UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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Joanna cut the line and I followed, too out of sorts to think about anything except Audrey. We paid for matching tofu scrambles and cut through the students hovering around the new Public Corporation vending machines. The first one sold tech gadgets for cash at 10 percent off. The second one streamed music videos and concerts, and you could plug in your buyPhone to download songs. Built-in screens on top of the vending machines lit up with BREAKING NEWS banners. The image faded, replaced by a shot of Times Square in New York City. A skyscraper emblazoned with a Coca-Cola ad reached toward the heavens. Billboards advertising Broadway musicals curved around buildings.
Joanna and I ignored the screens and made our way through the cafeteria. I tried not to get upset when I saw Xander sitting near the Dumpster at a table with Mindy and Audrey’s crew. Audrey and her boyfriend, Aidan, stared at Audrey’s Infinitum laptop. Audrey wouldn’t be caught dead with a Public computer—she only used products made by their biggest rival.
Aidan was a shy kind of cute—hands shoved in his pockets, tall and blue-eyed with a mop of black hair. Not my type, but perfect for Audrey. And he was nice to her. I kept an eye on them from a distance, and I could just tell.
Audrey’s cousin Lindsay sat next to them with her computer-nerd boyfriend, Nigit. Nigit and I used to be friends growing up, but then our dads had a big blowout fight, and I think that’s when he started hating me. And now I was having some kind of weird second-semester-senior-year melancholy that was making me wish more than ever that we could somehow erase every bad thing that had happened between us and start over. But I certainly couldn’t be the one to initiate it: None of them would ever trust me.
I watched as Lindsay and Nigit craned to see Audrey’s computer. The glow made Nigit’s smooth brown skin look golden. Xander and Mindy stared at each other like they were the only ones in the cafeteria.
“Happy birthday, Blake,” Woody Ames said from his seat at the end of our lunch table. Woody is the co-captain of the lacrosse team (and taker of my virginity), and he usually sat with us when he wasn’t actively trying to sleep with someone new.
I smiled at him. “Thanks, Woody,” I said. His brown hair matched his eyes and sweater. All that brown, plus his too-long canines, reminded me of a fox.
“We have something amazing planned for you tonight,” Jolene said from her spot across from Woody. Her blue eyes matched Joanna’s; so did her honey-blond highlights. Jolene was one year younger than us, but the two of them could pass for twins.
“So how does eighteen look on me?” I asked, craving a compliment. I needed to stay afloat today.
“Gorgeous, as usual,” Woody said with a smirk. Jolene nodded her agreement.
I slid into a seat next to Woody and watched him power on his laptop. I wanted to ask him about Xander and Mindy, but there was no point. He’d never tell me anything. “So who has a guess about what the app is?” I asked, pulling my tablet from my satchel. Tiny blue hearts from my sister’s old sticker collection lined its white edge.
“Something life changing,” Woody said sarcastically. He cared about apps about as much as I did. As he yanked his sweater over his head, his fluffy hair shot up with static. He pulled up a sports site and checked scores.
“Do you really not know anything about it?” Jolene asked me, arching an eyebrow.
I didn’t, but I gave them a half-smile like maybe I did. My dad had been in business with Public since grad school at MIT. He was one of Public’s biggest investors right from the start—it was how he made his fortune—and he and Public CEO Alec Pierce were thick as thieves.
I pushed a smooth round button. An ivory glow warmed the screen as my tablet came to life. I tapped the Public Party Network icon.
Hello, Blake Andrea Dawkins. Ready to start the party? Enter Your Password.
I typed nicoledawkins. My sister and I always used each other’s names for passwords. I wondered if I was still hers.
Welcome, Blake Andrea. Happy birthday from your friends at Public! You have three messages.
Only three?
I scrolled through the messages from Xander, Joanna, and Jolene. Then I checked my phone. Nic still hadn’t called or even texted. Things hadn’t been okay between us for a long time, but she still usually called to wish me a happy birthday.
“Are you seeing this?” Jolene asked, her pink fingernail tapping her tablet’s screen. Joanna glanced over her sister’s shoulder. Woody ate his salami sandwich and half-watched a pretty sophomore who wasn’t supposed to be in our upperclassman cafeteria. I saw Jolene track the path of his stare and wished that just once she’d confide one of her secret crushes to me. When Audrey and I were best friends, there was nothing we kept from each other.
My tablet let out a series of beeps, and an alert flashed across the Public Party homepage. BREAKING NEWS. I clicked on the banner and the screen showed Times Square again. A mob of girls screamed like banshees around the rectangular stage. Everyone else in the cafeteria must’ve been watching, too: Audio echoed across the lunchroom until the screaming sounded like it was coming from us.
I glanced back to the screen. The screaming girls’ faces lifted to the sky, and they pointed and waved as their screams were drowned by a snarling motor. It got louder and louder until no one in the cafeteria was talking anymore. We were all staring at our laptops and tablets blasting the video, while the lunch ladies looked at us like we’d gone insane.
On-screen, leaves and debris flew from the stage into the audience. The legs of a helicopter came into view, followed by its hulking body. It trembled and teetered, then lowered slowly and touched down onto the stage. The Public logo blazed in orange letters on the tail. The door opened and a guy swung his legs over the side of the chopper and jumped onto the stage. He was holding the sides of his helmet with small, tan hands. Jolene and I caught each other’s glance over our tablets. “WTF?” Jolene mouthed. I shrugged and looked back at my screen as the guy yanked off his helmet.
