South beach (30 page)

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"Diego," she murmured in disbelief as he swept her up in his arms, lifting her off the sand. "But I thought you had important family plans and -- "

Diego kissed her. "Nothing is more important than this," he told her.

They wrapped their arms around each other and danced, oblivious to the crowd around them. When the song ended, Diego smiled down at Alexa and squeezed her hand.

"Let me go get a drink," he said, pointing to one of the coolers on the periphery of the crowd. "Do you need anything?"

Alexa shook her head. She had absolutely everything she needed. She watched Diego walk off, then glanced back to where Holly and Tyler stood. She caught Holly's eye, and motioned for Holly to join her. Alexa realized that she didn't need to spend every second with the boy in her life. She could hang with her friends, even
while
her significant other was there.

Holly had seen Diego and Alexa together, and felt surprisingly okay with it. Now that she was falling in love, she wanted the rest of the world to feel that way as well. She waved back at Alexa, then turned to Tyler.

"I'm going to dance," she told him, planting a quick kiss on his lips. "Why don't you grab something to drink and meet me?"

Tyler agreed, and headed off for the coolers. As

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Holly was making her way toward the crowd of dancers, she nearly collided with Diego.

"Hey," they said at the same time, smiling awkwardly. Diego seemed about to add something -- perhaps an apology -- but Holly shook her head.

"It's okay," she told him. "Don't even worry about it."

Diego nodded, his dimples showing. "All right." He started off for the coolers. "I'll see you around, Holly."

"I'll see you," Holly echoed, turning away. She remembered that Diego was starting Princeton next year. So she would see him around, especially if he and Alexa started dating seriously. And Holly could live with that.

"Look at you, hottie!" Alexa exclaimed, kissing Holly on the cheek when she arrived at her side. "You're glowing."

"So are
you.
" Holly grinned at Alexa. It was true. Alexa's white-blonde hair spilled, mermaidlike, down her back and her face was radiant.

"Hang on," Alexa said. She reached for her tote and pulled out her digital camera, holding it at arm's length as she and Holly leaned their heads together and smiled. Alexa pressed the silver button and the flash went off. Then, she flipped the camera over to admire the image she'd captured -- she and Holly, smiling on the beach, frozen forever in time. She returned the camera to her bag, satisfied.

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Alexa and Holly started dancing together on the sand. A few guys tossed appreciative glances their way, and Alexa acknowledged the boy-attention, but she didn't crave it like she had before. She stood on her toes, spotting Diego near one of the coolers. He was sipping a Corona and talking to, of all people, Tyler. Alexa nudged Holly to point out the surprise pairing, then the girls looked back at each other and grinned. Who
knew
what those boys were talking about?

Night had fallen, engulfing the ocean in darkness, but the stars were very bright overhead. Holly looked down at her watch. The hours were slipping by. Soon, it would be morning, and the girls would be on a plane again, soaring back home. Back to school and parents and ordinary life.

"Can you believe at this time tomorrow -- " Holly began.

"Shhh!" Alexa put her hand over Holly's mouth. "Don't say 'tomorrow.' Don't even
think
about it." Holly smiled. "You're right."

So the girls cast aside all thoughts of home, and boys, and the future. They simply surrendered themselves to the South Beach night: the music, the waves, the fire, and the starry sky. Tomorrow seemed like ages away.

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Here's a sneak preview of the sizzling new book

6X

the uncensored confessions

BY NINA MALKIN

Sex. Fame. Rock n Roll.

Four bandmates on the fast track to pop-rock superstardom reveal the unfiltered truth about the glamorous, backstabbing world of sudden celebrity.

Introducing...

The Voice
Sweet, trusting Kendall sings like an angel -- and is about to discover her devilish side.

The Body
Rich, spoiled Wynn can't keep a beat to save her life. But with curves like that... who cares?

The Bitch
No-nonsense Stella is all confidence, attitude, style, and smarts. But her relationship with the band's manager might reveal her to be more vulnerable than she thinks.

