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swear she was at least twenty. And because we talk about fashion most of the time, I tend to forget.
    Mind you, I’m only fourteen and I’d swear I was twenty sometimes. And Edie must be at least fifty in her head.

    In the evening, Harry’s phone rings at dinner. It’s a text from Moaning Zoe. He starts reading it with his normal, gentle expression, but soon his smile fades and he looks, for Harry, pretty grumpy.
    “Is she OK?” I ask.
    “She heard from a friend that Skye was here. She wants to know why.”
    “Goodness! News travels fast.”
    “I’m not sure I like being spied on,” Harry says, running a hand distractedly through his hair.
    “But she’ll be OK when you explain,” I suggest.
    “Yeah, probably.”
    That’s what he says, but he doesn’t look too sure.

Chapter 8
    N ext day, Harry agrees to come with Edie and me to the movies to see Kid Code , which Jenny would only let us do when she was safely out of the country. We invite Crow, but she’s already had her first consignment of silk from Skye and she’s too busy inspecting it and deciding out what to do with it. No sign of Moaning Zoe. Harry says she’s busy preparing for her own degree show, but you have to wonder.
    Kid Code is as good as the critics say. With that cast, the producers could have got away with a tired old formula blockbuster, but actually it’s really funny and so exciting that Edie nearly chokes on her popcorn at one point. No wonder the audiences are pouring in. Hollywood’s Sexiest Couple Alive give the best performances we’ve seen them do, and Joe Yule is POSITIVELY EDIBLE.
    The only iffy bits are when he’s with his rather wooden sister. Poor Jenny. You can see the sheer terrorin her eyes whenever the camera is on her. Even Joe’s English accent seems better than hers after a while, and he’s from Nevada.
    And, golly, those eyes of his. I have a feeling I may need to see the movie again soon, to appreciate the full depth of his performance—obviously.
    Over the last few days, the glossy celebrity magazines have been hitting the shelves with full-page spreads about the London premiere. I buy every one. They all agree that the movie is good, but their real focus is on the red carpet and what everyone is wearing. HSCA, in their matching Armani, are sparkling. Every possible opportunity is taken to ogle them from every angle. Joe Yule, playing it cool in his Zac Posen jacket and tie to match his eyes, is perfect in every way.
    Jenny features heavily, too. Most magazines have found space for an article about her father, the multiple wives, and news of Jenny’s struggle with zits and boobs. Each one is illustrated with the cherry tomato. Somehow the pictures and the articles seem to suit each other perfectly, as if she had deliberately chosen the dress to highlight the plight of the chubby, miserable teenager. She makes it into the “hit and miss” pages, too, where she is an outright car crash in every one. And this week she’s up against a pregnant glamour girl inhead-to-toe leopard skin and a pop star in a yellow Lurex micromini and Uggs.
    It’s different when it’s someone you know on those pages. I feel so guilty buying the magazines, but sadly it doesn’t stop me. The images seem to be everywhere. Even Mum, who normally sticks to Vogue and Art Monthly , notices. She doesn’t usually pay much attention to my friends, but she likes Jenny. She saw her in Annie at school and thought she was incredible.
    “What that girl needs,” Mum says, “is corsetry.”
    What that girl needs , I think, is therapy .

    The New York premiere of Kid Code is shown live on an entertainment channel on cable. I have to stay up late to catch it, accompanied by Harry (still no Zoe), Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream, and chocolate-chip cookies. (It drives Jenny potty that I can eat anything and always remain extremely skinny, but my metabolism is the one useful thing I’ve inherited from Mum.)
    The hosts are already raving