Sloane Sisters (8 page)

I
t didn't matter that Stella was almost officially a New Yorker—today she felt like any other dim tourist. It was Wednesday afternoon and she was wandering around Soho, looking for the Greene Street Bakery. She was tired, hot, and sweaty. Two French girls stopped suddenly in front of the Prada window to look at the army of impeccably dressed mannequins. “
Magnifique!
” one cried, pointing at something inside. For the first time in her life, Stella saw the Prada logo and kept walking, like it was just another Ann Taylor Loft. It was almost five o'clock and she was on a mission.

Stella turned the corner and headed down Greene Street. Fire escapes hugged the wide beige buildings, and the cobblestone streets reminded her of Covent Garden in London. With a little luck she would get to the bakery before it closed. She imagined the girls lounging in Cate's room, laughing about Hailey Plick's nose job (the one she had gotten “to breathe better”). Stella gritted her teeth. This whole initiation thing was getting old, fast.

She had completed the first four “trials” after school yesterday. She'd had to run out to Jojo's on Sixty-fourth Street to pick up a warm asparagus salad, because Cate didn't want the lobster ravioli their chef, Greta, had made. And the list was multiplying faster than a mathlete at state championships. Today Stella had carried not only her books, but her massive Chanel makeup bag, meeting Cate after every other class so she could touch up her bronzer. After school Cate had requested ham-and-Gruyère sandwiches for when the Chi Beta Phis came over. Stella had asked if Greta could do it, but Cate had insisted she wanted a snack with a “more personal” touch. Now Stella was finally in Soho, a half an hour late for her meeting with some woman named Celine Kahn, someone who Cate had called “the Vera Wang of wedding cakes.”

She got to the building with a minute to spare and knocked hard on the dark wood door. A young woman poked her head out and frowned.

“Sorry—we're closed,” she said, then disappeared into the back. The door slammed shut.

Stella's heart raced. She'd done everything Cate asked her to, even acted like she was
happy
to garnish Cate's salad and hand-wash her delicates. But that was only because she knew that by Saturday she'd be
in
. But if she didn't bring back cake samples…it was all over. Forget doodling on Priya's notebook during lunch, forget sleepovers or brunch at the MoMA—it would be her, Myra Granberry, and Myra's mustache from now on.

She knocked determinedly on the door, over and over again,
until her knuckles hurt. Finally the woman opened it, her overly plucked eyebrows slanted into two harsh lines. Stella smiled sweetly. “I'm Stella Childs. I had an appointment with Celine for the Sloane-Childs wedding?”
You will do this,
Stella thought, trying to reach the woman's brain through osmosis.
You want to help me.

The woman smoothed her hands over her apron, which was covered with so much flour it looked like she'd gotten caught in a snowstorm. “I'm Celine, but that appointment was half an hour ago. Why don't you give us a call tomorrow?” Celine started to close the door.

Stella let out a deep breath and rested her hand on the door before it shut, resigned to play the card that always won the game. “Well, that's a shame. My mum,
Emma
, is going to be disappointed.” Stella watched Celine's face as she put the name together.
Emma
of the Sloane-
Childs
wedding. “She wanted the cake to be next to her in the
Vogue
spread—they're covering the wedding. I guess we'll just have to use another bakery….”

Stella crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for Celine to cave. It wasn't a complete lie—even if V
ogue wasn't
covering the wedding, her mum
was
still Emma Childs.

“Let me see what I can do,” Celine said finally. “I wouldn't want your mom to have to use someone else.” Celine slowly stepped aside and opened the door.

Stella strolled into the bakery, its wide wooden tables covered with cakes that made Willy Wonka look like a slacker. One was dotted with red sugar roses so perfect and huge they looked like they were out of a Grimm's fairy tale. Another cake was shaped
as a five-story fortress, surrounded by an electric blue moat of icing. A marzipan soldier was getting eaten by an alligator.

Stella breathed in the sweet cake batter smell and smiled. Today Greene Street Bakery—tomorrow Ashton Prep domination. Nothing could stop her now.

 

Cate sprawled out on her queen bed, her chin propped up in her hands. “How was the movie?” she asked, studying Priya's face.

