Chapter 2
Maddy
“Any dark hair showing?” I ask as I yank the short skirt of my dress down an inch.
“One little piece,” Leah says. “May I?”
I thank her profusely for fixing my hair and she asks, “This party, you only have to stay an hour or two, unless you’re having fun. Then it ends at?”
“I have a feeling I’m going to be ready by eleven, midnight at the latest … can I text you when I’m doing my goodbyes?”
“Sure, I’ll be close by. Oh, and Maddy?”
I turn to her, already up the first step, “Yeah?”
“Try not to have as much fun as your sister when she was eighteen. I don’t feel like driving you to Malibu tomorrow!”
I groan and roll my eyes with a smirk and a shake of my head before waving and sending her into the night. The mention of where my older sister and brother spent multiple stints in rehab doesn’t strike fear in my heart. Baby Morningstar can do no wrong.
After a few steps, I pause to look up at the giant terracotta mansion surrounded by red roses.
How fitting. I tug on my dress again. Why do Alice costumes have to be so skanky?
I suddenly hear my sister Lola’s voice in my head.
You’re never going to look as hot as you do right now, don’t waste it being self-conscious and insecure!
I take a few more steps and remind myself that when I was heading out of the house earlier, my brother Jude’s friend whipped his head so hard to do a double take at me in my costume that he tripped and fell down the stairs. If that’s not a reason to feel secure, then I don’t know what is.
A handsome staff member in a black suit and very Phantom looking mask meets me at the top step and offers me his elbow.
I accept, and he walks me into the mansion, my heels clacking against the hardwood.
I’m welcomed to the exclusive Halloween soiree only for those who will be featured in and on the cover of Seventeen’s Top 25 under 25 issue, and yes, I squealed when I found out they wanted me.
The teen mag had been refreshed and revived with a huge online presence, and I’m a sucker for anything popular in the 90s …
because it’s pretty unfair that I missed them.
I know this is basically a staged party, and the first two hours will be a moving photoshoot around the picture-perfect property.
But when that’s over, we’ll see if people actually want to stay and have fun.
Truth is, I’m always on set and could really use some.
The magazine staff starts fawning over my arrival and I give them a cute little curtsey.
“Oh! Alice! Perfect, wait till you see, you’ve got someone especially mad waiting for you in the dining room.
Come, Matilda!” The magazine’s editor, Sasha Sloane, greets me with a welcoming smile.
I remind her sweetly that I go by Maddy and follow her around a dimly lit corridor.
My breath hitches as we move through the house that looks like Vincent Price himself rose from the dead just to decorate.
If you're wondering how I even know that reference, you clearly haven't met the old goths I live with.
But you will. There are crystal chandeliers dripping with black jewels and spider webs so realistic I get a little chill down my spine. This is so my kind of thing.
“I’m so excited, all twenty-five of you are here! Your first time meeting each other!” I knew Sasha wanted us to get comfy, meet and hopefully have chemistry before our big cover shoot and interviews next week. “How are you feeling, nervous?”
“Just excited,” I lie as my stomach does a mini somersault.
We make it to the dining room as it explodes with shrieks of glee and laughter.
The table is long enough to fit all twenty-five of us, but only twenty-three are sitting.
The twenty-fourth is on the table, hopping and tiptoeing over teacups and teacakes on the black lace tablecloth.
He is holding a teapot and pouring little streams of brown liquid into the teacups of the other young actors, musicians, athletes, artists, authors, and models scattered around the table.
I watch supermodel-in-training Alessandra Olina sip from her cup, sputtering and coughing, confirming the Mad Hatter picked whiskey over tea when filling his pot.
Sasha announces me to the room and I’m received with welcoming shouts and hellos over the spectacle on top of the table.
“Of course, that’s what my mad tea party is missing! Alice, my dear, join me!”
I don’t have a second to decide; this mad boy in the brown suit and top hat with 10/6 on it is pulling me up on the table with him.
His hand is on the small of my back, steadying me as he looks into my hazel eyes with his sea glass green ones, rimmed with thick black liner.
That, his big mouth, plush pouty lips, and black hair dyed a crazy orange shade, sticking out in a wild mess from under his hat, gives him away.
I’d seen him online in pictures but never heard him; his accent sounds so much like my dad’s, it throws me off guard.
“Jett Raven?”
