What If... All Your Friends Turned On You (2 page)

“I never wanted a sibling,” Annie said, flashing her parents a look of gratitude.

“I had a RoBro! of my own until a few months ago,” Haley said, giving Mitchell an affectionate pinch.

“I don't know about RoBro!s, but just plain old brothers are pretty great,” Alex said. He had two of them himself, both younger.

“We're planning to unveil RoBro! next fall,” Dave said. “At our MIT interviews.”

“RoBro! will ro-blow their minds,” Hannah said. “We're shoo-ins.”

“I don't think anyone is a shoo-in at MIT these days, my dear,” Doug Armstrong said, clearly pleased with himself and his alma mater. “Unless, of course, you're a legacy.” He eyed Annie.

What a buzzkill
, Haley thought. Boy, was he in for a surprise. Annie wasn't even intending to apply to MIT and had set her sights on Yale.

Haley, Dave, Annie and Hannah were only juniors,
but at least three of them were already totally obsessed with getting into the right university next year. Alex, meanwhile, was currently a senior. His applications had been completed and submitted weeks ago. Haley had gathered that his first choice was Georgetown, where he hoped to major in political science. With his wholesome good looks, preppy attire and formidable IQ, Haley figured he'd fit right in.

Hannah and Dave, on the other hand, were so socially awkward, they were both probably a long shot for their first choice, MIT, unless someone gave them some immediate charm lessons.

“Why do I get the feeling RoBro! will be obsolete before he's had a chance to launch his first spitball?” Haley whispered to Alex.

“I
always thought of RoBro! as more of a paper airplane kind of guy,” he whispered back.

Even though Haley and Alex were the political equivalent of oil and water, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him. Then again, Haley felt drawn to a lot of people, including her hot neighbor, Reese Highland, and the cute and almost painfully withdrawn photographer in her class, Devon McKnight. In the back of her mind, Haley had been hoping to spend a little New Year's quality time with Reese, but she hadn't heard from him in weeks and was left wondering whether he even remembered her phone number.
Not that he needed to—he lived right next door, after all. So where on earth had he been hiding?

Alex wasn't at all like Reese, that was for sure. And okay, he could be infuriating sometimes, like whenever he tried to explain trickle-down economics. But she had the feeling that if she said the word, Alex would be there for her. Could the same be said for Reese? She was almost positive the answer would be an emphatic
no
when it came to Devon's reliability.

“You guys want to come over and see the 'Bro!?” Dave said. “He's in my garage—well, Mr. Von's garage.” He swallowed painfully but mustered the courage to go on. “We've got a lot of kinks to work out, but you can get a feel for how wonderful the android family of the future will be.”

Haley hesitated. She'd had more than enough of the Armstrongs' nutritionally and environmentally correct hospitality—it felt a little too much like home at times—but ending the evening with the robot family of the future was not exactly a glamorous alternative. She was about to nudge her parents and plead for an early night when her cell phone buzzed. “Incoming,” she said, opening it up to read the text. Suddenly she had three messages waiting for her. Maybe the night would be saved after all.

Haley tucked into a corner of the couch for privacy and saw that the texts were coming so fast and furiously, she couldn't even tell who they were from.
Not that it mattered—it was the attached pictures that delivered the punch to her stomach.

“Chk the boyz in nevis!” the message blared, accompanied by a photo of a handsome sun-kissed guy clearly enjoying himself on a Caribbean beach with a bikini-clad babe on his lap.

“Oh my God,” Haley gasped. It was none other than Spencer Eton, the rich bad boy of Hillsdale High, son of soon-to-be-governor Eleanor Eton and boyfriend of class queen bee Coco De Clerq. Haley had gotten to know Coco fairly well in the year and a half since she'd moved to New Jersey from California—well enough to know a picture like this was bound to send Coco into a murderous rampage.

But that wasn't the end of it. The first picture was followed by one horrifying photo after another. There was rocker Johnny Lane, looking more Beach Boy than Mr. Clash, doing the twist with a redheaded beauty who was definitely
not
his girlfriend, Sasha Lewis. There was superjock Drew Napolitano with a neon blue umbrella drink in one hand and a copper-skinned model's waist in the other—an image sure to crush the heart of his cheerleader girlfriend, Cecily Watson. In fact, all of these boys had girlfriends back at home in Hillsdale—pretty, loyal, loving girlfriends who at this very moment were sure to be looking at the barrage of snapshots, just as Haley was.

She opened another text, and there was Spencer again, this time with a leggy strawberry blonde riding piggyback and clinging to his shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist. Haley thought she could hear Coco's screams all the way from the De Clerqs' McMansion in the Heights, and resolved to text Coco some sympathetic words of support as soon as the parade of texts stopped polluting her cell phone.

And then—
Oh no
. It couldn't be. Haley had to look away for a second. She looked back. It was!

There was Reese Highland, his black hair being mussed by a buxom brunette, flashing his perfect white teeth in a wide, charming grin.

Not Reese! How could this be? Drinking was so not Reese's style. In fact, he was so straight-edge his friends called him Natural Highland as a joke.

Haley swallowed hard, her stomach in knots. “No wonder I haven't heard from him all week,” she muttered to herself.

She closed her eyes, but the image was now seared in her brain: virtuous Reese partying with the bad boys and fraternizing with a fleshbot who was clearly no RoBro!

Of course Haley had heard about Spencer's plans for a trip to Nevis, organized by his mother. The governor-elect had very prudently decided to send her hard-partying son and his friends far from prying eyes, to an island in the Caribbean purposely
chosen for its peace, quiet, serenity and lack of nightlife. The last thing she needed was another Spencer-r elated scandal to divert attention from her upcoming inauguration—and if left to his own devices in town, with two weeks off from school and nothing but time on his hands, Spencer was sure to get up to something.

