Free The It Girl by Katy Birchall Page B

replied, giving an awkward wave.
    To be honest, there was no need for the awkward wave. I’m not sure why I made such a bizarre gesture. It certainly didn’tlighten the atmosphere. Though it was better than “Howdy, partner,” I guess.
    Helena insisted on giving us a tour of the house after instructing a very reluctant-looking Marianne to prepare the drinks. She showed us the five bedrooms—two used, two spare, and one for when Helena was feeling “pensive” and wanted a different space. She let me poke around the huge en-suite bathrooms and the walk-in closets, admiring Marianne’s extensive handbag and sunglasses collections.
    â€œWhat’s in there?” I asked, pointing at a door on the downstairs floor, once we had seen the kitchen, study, and living room.
    â€œOh, that’s the screening room.” Helena smiled.
    â€œYou have a screening room?” I asked, amazed.
    â€œDuh.” She grinned and pointed at herself. “Movie star.”
    â€œAnna loves films; don’t you, Anna?” my dad said over-enthusiastically, clearly hoping this would change everything. “You can come over here and watch them on the big screen. Wouldn’t that be great ?”
    I ignored him.
    After the tour and some small talk about how school was going for me, and Dad’s new yawn idea for a book he was working on, Helena invited us into the dining room for dinner. “I hope you’re hungry,”she said, excitedly leading us in.
    Boy, had she made an effort. I’ve never seen so much sushi. The table was covered in large dishes and plates of fish and every kind of sushi you could think of: different combinations of maki and temaki rolls, edamame, spring rolls, teriyaki. We were about to consume the entire cast of The Little Mermaid .
    Then I noticed the place settings. There were no knives and forks, just chopsticks. Let me tell you something about those of us in life who have very little coordination: chopsticks are EVIL.
    â€œThis is amazing, Helena,” my dad said, beaming at her as he took his place. He looked at me expectantly.
    â€œYes,” I said, trying to disguise my fear. “Amazing.”
    I tried to ignore what sounded suspiciously like a snort from where Marianne was sitting. Helena shot a glare across the table at her daughter.
    These are the reasons why one should never eat sushi at a film star’s house:
    1. Chopsticks are HARD WORK. I felt exhausted about five minutes in from the trauma that came with each mouthful as I attempted to pick things up, dropped them, stabbed them, madea mess, and then ended up using my fingers while spraying rice all over their shiny floor.
    2. Every time you do drop a piece of sushi, while trying to carefully carry it to your plate from the platter using the dreaded chopsticks, your father will no doubt laugh too loudly and too nervously at you. If there are any It Girls that happen to be in the room, for example, Marianne Montaine, they will not laugh along with your deranged father but instead look at you gravely, as though they are slightly repulsed at you becoming one of their family but are too polite to show it.
    3. You end up giving up attempting to eat because it is causing so much drama and thus return home starving and are reduced to eating Nutella out of the jar with a spoon.
    â€œWhy don’t you two go upstairs and bond?” Helena suggested, clearly sympathetic to my disastrous sushi plight.
    Marianne’s face dropped, and I snorted wasabi sauce so hard I thought my head was going to explode.
    â€œThat’s all right,” Marianne said in a slight panic.
    Normally I might be insulted by this but, still speechlessfrom my wasabi brain-fire, I knew where Marianne was coming from. There had been no point in the evening that Marianne had been outwardly rude or uncivil. She had replied politely to my dad’s eager attempts at conversation starters and had looked at me