“I told you—it was fine. Why are you so obsessed with the movie?” Priya shot Cate a curious look. Then she turned back to Cate's Mac, where she was clicking through her sister Veena's Flickr photos.

“I was thinking about seeing it,” Cate lied. She stared into the open
Teen Vogue
in front of her, as if she was really interested in what Miley Cyrus's hairstylist had to say. Sophie and Priya had told her twice that they'd been at the Eighty-sixth Street movie house on Monday when she called. But Cate couldn't stop wondering if they were lying, and if Blythe had been with them. Blythe still hadn't told her where she'd gone after Barneys.

Cate closed the magazine and sat up on her bed. Blythe was sitting next to Sophie on the couch, taking her manicure off. Mini cotton balls covered in pale yellow polish were scattered on a tissue at her feet like popcorn. “So you're still not going to tell me where you ran off to the other day, are you?” Cate asked accusingly.

“I just can't,” Blythe said, keeping her eyes on her pinkie nail. “Will you drop it—please?”

Sophie started humming, the way she always did when she wanted to fill awkward silences.

Cate sat back on her bed, annoyed. Blythe was definitely up to something. But maybe it didn't have anything to do with Priya and Sophie. Maybe she was hanging out with another group of girls. Madison Sheckner was a possibility—she had been jealous of Cate since fourth grade, when Cate got the lead in
Annie
over her. There was also Taylor McCourt. She had gone through an ugly-duckling-turned-swan transformation last summer, and had been building her group of friends ever since.

Sophie kept humming. It sounded like a strange medley of Rihanna and Josh Groban.

Cate gritted her teeth. “Quit it, Sophie,” she snapped. Sophie glanced sideways at Blythe, who just shrugged.

“Doesn't Veena look so pretty in this picture?” Priya turned the laptop so Cate could see Veena at a Halloween party at Yale, dressed as a slutty cop. She glanced at Sophie, Blythe, and Cate, who were all silent. “What did you get at Barneys yesterday?” she asked, clearly trying to defrost the room.

“Well…” Cate replied slowly, her whole body perking up as she mentally recounted her purchases. “I got this top.” She pointed to her white silk blouse.

“Theory?” Sophie asked, studying the cutouts along the neck.

“Precisely.” Cate got up from her bed and disappeared into her closet. She emerged with two other hangers, one with a kelly green strapless dress, another with a canary yellow chiffon sleeveless blouse. She threw them across her bed for the girls to properly admire. She hadn't tried anything on at Barneys, but,
like any seasoned shopper, she knew what styles and fabrics in each brand would work on her. (Lace-hemmed skirt from Nina Ricci? No, thank you! DVF wrap dress in bias-cut silk? Yes, please!)

Sophie walked over to the dress, gingerly touching its crisp hem. “Oh, I saw this on the Theory site—I love it!” she exclaimed.

“I told her she should wear the dress to the freshman banquet,” Blythe chimed in from the couch. “It looks amazing with her skin.” Cate looked at Blythe, pleased. Traitor or not, she was still the best at sucking up.

“I still have to get my outfit for that.” Priya bit her lip.

Cate rested her hand on Priya's wrist. “You have to go to Searle—I saw a dress in the window and could just picture it on you. It was short, with red cap sleeves. Maybe we could all go in bright solids to make a statement.”

Sophie nodded in agreement. “I already have a yellow Diane von Furstenberg dress I could wear—and Blythe, you could wear your blue Marc Jacobs dress. Loving it!” Sophie squealed, bouncing up and down on her kitten heels.

Cate tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear and imagined strolling into the drawing room at Ashton Prep, flanked by Priya, Blythe, and Sophie. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile. Everything was exactly how it was supposed to be: Cate was making the plans, and everyone else was following her lead.

Just then Stella strolled into Cate's room, her arms stacked with light pink and green bakery boxes. “I hope you're hungry!” she exclaimed. “I got extra sweets for us.”

“I'm not really a dessert person,” Cate said with a scrunch of her nose. “But thanks. You can put them over there.” She pointed to the tiny antique coffee table in front of her couch.

