Being Layla Hart

By Amanda McKelt

April Collins is freaking out. She completely embarrassed herself in front of her crush. There’s no way she’s returning to school, like, EVER. Why can’t she be pretty, popular and perfect like Layla Hart? Layla is a phony online profile - that is, until April wakes up as her! Will popularity prove as easy as it seems? And what happens when April’s crush finally notices her...as Layla?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda McKelt
• Release date: Apr 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310654275

Amanda McKelt

As a little girl, Amanda never missed an opportunity to play dress ups and not so surprisingly, she always showed off a variety of different fashion looks for any occasion! As she grew older, Amanda became drawn to the glamorous world of the theatre where she was excited to find that playing dress ups was just an everyday occurrence. After several years in show business, Amanda arrived back at school as a Drama teacher. With such a theatrical background, the idea of “stepping into someone else’s shoes” grabbed her attention and she just had to explore it in her novel, Being Layla Hart. She hopes you enjoy! www.amandamckelt.com

Book preview

Being Layla Hart

by

Amanda McKelt

Copyright 2015 Amanda McKelt

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

Ebook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

‘Whose photo are you looking at?’ My best friend asks whilst sprawled out on my pink frilly bed spread.

‘Megan Bellmore,’ I admit with a teeny weeny bit of guilt.

Sophia cranes her neck briefly, ‘Urgh, HER. Why?’

Good question. Why am I looking at Megan Bellmore’s online photo? I mean, we’re not exactly friends or anything. Even though we’ve been going to the same school for the last three years, I’m pretty sure Megan doesn’t know that I exist. So why am I wasting my time looking at her dumb photo? I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to figure out what it actually IS about Megan that makes her have that special IT factor. Why do guys practically salivate over her? (I mean, like LITERALLY). How does she manage to NEVER have a bad hair day? I’ve honestly never seen her with as much as a pimple! Like, how is that even possible?

Her photo says it all. It involves Megan and her follower (otherwise known as her best friend) Brittany, wearing snug fitting tops that reveal their toned midriffs and display a serious amount of cleavage. They’re dressed in cowgirl hats and pretending to shoot into the camera. They wore those same cowgirl outfits for Book Week. I’m not entirely too sure which book they were representing, but they attracted a lot more attention than I did in my Professor Snape outfit complete with a detachable nose.

‘I don’t know – I guess I just wondered what it would be like to be as perfect as Megan Bellmore all the time.’ I reply as I close the image of Megan to reveal my home screen – a collage of Ian Somerhalder photos, my tribute to the breathtakingly good looking actor.

Sofia appears unimpressed, ‘Like, name a time when Megan Bellmore has actually been nice to you.’

Good point. Megan and I have talked once and it was only because we were assigned each other a math task. We had to roll a dice and record every time we got a six. Although, the we was more like me as I ended up having to do EVERYTHING. I’d roll the dice and all Megan would do was roll her skirt.

‘Megan, do you mind throwing the dice while I enter the data?’

She looked at me like I’d just asked her to stick her hand in a tub filled with starving piranhas, ‘Um, my name’s pronounced MEG-an, not MEE-gan.’ She corrected and continued to hoist her skirt so it was beyond the St Paul’s regulation standard of on the knee and more like just under the butt.

I shudder at the bad memory and admit to Sofia, ‘Um, most of the time she acts like she doesn’t know me.’

‘That’s because she doesn’t. Megan Bellmore is a superficial princess. I don’t why you’d want to be like her,’ Sofia rolls her eyes and continues to flick through a magazine. ‘Besides, I’m sure SHE didn’t get over one hundred and fifty three likes for a photo.’

‘Um, that photo was of Bobbles, not me.’ I correct whilst reminiscing about my cat wearing the most adorable pirate outfit.

‘You’re practically famous.’

‘Followers that are fellow cat enthusiasts make me far from popular. Maybe I should be more like Megan and upload more selfies? Hey, what about the ones from our sleepover the other week? ’

‘Don’t you DARE! I look totally disgusting in all of those photos.’

‘Sofia, you’re way too sensitive and besides, you always look like a supermodel.’ I retort.

‘I look like Super Mario only his shorter and rounder Italian sister, called Super Maria.’

Completely untrue. Sofia is gorgeous AND she has an actual reason to own a bra. And me? Unfortunately, I’m so pale and streamline that I could be mistaken for a lamp post. I try to avoid hanging around dogs for this very reason.

‘Anyway, if you want to be more like Megan Bellmore, you might need to ditch the My Little Pony P.Js and readjust your belief that when someone burps and farts at the same time, they don’t spontaneously combust.’ Sofia retorts, not bothering to look up from the magazine page.

‘That’s unfair! I don’t even believe that anymore. I told you Flynn proved that theory wrong.’ I smile at the idea of what my brother will do to win an argument.

