Bratfest at Tiffany's (18 page)

With the NPC she never had to ask. Never had to wonder what they wanted. Never had to question her role. She just knew. The uncertainty made Alicia crave her old friends. But what could she do about it? Like a mosquito bite, her longing left behind an itch she was forbidden to scratch.

“
Nothing?
Not even a fro-yo float?” she pressed, desperate to make them happy. After all, she’d lured them away from the skate ramp with the promise of a great time. And if she didn’t deliver, they’d be
get-me-outta-here
glancing in no time.

But the Soccer Stalkers and ex-crushes seemed perfectly comfortable in the Riveras’ screening room, where each guest sat in full view of the fifteen-foot hi-def screen. Even baby Kate had her own couch. Olivia had mounted her between six grass green cowhide pillows to keep her from rolling onto the clay-tiled floor.

“It’s back on,” announced Plovert, pulling his brown-and-yellow Burton snowboard cap over his elfin ears.

“Volume!” demanded Strawberry from the front of the room. Her wavy pink hair spilled over the back of the couch like My Little Pony’s bubble-gum-colored mane.

Winkie’s hi-def poreless face suddenly filled the screen. The reporter was standing in the BOCD parking lot, wearing a navy Escada Sport tunic dress over matching wide-leg pants. “It feels like another beautiful summer day, but don’t be fooled.” She smirked, her berry colored lips pursing together ever so slightly. “Fall is fast approaching, and with that comes change. And no one knows more about that than the handful of students who managed to turn those …” A “before” shot of the dingy white trailers appeared. “… into
these
.” The camera pushed past her, zooming in on the gleaming double-wide Tiffany & Co. boxes as if lit by Gawd himself. “Here they come now,” she whispered with the hushed enthusiasm of a bird-watcher.

The trailer door burst open, and there she was. Massie Block appeared at the top of the red velvet-covered stairs, then paused to slide on her bronze Dior sunglasses.

The metallic stripes in her brown dress reflected the late-afternoon sun in glittering winks. Her lips shimmered like a glassy lake at dusk, and her side-pony had more sheen than the new Chloé Mathilde shoulder bag. But it was the purple hair streak she casually twirled around her index finger that showed the world how unstoppable she was. Sure, anyone could buy a fabulous outfit, wear shiny gloss, and have flawless hair. But not everyone would have the vision to add a purple hair streak, announce a boyfast, or turn a hideous metal trailer into a Tiffany box. She was always steps ahead. Impossible to beat. The best anyone could do was walk beside her. And Alicia missed that privilege more and more with every passing second.

One by one, the NPC and the NLBRs descended the staircase as if completely unaware of Winkie and the camera.

“Eh. Ma. Gawd!” Alicia heard herself say. “It’s a full-awn ‘afters’ parade.”

“Seriously,” Olivia gasped. “Who
are
those people?”

“They’re, like, almost hot,” Kemp dared.

Plovert leaned toward his couch and the two high-fived.

“They’ve been Massied,” Strawberry deduced, sounding one part appalled, two parts jealous.

Just then, Layne, Meena, and Heather appeared, angrily waving poster boards in the air, but the camera panned away so quickly it was impossible to read what they said or hear what they were shouting.

Instead, they saw shots of the NPC and the NLBRs chatting and laughing in the parking lot. Shockingly, not one person so much as side-glanced at the camera. They didn’t fuss with their hair, bite their nails, or scratch their inseams. Instead, they mingled and glided from one attractive person to the next with the grace and skill of Upper East Side debutantes.

In fact, they were so engrossed in their muffled musings, Winkie seemed too intimidated to ask them for interviews. Instead, she whispered, the way one does in a holy temple or at a designer’s trunk show:

“It lifts the human spirit to see what can happen when the oppressed pull together and fight back—especially when they end up better off than they’d ever dreamed they could.” She smiled warmly. “And where there’s triumph, there’s love,” she gushed. The camera cut to a shot of Claire, who lifted a dandelion to her nose and sniffed it. She mouthed, “Thank you,” to Dempsey.

Cam stiffened. Kate started crying. And Olivia ignored them both as she struggled to untangle the massive knot that had formed in her multitiered silver chain necklace. It wasn’t until Kate tumbled onto the floor and Cam jumped to her rescue that Olivia actually lifted her head.

But all Alicia could think about was Claire flirting with Dempsey. And how she’d better be in the process of turning in her bracelet, or she would sue the NPC for unfair treatment.

