Bratfest at Tiffany's (12 page)

“I can’t say for sure why some of us got to stay and others had to go. All I
do
know is that we really, really appreciate the sacrifice they made for us.” A cluster of kids gathered behind her, bobbing and weaving, vying for their big moment on camera. “You have no idea how cramped and crowded it was in here before. It got so bad, the lady at the organic coffee station in the New Green Café actually had to stop giving people foam on their lattes because the lines were so long. It was brutal.”

Suddenly, Winkie appeared by Alicia’s side, gripping a second mic. “Do you think the overflowers feel discriminated against?”

“No,” scoffed Alicia. “I heard from one of my sources that they think it’s
super-cool
.” She made air quotes around “super-cool” so everyone would know she was citing her source.

“Why do they like it so much?” Winkie asked. “Do you think they enjoy the feeling of helping others?”

“Whatevs. It’s nawt like they did it to help anyone. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Alicia blurted, and then worried that she might have unintentionally blown some sort of press spin Massie had cooked up to make herself look like a hero.

“Some of those students seemed really happy,” Winkie argued. “Three of them were literally wearing trash bags and singing in the rain.”

This time, Alicia knew she couldn’t possibly be referring to the NPC.

“I think
they
feel safe out there. No one can pick on them. It’s better for everyone.”

“So those people were sent away because they’re less
popular
?” Winkie’s expression was a mix of shock and elation—like someone who grabbed the wrong handbag by accident and found it full of cash. “Is
that
what you’re saying?”

Just then, someone snuck up behind Alicia and tugged her ponytail.

She whipped around, ready to bark at whoever dared interrupt her during her interview, then saw her ah-dorable crush and giggled instead.

Cam and Olivia were beside him, trying desperately to quell Kate’s latest tantrum.

“And who is
this
?” Winkie gushed over the baby.

“This is Kate.” Olivia gripped the screaming baby behind the neck and waved her in front of the camera. “Isn’t she cute? I named her after Kate Spade because she loves sleeping in my purse.” The doll cried harder.

Winkie crinkled her penciled-on eyebrows in confusion.

“Where’s that pacifier?” Cam searched the pockets of his Hurleys.

“How about this?” Olivia forced a pink lip gloss-stained straw into Kate’s mouth and tried to coax her into sipping some Diet Coke.

The final bell rang.

Two couples hurried by, whisking their screaming babies off to health class.

“What’s going
on
here?” Winkie gripped her abdomen.

“Oh,” Alicia snickered, finally catching on. “The babies are fake. It’s for health class. You know, to teach us responsibility.”

“I see it’s really working.” Winkie rolled her eyes for the camera as Olivia yanked the straw from Kate’s mouth and then tossed her at Cam, who managed to catch her just before she slammed into a Hello Kitty sticker-covered locker.

“Aren’t they ah-dorable together?” Alicia asked, anxious to know whether Winkie approved of her new friends. Whether she thought they passed for alphas. Whether she thought Alicia was talented enough to be mistaken for their leader. “I totally approve. They are the best parents. I swear. And the cutest couple, don’t you think?”

“They
are
attractive,” Winkie gushed for the camera.

Alicia grinned with delight.

“But not as attractive as us.” Josh threw his arm around Alicia’s shoulders, then flicked the brim of her hat. He raced off to class before Alicia could swat him back.

“Well, you better get going,” Winkie said as the hall emptied out.

“Yeah,” Alicia sighed.

“I can stay,” Kori offered.

“That’s okay.” Winkie half nodded to her cameraman, who then lowered the camera and wiped his beading forehead with the bottom of his black denim shirt. “We got what we need.” She smirked.

Alicia scribbled her e-mail address on a sheet of vanilla-scented notebook paper and handed it to the anchorwoman. “If you need a follow-up interview or even want a co-anchor or field correspondent, let me know.”

“Will do.” Winkie sounded impressed as she carefully folded the paper and slipped it in the side pocket of her pants. “And don’t forget to watch tonight. Six o’clock.” She slipped on her mirrored Dior wraparound glasses.

“I won’t.” Alicia offered her hand for one last shake, then caught her reflection in the lenses.

OMG!

