Twenty minutes later she and Chloe pushed open the glass doors to the coffee house. A bunch of little tables and chairs filled the center of the room. Along one wall was a rack of international newspapers. Another wall was lined with computers. And at the back was a small stage for performers.
"Sierra!" Riley called, seeing her friend head into the rest room. Riley hurried to catch up with her. "Wow," she said, checking out the plaid skirt and boring white blouse Sierra was wearing. "Your mom makes you dress like that even for break?"
Sierra nodded and shrugged. She pulled off her scrunchie, letting her flaming red hair fall around her shoulders. "Whatever. It'll be all gone in a sec," she said, gesturing at her clothes.
Sierra's real name was Sarah, but only her teachers and her parents called her that. Everyone else knew the truth--that she was leading a double life.
At home she wore conservative clothes, played the violin, and went by the name her parents had given her. But the minute she was off her mother's radar, she changed into totally hip outfits and let down her hair. Then she became the person she wanted to be--Sierra, bass guitar player in a rock band called The Wave.
Riley watched as Sierra balled up the skirt and blouse and stuffed them into her backpack. Quickly she slipped into a pair of mango-colored silk cargo pants and a lime green top.
"This is getting to be a major chore," Sierra said, nodding toward the backpack with the extra clothes. "I'm so over living a double life."
"How come?" Riley was surprised. "I thought you sort of liked the whole drama of it."
Sierra shook her head. "For one thing, look at these pants! They're so wrinkled, it looks as if I've been sleeping in a mummy case."
"Wrinkled is in," Riley argued.
"Maybe." Sierra sighed. "But it's more than that. I'm running out of excuses to tell my mom every time I have to go practice with the band."
Plus it must be weird not being able to tell your parents the truth about anything, Riley thought. She would hate having to lie to her parents all the time.
"Hey," Riley said. "What if you told them?"
"Huh?" Sierra blinked as she applied some black eyeliner.
"I don't know. It's just an idea, but what if you told your parents the whole story?" Riley suggested. "About your band, your name, your taste in wrinkled clothing..."
"Ha-ha. Very funny," Sierra said.
"No, I'm serious," Riley insisted. "Why not? I mean, what have you got to lose?"
"What have I got to lose?" Sierra's eyes opened wide. "Are you kidding? They could make me stop playing guitar altogether."
"That would be bad," Riley admitted. "But what are the chances? Your parents aren't the worst humans on the planet or anything. They're just--"
"Strict? Old-fashioned? Demanding? And totally convinced they know what's best for me?" Sierra said, filling in the gap. "Pick any two."
"Okay, true," Riley said. "But that's most parents, right? I mean, give your mom some credit. She was listening to an indie-rock station on the car radio the other day."
"The tuner was broken. It was stuck on that station," Sierra explained.
Oh. Too bad, Riley thought. "Well, anyway, your mom's not so awful," she added. "I remember once she actually complimented my hair, and it was totally messy that day. It was back in my 'How many rubber bands can I use in one hairstyle?' phase. What I'm trying to say is, I'll bet you could make her understand why guitar is so important to you--if you'd try."
Sierra looked doubtful. "I'll think about it," she said as they headed back into the café and ordered two mochas. At the last minute Sierra ordered hers to go.
"You're not staying?" Riley was surprised.
"I've got band practice," she explained. "I didn't realize how late it was."
Oh. Too bad again, Riley thought. She checked out the Newsstand. The place was packed with people from West Malibu High, which was cool. But was this really how she wanted to spend her break? Just hanging around with the same people she saw every day of the school year?
"Make mine to go, too," she told Lennon, who was scrambling around behind the coffee bar.
"How come?" Sierra asked. "You're coming to band practice? I thought you and Alex were sort of over."
Alex Zimmer was the lead guitar player in The Wave. He and Riley had dated earlier in the year, but that had cooled down.
"No, I'm going to walk through town," Riley said. "It's such a beautiful day. I'm thinking, if I do something different, maybe something different will happen to me."
"Okay. Call me later," Sierra said as the two of them parted at the door.
Riley sipped her mocha and walked through the crowded streets of Malibu. The weather was perfect, and everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Cars cruised through town and every single convertible top was down.
Now there's a cool car, Riley thought, spotting a vintage red Mercedes sports car with white leather seats. Then she realized that the man behind the wheel looked familiar.
Wait a minute, Riley thought. That's him! That's Jacques D'Oisseau!
No wonder Mom and Manuelo were so psyched about him, she realized. In person, the man radiated glamour. He had a white scarf thrown around his neck, which made his wavy silver hair look cool, somehow, instead of just ancient.
How come he's driving so slowly? she wondered.
Jacques had the top down on the Mercedes, and an adorable little fuzzy white poodle hung over the edge of the passenger-side door. The car was going so slowly Riley could walk faster than he drove. He kept craning his neck, looking around as if he were he was lost or something.
