Bratfest at Tiffany's Read online

  The overhead muffled boom of Josh’s cannonball entry shattered the fantasy but not the mood. And Alicia resurfaced beaming, feeling safe, protected, and humiliation-free. She slapped the heavy wet cover-up on the side of the pool, then joined her panting, treading classmates.

  Cam finally slipped in the water, mindful not to splash baby Kate, whose arm was in Olivia’s mouth as she slowly lowered herself into the water via the ladder.

  Baby Kate burst into hysterics and squirmed to free herself. “Olivia, take her out of your mouth!” Cam shouted as he sidestroked his way to his rubber child’s side.

  Olivia released her canine grip and Kate fell into the water.

  “You can’t just drop her like that!” Cam shrieked.

  “Why?” Olivia dismissed her overprotective baby daddy with an eye-roll. “She’s wearing wings.”

  Alicia and Josh treaded and giggled, partly because of Olivia’s cluelessness, but mostly because they were together.

  “So spill it,” Strawberry panted. “Why weren’t you sitting with Massie during lunch today? Are you guys fighting?”

  “Opposite of yes!” Alicia gasped at the mere implication and accidentally swallowed a gulp of chlorinated water. “It was a total mistake,” she insisted, ignoring Josh’s knowing underwater foot-nudge. “I thought she would be at eighteen and—”

  “Is she mad at you?” Kori paddled into their circle. “You know, for ditching her?”

  “I didn’t ditch her, it was a—”

  Puuuuuuuuuurpppp.

  Alicia was grateful for the whistle. The last thing she needed was to get bombarded with questions she herself had been struggling to answer. Besides, she didn’t want to think about Massie right now. Because now she was playing underwater footsie with Josh. And his feet were rea-lllly soft.

  WESTCHESTER, NY

  WRAP STAR GOURMET

  Wednesday, September 9th

  3:53 P.M.

  The NPC sat around a red horseshoe-shaped booth in back of the crowded 1950s-style diner, nervously tapping their manicured nails against the turquoise Formica tabletop. Claire, wishing she had nails to tap, picked at her mangled cuticles.

  “So what’s this emergency meeting all about?” Dylan finally asked, removing her chocolate brown leather blazer.

  Massie spoon-swirled peach fro-yo around her canoe-shaped china dish.

  “Yeah, just tell us.” Kristen dumped a pile of salt onto the table, then carved a K in it with her finger.

  “Let’s give Alicia another minute.” Massie checked the time on her iPhone. “If she’s not here by three fifty-six, I’ll start.”

  Dylan sipped her lemon water while eyeing a plate of cheese fries that were en route to a table of chunky seventh-graders. Kristen added a dash of pepper to her salt pile. Massie slapped her fro-yo with the back of her spoon. Claire gazed out the window.

  A girl standing across the tree-lined street caught her attention. Like Alicia, she was wearing a white pleated tennis skirt, green platform sandals, and a white short-sleeved button-down with a cute little tie. But this girl was wearing a bright pink New York Yankees cap, and Alicia would never—

  The girl took off the cap and jammed it in the bottom of her black leather bag. She waved goodbye to someone in the distance, looked both ways, then power-walked across the busy intersection. It was Alicia. The only person who refused to run, even while dodging SUVs during rush hour.

  “Heyyyyy.” She scurried over to their table and slid into the booth next to Claire. “Am I late?” She fanned her cheeks with the 1950s trivia place mat. “Wha’d I miss?”

  Massie dropped her phone in the outside pocket of her shiny red metallic purse, refusing to meet her friend’s chlorine-red eyes. “What’s with the hat-hair?” she asked, somehow knowing, without lifting her head, that Alicia had a flat top.

  Alicia quickly finger-combed.

  “Were you wearing a cap?” Massie pushed her dish aside and finally made eye contact.

  “What?” Alicia’s tan shifted from brown to red. “Ew! No!”

  “Bike helmet?” Kristen asked.

  “No!”

  “What about a yarmulke?” Dylan giggled, petting her long straight hair.

