There's no word in the English language for the sensation of being throttled awake by a Katy Perry ringtone at full volume. Especially with a song about alien love. After being Wormholed to your apartment by an evil alien. And being threatened with extermination by said alien. Andie's head throbbed as she groped in the dark room for the phone on the cardboard box that served as the bedside table.

If only Katy knew what alien love was really like. Sure, it was hot, maybe included some probing. Magnetic touch, yeah. Cosmic kisses, natch. But, oh, by the way, it comes with a handy dandy death sentence!

Even worse ... Andie had never even set a ringtone. It was as if the universe was laughing at her. Andie gritted her teeth, finally located the phone, and considered throwing it across her bedroom before answering.

"Hello? Andie? Hello? It's me. Sterling. What took you so long?"

Relief washed over her upon hearing Sterling's voice—a beautiful, annoying, infuriating gripe. A lump formed in Andie's throat. Sterling was okay! Except for the fact that she's supposed to appear on some weird alien TV show.

On the bright side, now that the microchip was gone, Andie could discuss alien matters not only with Sterling but also with NASA, SETI, the U.N., and even George Lucas! Except with no proof other than the weird blue light arcing between her own fingertips, she'd probably end up being dissected herself. Then of course there was the new and improved non-disclosure clause of her revised contract. Even without the microchip, the aliens could wreak havoc on her life if they discovered her indiscretion.

"Hello? Hello? Andie! Stop talking to yourself, and answer me, dammit!"

Of course, Sterling knew about what she deemed "Andie's rich inner dialog," which was a pretty nice way to say that someone has internal conversations with herself. "I'm sorry, Ster, I had a, um, rough night/day."

"Did you get laid?"

Damn those best friend superpowers. This was pretty much the last thing she wanted to discuss. "Are you feeling okay? I mean the ... procedure ..."

"A little shaky, but it worked! My career is saved. Probably. But I asked you a question. Did. You. Get. Laid?"

Andie swallowed the lump. "It's complicated."

Sigh. "It's a simple yes or no question."

"Can I tell you later?" She had to have time to think. What good would it do to tell Sterling about the most amazing sex in the universe if Andie was never to have it again?

"Andie. Hello, Andie. What is wrong with you? Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

"No, Ster. I need to go back to sleep and call you later."

"What? No way. It's Saturday, remember? Tonight's the banquet, and it's gonna take all day to get ready."

Saturday. How long had Andie been ... incapacitated? She shook her head, hoping the contents would settle and rational thought would return. Nope. She exhaled. The truth was that nothing mattered except being there for Sterling on her big day. Ban Plastic Surgery Now! earned about 80% of its annual funds from this event. "Thanks, Ster. I can't wait for the banquet. I don't think it will take all day though. You, my friend, roll out of bed perfect. And I promise to brush my teeth and hair. Maybe shower too but only because the banquet is special. Don't worry."

Sterling snorted. It was adorable. "You are one crazy bitch. Dawson is almost there. Be ready," she snapped the snap of someone used to having people snap. "Mom's coming too."

Andie groaned. Great. Instead of spending the day crying in bed with a gallon of Out of this Swirled, she had to spend the day primping with the world's biggest movie star and Hollywood's premier pet psychic.

"Only because I love you, Ster," Andie said. Because despite everything, Sterling was her best friend. The doorbell rang. "Dawson's here." She wasn't ready to see anyone. Her mouth tasted like stale beer and she was still in Oliver's cinnamon-scented sweats and T-shirt.

"Great! Don't bother changing. I've got everything you need right here. I bought you a new toothbrush too."

Sterling had known Andie's exact thoughts.

The best friend powers are strong in this one.

"I have to agree with Sterling about quoting science fiction," Bad Andie said. "It's a miracle we got laid."

Andie didn't even have the energy to fight.

She sat. Something crinkled beneath her feet. Oh lovely! A copy of her new Star Enquirer contract. How did it get here? How did her phone get here? How did she lose a full day? All these questions were easily answered.

Aliens.

Andie picked up the contract, her fingertips tingling with electric blue light. She bifurcated the papers with enormous, and she knew childish satisfaction. The torn halves grew back together. A line of red light formed at the bottom, spelling out: "Nice try, Andromeda." The letters sparkled like spotlights reflecting off a red-sequined gown.