“What?” Josh gasped, picking up on the injustice. “That’s not fair!”

“I know!” Alicia beamed, grateful, as always, to have him on her side.

“Shhhhhhh,” Cam hissed over Kate’s high-pitched screams.

It was hard to know if he wanted silence to calm his doll, or to hear what the reporter might say next about BOCD’s latest couple. Either way, the only voice that remained was Winkie’s.

“Let’s leave those lovebirds alone and slip inside the nest for a quick tour.” She urged the camera to follow her inside.

The Soccer Stalkers gasped when they saw the rows of mirrored desks, the cotton-covered walls, the velvet ceilings, and the row of Louis Vuitton suitcases. Even Alicia was impressed.

“Who
did
that?” Kori asked.

“Massie,” Alicia blurted with utmost certainty.

“I want one,” Olivia pouted.

“I want
two
,” Strawberry whined.

“Are you serious?” Derrington balled up a chocolate-stained napkin and whipped it at Strawberry’s head.

“Are
you
?” Strawberry whipped it back.

“Why would anyone want to hang out in a
jewelry
box?”

Kemp cracked up.

“Seriously, dude.” Plovert snickered. “Could you imagine if word got out that the soccer team went to school in one of those things? We’d be destroyed.”

“Dempsey didn’t seem too upset,” Cam blurted bitterly.

“He will be once he hikes up his skirt and realizes he’s not a girl.” Kemp lifted his palm, knowing a round of high fives were on the way.

By now, Winkie was back in the parking lot, surrounded once again by NLBRs and the NPC, all of whom were beaming and smiling and ignoring the woman with the microphone who was standing off to the side, going on about how incredible the trailers were and how impressed she was with Massie Block, who’d made it all happen.

“Whatever!” Derrington blew a spitball at the screen.

After she signed off, Alicia felt hungry. Not for sundaes or fro-yo but for the NPC. She inhaled Josh’s Polo Black, hoping it might remind her why she’d chosen
him
. But it didn’t.

What was the point in having a boyfriend if you didn’t have girlfriends to talk about him with? It was like having an iPhone without AT&T. A Prada wallet with no credit cards. Gloss and no lips.

Suddenly, the phones in the house started flashing and ringing, all five lines at once.

“What’s happening?” Strawberry reached for her backpack.

“Terrorists!” Olivia grabbed her yellow Kate Spade bag, leaving Kate for Cam to deal with.

“Why would they
call
first?” Plovert scratched his hat.

Olivia giggle-shrugged.

“Shhhhhh,” Alicia insisted. Once everyone was quiet, she placed line two on mute-speaker.

A nasal woman was in the middle of leaving a message for Mr. Rivera.

“… I certainly don’t pay forty thousand dollars a year to have my daughter stuck in some run-of-the-mill building. Why wasn’t she chosen to be in the Tiffany’s Boxes? She shops at that store more than anyone. I can promise you that! If my daughter isn’t in one of those trailers tomorrow I am suing. And I want you to represent me. So please call me at—” Alicia hung up quietly.

While the Soccer Stalkers schemed about ways to get transferred to the trailers and the ex-crushes made fun of the people who actually thought they were cool, Alicia stared at the blinking phone. More than anything she wanted to call up the NPC and congratulate them on a job well done. She wanted to celebrate with them. Laugh with them. Take part in their victory.

All her life she’d dreamed of
making
the news. Not watching it. And no one did that better than the NPC.

No one.

THE BLOCK ESTATE
MASSIE’S BEDROOM

Wednesday, September 16th
6:30
P.M.

Claire quickly covered her head with her hands and rolled off the giant white featherbed to safety. A spilt second later and she would have been whacked on the skull by Massie’s silver remote control.

Standing slowly, she peered across the purple pillow-covered duvet. “What was that for?”

“You seriously have to ask?!” Massie swung her legs over the foot of the bed, slipped her exfoliated feet into her black-and-gold angora slippers, and stomped to retrieve her remote. “Maybe this will refresh your memory.” She aimed the remote at the TV and dug her buffed nail in the REWIND button. Shots of the NLBRs and the NPC cavorting outside the trailers flew past them in reverse. “Doesn’t the boyfast mean
anything
to you?”

