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Scarlett Fever

Maureen Johnson
"A hilarious and heartfelt New York comedy from a crowned Queen of Teen"
Scarlett Fever – picture

A hilarious and heartfelt New York comedy from a crowned Queen of Teen

Quite a bit has changed for Scarlett Martin over the last month. Mrs Amberson has moved down the street and opened the Amy Amberson Agency (AAA, frequently called by stranded motorists), and she’s taken on Scarlett as her official assistant. Marlene seems to have had a personality transplant (she’s being nice, for once), Spencer has accidentally become public enemy number one (his character murdered another very popular one on a hit show), and there is definitely something wrong with Lola. And as for Scarlett’s love life? Well … the less said about that the better.

That would be enough for anyone to deal with, but unfortunately two new figures are about to enter Scarlett’s life: fifteen-year-old Broadway star Chelsea Biggs and her brother Max. Suddenly, drama appears to have spread over all of New York City. Gossip pages, boys standing in trashcans, an ill-fated cake, murder on the steps of a courthouse, flying doughnuts, topiary abuse, a dog named Murray who wees whenever he sees hats … and then an event that will change the Martin family forever. One thing is for sure: there’s never a dull moment at the Hopewell Hotel.

Publication Date: Thu 3 Jul 2014
ISBN Paperback: 9781471403040
ISBN Ebook: 9781471403057

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Author

Maureen Johnson

Maureen Johnson was crowned the 2012 Queen of Teen in the UK - but, as it turns out, she is American. She was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, during a massive snowstorm. After a little dalliance with astronomy (she had a glow in the dark star chart) and archaeology (she had a little shovel), Maureen declared her intention to become a writer at the age of eight or nine or so.

She is a New York Times bestselling author of ten YA novels, including SUITE SCARLETT, SCARLETT FEVER, THE KEY TO THE GOLDEN FIREBIRD, 13 LITTLE BLUE ENVELOPES, THE NAME OF THE STAR and THE MADNESS UNDERNEATH. She has also written many collaborative works, such as LET IT SNOW (with John Green and Lauren Myracle), and THE BANE CHRONICLES (with Cassandra Clare and Sarah Rees Brennan). She writes frequently on the subject of Young Adult literature for many publications, and is well-known for her online presence on Twitter @maureenjohnson). Maureen lives in New York, and online on Twitter (or at www.maureenjohnsonbooks.com), and was selected to represent the YA category for World Book Day 2014 with her short story THE BOY IN THE SMOKE. By the way - she's not giving that crown back...

Extract

Mrs. Amberson was dressed in a sleek black day dress, one that showed off every inch of her toned frame and smoothly muscled arms. Her exact age was unknown. She had to be older than fifty, that much Scarlett knew. But she seemed to defy time by eating a lot of seaweed and brown rice and working out two hours a day, keeping her dancer's physique in perfect working order. Her short hair - shiny, light colored brown with a stripe of chestnut cut through the center - was perfectly spiked. She was dressed for some kind of business. The cab shot off with such force that Scarlett's head snapped back against the seat. They headed south along Central Park. Mrs. Amberson had gotten much more fidgety now that she had stopped smoking, and she repeatedly flicked the window switch. Each flick sent a burst of hot air into the backseat. "Where are we going?" Scarlett asked, wincing as her curls were blown in her eyes. "To Perestroika. A fabulous new Russian place. Very Soviet chic with a devilish czarist twist." "Why?" "A client, O'Hara. A new one." "Two clients?" Scarlett said. "How will we cope?" The Amy Amberson Agency (four weeks old) had just one client, and that client was Spencer. It was the AAA that had sent him on the Day of the Sock and all over to the doomed auditions he'd been on in the last month. "Chelsea Biggs," Mrs. Amberson said, ignoring the remark. "Ingénue of that new musical, The Flower Girl." "I've seen the commercial," Scarlett said. "Does she sing that song 'Pick Me'?" "That's the one. This is Chelsea." She reached into her bag and produced an eight-by-ten photo with a résumé printed on the back. Scarlett had to clutch it with both hands to keep it from flapping in the gust of air that came out of the suddenly opened window. The picture was of a girl, very pretty, but very generic-looking, as if she had flattened her every feature with some kind of computer program that makes you into the average ideal: straight hair, big teeth, dimples, big brown eyes. A boring kind of pretty, Scarlett decided. That's what it was.