All That Glitters (11 page)

“Good night, fair Flan,” SBB called out as we air-kissed, and I started for the door. “You're more Shakespearean already!”

The good news was, I loved the necklace. The bad news was, I didn't think it was going to do much to help me on my quiz tomorrow morning.

Who wears the Pants?

“Good work today, girls. Shower off and meet back here in ten for a huddle,” a red-faced, sweaty Ramsey called out the next day after practice. All fifteen of us were back in the school's locker room, although Ramsey looked like the only one who actually needed a shower.

The rest of us were still glad to take the ten-minute break as we changed back into our street clothes. It was Thursday, and just as Camille had promised, it was Theme Day among our group of friends. Last night, Morgan had sent out the email detailing the directive to dress as “punk rock chic,” and Camille and I had met in the locker room this morning to compare vintage graphic tees and black leather Derek Lam berets.

Now, as we pulled on our rocker duds for the trip home, Camille groaned. “I'm so done with the
huddling,” she muttered to me, rubbing some MOR Pomegranate lotion on her hands. “I've been huddling for the past two hours, and I'm tired. The only good thing about huddling on the field is that it gives me three shielded minutes away from Xander seeing how much I completely suck at field hockey.”

“Camille,” I teased as I slipped out of my cleats and back into my ancient Doc Martens, “remember what we talked about?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said in a rehearsed voice as she tugged on her fishnets. “You think Xander already likes me enough, so it doesn't matter that the field hockey ball seems to have a magnetic attraction to my face.” She sighed. “Don't get me wrong, I'm psyched that he comes to watch practice, but the whole time I'm so focused on him that I'm definitely not getting any better at the game.”

Even though I wasn't quite as field hockey challenged as Camille, I knew what she meant. As soon as I saw Alex join the sidelines with the other boys, my heart started racing, and it wasn't from the long sprint I'd just taken toward the goal. But after a few minutes of blushing and heart-thumping, I decided it was cool that he'd shown up—especially when he gave me a hello hip check on the sidelines after practice.

Looking over at Kennedy and Willa, I felt relieved
that Alex had been the only person hip checking me tonight. The two of them were already seated on the bench for Ramsey's post-practice huddle, but in the meantime, it looked like they were gathering in a huddle of their own. Half the team was standing around them, listening to Willa go on and on about the after-party for her father's movie premiere.

“And then Darren Shaw—you know he's in that new cowboy movie—he wanted to take me to Pastis, but I told him, ‘I won't set foot in that place after what happened to my father.'”

“What happened to your father?” Faiden asked expectantly, playing right into Willa's hands.

“Well, it was two summers ago and Daddy ordered the lobster bisque, but when they brought it out …”

“Somebody put me out of my misery,” Camille groaned to me under her breath. “Do you think she ever gets sick of hearing her own voice?”

“What I can't understand is why no one else does,” I said, fitting my beret back over my hair.

“Oh my God,” Willa said, interrupting her own riveting story and using her thumb and pointer finger to pick up a pair of track pants that were lying on the floor. “Whose
are
these? You could fit, like, four of me in them.”

Within seconds, every girl in the locker room had
disowned the pants with some version of “no way” or “those are massive.”

What no one was saying, and what we all knew, was that the pants belonged to Ramsey. I gritted my teeth.

Sure, Ramsey was a big-boned girl, but there was nothing outrageous about the size of her pants. The only thing that was outrageous was Willa making such a big deal out of them.

Kennedy busted out laughing, and the two of them jumped up to take turns holding the pants to their own much smaller waists.

“Wanna see if we can both fit inside them?” Kennedy whispered to Willa. “You take the right leg, I'll take the left.”

I shot Camille a look. I'm sure she was also remembering the stunts Kennedy had pulled in the locker room back at Miss Mallards. Back then I didn't have whatever it would take to stop her. But as I listened to Ramsey showering not ten feet from where Kennedy and Willa were making a huge joke of her pants, the only thing I could think of was that someone had to stop them before Ramsey saw what they were doing. I mean, Ramsey didn't deserve a cruel practical joke—all she ever wanted was to run a great freshmen field hockey team.

