Sunday

11:56 p.m.

The Hills was a bunch of dreck.

At least, that was Macy Misa's opinion. But who cared about what she thought about MTV's number one hit show? She was just a seventeen year old girl. Another statistic on the network's fancy charts.

Ugh. I have to get over myself.

Macy sat up on her wrought iron bed(an antique from Grandma Misa) and sighed wistfully. Her white silk chemise grazed her toned thighs and calmed her down a bit. Going off on rants battling hit television networks could really work a girl up. She picked up her mom's old hairbrush off the dresser and stared at it.

"Oh, Mom," Macy sighed to the brush, a soft half-smiled etched onto her face.

Her mom had walked out on them. And by them she meant she and her dad, Daniel Misa. Surprisingly, he hadn't started dating anyone else yet. Not that Macy wanted him to, but still. The guy was a classic: tall, dark, and as handsome as a dad could get. But apparently, her parents had been so deeply in love, her father couldn't bear to date another woman.

Really.

The tale of her parent's love was classic The Notebook.

So Angela Peterson(Macy's mom) and Daniel Misa met in 1971, the age of hippies. Macy's mom: the wild child. Her parents wanted her to be a self-respecting, debutante, but her mom was pretty much a weed-smoking, no-bra wearing, hippie. Anyway, Angela was getting some weed from the street corner, and the only vendor there was her dad, who was new to the whole weed selling thing, so he gave her too much on accident and they both got a little too high.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

After a while, they started dating. They were in love. Or as much love as hippies could be in(because they were in love with nearly everyone). And then when Angela brought Daniel home, her parents said right in front of Daniel that they didn't want her dating a black man. So Angela and Daniel ran away, had sex, and in due time, Angela gave birth to Macy. In a matter of two weeks after Macy was born, she left.

In case you haven't already noticed, the whole "The Notebook" thing was a joke.

Macy grasped the mother-of-pearl handle of the hairbrush even tighter and pulled it through her mahogany hair, impressed at how long it took before the brush was finally free. At the beginning of junior year, it came to her shoulders. Now, 5 months into the school year, her hair fell to her nonexistent breasts(they were A cups, practically invisible compared to her best friend, Stella's, Bs).

Jabbing her thumb into the OFF button on her remote, Macy watched the TV blip into darkness. She sunk into her mattress, wrapping the satin comforter tightly around her so she resembled a sushi roll. Macy put the brush back on her dresser and let the timed chirping of the crickets lull her to sleep.

Monday

7: 30 a.m.

Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down

Down, down

Even when the sky is falling down

Macy scooped up her white iPhone with one hand and raised it to her ear, pausing a second before answering it. Jay Sean was the best.

"Yeah?" Macy answered, running in front of her mirror and giving herself the once over. Knowing Stella, her uniform was probably problem-free, thanks to her best friend's genius fashion IQ. But she checked for flaws anyway. Did her navy cigarette leg pants have a panty line? Was her turquoise bra showing through her white Oxford? She checked her dark brown flat riding boots (equestrian practice required immaculate gear).

But, as usual Stella had thought of everything. She even added a navy sweater for warmth.

For once in her life, Stella had been practical.

Even though Macy totally disagreed with the winter uniform at Horace Mantis Academy, Macy had to admit, Stella could be a celebrity stylist.

She was. To JONAS. The only band in the world that could accommodate three hot guys and not explode from the extreme pressure. The band that Macy adored. Namely, she adored Nick, the youngest member of the band.

He was perfect. Sweet, sensitive, and a little on the quiet side, but Macy would get a smile out of him. Not to mention hotter than a spicy burrito.

But enough of that.

"Macy!" Her best friend's voice barked into the phone. "I'm almost there, so you better be ready!"

Macy opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the carpeted hallway. "Okay, but you don't have to—"

Suddenly, a car horn blared. Macy already had a sickening feeling who it was, but glanced out the bay window at the end of the hall anyway.

Sure enough, a crimson Lexus convertible was parked in the middle of the cobblestone driveway. A little blond person could be seen in the driver's seat. Another honk.

"Unfortch for you, Mace, I don't have all day!" Stella barked into the phone again.

"I know, I'm coming," Macy hung up, dropped her phone into her plaid backpack, and slung it over her shoulder.

Monday

7:54 a.m.

By the time Macy had kissed her dad goodbye, fed the cat, and walked outside to meet Stella, Stella was already out of the car and huffing, the toe of her red ballet flats tapping the stones on the driveway.

