I turn to Dougall, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him so hard his own cup of Mojo spills all over my floor, but I don’t even care.
“Dude, what the heck?” Dougall peels my hands off his shoulders and squints out the window, but Tinsley’s already on her way to the door, so there’s nothing to see.
“Nothing. Never mind. Just—” I glance around, hardly believing it’s all turning out just as I’d planned. Tinsley came to the party alone. Clearly she’s over Mac Turtledove. “Who’s the hottest girl at this party?” I ask.
“You mean besides Plum?” Dougall tosses his now empty cup on the table next to mine.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Whatever. Other than Plum, who’s the hottest girl here—or even the second hottest? I need you to take me to her, like pronto. Tinsley’s about to walk through the door!”
It may seem like a jerk move, to stand by a window pining for a girl to appear, only to ignore her the second she walks through the door. But I couldn’t risk scaring her off by showing what a nervous, sweaty mess I was at the thought of her not showing up.
So by the time Tinsley finds her way out back, I’m deep in conversation with a group of very hot girls I’ve never seen before and will probably never see again, but there’s no reason for Tinsley to know that.
“Such a great party!” they say. “Such a cool house!” And “Omigod, I so loved that episode where you and Holly got in that Christmas cookie fight—hilarious!”
They grin in this really fake way, as though they’re peering at me through a veil of spotlights and dollar signs, and all I can think is how Tinsley never looks at me like that. Like I’m the quickest way for her to move up in the world.
Sure, I’m helping build her career by recording the duet together and letting her be on my show, but Tinsley likes me for me. I have no doubt it’s true. I mean, while I’m still not sure if she sees me as a potential boyfriend (though tonight I intend to find out), I can say with absolute certainty that she’s one of the few people since I got here, other than my family and Ezer, who treat me like a normal person and never suck up to me.
Tinsley’s always really sweet, that’s just how she is. But she never does anything false, like laugh at one of my jokes unless she truly finds it funny. Dougall does that all the time, and it’s starting to get on my nerves. Sometimes I wish he’d act more real, more like the Greentree Dougall. Which probably sounds weird, considering how much I wanted the Greentree Dougall to act like the one here.
I know it seems like a petty complaint, but when you’re an International Superstar with practically everyone applauding everything you do, it makes it nearly impossible to tell who’s being sincere and who’s not.
When I see her wandering around with a red cup in her hand, I’m quick to ditch the girls and edge up beside her. “If you got that from Dougall, you might want to think twice about drinking it.” My voice is cool, my expression even cooler. “He’s kind of a bad influence.”
“Are you talking about Dougall or you?” Tinsley tosses her drink in the nearest can as I make a face, pretending to be deeply offended by the question.
“Don’t believe everything you read,” I tell her. “Deep down I’m an angel.”
“Really?” She tilts her head to the side, causing her hair to spill over her shoulder in soft, golden waves. And in that moment her beauty is so mesmerizing I have to remind myself to breathe.
“Someday, if you’re lucky, I’ll show you my halo,” I manage to reply. Feeling proud of myself for delivering the line with such a cool, bad-boy edge. Especially considering how nervous I am.
It’s pretty much the kind of line that’d make any girl fall madly in love with me on the spot. Which is why I don’t understand when Tinsley’s only response is to laugh in a way that seems really forced as she shifts her attention toward a group of kids playing some diving game in the pool.
I fall silent beside her, not entirely comfortable with how that went down and unsure how to proceed. Then again, it’s possible I misread the whole thing. She’s probably just overwhelmed by all the excitement, which is perfectly understandable, considering how this is the kind of party you only see in movies. And while it may not have a theme, like Jonah’s party, that’s only because my party is of such epic proportions it’s impossible to pin down.
There are waiters walking around with large trays of food—and not the weird, boring, bite-sized food adults serve at parties, but real food. Good food. Like sliders, mini pizzas, little cups stuffed with French fries—the kind of food you want to eat. There’s an ice cream sundae station attached to a caramel and chocolate fountain that you can drink from, and a DJ by the pool spinning really good music, a lot of it mine. There’s even a bunch of random photo booths where you can choose your own background, which, going by the long lines, seems like a hit.
All around me are hundreds of people I don’t even know. Some of them famous like me.