“Give me the pants, Kennedy,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Oh, are these yours, Flan?” Kennedy said. “I mean, I knew you'd put on some weight, but not
that
much.” The two of them doubled over with laughter. A couple of the girls laughed with them, but the others just looked uncomfortable.

Then I heard the sound of the shower stop and, without a word, I yanked the pants out of her hands. “This is stupid,” I said, “and it's mean. Don't play on the team if all you care about is making fun of the captain. You can be bitchy from the sidelines if that's your thing.”

Willa sneered. “Don't act like it's not your thing too, Flan. You think you can come in here and play the sweet innocent card this week just to win Virgil Host? I hate to tell you, but you're a whole lot more transparent than you think. Deep down, you're not any different from us.”

As I looked at Willa's perfect features all twisted up in a smirk, the first thing that went through my mind was SBB's reference to Willa being a chubby kid—and here she was making fun of Ramsey for being tall and athletically built. How many people here knew what she used to look like? But the second thing that ran through my mind was that if I used that as my
trump card now, I
wouldn't
be any different from Willa and Kennedy.

For so long, I'd been wanting to have the perfect comeback to their catty comments, but maybe
not
having that talent was the point. I didn't want to play their games. I didn't want to be anything like them.

I shook my head at Willa, because at that moment, I genuinely felt sorry for her. “Drop the pants,” I said. “It's stupid.”

“There a problem?” Ramsey's voice echoed throughout the room as she crossed the cement floor with a towel wrapped around her head.

“Not at all,” Kennedy said, sickly sweet, taking the pants from Willa's hand and holding them out to Ramsey. Ramsey seemed to notice nothing and just slid them into her bag.

“Good,” she said, motioning for us to gather around her. “Now, I need to ask your help with a serious issue we're having on the team.”

We sat down on the benches around Ramsey. “Some of you may know that I'm not really one to get all obsessed with ‘fashion,' but I've been given a directive that the team needs new uniforms. For some of you, the way you look might affect the way you play, so I want everyone to weigh in on what our move is here.”

“Why don't we just pick them out from a catalog and buy them?” a blond pigtailed girl named Jane asked. “It's not like anyone can't afford it.”

Ramsey shook her head. “You know the Thoney policy—no individual purchases. We have to raise the money ourselves.”

“Well, how much do they cost?” Camille asked. “We could do a bake sale or a car wash or something.”

“What is this, nineteen eight-five in Indiana?” I heard Willa mutter to Kennedy. “A
bake sale
? And who among us knows how to wash a car?”

Ramsey nodded, combing through her wet hair. “It's an idea, but the problem is that our first game is coming up in less than two weeks, and we need the uniforms made by then. Can we organize a bake sale by then that would make enough money? You wouldn't believe how expensive …” She trailed off.

I wanted to help. Ramsey fretting over clothing sounded almost funny to me because it was so not her territory.

And just like that, I had an idea. I turned to Ramsey, who was looking more and more dejected.

“I'm not sure whether or not it will work, but I have a friend who might be able to help. Can I get back to you tomorrow?”

Ramsey grinned. “Of course!”

The huddle broke up, and I was just starting to work out the details of how to make my plan happen when I felt someone grab my elbow.

“I know you were really into Ramsey's pants,” Kennedy said. “But some of us
don't
want to look like clowns on the field.”

Willa brushed her silky blond hair over her shoulder and said loudly, “Don't worry about it, Kennedy. A hundred bucks says she's lying about having a fashion contact. This is just one more pathetic attempt to get Virgil votes.”

They giggled as they exited the locker room. The door swung shut behind them, followed by the sound of a couple of snickers. But I could barely hear anything over the sound of blood rushing to my head. Being nice might have been the right thing to do, but at that moment, I really wanted to take the evil duo down.

