By Meg Cabot
EM WATTS IS GONE.
Emerson Watts didn’t even are looking to visit the hot SoHo Stark Megastore grand starting. yet a person had to glance out for her sister, Frida, whose weigh down, 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 grasp that catastrophe might strike, altering her,and existence as she’d identified it, ceaselessly?
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Extra resources for Airhead
And OK, I’ll admit, Frida wasn’t the only one who might have swooned a little. I had a hard time reminding myself that I’m not a teeny-bopper any more . . even though I might have been attending an actual teeny-bopperfest. At least until it came time to get in line to get Frida’s CD signed. That’s when reality came crashing back, as we found ourselves surrounded by a mob of thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls, all wearing sparkly low-rise jeans exactly like Frida’s, and all clutching slips of paper on which they’d written the name to whom they wanted Gabriel to personalize their CD .
Of course I remember you,’ I lied. ‘That’s good to know,’ Gabriel said, smiling again.
Or anybody else, for that matter. I blame my dad. He’s the one who gave me a boy’s name to begin with, since he’d been so sure I was going to be one – despite what the ultrasound had shown – because I kicked my mom so much while I was in the womb. Dad insisted on naming me after his favourite poet, which is what you get when your father teaches university-level English literature. I guess my mom was still high off her epidural or something, because she totally let him, even after the ultrasound turned out to be right.
Airhead by Meg Cabot