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By Meg Cabot
EM WATTS IS GONE.
Emerson Watts didn’t even are looking to visit the hot SoHo Stark Megastore grand beginning. yet an individual had to glance out for her sister, Frida, whose overwhelm, British heartthrob Gabriel Luna, will be making a song and signing autographs there—along with the newly appointed Face of Stark, youngster twiglet sensation Nikki Howard.
How was once Em to understand that catastrophe may strike, altering her,and existence as she’d identified it, ceaselessly?
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Gabriel asked in his gorgeous English accent. ’ Oh God. He was talking to me. He was talking to me. What should I say? Why was this happening? Where was Frida? Where the frack was FRIDA? ’ Gabriel smiled some more. ’ ‘Um,’ I said. Oh God. What was wrong with me? Normally I had no problem talking to cute boys. Because normally, all the cute boys I met – Christopher excepted of course – were sexist creeps who needed to be taken down a peg or two. They weren’t sweet British hotties with a voice like an angel and blue eyes that seemed to pierce my soul.
And I don’t see how you can even call yourself a feminist, Em,’ Frida went on, oblivious, ‘when you are so totally mean about a member of your own sex. ’ Except that I could see with my own eyes that Nikki was very far from being just a girl – let alone a girl like I am. For one thing, she was about a foot taller (thanks to a pair of five-inch heels, but even without them, she had to have been about five foot ten), and about half as wide as me. Seriously. Two of her would have fitted into my jeans.
I told my mother I’d rather stay home and read. Which is one of the good things about having parents who are academics. They know how you feel. Because the truth is, they’d always rather stay home and read too. Christopher was different, though. From the day almost eight years ago that I saw him hanging out with the moving van that was delivering all his stuff to our building, I knew we were going to get along. And OK, mostly because I peeked into the box marked Chris’s Video Games as it sat next to the freight elevator, and saw that we liked all the same role-playing games.
Airhead by Meg Cabot