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  Me

  Now that you know the secret of the streak, you’re one step closer to being IN. In the know, that is… .

  SUMMER STATE OF THE UNION

  IN OUT

  • Purple hair streaks Summer secrets

  Confidentiality contracts

  Euro pop stars

  Shark-tooth necklaces

  Massie & Claire in Orlando

  Five girls. Five stories. One ah-mazing summer.

  THE CLIQUE

  SUMMER COLLECTION

  BY LISI HARRISON

  Turn the page for a sneak peek of Dylan’s story… .

  THE CLIQUE

  SUMMER COLLECTION

  DYLAN

  DAILY GRIND PRIVATE JET

  35,000 FEET

  Monday, June 29

  9:55 A.M.

  Dylan Marvil sat across from her famous mother on the Daily Grind’s private jet en route to a spa in Hawaii, wondering why anyone in their right mind would choose to fly commercial. The luxe cabin was papered with interlocking D’s and G’s; the seats were made of butter-soft tan leather; and the in-flight movie was anything she wanted it to be. The only thing missing was a silver spoon for her fat-free triple chocolate banana spilt. Thank Gawd the petite brunette in the cute navy mini dress was rushing one right over.

  Dylan gratefully took the spoon and swallowed a mouthful of cold, creamy deliciousness. “Ahhh! Brain-freeze!” she shouted as the icy coldness shot straight up to her scarlet roots.

  Without lifting her emerald green eyes, Merri-Lee Marvil tossed a snowy white cashmere throw on her daughter’s lap and returned to her thick file on Svetlana Slootskyia, the teen tennis phenom and current Maxim cover girl. She reclined in her seat, tucked her burgundy blowout behind her ears, and began flipping through the research material her assistant, Cassidy Wolfe, had prepared for her upcoming interview.

  Until Svetlana, the only thing tennis-related Dylan had ever noticed was the sparkling diamond bracelet glinting on her mother’s wrist. But these days, “Tennis the Menace” was impossible to ignore.

  At first she made headlines for her blond hotness. But then she TMZ’ed her way onto Dylan’s radar when she whipped her racquet at a ball girl’s teeth after losing some majorly important match. And this was only four days after she smashed her boyfriend in the mouth with a yellow Dunlop because he smile-thanked the soda girl for his Pepsi. After twelve weeks of anger management therapy, she emerged to scores of paparazzi, all of them hoping to snap her when she snapped again.

  Now, every entertainment journalist from Maria Menounos to Nancy O’Dell was tripping over her Manolos to get a post-rehab interview with Svetlana. But it was more impossible to land than Chanel’s Black Tulip nail polish, since Merri-Lee had bought the rights to the Slootskyia story the second Svetlana’s Wilson KFactor collided with Ali Chipley’s incisors.

  “Ha! I’ll show her,” Merri-Lee blurted, scribbling something on her yellow legal pad.

  “Who?” Dylan licked the silver dessert spoon and dropped it in the fat-free chocolate soup that was starting to congeal on the bottom of her crystal bowl.

  “Barbara Walters. She’s not the only one willing to go there.”

  It was the interview of the season, and Merri-Lee was determined to deliver high drama. But to Dylan, Svetlana was little more than a first-class ticket to five-star fat camp.

  She was a celebrity-style opportunity to drop the four pounds she’d gained while trying to show Kemp Hurley and Chris Plovert that she wasn’t a prissy girly girl who fussed over calories. Even though she was.

  After a short snooze and a steaming lavender-scented face towel, Dylan threw the blanket off her emerald green Juicy puff-sleeved hoodie and, out of pure boredom, reached for a stack of Merri-Lee’s research materials. She scanned the headlines next to various photographs of Svetlana petting her thick side-braid. BLOND BOMBSHELL EXPLODES … BALL GIRL’S TEETH SOLD ON EBAY … NIKE SWOOSHES TO SVETLANA’S RESCUE WITH AN ENDORSEMENT DEAL… .

  Dylan flipped through dozens of pictures and then sighed hopelessly. Every picture showed Svetlana in some bland white dress and athletic sneakers. Suhhh-noooozer!

  “Mom, do you think there will be anyone my age who’s not into tennis?”

  “Cass!” Merri-Lee called back to her assistant, ignoring her daughter. “Are we confirmed on all of Svetlana’s must-haves?”

  Cassidy unbuckled her gold DG-stamped seat belt and appeared between Merri-Lee and Dylan on the brocade-carpeted aisle. Her auburn curls were pinch-clamped to the back of her head by a clear Scunci jaw clip.

  “Spirulina detox smoothies, all the recent tabloids with all photos of Paris Hilton removed, thirty packs of orange Tic Tacs, Tocca candles in lemon verbena, unscented baby wipes instead of toilet paper, and a gray kitty cat with haunting blue eyes.” She tapped her pad with the tip of her pencil.

  “We’re all set.”

  “Fan-tastic.”

  Cassidy turned on her ivory espadrilles and wobble-bounced back to her seat.

  Suddenly, the plane dipped. It quickly recovered, but the sinking feeling in Dylan’s stomach remained. Was she doomed to spend her spa vacation watching her mother kiss some blond Russian’s ultra-toned butt? Gawd! Just because she wasn’t famous or blond or toned or violent didn’t mean she deserved to be ignored.

  “Aloha. We will now begin our initial descent into Honolulu. They had quite a thunderstorm last night, so everything will be beautiful and fresh for your arrival… .” The pilot’s smooth voice sent an anxious ripple through Dylan’s undefined abs.

  Ehmagawd! Fresh! It was time to make a fresh start.

  No more comparing herself to Svetlana, or anyone. The next three weeks would be all about Dylan learning to love Dylan. No more super-skinny Westchester girls to compete with. No more alphas to obey. No more pretending to be someone she wasn’t. No more crushing on boys who didn’t crush back. Starting now, Dylan’s raison d’être would be about making summer goals and reaching them. Her days of feeling inadequate were over.

  And if anyone wanted to witness a real temper tantrum, all they had to do was stand in her way.