He spotted Riley staring at him. "Hello! Pardon me," he said in his totally charming French accent. He pulled the car to the curb. "Do you know where Dr. Mandleson's office is?"
"The vet?" Riley nodded. "Sure."
Of course she knew where Dr. Mandleson's office was. She and Chloe had been there a bunch of times right after they got their new cocker spaniel, Pepper.
"It's sort of hard to find," Riley explained. "But it's just two blocks away. Go down that street, turn right behind the muffin shop, and you're there." She pointed. "You can park around back."
Jacques tossed up his hands and looked at her pleadingly. "I've been around the block three times!" he said. "And I didn't see it. Could you possibly show me?"
"Sure," Riley said as Jacques hopped out of the car with his puppy. They started walking. "You're Jacques D'Oisseau, aren't you?"
Jacques smiled. "I'm surprised someone your age recognized me," he said, bowing slightly in her direction.
"Oh, I didn't," Riley blurted out. "I mean, I probably wouldn't have recognized you, but my mom showed me your picture. She said you rented a house near us. I'm Riley Carlson."
Jacques laughed, and Riley instantly blushed.
"I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Carlson," Jacques said, smiling and shaking her hand awkwardly across the armful of puppy he was carrying. "Which house is yours?"
"The boxy white one with a lot of glass and a deck facing the water," Riley said.
"That sounds like half the houses on the beach," Jacques replied with a laugh.
Yeah, I guess it does, Riley thought, blushing more. What is it about movie stars that makes you go all tongue-tied?
"Well, I'm sure I will see you on the beach," Jacques said. "And then you can point out your house to me."
"Okay," Riley said as they reached the end of the street. "Here we are." Riley turned into the alley by the muffin shop. "Dr. Mandleson's office is right up those stairs."
"Ah!" Jacques said, as if he never would have found it without her. "Merci. You have saved my life."
"No problem," Riley said as Jacques headed toward the office.
"See you back home on the beach!" Jacques called before he climbed the stairs. "Au revoir!"
"Au revoir," Riley called back, grinning to herself. How cool, she thought. I just said good-bye in French! Then she turned to head back up the street--and smacked right into a guy standing behind her. "Oh! Excuse me!" Riley gasped. Then she gasped again when she saw who it was.
Not just any guy. He was tall, almost six feet, and blond and buff. His pale blue T-shirt fit snugly over his muscular chest, and it matched his intense, ocean blue eyes, which were rimmed with dark lashes. And he had dimples so deep, they made him look as if he was always smiling.
Riley's heart raced. Not just because he was cute, but because she recognized him, too.
I don't believe it, she thought. That's Marc Hudson! The son of the famous actor Richard Hudson, who lives here in Malibu. What is this? Two-for-the-price-of-one celebrity day?
"Hi," Marc said, giving her a totally flirty smile. He stood there staring, as if he knew her or something. As if he thought they should talk.
"Uh, hi," Riley said. Please don't say something stupid! she warned herself.
"You're the third person I've actually bumped into today. I always heard Malibu was a small town, but this is ridiculous," he joked.
"Oh, it's a small town," Riley said, "but there's room for one more."
[Riley: Hey. A little cheese never hurt anyone, right?]
Marc smiled. "Wow, I never thought I'd run into someone like you on my first day here."
Someone like me? Riley's heart did a double thud. "This is your first day in Malibu?" she asked, trying to sound calm even though she wanted to scream, "Hey, everybody! Look! I'm flirting with Marc Hudson!!!"
He nodded. "Winter break. I live in New York, but I'm visiting my dad for the week." He glanced at his watch. "Actually, I've got to go, 'cause he's waiting for me."
"Oh." Riley tried not to let her disappointment show.
"Yeah, he needs to lay a major shopping trip on me," Marc went on. "You know, buying me stuff to make up for the fact that we don't live together twenty-four-seven."
"Yeah, you don't want to miss that," Riley said.
"Oh, I don't really care about the stuff," he said. "But you've got to take pity on the guy, you know? It would hurt his feelings if I didn't do the bonding thing with him. Anyway, do you want to have coffee with me on Monday?"
Day after tomorrow? Riley was totally psyched. "Sure," she said. "Where?"
"Starbucks on Pearl Street?" He started walking away. "Meet me at two."
"Okay," Riley called. "But wait! You don't even know my name!"
"Oh, I know who you are," Marc said as he climbed onto a seafoam green motorbike that was parked near the curb. "You're Jacques D'Oisseau's daughter, Danielle. By the way, your English is really good!" He started up the engine and put on his helmet.
Wait! Riley wanted to say. That's wrong. I'm not Jacques D'Oisseau's daughter! But it was too late. Marc was pulling away.
Besides, she'd always wanted to meet Marc Hudson. She'd read about him in a magazine. He sounded so smart and funny.
And those eyes! How could she resist those eyes?
"Au revoir," she called after him with a guilty wave.
