Lucky Break Read Online Free PDF Page A

had a tough, no-nonsense exterior that had sent more than a few shopgirls running for the hills, but when they weren’t catfighting, Shay and SBB worked really well together. I assumed in a fashion emergency such as this one—whatever it was—SBB would already have called in all the reinforcements on her contacts list.
    SBB shook her head. “That big-mouthed know-it-all couldn’t keep her piehole shut long enough to make it out of this store. I can’t trust her with something like
this
.” She turned around and pointed to the series of clasps on the sports bra. “Now help me get out of this trap.”
    â€œOnly if you finally tell me what this is all about,” I said, freeing her from the aerodynamically designed athletic wear.
    When she was comfortably changed into a loose-fitting gray Theory tank and pajama pants, SBBtook a good look around the dressing room, got up on a step stool to turn off a camera over our heads—“in case anyone at the security desk can read lips”—and motioned for me to sit down next to her.
    I pushed aside the mountain of tracksuits and took a seat.
    â€œOkay, formalities first: pinky swear your lips are sealed. I mean, I know you’re good for it, but—”
    I stuck out my pinky to nip her lengthy apology in the bud. “Pinky swear,” I said.
    SBB took a deep breath and said, “Well, it’s finally happening.”
    From her tone, I felt like I was supposed to know what she meant—as if “it” were the world’s only inevitability. I nodded, trying to look like I was keeping up with her.
    â€œJR is making his directorial debut,” she said slowly, and very proudly.
    JR—Jake Riverdale—was SBB’s boyfriend, and the biggest pop star–turned–movie star (turning director) in L.A. Scratch that—in the world. He and SBB were an amazing match—in fact, they were so unwaveringly supportive of each other’s skyrocketing careers that they were famous in the tabloids for being Hollywood’s most likely to succeed couple.
    â€œThat’s so exciting, SBB,” I said, leaning in to give her a hug.
    â€œThere’s a catch,” she said gravely. “He wants me cast as the lead.”
    â€œWhat a jerk,” I joked. “Come on, SBB. Isn’t that some sort of Hollywood pinnacle? You guys might be the youngest couple in history to have that kind of sway.”
    SBB buried her face in a mound of sports bras. “Not when
everyone
in the industry is expecting me to fail,” her muffled voice wailed.
    â€œSBB,” I said, “why would anyone expect you to fail?”
    She leaned in and lowered her voice. “The film is called
Gladiatrix
. I have to battle
lions
. They need me to gain half my body weight in muscle. What if …” Her eyes grew terrified. “What if I can’t cut it?”
    So that explained all the athletic gear splayed out around us. SBB was about as aerobically challenged as I was. (Once we’d put on my mother’s cardio-Pilates video in our home theater, only to make it through the warm-up before collapsing on the beanbag chairs with a big bag of kettle corn.) It almost made sense that she thought she could shop her way into the role of a gladiatrix. I put my hand on her knee.
    â€œSBB, I’ve seen you go from your city girl self to asinging Bonnie and Clyde, to a French foreign exchange student, to a Moroccan heiress, all without batting a cat eye. You can act any part you put your mind to.”
    SBB turned her lip down. “Really?” she squeaked.
    â€œWhat you need is a trainer, maybe one or two sets of workout clothes”—I picked up the scarily heavy silver sports bra—“and to forget this thing ever existed.”
    SBB threw her arms around me—always the key sign that I’d successfully calmed her down. “Oh, Flannie.” She sighed. “What would I do without