Although Sofia probably has a point about the P.Js so I guess I won’t post our sleepover photos after all. I sigh and wonder what would someone like Megan be doing right now? One thing is for sure, she definitely wouldn’t be hiding under her bedspread watching unbelievably predictable vampire movies on her laptop – an activity that I’ve engaged in for the past three Saturday nights.

‘Sofiiaaaaaaaa,’ I moan. ‘Let’s go out and DO something. After all, it’s the weekend. Shouldn’t we be going out? Not wearing fluffy slippers and reading dumb magazines. We’re like, fourteen years old and should be going to parties and stuff.’ I push my chair away from the desk and spin around on it. Swivel chairs are great! Wait a minute…What am I thinking? Swivel chairs are great? No wonder I don’t have a life. Seriously.

Sofia is busy examining celebrities without makeup. Although I wouldn’t say she does this casually, more like she does everything with a dancer’s finesse. Take now for instance: she’s reading in a bend back position, her stomach flat on the bed, with her legs flipped backwards and her feet playfully touching her long dark hair.

She acts vaguely interested, ‘Like the parties you see on T.V. – the ones where they post an event online and then everyone in the world goes and like, the police arrive on their horses, with their capsicum spray and have to shut it down?’

‘It’s pepper spray.’ I correct.

‘Okay, okay, April, – capsicum, pepper spray, whatever. It sounds like we’re at my Nonna’s making a pizza.’

‘We may as well be! We must be the most boring people I know.’

It’s the weekend and the only guy that Sofia and I are hanging out with is my cat. Even my younger brother, Flynn is out with friends at Laser Zone. I scoop Bobbles up and he starts to purr loudly. One of my hands scratches under his chin and my other hand is on my laptop.

‘I know!’ Sofia’s eyes sparkle with an idea, ‘let’s prank call Zach!’

‘No WAY!’ I shriek.

Zach Fuller is the only reason why I go to school. Although another bonus about going to school is collecting the free postcards with public health messages from the library – I like to build postcard towers out of them. However, undeniably, Zach Fuller is one of my main incentives to go to school: it’s all about his perfectly brown tousled hair, aquamarine eyes and the abs that look like they’ve been painted on. Sigh.

‘Seriously, April. You’re such a spoil sport.’

‘I wonder what it would be like to have someone like Zach, you know, like me? ’

Not like THAT would ever happen. He’s always too busy making out with Megan Bellmore to notice my existence. I really wish that St Paul’s would get tough on its no overt public displays of affection policy – especially when it concerns Megan Bellmore making out with my crush, Zach Fuller.

Sofia’s face lights up. She puts the magazine down pointedly and sits bolt upright on my bed. I roll my eyes before she even starts up on a new idea, ‘I know. You need to make Zach Fuller notice you.’

‘I’m not prank calling him, Sofia.’

‘No, not that. I have another idea…’

‘I hope your plan involves magic powers that can make me blonde, perfectly symmetrical and give me an actual reason to wear a bra. That seems to be the only type of girl that registers on the Zach Fuller radar.’

Sofia remains undeterred. She obviously has a better idea, as her enthusiasm seems unwavering, ‘We STALK him!’

‘We what?!’ I screech.

Okay, I’m going to drop this whole having a life idea immediately. Sofia and I pose a much less safety risk to the community if we stay indoors and eat copious amounts of honey popcorn and practice our body percussion performance for the next X Factor auditions.

‘Sofia, the last time I stalked a guy, I was completely and utterly humiliated. It was bad. Oh and I’m highly aware that I started a sentence with, the last time I stalked… which is just plain sad. Like, we really do need lives.’

The guy’s name was Matthew Walker (Thankfully I was in grade seven and he was in grade twelve so like, I never have to see him again.) After a few weeks of surveillance, I just happened to be hanging around his locker, hoping to strike up a conversation – I had quizzed Flynn beforehand on what guys talk about so I was armed with the conversation topics of computer games, burps and farts.

He arrived at his locker and didn’t seem to notice a geeky grade seven girl gawking at him. I was about to say something like, ‘Hi, can you burp the National Anthem?’ But before I could, he unknowingly flung open his locker door and it smacked into my face! It seriously KILLED causing blood to trickle sorrowfully from my nose. Sofia, of course, was hiding nearby and filming the incident with her phone, came to my aid and escorted me to the sick bay. It was a TOTAL DISASTER.

Sofia doesn’t let up. Her gestures are becoming larger as the more convinced she is that her crazy idea will work. ‘We stalk him. We find out where he’ll be and you’ll just happen to be there too. And of course, you’ll have to be looking out of this world beautiful.’

Me? Beautiful? The words are not usually incorporated into the same sentence. I’m very dubious that this plan could work.