The Boy
A/B has got real talent. Now if only he can keep his mind on the music instead of crushing on his bandmates.

6x
Can you handle it?

In stores this June!

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chapter one

THE BODY

They call me The Body, though not to my face. Not that I would care. Maybe I would, I don't know. Technically, I know I have a good body. I'm five ten, wear a size four jeans, and my boobs are a double-D. My mother says I should be proud of my body; she certainly is. I'm sorry, does that sound terrible? It's just that I read in a magazine about a girl my age who had a boob reduction -- I mentioned that to my mom and she looked at me like I'd asked to be decapitated. Plus she's forever ordering me to stand up straight and put my shoulders back -- a drill sergeant in socialite's clothing. When I started to develop, she would brag to her friends. Not that she actually takes credit for my body; in fact, she's always saying things like "It must be something in the water!" But that's how she thinks of me - as her creation.

Or her project. Because before 6X was anything, when it was just a crazy, this-will-never-happen-in-a-million-years idea, my mom was all for it. Not me. Even now, with

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our video on MTV ninety-seven times a day, it hasn't fully sunk in, since the way it started out was so unreal, so stupid. A big fat joke -- with me as the punch line. But like it or not, here I am in front of a camera, spilling all. Uch, I'm sorry, it's just really hard and completely embarrassing -- I made
such
a fool of myself.

It was the holidays, and my stepdad's law firm was having a party at the Drake House, very fancy, all the lawyers and all the big clients. There was no reason for me to go -- there wouldn't be any people my age, no kids to talk to -- but my mother was like, "You're going." Any excuse to get me out of jeans and into a dress by whatever designer currently has her in thrall.

So I went (you do not argue with my mother), and I swear, there is nothing more mind-numbing than watching a ballroom full of old people party. Waiters trudged around with trays of champagne and I thought:
Why not?
Nobody blinked when I took a glass. So I took another. I wasn't drinking to get drunk, though. It's more that I was bored and uncomfortable -- holding a glass gave me something to do.

Sipping and walking, sipping and walking -- that was my evening. Until all that sipping made walking kind of a challenge. I went to stand by the edge of the stage and watch the band, even though they were Top 40 definitely not my thing. Soon as they took a break, the drummer came up to hit on me, which was
so
not appropriate. I mean, I'm a guest, and I'm fifteen. Anyway, I didn't know what to say - I'm pretty shy in general, and I get extra shy around guys who consider my boobs tantamount to aurora

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borealis. But there I am hello, little drunk girl -- telling him how cool
I
thought it was that he played drums, because I always wanted to play drums -- which wasn't true, I'd never even thought about it.

Next thing I know, he's leading me onto the stage and sitting me behind the kit and telling me what to do. I just start banging away, but within seconds my mom's unacceptable behavior radar picks up on my unacceptable behavior and she dispatches my stepdad. Only he's not alone; he's with one of his partners, Brian Wandweilder -this entertainment lawyer, a real hotshot, the youngest partner at the firm.

"Well, well, well, Sherman," Mr. Wandweilder said to my stepdad. "I didn't know Wynnie played drums."

My stepdad smirked at him. "She doesn't," he said, then gave the drummer a dirty look and took my arm to help me down. I didn't complain; I was too busy babbling, "That was so much fun! Oh, my God, that was SO FUN!" Such a ditz, I know -- but the weird thing was Mr. Wandweilder kept going on about how incredible I was. Under normal circumstances -- in other words, not drunk ones -- I would have been mortified, but we talked about me playing the drums for a long time. There was something just so earnest about him, pale brown eyes peering sincerely behind little wire-rimmed glasses, sandy hair, not
long
long but not lawyer short -- sort of flopping as he nodded with an enthusiasm, an excitement, that was more kid-like than adult. Mr. Wandweilder talking about me and music and the drums made my stupid-drunk-girl act seem not just acceptable but, I don't know, credible ... cool.

