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Lydia extracted the vial, and tucked it in the back pocket of her skirt before stowing her bag. Oksana closed the drawer, locked it with a tiny padlock, and headed for the dance floor.
    Lydia gave herself over to the music. After more than eight years of native chants and instruments, the hip-hop beat was intoxicating. One song segued into the next; they danced until a waiter clad in nothing but faded jeans, the better to show off his tanned six-pack and pierced nipples, offered Oksana a flute of champagne with floating raspberries. Then he offered one to Lydia.
    “They know my drink!” Oksana called over the music.
    “I thought you didn’t drink until Thanksgiving!”
    “No vodka, I meant!” Oksana hoisted her flute toward Lydia, then drained it. Lydia did the same. The music and the champagne kept coming; Lydia felt as if she could dance all night. Then, out of the blue, a male hand snaked around her waist. A bucktoothed guy who bore a strong resemblance to a tree rat pulled Lydia to him and started humping her to the music. But Oksana got ahold of the little weasel in her muscular grip. “She’s with me, dickhead!” Oksana spat, then spun the rodent-man into the crowd.
    Lydia smiled. It was sweet, really, though she could more than take care of herself. Back in the Amazon, size had nothing to do with deadliness. The fiercest warriors were inches shorter than she was. But they had an absolute willingness to kill and knowledge of how to do it in the most expedient way possible. Lydia had learned these lessons well—she hadn’t befriended an Ama shaman for nothing.
    “Thanks, Oksana. But if someone cute hits on me, back off.”
    “Someone cute, did you say?”
    Lydia nodded. “
Very
cute!”
    Oksana pulled Lydia close and kissed her. Seriously kissed her.
    Huh. Interesting.
    The native Amas were bisexual; sex was a far more casual thing in Amazonia than in modern civilization. Not for Lydia, since she hadn’t had any of it yet. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t open to new experiences. She had to admit, though, it was kind of weird getting her very first real kiss from another girl. It wasn’t disgusting or anything, but no bells went off, either.
    Oksana ended the kiss with her arms around Lydia’s waist. “Nice?”
    “Not bad,” Lydia replied.
    “We should go back to my place. Chateau Marmont.”
    Hmmm. If Lydia had simply been willing to file it under the heading of “Why Not Try It?” she might have taken Oksana up on the offer. The Chateau Marmont was supposed to be a really nice hotel, too. But peculiar as it seemed to share her first real kiss with another girl, it seemed utterly bizarre to lose her virginity to one. If that’s what lesbians did. Lydia wasn’t exactly sure.
    Princess Lydia decided to hold out for her prince—he’d better hurry the hell up—and declined Oksana’s invitation. If the tennis player minded at all, she didn’t show it; the two girls danced the night away.

11
    God. Kiley didn’t get panic attacks, but she wasn’t immune to anxiety. It always hit her in the stomach, and it was hitting her now. She climbed into the limo with her mom and the other contestants. They were on their way to the Brentwood Hills Country Club for the first elimination challenge for
Platinum Nanny.
Kiley had no idea what the challenge would be—it had been kept completely under wraps. All she knew was, she had to survive.
    The day before had been fun. Eliminations hadn’t yet begun, and the producers had sent everyone to get their hair cut, colored, and styled at JosephMartin on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. They had wanted to give Kiley red streaks and hair extensions. A stylist had shown her a photo of some chick from a men’s magazine with the same streaky waist-length hair, her tits and butt stuck out to the camera.
    It was so
not
Kiley. She’d been adamant on the no extensions, but had given in on the streaks. A flunky had blown her hair perfectly straight, and she’d been