  Claire shifted uncomfortably. She’d seen the New York Yankees cap. She knew Alicia was sneaking around with Josh. And that was totally unfair to the rest of them—but at the same time kind of understandable. If Cam still liked her, wouldn’t she be doing the same thing? Or would she have had the strength to put her friends first? Not that it mattered, because Cam liked Olivia. And they had a baby. And … Claire reached for Massie’s soupy, sugary fro-yo and began power-slurping, hoping the sudden cold would numb her brain.

  “So it totally sucks that we got separated.” Alicia pouted. “I was so freaked out when I looked up and saw that I was at the wrong table. I wanted to get over to you guys, but Dean Don was totally staring me down because I came in late. I’m totally gonna have my dad sue the school for keeping us apart and we’ll use the money to buy new—”

  “Why didn’t you just ask if you could be with us?” Massie folded her arms firmly across her A-cups.

  Three preppy eighth-grade boys strolled past their table on their way to the jukebox, jingling quarters and chugging Cokes from glass bottles. They slowed to check out the girls, who all lowered their heads to avoid breaking NPC protocol.

  “Well, at first I thought maybe you’d want me to stay,” Alicia tried. “You know, to have someone on the inside, keeping you up-to-date on all of the gossip. …”

  Massie rolled her eyes.

  “But, uh, then I decided it was a lame idea.” Alicia absent-mindedly glanced out the window, as if she was waiting for someone. “So I’m gonna try and switch tomorrow.”

  Claire slurped faster. Between Alicia’s bad acting and Massie’s doubting cross-table glare, she was seconds away from crawling under the table, rocking back and forth, and whisper-praying for everyone to please get along.

  “Why were you sitting in the LBR section anyway?” Alicia asked, lifting ice cubes out of her lemon water with a fork.

  “We were sitting in the LBR section because the Soccer Stalkers and our ex-crushes stole our table!”

  Dylan leaned forward. “I swear, it was more embarrassing than getting checked for lice.”

  “Seriously.” Kristen swept her salt pile on the floor. “At least the lice pickers have the decency to examine us in private. This was totally public. The whole New Green Café watched us walk to the LBR section.”

  “It was pretty bad,” Claire added, trying to stay in the conversation.

  Alicia’s fake pout turned real. The corners of her mouth twitched. And the sparkle left her eyes. Was it guilt? Fear? Pity?

  The jukebox boys strolled by on their way back to their stools at the counter as an old song about hound dogs blasted through the diner. This time they ignored the NPC, choosing instead to share their come-hither stares with a table of chocolate milkshake-sharing seventh-grade LBRs.

  “So what’s the overflow like?” Alicia twisted and turned her silver pinky ring. “Is it cool? I bet it must be fun being off on your own.”

  “Put it this way,” Dylan chimed in. “Layne think it’s super-cool.”

  “Yeah, and I passed out because it was sooo cool,” Massie snapped.

  “You did? What happened? Was it a low blood sugar thing?” Alicia studied her friends, searching their faces for an explanation.

  “More like a low point in my life thing,” Massie offered.

  “At least I don’t have to be baby Kate’s stepmom anymore.” Claire tried to sound upbeat. She hoped Alicia would volunteer the latest on Cam and Olivia. But she didn’t. So Claire tried again.

  “So, how is the happy couple?”

  Massie shook her charm bracelet in front of Claire’s face.

  “I meant, how are they doing as parents?”

  “Who knows?” Alicia’s eyes wandered toward the window again. “I’ve been keeping to mysel
f the whole time. You know, cuz of the b-fast.”

  Massie’s doubting glare lingered on Alicia for a few more uncomfortable seconds until she finally shook her head and refocused. “So, I called this emergency meeting today …”

  Everyone leaned forward.

  “… to figure out how we can get rid of the boys and get our school back.” She pulled out her new Palm T/X handheld and opened a fresh Word document. “Any suggestions?”

  “Maybe my mom could do a telethon on her talk show to raise money for a new school,” Dylan suggested. “We can have A-listers work the phones and beg America to call in with donations.”

  “Not bad.” Massie nodded, tapping the suggestion into her PDA. “Anyone else?”

  “Oh, I know!” Kristen raised her hand. “We could have a girls-versus-boys soccer match, and the losers would have to leave and—”

  Massie lowered her Palm. “Do you awnestly think the Sirens could beat the Tomahawks?”

