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- KurzbeschreibungThe Devil Wears Prada meets Sex and the City in a wickedly funny debut novel about a girl who lands a dream internship at a magazine in New York City. If only she hadn't lied about being a dating expert on her resume...<br>Harper Anderson has always thought she should have been born somewhere more glamorous than her sleepy Northern California suburb. After all, how many water polo matches and lame parties in Bobby McKittrick's backyard can one girl take?<br>Already resigned to working at a Skinny B's Juice Press for the summer, Harper is shocked when the ultra-prestigious teen magazine, Shift , calls to say they want her to be their teen dating blogger for the summer. All she needs to do is get her butt to New York in two days.<br>There's just one teeny, tiny problem: Apart from some dance floor make-outs, Harper doesn't have a whole lot of dating experience. So when Shift 's application asked for an "edgy" personal essay, Harper might have misappropriated her best friend's experiences for her own. But she can just learn on the job...right? Will the house of lies Harper has built around her dream job collapse all around her, or will she be able to fake it until she makes it in the big city?
- AutorLaura Stampler
- VerlagSimon + Schuster
- Seiten352 Seiten
- Gewicht303 g
- LeseprobeLittle Black Dresses, Little White Lies 1 <br>I'M SWAYING BY MYSELF AT Bobby McKittrick's summer kickoff party-surrounded by couples whose Dance Floor Make-Outs are so intense, so ravenous, I'm kind of worried someone's going to drop down dead due to suffocation-when I get what might be the most important phone call of my life.<br>Of course, I don't realize the magnitude of this moment when I see the unfamiliar number flash on my phone. I don't even recognize the area code. To be honest, I'm just excited to answer a real call instead of a fake one, the kind I usually pretend to get during awkward party lulls. So I don't think twice when I answer it on the dance floor, loudly shouting "Hello?" over an even louder "Keg stand! Keg stand!" chant crescendoing from the corner of Bobby's backyard. (As a graduation treat, Bobby's older brother is giving the departing seniors a tutorial in college-party etiquette, which apparently involves kegs and then dangling people by their feet above said kegs as they chug beer upside down.)<br> My hello is answered by an indecipherable garble.<br>"Sorry, I can't hear you!" I shout again.<br>("Keg stand! KEG STAND!")<br>Still gibberish.<br>"Wait, wait, stop! Just hold on one sec!"<br>I try not to spill my one-third beer, two-thirds foam-filled red party cup as I maneuver around the blindly gyrating Dance Floor Make-Outers to a less populated part of the yard and sit on the outdoor swingy-bench next to a passed-out dude whose face is decorated with a drawn-on, very accurate portrayal of male anatomy. Real classy, guys.<br>Rule number one for aspiring writers is to steer clear of clichés, which makes living in Castalia, California-where every social gathering feels like it was ripped from a bad teen movie-less than ideal.<br>"Okay," I say into the phone. The bench swings as I sit. "Try again."<br>I hear a loud sigh on the other end of the line, followed by an exasperated and syncopated, "I said is this Har-per An-der-son?"<br>"Yeah." I take a sip of my drink. "Who's this?"<br>"Well, finally," the female voice on the other end says.<br>"And you are . . ." I start to wipe the foam mustache residue off my upper lip. This is one persistent telemarketer.<br>"This is McKayla Rae from Shift magazine."<br>I stop wiping. And maybe breathing.<br>"Harper, did you hear me? I said that this is McKayla Rae, the assistant managing editor of Shift magazine."<br> Yup, definitely stopped breathing. Clearly I misidentified who was at risk of asphyxiation tonight.<br>"Harper?"<br>Finally my brain tells my lungs to breathe and my mouth to speak.<br>"Sorry. Yes! This is Harper! Oh shit, I said that already, didn't I? I mean, not shit. Forget I said 'shit
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