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to have dinner with Finn. But he just texted me and said he had to reschedule ’cause something came up, blah, blah, blah.” Kamille didn’t sound happy.
    Kass sensed that there was more to this story than what Kamille was telling her. She’d have to get the scoop later. “Okay, well, great! So you’re free? You wanna meet back at the house? We can order in pizza and talk about what this Giles person is proposing, and make a pros and cons list for you.”
    “A pros and cons list? What for?”
    “Just trust me. You need to think these things through carefully. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
    “Um, okay.”
    “Love you, doll!”
    “Love you, too, doll!”
    Hanging up, Kass Googled “Giles Sinclair” and went through his website, twice. Okay, so he was for real.
    She continued down the walk, suddenly in a foul mood. But why? She should be happy for Kamille, who had been discovered, for God’s sake. It was like something out of Hollywood legend, like actress Lana Turner being discovered at the Top Hat Café while skipping class and drinking a Coke. (So maybe skipping class did pay off sometimes?)
    The problem was, amazing stuff always happened to Kamille, and she never had to lift a finger. Like in high school, when the drama teacher gave her a lead in Peter Pan, and she didn’t even have to audition. Kass, on the other hand, had to work like a dog—not just going to college but putting in long hours at the restaurant—and so far, she hadn’t hit the jackpot.
    Of course, her efforts would surely pay off someday, and she would be wildly successful. And rich. She didn’t particularly care about the “rich” part, except that she had another, top-secret dream that she had never shared with anyone, not even Kamille, with whom she shared pretty much everything.
    Her top-secret dream was to buy back their old house in Beverly Hills, if and when it went on the market again. Her father had bought it for the family when Kass was a baby. Her mother had to sell it after he died because she needed the money, plus she couldn’t afford the maintenance.
    But someday, Kass was going to honor her father’s memory by taking it back. Plus, she missed that house desperately. Not because it was a big, fancy mansion—she was a practical person and not particularly interested in luxuries. But that house on Mulholland Drive was the Romero home. It was meant to be in the Romero family, now and forever.
    Kass felt someone tapping her shoulder. She turned and saw a familiar-looking guy. A familiar-looking, very cute guy.
    “Um, hey,” the guy said, smiling shyly. “You dropped this.”
    “Dropped what?”
    The guy held out her econ notebook.
    Kass was momentarily rattled. She never lost track of anything, ever. How did she manage to drop her incredibly important econ notes?
    “Thanks,” she said, flustered. “Where did you—”
    “Oh, just outside Marshall. You were on the phone. Quiz was a bitch, wasn’t it?”
    “What quiz?”
    The guy looked amused. “Econ. I sit a couple of rows over from you. Professor Mueller was wearing his Elvis Costello glasses today.”
    Kass laughed. “Yeah, I think he thinks they make him look really cool. Or something.”
    The guy held out his hand. “I’m Eduardo, by the way.”
    “Kassidy. Everyone calls me Kass.”
    “Nice to meet you, Kass. Hey, you wanna grab a coffee? We could go over those Supreme Court decisions he mentioned. I’m sensing another pop quiz on Monday.”
    Kass regarded Eduardo. He seemed nice. And smart. And definitely cute. But she really did have to get to the library to . . . what was she doing there, again? Oh, yeah, checking out some books on globalization. Which could wait. But her day was so jam-packed already. If she postponed the library errand, when would she be able to squeeze it in? She had her Spanish class in an hour, then her small-business management study group, then a private screening of a new Kathryn Bigelow movie at the film school, then a