  “Well, what if we make it so the losers get to stay and the winners have to leave?”

  Everyone cracked up, even Kristen herself. But Alicia’s smile quickly faded when the restaurant door opened.

  Massie noticed Alicia’s sudden shift. She turned around and came face-to-face with Derrington, Plovert, Kemp, Josh, Strawberry, and Kori. They all had damp hair and big cocky smiles.

  “Ehmagawd, jeans again!” Massie whisper-blurted, and then blushed.

  “Diesel,” Dylan muttered from the corner of her glossed mouth. “They look cute.”

  “Whatevs.” Massie slapped Dylan’s wrist. “Don’t look.”

  The NPC lifted their lemon waters and sipped.

  Claire quickly checked to see if Cam and Olivia were trailing behind the group, but there was no sign of them. Were they in his basement playing PGR4 on his Xbox? Doubling around the neighborhood on his black BMX bike? Sharing gummy worms on the swings at the elementary school? Claire gripped her NPC bracelet so hard, the point on the bottom of the heart charm dug into her palm and made it throb.

  “What are you doing here?” Derrington asked, faking surprise. Kemp and Plovert stood by his side, snickering, while Josh and the Soccer Stalkers quickly filled the empty booth behind them. Alicia lowered her head even further, as if that would somehow prove to the NPC how uninterested she was in her new classmates. “I heard the diner just got an overflow section in the parking lot …”

  Kemp and Plovert started laughing. Massie eye-urged the girls to ignore them and keep sipping.

  “… and I thought you’d feel more at home over there.” He cracked up so hard, a gob of spit flew from his mouth and landed on the turquoise tabletop.

  Massie lowered her glass with a slight slam and reached for a butter knife. She carefully transferred the spit bubble onto the shiny silver blade and held it out for Derrington and the boys to see. “Should we have this wrapped, or would you like it sent to your table?”

  The NPC burst out laughing. So did Kemp and Plovert.

  “No, I’ll take it.” Derrington swiped the knife from Massie and dashed to his table, his sagging jeans hinting at a pair of navy blue Jockeys.

  “The boys have gawt to go,” Massie whisper-insisted. She held out her arm and jiggled her bracelet over the center of the table, inviting the others to join her.

  “Ah-greed!” They jiggled back.

  But there was less force behind Alicia’s jiggle. Claire had a feeling Massie noticed too. What she didn’t notice was Kristen tugging on her mysterious shark-tooth necklace. And Claire peering out the window in search of Cam. Only Massie and Dylan were jiggling for real. That was when it all became alarmingly clear.

  This boyfast, which was supposed to bring the NPC closer together, was starting to tear them apart.

  BOCD

  OVERFLOW TRAILERS

  Thursday, September 10th

  8:01 A.M.

  Gale-force winds tore through campus, sending crushed diet-soda cans and crumpled bags of Baked Lays on a high-speed journey across the parking lot.

  The overflowers huddled in front of the locked trailers, their cheeks getting whipped by their blowing hair as they clutched their wheelie suitcases and watched the sky change from mud brown to emerald green.

  “How could they bolt the doors?” Kristen caught her red Roxy visor just before it blew off her head.

  “How could they make us put our books in suitcases?” Claire sat on the edge of her brother’s gray, hard-backed wheelie that was covered with Transformers stickers.

  Dylan gathered her whirling red hair and wrestled it into a ponytail. “How could they put us with them?” She tilted her head toward the LBRs shivering beside them.

  “How could they put us in trailers?” Massie kicked a can of Red Bull with her plaid vintage Burberry rain boots. They looked ahdorable over her ivory-shimmer tights and hunter olive-colored Trina Turk tunic dress. It was a tragic shame to waste such a rain-chic ensemble on a musty trailer and a soon-to-be soaked pack of LBRs. But these days, alpha style was all she had going for her. And letting that go would be admitting total defeat.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Ms. Dunkel called cheerily from the other side of the parking lot as she speed-walked toward them, waving a cluttered key chain.

