Out of all the clique actresses, Bridget Mendler (Kristen Gregory) is on top of her game.
She scored a place in a new Disney tv series Good Luck Charlie.
She also starred in Jonas (Keeping It Real and Wrong Song) and Wizards of Waverly Place.
Disney seems to love her. Even Perez Hilton wrote about her: Good Luck Charlie will be airing in 2010 exactly when Hannah Montana stops airing. Will she be the new Miley? As in, seriously?
Quick Review: (of the next books by Lisi)
- The Alphas (the fresh new series by lisi.)
- Skye Hammilton enters Alpha Academy where everyones as special as her. ITS FINALLY OUT!!! =)
- These Boots Are Made For Stalking
- the next Clique book. (you can already pre-order on Amazon)
- The Cliquetionary
-The dictonary of everything Clique. As if the title wasn't obvy. Comming out Nov 1
-The Clique Prequel: Charmed and Dangerous
- the magical night all five girls met. the days before massie was an alpha. Available 10/27/09.
- Silent Night, Holy Fight
- a clique novella. comming out around Christmas time.
- The Alphas: Movers and Fakers
-Next Alphas book comming out April 10, 2010
Seems like Lisi is super occupied. So don't get surprised if you still haven't received your fan letter back...
If Anyone is interested on what the back of the Alphas cover says I'm posting it: (all credit goes to Lisi.)
At OCD, LBRS are tormented.
At Alpha Academy, they're sent home.
Excentric billionaire Shira Brazille founded the super-exclusive Alpha Academy on exotic Alpha Island to nurture the next generation of exceptional dancers, writers, musicians, and inventors. It's a dream come true for one hundred lucky girls, but those not measuring up will be sent home at any time, for any reason. The one left standing will win worldwide fame. Who will it be?
SKYE HAMILTONKnown for her dance moves and her ability to make super fast connection with boys, Skye plans on taking Alphas by storm- and lip-kissing all five of Shira's super hot sons. But when Shira deems her boys off limits, Skye has a choice to make: give up boy crushes or ger booted.
ALLIE A. ABBOTTIs one little initial away from superstardom. So when reclusive singer-songwriter-slash-environmentalist Allie J. Abbott's invitation to Alpha Academy arrives on Allie A. Abbott's doorstep, she does what what any crafty girl would: create identity theft. Can she keep up the charade?
Beta-for-life Charlie is offered a last minute place at the Academy, but there's an admission condition: dumping her boyfriend- Shira's son. She wants to be an alpha but it's hard to claw her way up, when ninety-nine girls are waiting to sink their claws into her superhawt ex.
If at first you don't suceed, you're not an alpha.
At thirty-eight thousand feet above the desert, Allie A. Abbott tried to GPS her emotional state. It was somewhere between wow and whoa, what have I done!? Her emerald-colored contact lenses flitted around the womblike belly of the personal private plane. After two-plus hours of flying and crying, her eyes were finally dry enough to take in their surroundings.
Hammered silver coated the convex egg-shaped walls, reflecting prisms and rainbows all over the cabin.
“I’m made from sixty thousand recycled aluminum cans,” the wall announced in a woman’s warm British accent when she ran her fingers over its warped surface.
She Purelled immediately.
“Problem with the wheatgrass lemonade?” asked a smooth, motherly voice over the intercom from the cockpit. It was the same voice that had welcomed her aboard. The same voice that had told her she’d be flying to a discreet location somewhere in the Mojave Desert. And the same voice that had reminded her there was no turning back as the wheels lifted off the runway in Santa Ana, California.
“Nope. The lemonade is perfect,” Allie lied—a skill she’d mastered over the last few weeks. And something that she’d hopefully get even better at once she landed. Because Alpha Academy had outfitted this plane for a very different Allie Abbot. Allie J. Abbott, to be specific. The girl power poet–slash–eco-maniac songwriter. Not the heartbroken mall model who worshipped pop culture, pop songs, and Pop-Tarts. No. No one wanted that Allie these days.