After arriving at the Griffith Park Observatory, exiting the limo, and walking the red carpet, Sterling was waylaid by E! Television for an exclusive pre-banquet interview. Rachel and Pilot became immediately engrossed in a conversation with a group of what must have been studio executives, given their slick hair and shining auras of self-importance.

Andie shambled straight for the bar. Shambling was required because her outfit honestly could've doubled as a straightjacket. It left little to the imagination. The tight strapless black faux-leather gown was slit up almost to her pelvic bone. It was proclaimed "perfect" by Sterling during their hunt earlier that day in the movie star's stadium-sized closet. Andie had hardly recognized herself in the mirror once she'd been transformed by Sterling's crack team of facialists, make-up artists, colorists, hair designers, manicurists, and various other primpers and nippers. She felt like Cinderella being dressed for the ball by a merry band of chatty woodland creatures. That is if woodland creatures had Day-Glo-colored hair, piercings everywhere, thick French accents, and not an ounce of extra body fat.

The chatty woodland creatures dressed Sterling in a silver gown that sparkled in a kaleidoscope of color. Tight at the top, a wide belt at the middle, ending in a curtain of thin silver strands. Because Sterling was Sterling, she had no problem sitting in the limo. The actress merely defied all physical laws when they didn't suit her.

Andie accepted a glass of Sterling Champagne endorsed champagne from the bartender. Guzzled it and then took a second glass over to one of the high bistro cocktail tables that dotted the pristine lawn in front of the observatory. Of course, this party would have to be at the observatory given Andie's alien entanglements.

Oliver.

Who needed him anyway? He'd done nothing but lie to her and put her in danger since she met him. Forgot to mention sex with him came with a death warrant.

But then she remembered how he always gazed at her with literal lightning in his eyes. How he gave the dungeon accounting department a complete makeover. For her. How he seemed truly sorry when he told her about the microchip. How he kept saving her—from the Hummer, from the Purple Madness, from Talia. And even though she kept throwing up, he'd just hand her his magic handkerchief and look at her like she was still ... desirable. His childlike enthusiasm about taking her for a ride in his spaceship—which would've been totally cool. Maybe even better than the first time she saw the rebel blockade runner in the opening scene of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.

She set the glass on the table. All this contemplation did nothing to end the alien invasion, or prevent Sterling from appearing on intergalactic television, or stop stupid-gallant Oliver from marrying horrible Talia in order to keep Andie alive.

The champagne worked its magic. Her brain relaxed, her worries subsided; they were still there but in the background. Time to focus on Sterling's beautiful event. Stay in the moment. Smell the roses. Take in the general splendor.

The tables were covered in an elegant wrap of cream-colored satin and tied with a silver bow, like wedding gowns. At magic hour, the cloudless twilight sky gleamed violet. The Art déco building itself glowed with warm golden light, its domes like twin moons rising above the horizon.

Andie imagined the sparkle of lights from the San Fernando Valley below were part of the décor, each meticulously placed by the Ban Plastic Surgery Now! event planner. Sterling hired the best people in Hollywood to create her events, but she kept a close eye on every detail. If the whole acting thing hadn't worked out, Sterling could have been a superstar event planner. On second thought, Sterling could run anything, not just fundraisers. She could run a small country with her eyes closed; a large one with one eye open; the universe with both open and an iPhone 7.

Across the green, a string quartet played Eine Kleine Nachtmusik beneath the Astronomer's Monument obelisk. Sir Isaac Newton's apple looked as if it might drop onto the head of the delicate violist. Oddly, amongst the revelers, there seemed to be an inordinate number of supermodels and stick-thin celebrities. While Andie knew such people were de rigor at Hollywood bashes, it seemed wrong for them to be there en masse at a charity event encouraging young girls to embrace their appearance.

In a wide circle surrounding the festivities, spaced about twenty feet apart, armed security guards stood watch. They had identically proportioned pectorals, biceps rippling against black cotton t-shirts, and standard-issue bad-boy stubble—like a small army of Vin Diesels.

The Vin Diesels made her neck itch. Or maybe that was because the tight updo pulled on the skin on the back of her neck. Still, they reminded her of the fact that things can, and often do, go terribly wrong.

"Try a tuna tartare miso cone," said a man in toque and immaculate chef's jacket. He directed one of the silver-platter-carrying servers toward Andie.

Andie coughed and almost spilled her delicious champagne, and at $10 per sip, it would have been a lamentable loss. "Thank you, uh, Mr. Puck?"