Suddenly, instead of fantasizing about the countless agents and network executives who would beg her to drop out of school to become the youngest, prettiest anchor in television history, she broke out in a cold sweat.

She had been wearing Josh’s NYY cap. On TV!

Her armpits, the backs of her knees, and her forehead were suddenly drenched in beads of liquid panic. It was a dead giveaway to anyone who’d known her for more than an hour that she was in severe crush mode. Why else would she wear something so athletic and pink on her
head
?

All Alicia could do was thank Gawd Winkie didn’t work for
60 Minutes
or CNN. At least she was on the
local
news. And who watched
that
?

THE BLOCK ESTATE
GLU HEADQUARTERS/THE SPA

Thursday, September 10th
6:19
P.M.

Most nights, while her mother was cooking dinner and Todd was playing video games, Claire would curl up beside her dad on the tan corduroy couch and watch the six o’clock news. Even though they only spoke during commercials or those pointless stories about old people’s birthdays, she associated the evening broadcasts with feelings of security and love.

But not tonight.

Tonight she was in the Blocks’ spa, on a brown leather couch, sandwiched between Massie and Alicia, staring at a high-definition image of Winkie Porter, who was reporting on the rising tensions in the Middle East. And for the first time ever, Claire understood exactly what “rising tensions” felt like.

The only words Massie had uttered since school ended that day were, “Isaac, drop everyone at my house.”

“Why?” Alicia had asked nervously, twisting and twirling her silver rings.

“Screening party.” Massie leaned her head against the window of the silver Range Rover, as if a party were the last thing on her mind.

“For what?”

“We’re on the evening news,” Massie snapped. “Re-mem-ber? Or are you people in Main Building too important to care about what goes on in overflow?”

Kristen twirled her shark-tooth necklace. Dylan checked her damp, frizzy hair for split ends. And Claire examined her swollen, red cuticles.

“I wasn’t saying
that
. I was just—”

“Whatevs.” Massie rested her head against the tan leather seat and closed her eyes.

After that, no one said another word. They followed Massie across the Block Estate’s soaked lawn to the old horse shed-turned-spa, then dipped their cold, wet toes in the bubbling Jacuzzi while Inez raced to fill the room with ambience and snacks. Once the dutiful maid saw herself out, the NPC made themselves comfortable on the leather furniture and silently traded copies of
Us Weekly, OK!
, and
Teen Vogue
until 6 p.m.

But despite the soothing sound of water trickling from the limestone Zen fountain, the dimmed lights, the periodic blasts of lavender that misted from tiny holes in the ceiling, the crackling fire that cast a warm glow below the flat-screen TV, the strawberry-flavored iced tea, the humid earthy smell of passing rain that lingered after the storm, and Massie’s ah-dorable black pug, Bean, who snored between them, Claire found it impossible to relax.

All she could think about was Cam and Olivia. Were they
really
a couple? What did they talk about? Why were they always laughing? Did he think Olivia was prettier than she was? Did he give her gummy worms and sours? Did he wear Drakkar Noir when he was with her? Did she smell it all the time, even when they weren’t together? And did he miss Claire at all? Even a little bit? It took all of her strength not to come right out and beg Alicia for the gossip.

But the room was too silent for forbidden questions.

“How much longer till we’re on?” Dylan stuck her pinky finger in the melted wax that pooled at the top of one of the vanilla candles, then shook it while it cooled.

“You know, it may not be good idea to watch this,” Alicia offered. “Fact: A lot of celebrities don’t watch themselves ever. They think they look bad, and it depresses them. That’s why so many actors become directors. They’re too embarrassed to go on camera again after they’ve seen themselves.”

Kristen cackled. “That’s not true!”

“It is!” Alicia lifted her palm as if swearing in a court of law.

“Shhhhhhh!” Massie slapped the thick brown armrest. “Here we go.” She turned up the volume, then hugged her knees to her chest.

A shot of the darkening parking lot filled the screen. Soda cans and empty chip bags blew across the frame. The lens pulled back, revealing Winkie Porter—hair slicked, makeup matte, and BriteSmile smile gleaming. Her cream-colored slacks whipped against her toned calves, revealing the shiny points on her gray pumps. The scene looked like a storm update from the Midwest.