Thumbing away another tear, Allie nestled into her ergonomic recliner. It was made of what looked like Bubble Wrap filled with water, and felt like getting a massage from a hundred different people at once. If her intestines weren’t contracting from the shot of wheat-ass, it might have felt incredible.
Allie had first seen Fletcher Barton at the Riverside Palace Mall in downtown Santa Ana. They’d locked eyes on the north escalators—she was going up, he was going down. Her arms were full of bags. His were full of muscles. Goose bumps sprouted all over her spray-tanned body that had nothing to do with the frigid air-conditioning and everything to do with his leather jacket. He was tall and fit, with product-enhanced light brown hair and narrow blue eyes. She was the same. For a second, Allie wondered if they were related. Maybe fraternal twins separated at birth. But their attraction had been too strong for something that creepy.
“Wait!” he shouted, pushing past moms and their kids, taking the steps two at a time as he darted up the down escalator.
They met at the top.
“No, thanks.” He smiled with his entire face. “I’ve got the wipes.” He pulled a square package out of his back pocket, tore it open with his tartar-free teeth, and rubbed. With a swift toss, the used cloth soared straight into the trash can and Cupid’s arrow straight into Allie’s heart.
From then on they were inseparable, and quickly became known for their combined physical perfection and strong immune systems. Everyone joked that when they got married and had kids, they would be studied for advancing the human genome. Allie said it too, only she was serious.
And the best part was that her BFF, Trina, who was single, and much less attractive than them, never got jealous or made Allie choose. In fact, she seemed just as inspired by their beauty as everyone else. Always wanting to be around them and nibble on the by-product of their love. But what Trina lacked in beauty she made up for in artistic talent. She’d even offered to tag along with the couple to Disneyland for their eleven-month anniversary, and sketch picturesque moments of their enchanted day in charcoal.
“Ha!” A bitter laugh escaped Allie’s waxy Burt’s Bees–coated lips—the natural balm was an unfortunate favorite of Allie J’s.
“Everything okay back there?” the voice asked from the cockpit.
Um, if by okay you mean wanting to shove my bare unpedicured foot up my ex-friend’s butt like a shish kebab skewer, then yes, everything is fine, Allie wanted to shout. But that would blow her cover faster than a DNA sample. So she simply nodded yes and forced a smile in case the omniscient voice could see her from behind the aluminum wall.
“Good,” it replied, satisfied.
But it wasn’t. Nothing was good. Not since the happy threesome had boarded the yellow-and-blue submarine on the Finding Nemo ride. Not since everything went dark when they had been “swallowed by a whale.” Not since the lights flashed back on and Fletcher’s neck was covered in charcoal fingerprints. And Trina’s lips smelled like jojoba and eucalyptus. And they both looked more caught than Nemo.
Allie slammed her compact shut without the satisfying click. She just didn’t get it. With puffy O-shaped lips, narrow navy blue eyes, skin that looked lit from within, and a nose so perfectly sloped that a girl two towns over had requested it for her fifteenth birthday, beauty was her backstage pass. It got her everything she ever wanted. So why hadn’t it been enough to keep Fletcher? Or rather, how had she lost him to a girl who was a mere 6.5 out of 10 after Photoshop?
She’d asked him that one day after school.
“Alliecat, you’re a hottie, no question.” Fletch leaned back like there was a wall behind him, even though they were in the middle of the basketball court during practice. “But Trina’s talent is more attractive than being a perfect ten.” He caught the ball and began dribbling it down the court. Allie followed despite the angry coach and his threats to call the police. Fletcher shot and scored. His teammates smacked him high fives. In the empty stands, Trina speed-sketched the moment. Allie began to cry.
--------------- Lisi skipped some pages because it was getting long
Word spread quickly about the scandal, and even more quickly about their on-court battle. There was only one thing left to do.
Allie retreated into her room with the intention of never leaving it again. She’d lost her boyfriend and best friend all in one afternoon, and the loneliness and betrayal hurt more than a lip wax. Her mom came in frequently with all her favorites from the food court. But the pit in her stomach was too deep to fill, even with Hunan Pan’s crispy fried wings and pot stickers.
