New York City, here she comes! Babylon Edison is headed for a summer gig at Orange, the most fabulous magazine around. She and her fellow editors will be planning stories, running photo shoots, interviewing the hottest stars, and scoping out the coolest trends. Baby is ready for anything...but she doesn't expect the intense rivalries, or the added drama of a simmering crush. With the entire city at their feet, and plenty of hot boys within reach, the girls are in for the most exciting and scandalous summer of their lives.

Designer bag (not a knockoff!)? Foolproof fake ID? Hundred-dollar T-shirt? Cell phone so advanced it has ESP? Find out what a girl really needs to achieve all-access status…

Central Park, this massive slab of nature smack-dab in the middle of Manhattan, is the ideal venue for Trees Please! – a rally to raise awareness on the rampant rape of our environment. It makes me proud that Orange not only has a feature on deforestation in the current issue, but also sends us out to pimp the cause on the Friday before July Fourth.

“You guys look great!” Izzie psyches us up as we gather near the band shell, Got Juice! emblazoned across our chests and Trees Please! on the butt of our jogging shorts. “You’re superheroes, here to show the world that every tree, plant, flower, bush, and blade of grass counts!” Our mission this early morning: To canvass the area, disturbing copies of the July Orange plus literature from the Trees Please! people. And of course, pose for pictures with Izzie and all the environmentalists and politicians who’ve gathered.

So far, we haven’t exchanged a single sentence about the bomb Izzie dropped on us last night. It was surreal how we processed her announcement. Jumping up and down, all gabbing at once but not actually saying anything. Then the music blared up again, and I remember Nae-Jo shouting, “That’s my jam!” as we floated from the stage to claim the dance floor. Well, you know what happens when five chicks at the top of their game are ruling a room – can you say guy magnets? Still, the Run Amoks grooved as a unit, all these boys orbiting us like satellites. Imagine the stress of the last two days finally exploding into heart-pumping, booty-shaking, hands-in-the-air release.