"Sorry," Macy breathed, dropping her backpack into the tan leather backseat. But she could tell by the look on Stella's face that an apology wasn't going to make it better.

"Sorry, Stella, for waiting almost 20 minutes to come out," Stella mocked Macy's voice. "Sorry, Stella, for making you late for homeroom, YOUR ONLY CHANCE to impress Van Dyke!" Stella slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door. Macy got into the passenger seat. How could she possibly make this better?

"Stella," Macy started in a sugary-sweet voice. "You look really great today."

Stella narrowed her eyes. It was obviously an underhanded attempt to make her feel better. But she allowed her famous Chesire Cat smile to creep onto her face anyway.

"Really?" Stella popped the collar of her navy blue Oxford shirtdress. "You don't think the black leggings are too much?"

"Not at all," Macy said hastily, even though she had no idea.

"Awww, you're the best friend ever!" Stella squealed starting the car. Macy sighed. The petty fights were getting way too frequent.

"You are, too," Macy gave her best friend's shoulder a squeeze.

Monday

12:30 p.m.

"So, then, I was like, should I go blond or stay brunette, and he was like, 'I don't care!" Vera Miller stabbed her grilled chicken breast with her fork, a frown plastered onto her face.

"Oh, my God," Stella shook her head, sympathizing greatly in Vera's hair dilemma. Macy sighed from her spot at the marble lunch table. Although she would have loved to have been involved in the hair-tastrophe, she was unable to. Did Stella always have to sit with her other friends from sewing club?

Vera ran her fingers through her flame red hair. "So I went for red, but it's so not me,"

"It totally is!" Marti Fox cried, flicking a piece of lint from her shrunken navy blazer.

"Yeah, it pops," Callie, Marti's twin sister, agreed, her mouth full of lasagna.

"I think it looks nice," Stella said, giving Macy a look that said "I have nothing more to contribute to this conversation". Macy took the hint and stood up, ready to go somewhere else. It was her turn to pick where to sit for the rest of lunch.

"Well, ladies," Stella gave the table a smile. "See you around,"

"Bye," Marti called to Stella and Macy's receeding backs.

"Don't forget to bring a thimble," Callie joked, elbowing Vera. Obviously this was an inside joke.

"Okay, where do we sit?" Stella asked, eyes scanning the room. Macy's eyes zoned in on the JONAS table. Hottie alert.

"With JO—"

"Ew," Stella cried, pointing in the direction of the table. Macy looked to see what could possibly be "ew" about JONAS.

Sure enough, Amy Russo had draped herself over the chair next to Nick, and talking to them. Well, it was more of Amy talking at them.

"She looks annoyingly cute today," Stella grimaced, glaring at she and Macy's archenemy. "Those gray boot cut dress pants. They're Theory. I wanted those."

Macy narrowed her eyes. "Her blazer's adorable."

"Her peep toe pumps: to die for."

"The black crocodile embossed hobo is chic times ten."

"The ring adds the perfect touch."

"The messy bun: brilliant."

"Ugh, I hate her." They both seethed. Macy took Stella's hand and brought her over to the table.

"Hi, guys," Macy smiled. Amy's smile turned into an evil smirk. Not that the boys noticed. Joe was too busy grinning at her like an idiot. Nick was giving her a glance every now and then. And Kevin was sniffing his fingers. Macy didn't want to know.

"Oh, look, who it is." Amy smiled. "Wow, Macy, if it weren't for that adorable headband, that outfit would have been in my garbage disposal by now."

Macy bit her lip to stop a string of expletives from pouring out.

Amy gave another confident smirk and walked off without even bothering to say goodbye. The boys slowly came back to Earth from their dangerous orbit around Amy's head.

"Stella!" Joe cried.

"Joe!" Stella replied in the same tone.

"I want to see what I'm wearing to the Oscars," Joe bounced up and down on his butt like a 5 year old. Nick shot him a glare and he stopped bouncing.

"Me too," Kevin cried, removing his fingers from his nostrils.

"I'm glad you guys are enthusiastic about it," Stella smiled. She started to walk off, the two boys following behind her. "Because this could rocket you into the Fashion Hall of Fame…"

Macy sighed and glanced at Nick. Finally, they were alone.

Ack! That's all! Another chapter, possibly? Hmmmmm…..