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And later that night, in the limo coming home, my mom and stepdad were discussing it.

My stepdad was like: "And if you can believe it, Cynthia, Wandweilder actually said he could put a band together around Wynnie and sell it.*'

"Why wouldn't I believe it?" my mom said. She had that out-of-breath sound in her voice that she gets when she's irritated. "Wynn is a poised, beautiful, talented girl. And Brian knows the industry. You always say that. Do you think he was joking?"

"No, I actually think he was serious," my stepdad said, loosening his tie. "But he doesn't know Wynn. Really, Cynthia -- can you envision our Wynnie bopping around on stage, playing drums in a rock band?"

They're having this conversation with me sitting between them in the limo. They're talking about me, and I'm sitting right there. And it's not like I'm passed out and drooling; I'm just a little drowsy.

"You're not denying that my daughter is poised and beautiful and talented, are you?" my mother said, raising an eyebrow in warning.

"Of course not," he replied quickly. "But Wynnie? In a band? Playing drums? Don't you think that's slightly ridiculous?"

My mom patted my stepdad's hand and called him darling. "What isn't ridiculous?" she said. "Martha Stewart went to jail. One of the Hilton girls milked cows on television. Arnold Schwarzenegger was elected governor of California. We live in the age of ridiculous." She looked at, me and smoothed my hair and smiled. "I'm not even thinking

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about Wynn actually being
good
at it, of her having any kind of success. I simply think it might bring her out of her shell."

"Maybe," said my stepdad. He was quiet for a minute, mulling it over -- he's like that, always looks at all the angles. "Maybe," he said again. Then it was his turn to look at me and smooth my hair and smile. "I just hope she doesn't come out of her
shirt."

THE VOICE

They call me The Voice. Oh, gosh, no -- not officially! That would be so rude. Because it's not like the other kids aren't talented. Because they are. Really. Just sometimes at. Universe, our record label, they will say that. It's kind of a slang thing in the industry to say, "She's the voice" instead of "She's the lead singer." Anyway, singing is what I do. Always has been.

Ask anyone in my family and they'll tell you about "the nudge." We were all there in church my mom and daddy, my grandparents, basically the whole town of Frog Level, South Carolina. And when the singing started, I opened my mouth like everyone else ... and out it came. My voice. My mom says it was the sweetest, truest sound she ever heard -- like an angel -- but she had no idea it was little old me.

Well, once she realized it was
my
voice, she stopped singing herself and nudged my daddy with her elbow. He couldn't believe it, either, so he nudged my granddad, next

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to him in the pew. And then it was like the wave -- you know, the wave they do at football games? Like that. The nudge started moving through the congregation until every last person except for the preacher got a nudge and stopped singing and it was just me, three and a half years old, belting out "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" like nobody's business. It was my first solo.

Gosh, that's a back-home story for you. All my family is still down there in Frog Level. That old church isn't there anymore but I can remember it: white clapboard, wooden floor, and so tiny -- standing room only on any given Sunday. Isn't memory strange? I think it is. Because even though I can remember that church, what I cannot remember, what I wish I
could
remember more than anything, is my daddy. I cannot see his smile, his eyes, his hands, his hair; I cannot see any part of him anywhere in my mind.

What happened was, he got killed defending our country in the Gulf War. And my mom doesn't have any pictures of him they went missing because my mom and I moved around so much. It took us a while to get all the way up to New York -- well, New Jersey; right now we live in Elizabeth, New Jersey. What happened was, after we lost my daddy, my mom had to work real hard at the Wal-Mart and go to college, but once she earned her degree she kept on looking for better and better jobs. We'd stay in a place for a bit, but if she didn't get promoted, well, then it was "Who can do better?" And for some reason the better the job, the farther up north it was. She's got a wonderful position now; they love her. My mom is serious about her career; she is an
executive
at the top of middle management. As supportive