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should—”
    “No,
I
should,” Anna insisted. “It’s a co-project, remember?”
    “
Fine
,” Sam acquiesced, though she was not happy about it. She checked her new Cartier Tank watch. “Damn, I’m late to meet Cammie. Listen, meet me after school at the Beverly Hills Hotel and we can plan the whole thing.”
    “Why the Beverly Hi—”
    “Convenient, cool, beats Starbucks. Gotta run. Catch you later.”
    Sam took off, her mind buzzing. She was used to giving directions, not taking them. On the other hand, she kind of liked that Anna Percy was no pushover. One could say, Sam found it very … attractive.

Screw Hazelden
    “H i, Sam,” the Angelina Jolie look-alike waitress said as she reached behind her head and pulled a pen out of her ponytail.
    “The usual?”
    “Yeah. Thanks, Madeline. Anna?”
    “Espresso would be great,” Anna said.
    The girls were seated in the Polo Lounge, the outdoor café at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Surrounded by a spectacular array of palm trees and flowers in brilliant shades of pink and rose, Anna was reminded of the afternoon teas she’d once had there with her grandparents when she was little.
    Though it was early January, all Anna needed to wear over her T-shirt was a denim jacket. Sam leaned her elbows on the table. One of her hands came to rest atop Anna’s. “So, I’ve been thinking about how perfect it is for us to do this project together. It’s like you’re Daisy and I’m Jay.”
    Anna tried to figure out what Sam could possibly mean by that remark. In
The Great Gatsby
, Jay Gatsby had a massive crush on the wealthy Daisy Buchanan. He became wealthy himself. But somehow his “new” money wasn’t considered as good as her “old” money. Though Jay did everything he could, he never quite convinced Daisy—or himself—that he was good enough for her.
    What was Sam implying? Was it about money? Class? Or something else?
    No. It couldn’t be romance. Sam was straight.
    But. Just in case. Anna dead-eyed Sam’s hand over her own. “Care to explain?” she asked, casually with-drawing her hand.
    “Just kidding. I’m thinking when we get to V’s, we should suss out the social-climbing nouveau faction and ask them if they want to be in a movie. People always say yes, especially when they realize who I am.”
    “What if they can’t act?” Anna asked. “Someone has to do the dialogue that I’m going to write.”
    Sam waved dismissively. “Think of the guests as wallpaper. We’ll definitely have your basic filthy-rich snooty types from back east. You might even know some of them. Any luck, some filthy-rich guy who made his money in Internet porn will be visiting from Texas. That’ll add some, ahem, color. Cut and paste, mix and match, splice them in around the script, and voila: we’ve got a visual commentary on the modern American aristocracy that would make F. Scott proud. So, what about your script?”
    “What about it?” Anna said, hoping she sounded confident.
    “You’ve thought about it?”
    “Sure,” Anna improvised. That was true. She
had
thought about it. She just hadn’t come to any conclusions.
    “Main characters, at least?” Sam prompted.
    “A Gatsby type, of course. And … a Daisy type. And probably another girl.” Anna was making it up as she went along. “Maybe Parker Pinelli could play Gatsby?” She’d met Parker at the wedding, too. He was a stunningly handsome BHH senior who allegedly was an actor.
    “Why, are you interested in Parker now?” Sam asked.
    Anna noticed a sharpness to Sam’s tone. “Not at all. But he can act, right?”
    “Using the term loosely,” Sam allowed. “Yeah, he’ll do in a heartbeat. We’ll get his brother, Monty, to help out, too. I’ll give some thought to the Daisy character and get back to you. Unless you want to be Daisy.”
    “
Definitely
not. And there’s only one other casting absolute: No Cammie Sheppard.”
    “You have my word,” Sam said with a chuckle. Anna wasn’t sure what