Favor for a Favor

As soon as I left the locker room, I dialed Feb's number, praying as it rang that she was still on this continent.

“
Allo
?” a distinctively French voice answered.

“Feb?” I said. It was so like my sister to chameleon herself into whatever her pet project du jour was.

“
Non
,” the voice responded. “It's Jade,
chérie
. Is this my model? Is this Flan?”

“Oh …
oui
,” I said, already feeling nervous about thinking I could get Jade to agree to my plan. “Where are you guys?”

Jade sighed heavily into the phone. “We are at a
boite
, at Marquee. Your sister is working out a business deal with the owners to host an after-party for our little show. It's very boring,
ma petite
, but what can I say?” And then she sighed her incredible weight-of-the-world sigh.

I imagined Jade lounging out on the golden banquettes at Marquee, yawning as she watched Feb in power-mode ascend the arc-shaped staircase that led to the VIP room so she could work out the details for a blowout after-party.

“Okay,” I said. “I was going to head home and study, unless—”

“Darling, you're young,” Jade interrupted. “School can wait until another day. Come keep me company, and we'll talk all about your modeling career.”

I gulped, but then I thought about the field hockey team….

“I'll hop in a cab and meet you there in twenty,” I said.

“Ah, but don't rush! I do not like all this rushing you New Yorkers do. Take your time, yes? We shall be here….”

People complain about having to wait in lines around the corner just to get to the front door of Marquee, but when the taxi dropped me off on Tenth Avenue at seven o'clock on Thursday, there wasn't even a red velvet rope outside the door. A security guard eyed me warily as I pushed through the door.

“I.D. please,” he barked.

I wasn't used to having to show my nonexistent
I.D. to anyone. Usually, I was on the guest list or on the arm of my sister or brother. At least I was still dressed uncharacteristically as a punk rocker…. Maybe I'd pass for at least eighteen.

Then I heard Jade's voice call out, “Is okay. She's with me.”

Immediately, the security guard made himself scarce. I grinned at Jade and joined her in the candlelit lounge.

I'd been to Marquee a couple of times before, once for Patch's eighteenth birthday party and once for some publicity thing SBB was doing for Peter Marcus's hair-care line. Both times, the clientele had been the eye candy—the place was always jampacked with gel-haired guys in dark suits and Hermès ties and girls with a hundred different couture variations on the same little black dress.

Tonight, the place was practically empty except for Jade Moodswing, all in black again and standing out dramatically against the shimmery gold wallpaper. Jade motioned to a bartender hanging out behind the enormous mahogany track lit bar. In seconds, he whisked over a refill in a martini glass for her and a bottle of Paul & Joe Pellegrino for me.

Jade gave me the closest thing I'd seen to a smile, which was really more of a friendly pout and said,
“How have you been since the night I so brilliantly discovered you?”

“Good,” I said, thinking about all the running around I'd been doing since then. “Busy, but good.”

Jade took a tiny sip of her martini and said, “I hope the busy schedule is leaving you enough time for modeling. We're going to get started next week, and I'm still waiting for you to say
bien sûr
. The show is Thursday at five thirty.”

A few days ago, I'd been
unsure
about saying
bien sûr
to modeling because I wasn't sure I was model material. Now it was also a question of scheduling. Resisting the urge to pull out my day planner (which I'd been doing a lot of these days) in the middle of Marquee, I scanned my brain for conflicts.

Thursday was SBB's big night of potential Wardrobe Sabotage at the premiere, but that was later in the night, and I could
probably
squeeze this in first. My head swam thinking about how busy I'd been this week, just keeping up with life at Thoney, hanging out with Alex, courting votes for Virgil, getting involved in field hockey … whoops! I'd gotten so mesmerized again by Jade's chicness that I'd almost forgotten what I was doing here in the first place.

“Jade,” I said, “I have a favor to ask of you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought I was the one asking favors of you.”