Until two days later, when her lo mien arrived with a heavy gold package.
Allie sat up in bed and asked her mother to kindly close the door behind her.
It’s about time! She sniffled, tearing through the vellum. She wondered if Fletcher would just apologize or actually grovel, and what kind of gift he was sending to make it up to her. A gold mobile device fell onto her duvet-covered lap along with a letter. It looked like an iPod dipped in glitter. Huh?
Dear Allie J,
Welcome to the inaugural class of Alpha Academy . . .
Allie whipped the letter onto the ground and beat her Tinker Bell pillowcase. It figured Allie J would be hitting a high note when Allie was at her lowest.
Allie had been getting the girl’s fan mail for years. The songwriter had grown up on the Applemay Farm Commune just five miles outside Santa Ana. But ever since she’d left on some save-the-melting-ice-caps mission in Antarctica, the letters had been coming more frequently. Allie could have notified the post office, but that would have involved forms and post office people. Both of which were boring and probably covered in germs. Besides, Allie J’s songs had shown up on the sound tracks of three teen summer flicks, and according to a blind item in Page Six, a certain trio of Disney brothers were fighting over more than her body of work. And who knew what one of them might send. Maybe himself?
Allie lowered her head, succumbing to a new generation of tears. Through salty blurred vision the gold seal of the envelope had caught the light and winked at her from the floor. Like they shared a joke. Or a secret. Or the need to escape.
Allie raced to her laptop and Google-imaged Allie J. Only three pics came up:
A green eye behind a mess of black hair.
Her thin body photographed from behind. She was onstage, facing the audience at New York’s famed Nuyorican Poets Cafe in a white dress and bare feet.
A grainy camera phone pic of her face with what appeared to be a very large mole.
And that was it.
It was perfect.
Allie raced to the mall for the first time in days.
Hours later, she had black hair, green contact lenses, and a kohl-mole on her left cheek. She told her parents the new look was part one of her heartbreak recovery plan. Part two was applying to Alpha Academy. They couldn’t quite understand the mole, or how “catalogue modeling and a vast knowledge of mall culture” were talents Shira Brazille valued, but they went with it anyway. Sure the Academy was intended for artists, writers, and inventors, but Allie had her own gifts. She could remember the lines from any romantic comedy she’d ever seen with the accuracy of a sci-fi geek memorizing Battlestar Galactica. She could apply makeup like a painter. She was a veritable celebrity historian: She knew the height, weight, dating history, and clothing preference of every major star. And at least she was eating pot stickers again.
Days later, Allie waved her acceptance letter around (after gold-outing the J) and said goodbye to her supportive parents.
And here she was, a green-eyed butterfly flying toward a new beginning on a top secret mission to Get Over Him.
“Sixty seconds until we enter the communication-free zone. No texting, no phoning, no Internet,” announced the British voice.
“For how long?” Allie asked the speaker above her head.
“Until you return to the mainland.”
What? Allie felt her stomach twirl like the food court’s Jamba Juice machine. If she couldn’t let Fletcher and Trina know how awesome her life was without them, what was the point? She whipped out her Samsung and began typing.
I’M ON A PRIVATE PLANE HEADING FOR ALPHA ACADEMY. THIS IS THE LAST TIME YOU WILL HEAR FROM ME. TURNS OUT I HAVE TALENT AFTER ALL.
Allie read it over. Did the message imply I am fine without you? I have moved on? I have more talent than Trina?
“Twenty seconds.” A countdown appeared where Leo’s face had been. It smelled like loneliness.
Allie’s thumb hovered over the send button. The text was missing something, something that stung like a thousand tiny slaps. Something that—
“Got it!” Allie half smiled, mindful of smudging her mole, and then added a few final lines.
IN THIS WORLD THERE ARE ARTISTS AND SUBJECTS. YOU KNOW, THE PEOPLE WORTH DRAWING? WELL, I AM A SUBJECT. I ALWAYS WILL BE. CAPTURE ME IF YOU CAN.
----------------------------there was more to this but Lisi cut it.
Here's an intro on those three: (thank you new fresh alphas site! check out my clique links)