What do you think?
Rate this book


352 pages, Paperback
First published February 5, 2013
"Kids in musicals without parents always ended up okay -- Annie got Daddy Warbucks, Cosette got Jean Valjean, Christine got stalked by the Phantom though she did get to make out with Raoul."3. Her stepmother can't stand her.
"Also, ugh, really? Dad is dead and my long-lost mother would have totally preferred to stay long-lost, and I'm feeling sorry for myself about boys?"Two of those things will change when she moves to Los Angeles to meet and live with her mother, award winning author Reece Malcolm.
"When you sing you're this force of nature, all fearless and bad-ass. Then you switch off, and it's weird. It's like you really are in a musical, where you can only express yourself through song or whatever."No wonder Reece is a best-selling author because that's the perfect analogy. Or whatever.
“Knowing they’re in, like, True Love is a weird thing to comprehend. I feel a weird surge of happiness for them, along with a lame zap of jealousy that I could have made it to sixteen without any boys even wanting to kiss me.
Also, ugh, really? Dad is dead and my long-lost mother would have totally preferred to stay long-lost, and I’m feeling sorry for myself about boys?”
We walk outside to the parking lot. Sunshine and blue skies. Again. I open my mouth to let her know about the name mistake, except that I really like the thought of being Devan Malcolm. And if I tell her, she’ll call up New City, get it fixed, and I’ll have to go back to being Devan Mitchell. And suddenly she’s the last person I want to be.
We get our usuals, enchiladas for her and the chile relleno for me, both orders to be split in half and shared. I still can’t predict what she’ll say or do, but it’s nice we’ve gotten into this routine with food. Maybe it’s silly that it makes me feel more connected with her, but in this tiny way it does.
Of course, I’ve never stood near the cutest guy on the planet pre-audition before. “Hey!” He jumps up from his chair as I walk into the music department waiting room at New City School. His hair is nearly black and kind of swooped forward, some- where between really preppy and a little punk. It is Very Serious Hair. I think about how it would feel to run my fingers through it. (Good, obviously.)
I actually think it’s kind of a little pretty cheesy. People say the same thing about musical theatre, but I don’t think that’s true at all. It’s one thing to burst into song in character because there’s such an overflow of emotion it can’t be contained. It’s another entirely to randomly sing and dance, apropos of nothing. I mean, I love it, but I can’t deny its cheesiness. (Musical theatre, on the other hand, I’ll defend to its—and my—death.) Still, show choir is a small group of talented people, and you occasionally even get to sing songs from this century. It’s the best of all of them.
I know Amy has a comedy background and it shows in her writing, but it's not in a, "Now we will be FUNNY!" sort of way. It's imbued within Devan's character and her new surroundings and experiences.
“What’s your favorite—” She cuts herself off. “I was about to ask what your favorite thing about L.A. was so far, but I should probably ask if you can even stand it enough to have a favorite thing.”
“Is it dumb if I say the weather? It’s totally a cliché, right?”
“It’s a cliché for a reason,” she says. “It’s generally glorious here. I won’t deduct points for lack of originality.”
“What’s your favorite thing about L.A.?” Right now feels like a safe time to ask.
“Oh, God, don’t repeat it, but probably that most of the people I care about are here.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “But I’d hate to lose my rep of not giving a shit.”
“So the weather?”
“Right,” she says with a smile. “The weather.”