His eyes pop open impossibly wide as he lifts up my wig slightly at my temple to peek at my real hair. “Matilda Morningstar?”
I nod and whisper, “Just Maddy.”
He drops to his knees before me, knocking over a blood red vase filled with black roses in the process. “I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy!”
He hails me like a queen, but I don’t stop him; I am often regarded as the Princess of Rock, after all.
I let him kiss my hand before pulling him back up.
The event photographers click away like mad, and I realize one is doing video.
I grab Jett, turning him to the cameras so we can stick out our tongues and make rock n’ roll signs with our hands before jumping off the table, fingers interlaced as we jump with a shout.
I can tell Sasha really likes that, because she makes sure we are seated next to each other, and this boy’s big mouth starts moving a million miles a minute.
“Your dad is my idol. What’s it like being Maxwell Morningstar’s kid?
I’ve heard you have a statue of Baphomet in your living room.
Is that true? Are you and your siblings really all named after songs your parents were listening to while you were conceived? ”
“Did you really just ask me that?” I snort.
How did I end up in a couples costume with my dad’s rabid fanboy?
“No, we have a big screen surrounded by Grammys and a giant sectional in our living room. And yeah, I’m named after a Pink Floyd song, and my siblings are after the Kinks and the Beatles, obviously.
It’s not my fault, my parents live to overshare and give TMI!
And being his kid is amazing, just don’t tell him I said that. ”
“Sorry, that was crass. I’m fucking crass, I apologise. Bloody hell, I’m starstruck, Mads.”
This boy is ridiculous; his accent is so thick that it sounds like he’s from a different country than my mum’s posh family in London.
I don’t know why my insides do a little squish when he calls me Mads, but I do secretly enjoy people being starstruck in my vicinity, what can I say?
He hovers his teapot over my cup with a cocked eyebrow, and I nod quickly before I can regret it.
I slug back the whiskey, making sure to react nothing like Alessandra had, like it’s just a little afternoon tea.
He grins so wide I can see all his beautiful teeth, and now I’m wondering if he had them fixed when he hit the States. Oh God, was that a tongue piercing?
“You think I’m offended by crass? I’ve been surrounded by rockstars my whole life, nothing you say or do could shock me! Let me guess, the first album you ever bought was Souls Shattered and you live and breathe for Manchester United?”
His baby green eyes twinkle in the candlelight. “How did you know that?”
I grin. Oh, I don't know. Maybe because it's everyone's first record they ever bought of Dad’s, and I’ve only been listening to this particular cadence for my entire life. “Lucky guess.”
“Why don’t you have an accent like the rest of your family, Mads?”
“We left England before I could really talk, and I do have an accent, it’s just subtle.”
“When you go to the shops, you call it a cart or a trolley? When you need to put bags in the back, you call it a boot or a trunk?”
“All of the above,” I laugh, “interchangeably. My friends and family call it my BritMerican speak.” For some reason, I still can’t take my eyes off his mouth. “Why are your teeth so bloody perfect, Jett Raven, and is that even your real name?”
He fidgets with the tablecloth, and his knee starts to jiggle. “I mean, they’re my real names. I just dropped the surname Jones. It’s a bit boring, you know? And yeah, best dentist my label’s money can buy.”
“You must have pretty cool parents,” I say, taking a bite of something a masked server hands me that will definitely hurt my stomach later .
“Not as cool as yours, but sadly I'm an only child, so they’re all I've got. How old d’ya turn on your last birthday, Mads? Eighteen?”
“Eighteen in August, yeah. Now how did you know that?”
“Lucky guess?” He tips back his teacup and finishes his whiskey, yeah, like it's water. “I turned nineteen in August,” he says. “Leo twins?”
“Oh fuck, that’s obvious. You’re the most Leo Leo I’ve ever met!”
He grins. “I’ll take that as a fucking compliment, Mads.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. A camera flashes in our direction.
“Did that shock you?” he asks cheekily.
I roll my eyes. “Not in the slightest.”
“Hmm, how about this?” He turns to his left and lays a kiss right on the lips of the guy sitting there.
I giggle at this guy’s surprised expression. “Not really, but I think it shocked him!” I say, right as I realize who it is, just as the cute ginger girl sitting next to me asks Jett if she’s next.
Jett jumps out of his seat to go give her a smooch as I say, “Killian Cash, is that you?”
Now Jett’s running around the table kissing everyone and I have no idea what to think of this hyperactive, human puppy dog.