‘Okay, so let’s just say I go along with the whole: Stalk Zach Fuller plan.’ I say trying to wrap my head around the logistics, ‘How will we even know where he will be?’

‘Move over.’ Sofia leaps off the bed, pushes me off my chair and commandeers my laptop. I reposition myself on the bed and pat Bobbles black fur as Sofia madly types away.

‘Ah, huh!’ she announces like a detective, ‘Get out your hair straightener as Operation: Get Zach Fuller to notice April Collins, starts TODAY.’

#

‘Hold still, will you.’ Sofia commands while she fastens false eyelashes on me.

I groan loudly. Maybe being boring and spending my weekend reading a book was a better idea? This whole getting ready process is nothing but TORTURE.

‘My work of art is complete!’

I stare into my dresser mirror. Sofia has sizzled my long brown straight hair so it looks even longer and straighter, my pale skin looks five shades darker with Sofia’s foundation and my big, green, bug eyes are sandwiched by hideously large eyelashes.

‘I can’t believe you carry around foundation and false eyelashes.’ I remark, flapping my new lashes awkwardly.

‘They’re beauty kit essentials. You never know when you might need them.’

Most of Sofia’s life is spent either rehearsing for a dance concert or being in a dance concert. There is no other form of being for Sofia.

‘Okay, hold still, while I make the final touch.’ She leans in and lightly brushes something glittery onto my cheeks.

I glance back into the mirror. Sofia has completely transformed me into: Glinda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz. Um, not exactly the look I was going for…

‘Sofia, don’t you think that guys might like a more natural look?’

‘Are you kidding me? Sure, guys always SAY that stuff, but they don’t actually mean it. They say they like girls who are into fishing and camping, but really they would take Miranda Kerr over a girl who hasn’t had a shower all week and smells like a can of baked beans. Besides, Zach will definitely notice you now.’

Yup, now I look like I should be hosting a children’s fairy party.

‘Do I HAVE to do this?’ I moan. ‘Maybe I should just keep admiring Zach from afar?’

I’m only saying that. I don’t actually mean it. In reality, I’d LOVE to be someone like Megan, where having Zach’s attention is just a meh, regular occurrence.

‘Yes, you totally do.’ she says excitedly.

‘So how do you know where Zach is going to be?’ I ask, while putting on my favorite pink skirt that I’ve had since grade five. Mum always says that I’m very economical seeing as I still fit most of my childhood clothes. I’m in grade nine and still waiting for my body to get the message that looking like a chopstick is in no way alluring.

‘Um, isn’t that what the internet is for?’ Sofia places her hands on hips obviously feeling very proud of herself.

‘You should become a private detective.’ I suggest – reminded of the time she made up a whole detective style dance to the Pink Panther music. We filmed it and put it on YouTube. I played the victim that was hit over the head with a dance cane early on in the piece, while Sofia played the detective, wearing a glamorous sparkly hat and a trench coat. We received twenty three YouTube hits. They all belonged to us.

‘Maybe I’ll do that after I become a backup dancer for Beyoncé. Anyway, we better go – its two o clock and the game has already started. Zach Fuller, get ready to meet April Collins!’

I feel myself turn red. Not because of Mum’s tendency to shriek a variety of profanity when driving, but because Sofia just loves quizzing her about her love life. Ever since the divorce went through, Mum has been dating. Her lovely long blonde hair is cut short into a Miley Cyrus, I’m so rebel style and she wears really figure hugging clothes. Like now, for instance, it’s just an ordinary Saturday afternoon and Mum appears like she’s ready to sip cocktails in her super tight black dress and canary yellow platform heels.

‘You look SO gorgeous!’ Sofia gushes from the backseat of Mum’s car.

‘Are those shoes safe to drive in, Mum? I mean, you can’t exactly feel the accelerator in those.’ I observe, but no one pays any attention to my valid occupational health and safety concern.

Sofia continues her exclusive conversation with Mum, ‘Are you going out tonight? You should definitely wear that dress!’

I send evil glares to Sofia, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Like I need to be reminded that Mum has a better social life than me. And I really don’t want to know about the totally gross guys she dates. The mental image is bad enough to psychologically stuff me up for the rest of my LIFE.

‘Thanks Sofia – I’m just catching up with a friend tonight. Now, is this the place where you want me to drop you off?’

We look at the sign: Castle Field’s High School.

‘This is it.’ I say already undoing my seat belt. If Sofia blabs anymore compliments on Mum and how beautiful she looks I’ll barf. Like, seriously.

Mum pulls up to the school gates, ‘I still don’t understand why you don’t want to be dropped off at your own school?’

‘Because it’s an away game, Mum,’ I moan.

She seems unaffected by the irritable tone of my voice. ‘I’m glad you’re both getting out and