Lucky Break Read Online Free Page B

chest and trying to look coyly French. “Luckily, things with Alex are so great, romance is the one area I definitely don’t need any advice!”

Chapter 4
BACKOUT IS THE NEW BLACK
    Paging Ms. Flannery Flood to Women’s Sportswear. Ms. Flannery Flood,” the Saks Fifth Avenue intercom boomed. I’d just spun through the doors on the ground floor of the bustling department store for a shopping date with my best friend/teen starlet, Sara-Beth Benny. Both of us needed some last-minute pre–spring break essentials.
    Apparently, much of Manhattan had the same idea. The cosmetics department was jammed with girls and women of all ages and credit limits, suddenly in need of SPF foundation, skin-firming body lotion, and shimmery beach-proof lip gloss. Walking through all the commotion, I was relieved to have much of the shopping pressure lifted off my shoulders by Jade Moodswing’s gracious offer to provide some fabulous Frenchie clothes. But from the tone ofSBB’s thirteen texts since lunch—and the urgent intercom summons—my movie star friend was in an altogether different state.
    SBB had just gotten the lead in an as-yet-untitled megablockbuster, but she’d been hesitant to spill any of the details. Until the official press release went out, the film was
so
under wraps that SBB was sure her phone was being tapped by the rampant paparazzi. She insisted on waiting until we met in person to fill me in, only stressing cryptically that the part was going to be “a real growing experience” for her.
    The elevator spit me out on the fifth floor just as the intercom clicked on again and I heard the beginning of my page: “Ms. Flannery Flood to the—”
    â€œHere I am,” I called loudly at the speaker on the ceiling, earning confused looks from a few nearby shoppers. “I’m coming as fast as I—”
    â€œYou’re Flannery Flood.” A sales assistant grabbed my wrist. She was pretty, with dark skin and bright pink lipstick, but underneath the expensively made-up face, there was worry. “You’ve got to hurry.”
    I was used to SBB’s little shopping freak-outs—we’d done calming yogic breathing sessions in most of the dressing rooms in Manhattan—so I had to laugh at this girl’s panic. But I let her pull me towardthe back of the floor where I could already vaguely hear the shrieks of my high-strung friend.
    When the sales assistant zipped me past the Marc Jacobs dressing room, where SBB liked to try on clothes because it offered the most privacy and best mirrors, I paused.
    â€œShe’s not in there?” I pointed. “That’s her usual—”
    â€œKeep going,” she ordered, pulling me all the way back toward the windows looking down on Fifth Avenue. What were we doing in the athletic-wear section?
    â€œShe’s in there,” the salesgirl said, but by then, I’d already heard the telltale thumps of SBB wreaking havoc on the dressing room. I nodded thanks at my escort and stepped cautiously inside the danger zone.
    SBB was drowning in a sea of Stella McCartney running pants, zip-up Juicy sweatshirts, and high-end spandex. She was wearing leggings and a sports bra that looked like they were made out of titanium alloy.
    â€œAnd what are you wearing, Ms. Benny?” I stepped forward, dramatically mimicking a red-carpet interviewer with a microphone. “Don’t tell me—was that outfit designed by … NASA?”
    SBB crossed her arms over her chest. “You are theonly person on the
planet
I could forgive for making a joke at a time like this.”
    â€œWith that outfit,” I said, “you could probably go into orbit and make friends with a few comedians on other planets.”
    Finally, I got a tiny smile out of my tiny friend. “Thank God you’re here.” She sighed.
    â€œWhere’s Shay?” I asked. Shay was SBB’s personal shopper. She