"Wolfgang, please." He waited expectantly as she took a bite of his creation. The salty, crisp cone mixed with the raw tuna, soft as butter, citrus, and the heat from the wasabi was a carnival of flavor. "Mmmmm," Andie moaned appreciatively. Wolfgang smiled. "And you are?"

"Andie Bank. I'm a friend of ... I'm here with ..."

"You claim to be here with someone, yet Andie, you are standing here all alone? A beautiful woman like you should be fighting off men, not staring into space."

Andie blushed as he scanned her "clothing."

"Thanks," said Andie. "I'll take your advice. Thanks for the personal service."

"Not at all, my dear. You looked hungry."

Her stomach growled in agreement. "That may be, Mr. Puck, but I don't think I'm meant to eat in this." She waved her hand across her body but ate the rest of the cone anyway.

Mr. Puck frowned. "Dim-witted fashion designers. Always making clothes for people that are so tiny they can't enjoy a good meal. I tell them, and I tell them, and still, they do not listen. Wait till you see the dinner." He winked and pointed to the grand marquee at the far end of the lawn. Through the opening flap, Andie observed dozens of tables topped with a topiary of tight white roses seemingly growing out of a box of chartreuse moss. "Only twenty minutes till showtime." Andie doubted she could eat much. She didn't even know for certain whether she could even fold her body into a seated position in the dress. In Sterling's limo on the way over, Andie was practically horizontal.

"Hello, Wolfgang."

"Anderson. So wonderful to see you, my friend."

Wow! Anderson Cooper was here. What would happen when Pilot found out?

"Let me introduce Miss Andie Bank."

"Pleasure," Anderson said, shaking Andie's hand.

"I can't believe I'm meeting you," said Andie. "In my house, you're practically a living god." Andie blushed. How could she say anything this lame?

"Uh, thanks," said Anderson.

"Perhaps Anderson might give you an autograph for your family member?" Wolfgang suggested.

"Uh, no. I mean, he doesn't read," said Andie. Your fan, well he's a dog." Why did she have to blurt out the truth?

"Oh," Anderson smiled. "I have a big canine following. One of my most loyal demographics."

They all laughed.

"Hello there, beautiful," said Chris Pine—all white teeth and bright blue eyes and smelling of citrus.

Andie looked around to see who he was talking about. He steadied her by holding her chin and gazed into Andie's eyes. Her heart leaped into her throat despite herself.

"Us! He's touching us! Captain James T. Kirk! Bad Andie said.

"He's Chris Pine. Please repeat after me," Andie said. "Chris Pine. Chris Pine! James T. Kirk isn't real."

"Maybe you're not real," Bad Andie quipped.

"Let's discuss who is real and who isn't later."

"Or we could just ..." Bad Andie began.

"Hi James," Andie said, face heating. "I mean Chris."

He grinned, lowering his hand. "How about I beam you over to my limo for some Romulan ale?"

From across the lawn, Sterling looked their way. She had joined Rachel and Pilot with the studio executives. When would Pilot notice his idol? Only the robust shrimp odor and Pilot's vigilance in protecting Rachel could have kept the seeing-eye dog ignorant of Anderson's presence.

Sterling dissolved out of their midst and marched toward Andie. Glowering at Chris Pine, who tugged his hands into his pants pockets.

"Hi, Wolfgang, Anderson." The glamorous actress embraced the famous chef, and the dapper CNN anchor, and kissed each on both cheeks. Not air kisses, but real ones that left a trace of lipstick. She jammed her hands onto her hips. "Chris."

"Hey, Sterling," Chris said.

"I think you're needed inside for a soundcheck," Sterling said.

"Uh, sure," he said, winking at Andie. "See you at dinner," he whispered into her ear.

"Leave her alone!" Sterling said.

"Have you tried the tuna tartare cones?" Wolfgang said.

"Oh yes. I've had three! Amazing," Sterling said. "Great food, as always."

"Thank you, Miss Champagne. And congratulations on tonight. You have done so much for young men and women." Andie thought she saw a brief shadow overtake her friend's face, but it quickly dissolved into Sterling's heart-melting smile.

"Thank you. Please call me Sterling."

"Of course, Sterling. Have you tried an oyster? Allow me."

Wolfgang selected a succulent model from another passing server, squeezed fresh lemon, and Tabasco, and handed it to Sterling.