  “I can’t believe we have to stare at that outfit all day,” Massie groaned, taking in their teacher’s pleated black polyester slacks and scuffed, square-toed black ankle boots. The collar on her shiny beige trench coat was popped to block the wind.

  “Look!” shouted Loofah, struggling to tame her haylike curls. “It’s Winkie Porter, from the six o’clock news!” She pointed at the slender African-American woman taking long, leggy strides behind Ms. Dunkel.

  The anchorwoman’s hair was pulled tightly in a low chignon, accentuating her sharp cheekbones and signature periwinkle blue eyes. Her cream-colored pantsuit was an elegant mix of news-serious and fashion-forward. But her spiky gray Manolo Blahnik pumps were pure fabulous.

  A bald, VH1 cap-wearing, pregnant-looking cameraman dressed in black denim ran backward, filming Winkie’s determined gait, recording whatever it was she was saying into her handheld mic.

  The LBRs squealed with delight and started snapping shots with their cell phones.

  “Poor things.” Massie pity-pouted. “They actually think they’re seeing someone famous.” She took a few steps back, purposely separating herself from the fandemonium.

  “What’s going on?” Claire lifted her digital Elph, but Massie slapped it out of her hand just as she was about to take a picture.

  “At least try to be cool.”

  “Hey!” Claire hurried to retrieve her camera from the gray pavement. She shook it, listening for loose parts.

  “Why do you think she’s here?” Kristen quickly unbraided her side-braids, then re-braided them tighter.

  Massie swiped an extra-thick layer of Blueberry Muffin-flavored Glossip Girl across her lips. “Maybe this whole trailer thing was a joke and we’re on a hidden camera show,” she said hopefully.

  Dylan unzipped her black quilted Chanel raincoat and stuffed it in the outside pocket of her Louis Vuitton wheelie. She smoothed out her ruby red Alexander McQueen jumpsuit, undid her ponytail, then finger-guided her long straight hair so it cascaded over her left shoulder. “Either way, I’m ready.”

  Winkie positioned herself beside the eighth-grade trailer and continued speaking to the camera while everyone stopped talking so they could hear what she was saying.

  “… and this is what happens, folks, when a sister school reaches out to help her fallen brothers. It’s a valuable lesson we could all learn a little something from.” She smiled brightly as the cameraman stepped back, getting a wide shot of the two trailers.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Ms. Dunkel squeaked with delight as she hurried by to unlock the doors.

  Winkie strolled away from the trailer toward the NPC. “And now let’s meet some of the selfless students at Briarwood-Octavian Country Day who were willing to give up their cushy c
lassrooms and move into these overflow units until a solution is found.”

  Massie rushed forward, beating out Layne, Great White, and Powder.

  “What about being cool?” Claire grumbled, but Massie didn’t have time to explain the differences between star and stalker.

  She grabbed the bottom of Winkie’s mic and tilted it down toward her glossy mouth. “Hi, I’m Massie Block.”

  “Hi, May-seee.” Winkie smiled.

  Dylan, Kristen, and Claire giggled in the background.

  “Actually it’s Maaah-ssie, you know like sassy?”

  A sudden clap of thunder made her jump.

  “Of course.” Winkie’s smile flatlined. “So tell us—what’s it like packing up your books and leaving your glamorous school behind for a couple of trailers?”

  “This is a special group.” Massie smoothed her blowing hair for the camera. “One that has no problem making sacrifices for the common good.”

  Just then, a bolt of lightning struck the back of the trailers. Everyone screamed.

  “Those things are death traps!” shouted Monkey Paws, her hands clenched in tight fists as she ran in circles, screaming something about the dangers of metal in electrical storms.

  “Get that!” Winkie shouted at her cameraman. He turned away from Massie before she could stop him and began rolling on Monkey Paws.

  “Got it!” He swiveled back and repositioned his eye against the black rubber viewfinder.

  Winkie licked her teeth clean of any possible lipstick smudges, then counted herself back in. “Going to tape in … three … two … one. … What’s in there?” She pointed at Massie’s enormous monogrammed Louis Vuitton steamer trunk.

  “Just a few of my favorite textbooks.” Massie folded her bare, goose bump-covered arms across her chest.