Claire swallowed hard; the taste of pennies filled her mouth. Why hadn’t she cleared Operation Jealousy with Massie? Why had she assumed Massie would understand? And why, why, why had she picked Massie’s secret crush as the object of her faux affection?

“Exhibit A.” Massie pressed PLAY right as Claire took the dandelion from Dempsey and mouthed, “Thank you.” It would have been harmless if she hadn’t cocked her head to the side, fluttered her lashes, and winked—or if Winkie hadn’t used the L-word to describe their relationship.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Claire tugged the red rope that hung off the waistband of her striped Old Navy PJ bottoms.

Massie lowered her amber eyes and focused on Claire’s charm bracelet. The implications raised the light blond hair on Claire’s arms.

“That whole flower thing was edited weird. Nothing happened. And nothing is going on,” Claire pleaded.

“I hope so.” Massie tossed the remote on her bed. She tightened the black satin belt on her Eberjey robe, secured her thick ivory hair band, and circled Claire like a shark. “’Cause trying to make a boy jealous would ah-bviously be against the boyfast. Because that would mean you liked the boy you were trying to make jealous, and liking boys is totally forbidden.”

“I know.” Claire lowered her eyes and stared at the white sheepskin rug beneath her bare feet. “I would never.”

Massie’s expression softened slightly and Claire exhaled a little.

“Would never what?”

“Um …” Claire searched the alpha’s face for the right answer—or at least a hint. But all she saw were two perfectly arched eyebrows that seemed to doubt her very much.

“Would never
what
?”

“Um, I would never try to make Ca—” She quickly choked back his name. “Anyone jealous. And I would never have a crush on someone during a boyfast. I swear.”

Claire forced herself to look straight into Massie’s amber eyes no matter how much it scared her. Because looking away meant she was lying. That was how her father always knew when Todd was hiding something. And he was always right.

“I believe you.” Massie scooped Bean off a purple throw pillow and kissed her little black nose.

“Good.” Claire exhaled fully. “No need to worry. He’s all yours.” She smiled as sweetly as she could.

“What?”
Massie hurried over to her bedroom door and slammed it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she whisper-hissed.

Claire snickered to herself. “I just got the feeling you liked him.” She reached for a pillow and hugged it to her body, just in case another sharp object was about to get thrown at her.

“My relationship with Dempsey is strictly professional.” Massie squeezed the purple heart charm on her bracelet. “I swear!”

“I believe you,” Claire lied, relieved that this was no longer about her—unless, of course, Operation Jealousy worked and Cam wanted her back.

BOCD
ASSEMBLY HALL

Thursday, September 17th
8:49
A.M.

Massie led the NPC and the NLBRs past the row of silver lockers toward the auditorium. They were exactly four minutes late for the schoolwide assembly.
Perfect!

“Main Building is sooo last year,” she said.

“So is this stale lunchbox smell.” Kristen fanned the air.

“Sorry.” Dylan laughed. “That was me.”

“Ew!” Massie expected to hear Alicia say. But a muted giggle from Claire was all she got.

Stopping in front of the heavy double doors, Massie held up her palm like a crossing guard.

“Let’s just go inside,” Braille Bait urged. “We’re gonna get detentions.” She thrust her Valentine Fossil watch toward Massie’s chin.

“Ehmagawd, are those precious pink and baby blue hearts on the band?”

Braille nodded proudly.

“Then get it away from me,” Massie snapped.

“What are we waiting for?” squirmed Loofah.

“We have to make an entrance,” Massie insisted.

“Why?” Big Mac mumbled. “It didn’t exactly work so well last time you tried it.”

The NLBRs snickered. Massie’s fists curled. How dare they talk back to her after everything she had done for them?

“Um, Big Mac, are you a—” Massie stopped herself. She needed her flock to be happy and confident if they were going to remain enviable. Reducing them to tears would have to wait. “Now, everyone, please line up for a quick evaluation. Girls in front of me, boys in front of Dempsey.” She smiled as a line of male NLBRs dutifully faced him. His entire face smiled back.

Shyly, Massie looked away, her insides a vibrating Motorola.

“I’ll start.” Massie spun slowly, then froze. “My gray metallic stretch jeans look ah-mazing with my red Kors flats and white baby-doll top. My high pony is super-long thanks to my clip-on hair extensions and super-ah-dorable thanks to my purple streak. I’m all good.” She unfroze, hands on her hips and face at a three-quarter angle favoring the left. She was ready. “Next!”