Stella glared at Cate, resisting the urge to open a cake box and smush a piece right into her perfect pale face. She set the boxes down and Sophie, Blythe, and Priya swarmed the delicate, dollhouse-style table. Stella popped a box open.

“I'm a dessert person,” Sophie cooed, closing her eyes. “They all smell so good.”

Stella tucked a few curls behind her ears and pointed to the different cakes. “This is passion fruit for you, Priya. That's Harry's favorite flavor too—they had it at his New Year's Eve party, at the palace.”

Priya leaned over the pink slice and smiled, impressed. “Are you talking about
Prince Harry?
You go to his New Year's Eve parties?”

“Of course—our fathers are friends.” Stella smiled before moving onto the next cake. “That's coffee, coconut for you, Blythe, crushed vanilla bean, caramel for Sophie, and I got you hazelnut, Cate—but I guess I'll have to eat that myself.” Stella picked up the small slice of hazelnut and took a bite, closing her eyes in delight.

Priya popped a bite of the passion fruit in her mouth, her dark eyes widening. “This is incredible!” she cried. She turned to Cate and mouthed, “I love her!” over her shoulder.

Cate plastered on her best fake smile, the one she'd used when her great-aunt Clara gave her a terrarium for her birthday.

Just then someone knocked on the door. “Come in!” Cate
cried. “Unless you're Lola or Andie,” she mumbled under her breath. Priya laughed.

Winston walked into the room, running a hand through his thick graying hair. “Hi, girls,” he said to the group, then looked past them to Cate. “Did you get those samples from the bakery?”

“Yes!” Stella called, passing the sealed box to Winston. “
These
are for you. The woman at the bakery said her favorite is passion fruit, with crème frosting—it would also look brilliant with the design mum picked.”

Winston took the box out of Stella's hands and tilted his head. “Thank you,
Stella
…” He gave Cate a stern look. “Cate, can I talk to you for a minute?” He nodded toward the hallway. Cate narrowed her eyes at Stella.

Cate followed her dad into the hallway. Winston lifted the pale pink box in the air. “Cate—the cake samples were
your
responsibility.”

She bit her lip. “But Daddy—I was busy.”

Winston narrowed his eyes at her. “Busy hanging out with your friends?”

Cate ran her fingers along the wainscoting on the wall. “No…I did my bio homework too.” She looked up at her father, waiting for him to soften. Last year she'd let the girls cut up all her dad's Zegna dress shirts to make one-of-a-kind outfits for the lower-school Bon Voyage Dance. Their
Project Runway
–esque efforts hadn't worked, but it had taken Cate only four minutes to talk her dad out of being angry.

Winston shook his head. “When I ask you to do something,
you
do it—no dumping your responsibilities onto Stella. She has enough to deal with.”

Why was he so concerned with Stella—what about
her
? “What does Stella have to
deal with
? Since she's been here, she's acted like a total princess,” Cate spat angrily. Normally she never raised her voice to her dad, but she'd had enough. Not only was Stella brainwashing her friends, she was brainwashing her father too.

Winston's lips pressed into a hard line. “Cate, you don't know the half of it. The girls left London under…bad circumstances. Their father was having an affair, with some singer, Cloud Something.”

“Cloud McClean?” Cate squeaked, the cheesy lyrics of “Kick It” spinning in her head. Cate had just seen Cloud McClean in this month's
Vanity Fair
, gushing about her twenty-third birthday party at EuroDisney and her new line of glitter thongs. The duke had run off with
her
?

Winston paused. “Please don't mention it—I shouldn't even have told you. But I hope now you'll be a little more…
gracious
. Emma and the girls have been through a lot this past year.” He squeezed Cate's shoulders firmly, like he was sending her off on a humanitarian mission. Then he kissed her head and walked down the stairs.

She walked back into the room, her dad's words rolling around in her head. The girls were standing around Stella, who was bragging about all the elaborate balls she had been to at Buckingham Palace with her father,
the duke
. Now that Cate knew the whole story, she did feel badly for Stella. But she also knew the truth: that all Stella's talk about how “over” London was, and how fabu
lous her royal father was, were
all lies
. What else had she been lying about?