Killian climbs right into Jett’s open chair. “Hey, Maddy, yeah, it’s me. How could ya tell?”
I snort. He blinks his big blue eyes at me, the ones girls everywhere swoon over.
The shiny, brown hair that usually falls in his face is slicked back, does he think that makes him disguised?
“Because you look like Killian Cash in a Danny Zucko costume. Greased lightning or not, it’s pretty obvious, Kill. ”
We star in different teen dramas on the same network and film on the same lot.
My show is called Elite’s Academy where I play a heinous bitch cheerleader named Cherry, and Killian plays Jasper on Jasper’s Landing, where he plays an absolute sweetheart soccer star.
We’ve even done photoshoots together with both of our casts, it’s not like I’ve never seen him before.
“Maddy, who the hell just kissed me? That is not going online! Jesus!”
“You haven’t heard of Jett Raven? He’s getting big in the UK, but not here quite yet. I think it’s just a matter of time. He says my dad’s his idol, but I’ve heard his music is more … poppy emo rap than hard rock.”
“Emo … pop … rap?” Killian grips his forehead like it’s painful just to wrap his head around. And I concur. Jett is impossible to put in a box.
A few hours later and while many photographers have left, most of the twenty five have stayed and even invited their entourages to join us.
A formal sitting room has been transformed into a packed dance floor where neon lights and fog machines invade our senses.
The cute ginger that asked Jett for a kiss is now spinning me around until I'm dizzy enough to nearly twist an ankle.
I rest a hand on the shoulder of Mikayla ‘Mickie’ Anders, begging for a short reprieve.
Not only is she the daughter of Gemma, one of the biggest pop stars of the ‘90s, which means she can relate to me in ways basically nobody can.
But also, she's dressed as my childhood idol, Daphne from Scooby Doo, and is eye level to me, even with those purple platforms on.
Basically, she could be my new bestie … but I don't wanna jinx it. She’s the same age as Jett and a complete prodigy in the world of fantasy novelists.
She's telling me about her dragons and different types of fae when Jett appears out of nowhere, having ditched his silly hat and brown suit jacket.
His hair is a fright and it makes me giggle.
He grabs one of each of our hands and spins us around until we're on the other side of the dance floor.
He ducks down, close to my ear. “That greaser was gawking at your arse. Thought I'd be a gentleman and get ya some distance.”
I frown and turn my head, my stomach turning at the thought.
I try to catch Kill in the act but it’s too packed to see him.
Mickie gives Jett a peck on the jawline and that thoroughly distracts me from my search.
“Aw, so sweet, Jett! Defending her honor like that.
Good thing, too, because Maddy was just telling me she doesn't want any guy getting in the way of her career. Isn't that responsible of her?”
Mickie winks at him and he nods, taking a sip of her cocktail as she tilts it towards his half open mouth in offering before turning his attention back to me. “You don't date actors, Mads?”
His hand skims over my hip briefly while we half dance, half talk. “No actors, no boys, period. I made a rule, no dating till I win an Emmy.”
His brows furrow momentarily before some sort of light bulb pops on in his brain, looking back and forth between Mickie and me. “Oh! I get it. So, you only shag birds, then?”
Mickie giggles and I huff. “Shag- no! I don't shag anyone, Jett! I'm not dating right now so I can focus on my career. Don't you find all the drama … distracting?”
Jett releases a boisterous laugh. “Try listening to my album, Mads. If I was like, a celibate priest, I'd have fuck all to write songs about!”
Now I'm just plain annoyed I didn't bother to stream it when I first saw that article about him.
Mickie runs over to request the DJ play one of Jett's songs, while I make a mental note to have Leah play all of them for me on the way home.
He leans into me and his whiskey scented whisper sends shivers across my skin.
“Wouldn't kill you to be a bad girl for once, Miss Morningstar.”
The traitorous goosebumps annoy me further so I explain them away, deciding it’s hot in here and his breath is just, cold from iced cocktails or something. Boys are off the table, and even if I was allowing myself to date, Jett is not and will never be my type.
Shut up, stupid, obviously confused nervous system! You don’t date so you don’t need a type and if you did, it would clearly be Chad Michael Murray!
I roll my eyes at him again, but his stay stuck on me. Sparkling and full of trouble, the kind I want absolutely nothing to do with. “Wouldn't kill you to be good for once, either, Jett.”