What Mrs. Eton hadn't counted on, apparently, was a hot calendar photo shoot taking place at the boys' peaceful, quiet hotel. And what Haley hadn't counted on was Reese joining the party. Of course Reese played sports and was friendly with Spencer, Drew and Johnny, but in the year that she had known him he'd never been a partier. In fact, he'd been so tense about college lately that he spent all his free time studying.

Or so he'd always told Haley. But now, who knew what he'd been up to all those times he'd said he was at the library?

Haley clicked off her phone, wishing the terrible images would just go away. Had Reese changed? Or had she never really known him? This kind of shock was definitely not on her holiday wish list. All she could think about was finding the fastest way to the Returns Department. Or at the very least, Complaints.

“Is everything okay, Haley?” Alex asked. Behind him, on the TV, the countdown was beginning: ten, nine, eight …

“Um, not really,” Haley said.

And then Mitchell screamed, “Happy New Year!” and the room erupted around her.

Haley had better hope the old maxim about New Year's Eve isn't true—that the way you spend that night is the way you'll spend the rest of the year. If that's the case, her year is going to be filled with stomachaches, heartaches and something called a RoBro! Not a happy prospect
.

Those beach bunny shots are pretty shocking—and all the other spurned girls at Hillsdale High are sure to be as irked as Haley is. Hell hath no fury like a Coquette scorned, and sometimes a little fury is just what a girl needs to get a bad boy out of her system
.

If you think Haley's top priority is to get to the bottom of those pix and get some moral support from her fellow victims, have her band together with her lady friends in
NEW YEAR, NEW YOU
.

Maybe you think some decent food is in order after all that mock-n-cheese and faux gras. If so, head to the Golden Dynasty in
WET NOODLE
.

On the other hand, even perennial parent-pleasers Annie and Dave seemed bored at the Armstrongs' bash tonight. If you think the quickest and easiest way for Haley to forget her troubles is to duck out of the party and go meet the future in the form of Dave's animated automaton, turn to,
SMALL WONDER
.

Haley did get one good shock tonight: the news that her parents are considering giving her a car for her seventeenth birthday. So things aren't looking all bad for the new year. Then again, why was Haley ringing it in at a lame party with her parents? Didn't any more appealing invitations come her way?

Now that Hillsdale's heartthrobs have all turned on their girls, who will be the next victim of a disloyal act? With the boys in Nevis, where did Coco and her friends ring in the new year? And what about the arty crowd, Irene, Shaun and Devon? Did everyone make plans behind Haley's back?

When your friends all turn on you, life can get lonely fast. Maybe Haley should stick close to those she knows best. Or at least buy herself a RoBro!

“W
hat's with the outfit?” Haley asked. “Did your dad declare an end to the dress code or something?”

Haley's classmate Irene Chen was greeting customers at the hostess station of her parents' restaurant, the Golden Dynasty, in a sexy-punk outfit—a ripped T-shirt, plaid miniskirt and combat boots. This was typical of her uniform for school, but for work, Irene's father expected her to wear hostess whites—a crisp button-down shirt tucked into a
long demure skirt. He had recently invested in the getup to class up the joint.

“This is how I always dress,” Irene said defiantly. “Why should I change to please someone else? He's not the boss of me.”

“Actually,” Haley said, “he is. If you want to get technical about it.” She was pretty sure Irene didn't.

“Well, he acts more like a dictator, if you ask me,” Irene said. “Especially ever since he caught me and Shaun in the basement.”

“Caught you and Shaun … doing what, exactly?” Haley wasn't sure she wanted to know.

“What do you think?” Irene said. “Hooking up, snogging, rounding home plate—whatever you want to call it. Dad didn't like it. He said that from now on I have to go straight to work after school and straight home after work, nowhere else. I'm basically grounded for life. Or I would be if I listened to his Stalinesque rules.”

Irene and her boyfriend, Shaun Willkommen, were one of Hillsdale's longest-running couples. Shaun was blond and potbellied and strange, but so deeply himself it gave him a certain irresistible charm. They were among the most talented artists in school and very rebellious, though Irene had been restricting most of her rebellion to outside the home—until recently, that is. Shaun was more of a free spirit, letting the wind take him wherever it
blew, which for Shaun was often in truly bizarre directions.

“Whatever,” Irene said. “What's wrong with you? Your skin looks kind of … greenish.”

“I think it's my mother's cooking,” Haley said. “Two weeks of nothing but veggies is literally turning me green.” Not to mention the disturbing pictures that had just flooded her cell phone of Hillsdale's finest cavorting with swimsuit models. That was enough to make anyone sick. “I need some double-deep-fried sesame chicken, extra spicy, and I need it now.”

“I'll put in an order for you, but I've got to warn you, don't look around or you might lose your appetite.” Irene scribbled down the order and took it to the kitchen.

Haley couldn't resist scanning the restaurant after a warning like that, but she soon regretted it. The Dynasty was open late for the holiday, and hopping. Nothing unappetizing about that. It was what Haley spotted by the koi pond that sent her stomach lurching.

There, in a cozy corner booth, were Devon McKnight and his freshman sidekick, Darcy Podowski. Devon's ever-present camera sat on the table beside them while he and his platinum blond neighbor from the Floods snuggled up together, whispering and laughing in each other's ears. Devon closed his eyes
as pale, skinny Darcy ran her fingers through his sandy brown hair.

Haley wanted to turn away from this crime scene, but she couldn't.
They must be hooking up by now
, she thought in despair. But then again, with Devon, who knew. It wasn't as if he were very adept at expressing himself or making the first—make that second, third, fourth or even fifth—move.