Pay to get in,Pray to get out.
Johnny Silver is the world's soon-to-be biggest rock star, but on the eve of his debut concert in Los Angeles, he mysteriously disappears, causing global pandemonium. His friend Taj tries to discover the truth about his disappearance, which leads her to TAP.com and its shadowy founder, Sutton Werner, who throws the wildest parties in Bel-Air.
TAP started out innocently enough, as a website that dishes the dirt on the kids of Sunset Boulevard and beyond. But it has become something more. Membership is a privilege with responsibilities and consequences.
At Sutton's parties, anything goes, especially in the legendary backroom rituals nicknamed The Angels Practice. Rumors abound of a special drink handed out at the parties that tap into otherworldly sensations.
One night Taj meets Nick, a Westside preppie who doesn't buy into the TAP mayhem, especially since his kid sister never came home from attending one of its blow-out bashes. Slowly the two of them are drawn to TAP and to each other. But Taj just might know more than she's letting on....
Are you ready for the darker side of Tinsel-town's brightest lights?"Nothing is more glam than a summer in the Hamptons."
--Teen Vogue"A guilty-pleasure beach read....What could be better than taking a nanny job that's guaranteed to be a VIP pass to celebrity parties and cute guys?"
--Seventeen"Fans of the Gossip Girl series will love this novel."
-- www.teenreads.com"A beach read without a doubt."
--Publishers Weekly"...a hip and light-hearted page turner."
--Wow!magazine"...jump on board with the hottest book of the summer."
--Bookloons Review"This isSex and the Citylite, where everyone is a little more fabulous, flirtatious, snobby, and deceitful than we are -- and it's quite all right with us."
--Romantic TimesBook Club"Once readers get started, they'll find this hard to put down."
--Booklist
AfterSaturday night at the In-N-Out and a steady parade of drunken rockers, skater kids, Chicano families, frat boys, Beverly Hills princesses, East L.A. gangbangers, Hollywood hippies, artists, and stoners walked through the swinging glass doors, a microcosm of Los Angeles itself.
Nick Huntington sat alone in the front booth, listlessly watching the local citizenry and unconsciously eavesdropping on two hyperactive film types -- boneheads, in his humble opinion -- honing a movie pitch at the next table, dreams of Hollywood the backbone of every conversation within a ten-mile radius of the studios.
He was holding a fry in midair when he spotted the boy. Nick froze, and the fry dangled on his mouth, the ketchup dripping from the tip and burning the edge of his tongue.
The boy was shaking visibly, his entire body vibrating from an uncontrollable compulsion -- knees knocking against each other, teeth chattering, head twitching from side to side. His long hair was matted against his forehead and the back of his neck, and his jeans were torn and holey. After midnight at the In-N-Out Burger on the corner of Orange Drive and Sunset Boulevard and no one paid much attention as he shuffled up to the front of the line, dirt-black fingers trembling as they dug into his pants pockets for grimy dollar bills and change.
"The number one," he mumbled, so softly that the cashier had to repeat it. A flat chemical scent emanated from his pores as if he were sweating aluminum.
"Number one?" she asked again helpfully, breathing through her mouth so she wouldn't smell him but trying not to show it -- they got all kinds there.
The boy nodded. His hair was so dirty it looked brown, except for the roots, which were startlingly, shockingly silver, like a halo. He was so skinny his wrist bones protruded from his skin, poking out painfully. His skin was sallow, a drained, sickly, yellow color -- junkie yellow -- but o
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