Excerpt Oh no. You are not wearing that," my mom says, barging into my room and invading my privacy as usual. I'm sitting on the floor, rolling my eyes and tying my shoes. I mean, the fact that she despises my faded, old Levi's, and "Cape Cod Crew" sweatshirt (that is now so faded and peeled it reads " ape Crew") is reason enough for me to love it. "Mom, it's fine. Trust me," I say, making a mental note to get a lock on my door ASAP. "No, Rio, it's not fine. You've got to make a good impression on your first day!" "I know what I'm doing," I say, glaring at her as she plows through one of the open boxes like it's a sale bin at Barney's. "Here, why don't you wear this?" She holds up the denim mini skirt and sparkly tank top she gave me right after she broke the news about moving, as if it was no more than a simple costume change, and that they weren't really wrecking my life. "Forget it." I shake my head, and push it away. "There's no way I'm showing up on my first day at a new school looking like a Hilton sister." "This outfit is adorable, and you've got the figure for it," she says, holding it against herself and looking in the mirror. "That outfit will get me killed! All the girls will hate me if I show up in that." "This outfit will get you noticed!" She raises her eyebrows at me. "Then why don't you wear it?" I roll my eyes at her white terry cloth short shorts, matching hoodie, and sky blue Ugg boots, which have apparently become her new "OC" uniform. "Besides, it's only January," I remind her. "Yes, and it's already seventy degrees out. People here dress for the weather, not the seasons." "'Cause there are no seasons in this freaky place," I say, suddenly hating her all over again for dragging me across the country, far away from everything I know and love. I mean, we've only been here a week but it may as well be a year. I'm completely miserable and it's totally my parent's fault. If my dad hadn't decided to move to the Newport Beach office, and my mom hadn't insisted on throwing out all of our 'heavy-New-York-furniture' before replacing it with 'California-lite,' I wouldn't be sleeping on the floor and getting dressed out of a box. And from what I've already witnessed of her own extreme-beach-bunny-makeover, I've got a sick feeling she's going to decorate the entire house with nothing but yoga mats and water bottles. I swear I miss my old bed almost as much as I miss my old friends. "Well, if you insist on wearing sweats, at least let them be designer." She reaches for the new hot pink Juicy Couture sweat suit, she bought me two days ago. "Mom, no! I'm totally gonna be late!" "Good, you'll make an entrance!" "Yeah, only in high school they call it 'being tardy,' and it's frowned upon," I say, surrendering to her sales pitch against my better judgment. When I'm dressed for the second time, in the outfit of her choice, I notice she's staring at my shoes, eyes filled with disapproval. "Forget it," I tell her. "I've compromised all I can. Now would you please just drive me to school?" "Not until I put on my lips." I roll my eyes, grab my backpack, and run down the stairs and out the front door to the new, white, convertible Jaguar that's sitting on the driveway. I throw my bag on the floor, fasten my seat belt, and just sit there and wait while she locates the perfect shade of lip-gloss that will offset the blue in her eyes (made even bluer- courtesy of Bausch & Lomb), the blond in her hair, and transform her back into the fabulous Jahne Jones, former-almost-supermodel, that she was twenty years ago. In my mom's world, lip-gloss is definitely more important than getting me to school on time. I swear, her priorities are a total mess. © Alyson Noël BUY THE BOOK from Amazon or Barnes & Noble.