A light flashed as a paparazzo snapped a photo the instant Sterling swallowed the thing.

"Who were those men you were talking to?" Andie drained the second glass.

"They're from the STARZ network. My agent invited them. Apparently, they heard what happened with The Last Story franchise and Gigi Gaines, and they want me to look at a script for a dramatic, big-budget, star-studded, mini-series."

Andie quirked a brow. Star-studded? Like the alien TV show? Magically, a server showed up and refilled Andie's glass. "How's Mom?"

"I think she'll be safe enough."

It's not Mom I'm worried about."

Mom is predicting their futures. One guy almost choked when Rachel told him his girlfriend was pregnant.

"He wasn't happy?"

"I think the real problem might be his wife didn't take the news well."

"Is that Rachel Bank and Pilot from Rachel Bank and Pilot the Wonderdog?" said Wolfgang. He knew about her mother's program?

"It is," said Sterling. Her eyes brightened, and a smile warmed her face. "They are fantastic. The STARZ guys are putting up with her predictions because they want her to do a TV talk show."

"Wow," said Andie in a strictly non-wow manner.

"They're even talking about foreign markets."

Okay, it could get worse.

"Rachel Bank and Pilot the Psychic Wonderdog?" said Anderson. "I'm a huge fan. Do you think they would come on to my show?"

Way worse.

"I must speak to her," said Wolfgang. "Julius Squeezer has been depressed lately. Oh, I think I should scrounge up a treat for Pilot. Goodnight, goddesses," said Wolfgang, bowing to each and planting a soft kiss on each ladies' right hand.

"I will join you," said Anderson. "Very nice to meet you, Andie. Bye, Sterling."

"Julius Squeezer?" said Andie after Wolfgang left.

"His pet boa."

"I see," said Andie. "I had no idea Rachel was such a sensation."

"I'm so happy for her," Sterling said.

"Me too," Andie said, hoping this was true. "And congratulations on STARZ! Let's toast." Andie grabbed a glass of bubbly from a passing waitress and handed it to Sterling. "To your acting future." They clinked. The golden fluid raced down her throat with a pleasant burn. Andie wondered briefly how many glasses she had thus far consumed and whether the STARZ series the executives were talking about actually could be the basis of the weird TV promo she had seen at Oliver's. Maybe that's why it featured Sterling's picture.

"What's wrong, Ster?" said Andie. "You look sad. It's a party. Your party."

"I know, but I can't stop thinking. I mean, maybe the procedure helped, but I feel so guilty. I should have listened to you. How can I be the Ban Plastic Surgery Now! spokeswoman? How can I accept the award tonight? Maybe I should come clean."

"Sterling, as much as I enjoy hearing you admit I was right, I think you would be making a huge mistake." Sterling looked at her. "Under no circumstance should you tell anyone. If not for your career, then for the organization. Remember what Wolfgang said. Ban Plastic Surgery Now! has helped thousands of young women. Think what this would do to them."

"You're right."

"Good. Oh, and would you repeat that?"

"Repeat what?"

"'You're right.' I want to savor the words. You never tell me I'm right, even though I am most of the time." Sterling hit Andie playfully in the shoulder.

"You'll have to just have to commit the two times to memory."

"Oh, no," said Andie.

"What is it?" Sterling waved her hand in front of Andie's eyes. "Andie, hello. Earth to Andie. Shit. You gonna faint on me again?"

Andie stiffened, and a cold lump blossomed in her stomach. She needed to hide. "I'm fine. I'll be right back. I need to, um, use the ladies' room."

"Wait." Sterling grabbed Andie's arm.

"Please?" Too late.

"Oh, hello, Andie, Sterling," said Talia, voice dripping with venom, tottering on ridiculous six-inch heels, her arm linked with Oliver's, who was frowning at his "fiancé." Her press credential dangled between her pert breasts—double-sided tape being the only thing keeping Talia from a dangerous wardrobe malfunction. "Sterling, gorgeous dress. Burberry? I have the same one in yellow. Did you have a pleasant trip?"

Sterling raised both eyebrows in Andie's direction.

"I said nothing," Andie mouthed. Why was she letting Talia get to her like this? The best way to defeat the evil aliens was by keeping a level head. All she had to get through this one night. Be there for Sterling. And once she returned to the office on Monday, she'd log into the computer and analyze every bit of data to find the weakness in the Amu plot.

"Oh joy," Bad Andie said.