And then, Winkie, leaning against the dirty white trailer, began shouting above the whistling wind. …

“Winkie Porter here to bring you a heartwarming story of sacrifice, generosity, and love. It all started when Briarwood Academy crumbled to the ground last May, leaving hundreds of students stranded without a school. That is, until Octavian Country Day opened its doors and hearts and took them in. But for many, that’s when the real problems began.”

The shot cut to the main building. The halls were crowded with students racing from one class to the other. But Alicia, who was strolling at a window-shopper’s pace, seemed to have all the time in the world.

“It got so bad, the lady at the organic coffee station in the New Green Café stopped giving people foam on their lattes because the lines were so long.”

Massie smacked the armrest on the leather couch. “Ehmagawd, you’re
in
this?”

“I guess.” Alicia peeled a layer of Matador Red polish off her thumbnail.

“What’s up with that hat?” asked Kristen. “You hate sports.”

“And pink,” Dylan added suspiciously.

“And
sports
!” Kristen giggled.

“Where’d you get it?” Massie huffed. “And don’t say Spain. Even
they
know better.”

Alicia bit her bottom lip and shrugged.

Everyone turned back to the flat-screen.

“So what was the school’s solution?” Winkie addressed the camera. “Trailers. Used trailers. In the parking lot.” She paused to let that sink in with the home audience.

Kristen and Dylan cheered. But Claire was all too aware of the mounting tension between Alicia and Massie to join them. An angry invisible force was spiraling around them, building and strengthening, like a tornado. And Claire was trapped in the middle.

Winkie continued. “One can’t help but wonder how the faculty decided who stays and who goes. What criteria did they use to make their decision? And was that decision fair? Or was it a convenient way to rid the school of its special-needs students? Alicia Rivera, BOCD’s anchorwoman, had some insights.”

“Now no one will pick on them. It’s better for everyone.”

Dylan swiveled around in her leather club chair and faced the couch, practically spitting out her strawberry tea.

“What?” Massie jumped to her feet.

“No one will pick on us?” Dylan’s cheeks turned red.

“You make us sound like LBRs!” Kristen clenched her fists.

“They twisted my words!” Alicia shouted at the screen, clearly too ashamed to make eye contact with anyone.

“Do you think the boys are watching this?” Claire couldn’t help herself.

“Uh-oh.” Alicia gripped her stomach and raced for the bathroom in the back of the spa. “Bad sushi!”

Winkie’s expression on TV became serious. “Let’s see if these trailers are, indeed, better for everyone.”

The shot cut to the parking lot. A bolt of lightning struck behind one of the trailers and everyone screamed.

“Those things are death traps!” shouted Monkey Paws, her hands clenched in tight fists as she ran in circles. “That thing’s gonna blow!”

The sky turned black. A crash of thunder sounded, then sheets of blinding rain fell.

“My hair!” Dylan shouted.

“Ehmagawd, my shirt is see-through!” Kristen rushed behind Claire for cover.

“Ew, get offa me!” Claire wiggled away.

“I have mascara in my eyes!” screamed Big Mac. “It burns.”

Candy Corn, Twizzler, Putty, Blond Lincoln, Braille Bait, Great White, and Bag Hag were dragging their heavy suitcases in a mad panic that seemed to have been sped up by the editor to look even more frantic than it was.

Then it cut to Massie. “These are my best friends.” She smiled proudly. A shot of Layne, Meena, and Heather, dressed in their matching green trash bags and bellowing “Singing in the Rain,” filled the screen.

“WHAT?” Massie screamed so loud Bean jumped off the couch and hid under a StairMaster. “I so did nawt mean
they
were my best friends. Ehmag …” She fell back onto the leather couch and buried her face in her shaking hands. “… aaaaaawwwd!

But Winkie wouldn’t stop.

“Not exactly the best environment for kids with special needs. Not that the students in the main building seemed to care—”

“Special needs!”
everyone shouted at once.

“For
them
, it was business as usual.”

A shot of Cam and Olivia tending to baby Kate filled the screen.

“Aren’t they ah-dorable?” Alicia gushed. “The cutest couple, don’t you think?”

Claire slid to the edge of the couch. “Why would she
say
that?”

“They
are
attractive,” Winkie had to agree.

The room spun. Claire’s throat locked. Her stomach lurched.