Pop star and Public spokesperson Danny Beaton’s cherubic face emerged from beneath the helmet and the crowd went nuts. The screaming wasn’t audible anymore over the helicopter, but you could tell it was going on because the screaming girls’ mouths were open and their neck muscles were strained. Except for the girl who had passed out. Someone was fanning her and trying to get her to drink from a plastic cup. Danny Beaton held his helmet beneath his arm and saluted the pilot. The pilot saluted back. Then the chopper lifted from the stage and took off into the sky. It looked a little wobbly again as it veered around a massive clock tower.
A few kids looked over at me to see my reaction—like maybe I knew what was going on. I sat there smiling at my tablet because I was supposed to be in favor of everything Public did. My dad liked to remind me that Public stock paid for my entire life, including my upcoming four years at Notre Dame. My grades aren’t good enough to get any kind of scholarship—not even close. Audrey used to say that I was one of the smartest people she knew. But I just freeze up when it comes time to take tests—I can’t help it. It’s like every one of them is another trap, another reason for my father to seem disappointed and my mother to look smug, like she knew all along that I wasn’t as great as my father used to think I was. The only tests I do well on are the oral ones. And how often do we have those? Like, never.
I only got in to Notre Dame because of my dad, and sometimes I think he’s happy about that. It’s like his power over me or something, his way of making sure I need him. I got into Notre Dame Early Action. (So did Audrey). I didn’t even apply to any other schools because I wanted to spare myself the humiliation of getting rejected.
Nic got into Notre Dame all by herself. She’s pretty and smart, like Audrey. I shuddered to think how smart the kids would be at Notre Dame. But I would figure out my plan once I got there. I would survive college just like I did high school. I had to.
Goth Girl Greta Fleming yelled from a few tables over, “Public consumerism funds global warming!”
“Your face funds global warming!” Joanna shouted back. But everyone was too busy watching the Public show to pay them any attention. Danny Beaton strode across my tablet’s screen, taking his place center stage. His hair-sprayed fauxhawk was crunched down from the helmet. The motoring sound had receded and the screams were back. Peppy music trumpeted behind him as he tapped his thigh with a white microphone. A sexy lady dressed in a low-cut suit paraded toward him holding a briefcase.
“The moment you’ve all been waiting for is here,” Danny said into the microphone. He gave the woman a not-so-subtle once-over, and she blushed.
Danny Beaton was supposed to be the hottest thing for preteens and teenage girls. The sixteen-year-old pop star was cute, but he didn’t do it for me, not since I was twelve and already taller than him.
Danny opened the briefcase and stared at the contents like he was seeing them for the first time. The camera cut to show the interior: plush velvet cradled a buyPhone with a glittery gold case. The glowing screen displayed a black app with simple pink lettering: THE PRETTY APP.
Gold and pink streamers fluttered in front of the camera and the live audience went wild. I’d never seen something like this for an app release—not even by Public. Danny Beaton screamed over the audience. “On behalf of Public Corporation, I’d like to announce the Pretty App!”
I looked up from my screen at the rest of the cafeteria. Kids were either absorbed in the broadcast or reaching for their phones. I glanced quickly at Audrey. She wasn’t smiling like everyone else. Her lips made a thin, straight line, and her green eyes were distant, almost like she was watching something else.
“Check this out,” Joanna said, her fingers flying over her phone.
Xander caught my eye from his spot next to Mindy. I knew he was wondering if I’d known about this. I shook my head to tell him I hadn’t.
Joanna tilted her phone so we could all see. Her screen flashed black with the same simple pink lettering.
Welcome to the Pretty App, the one and only app that finds America’s prettiest teens and rewards them with fame, prizes, and a nationally recognized title.
An app that found America’s prettiest teens? Like some kind of modeling scout thing? Fame? Prizes? What was this?
To begin, upload one cover photo and at least three gallery photos. Your photos must meet the following requirements:
1) A photo taken head-on of your full body
2) A photo taken of your full body in profile
3) A photo of your face
4) A photo of your face in profile
Crowd-source with the Pretty App’s users for tips and secrets to become your prettiest self. Add the Pretty App’s exclusive filters to make yourself look even better. Hashtag your city, state, and high school, and upload your photos. Know someone who’s too shy to submit herself? Just snap the requisite photos of her and fill out the required details: Name, Age, Grade, High School*.
*The Pretty App is only for female students 16+ officially enrolled in high school in the United States of America. All others will be disqualified from use.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t an app about prettiness. I cranked the volume on my tablet to hear Danny Beaton droning away. “You—yes, you!—can be a part of the newest, hottest, most exciting app! The Public Pretty App is unlike any other.” Static hit Danny’s microphone and drowned his words. “A national beauty contest revealed in stages . . .” Crackle. “Stage One available today.” Crackle. Crackle. The static stopped and the camera pulled back to show the number 1 painted in yellow on the front of Danny’s portable stage. Music blared over the sound system and Danny started singing.
“A queen pricks her finger on the thorn of a rose
Three drops of blood on the morning snow fall
Magic Mirror on the wall
Who’s the prettiest one of all?”
My heart raced, because the answer had to be me: it was the one thing that made me special.
“This app is just a beauty contest,” I heard Audrey say. “Aren’t we beyond that?”
Danny fixed the camera with his trademark steamy stare. Then he said: “Stage One: Download the Pretty App and upload your photos.” He ran a hand through his light brown fauxhawk. “The Pretty App will upgrade itself to the next stage in two days.” The screen went dark as he uttered his final words.
“Be ready.”