugged-out of their sockets, she goes, “Omigod! Don’t tell me you’re really gonna eat all that? That’s like a trillion calories, not to mention all the fat grams and carbs!”
I gaze down at my scone, curious to see if maybe it’s tripled in size since I last looked at it, but it looks pretty much the same to me. Then I glance at Claire’s face, noticing how it’s all scrunched up and judgmental, like she just smelled something truly awful and suspects I’m to blame. “Well, usually Sloane and I split it,” I finally say, feeling totally ridiculous for having to defend my breakfast.
Claire gapes at Sloane, while Sloane rolls her eyes at me, and goes, “Please. I’m
so
off the carbs. One more bite of anything and I’ll totally explode out of these jeans!”
I look at Sloane, watching as she pats her perfectly flat belly, feeling pretty awful and depressed to hear her say something as stupid as that. Because the truth is she looks amazing in her stovepipe Earnest Sewn jeans, striped T-shirt, and little ballet flats. I mean, she looks just like that picture of Sienna Miller she ripped out of
InStyle
and hung on her wall. And even though I know how a lot of girls like to whine about imaginary cellulite and pockets of fat that don’t even exist, seeing Sloane acting like that is really starting to freak me out.
It’s also making me wonder if maybe I
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