Bratfest at Tiffany's (11 page)
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.
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 classrooms 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.
“Wow, you must have a lot of favorites.” Winkie oversmiled. “Can we see some of them?”
“Um …” Massie turned around and glanced at her friends, who were now giggling into their palms.
Before she could dream up a good excuse, the cameraman crouched down on one knee, focusing on the trunk. Massie had no choice but to open it.
She popped the gold hinges and lifted the heavy lid. Packed inside were six vanilla-scented candles, two bottles of Purell, three soft white glare-free lightbulbs, five glass bottles of L’Occitane Cherry Blossom room spray, eight Nutz Over Chocolate Luna Bars, and four old denim skirts she’d asked Inez to sew into window treatments. All of which were necessary if she planned on surviving in the stinky trailers without passing out … or being seen. Not that Winkie needed to know any of that.
“Ehmagawd, my books!” she gasped. “I must have grabbed the wrong Louis when I left this morning.”
The clouds turned black. Thunder roared. And suddenly, the sky dumped rain.
“My hair!” Dylan shouted, struggling to pull her Chanel raincoat out from the side pocket of her suitcase. “It’s going to curl.”
“Ehmagawd, my shirt is see-through!” Kristen threw her arms around Claire’s back in a desperate attempt to keep her white training bra off the nightly news.
“Ew,” Claire wiggle-giggled. “You’re wet! Get offa me!”
“I have mascara in my eyes!” screamed Big Mac. “It burns!” She rubbed the sleeve of her soaked jean jacket across her face, smudging MAC makeup all over her cheeks until it looked like she’d run headfirst into a wet oil painting.
“Everyone inside!” Ms. Dunkel called from the open doorway. “Hurry!”
“No way!” screeched Monkey Paws. “That thing’s gonna blow!”
“My books! They’re gonna get soaked,” screeched Candy Corn, his yellow teeth chattering as he dragged his wheel-less suitcase under the trailer. Twizzler, Putty, Powder, Blond Lincoln, Braille Bait, Loofah, Great White, and Bag Hag immediately did the same.
Layne, Heather, and Meena, shrouded in matching green trash bags, joined hands, spun in a gleeful circle, and sang “Singing in the Rain.”
“So,
these
are
my
best friends.” Massie turned to yank Claire, Kristen, and Dylan in front of the camera, but they were gone.
Winkie pity-grinned, then shouted above the teeming rain, “How about we take a look inside the
real
school and see how the others are coping.”
The bald guy swiftly lowered his camera. Winkie flicked off her mic. Without a single goodbye or thank-you, they sprinted across the parking lot toward the regal stone building, as if their lives depended on it.
Thursday, September 10th
8:44
A.M.
The second-period bell rang, liberating Alicia and Kori from a pointless biology lesson on frog parts. It was Alicia’s only class without Josh and therefore a major waste of forty-five minutes. At least it gave her the chance to run to the first-floor bathroom to re-gloss and check the position of her pink NYY cap and—
“Ehmagawd.” She grabbed Kori’s lanky arm and dragged her down the hall, a sudden gesture that shocked the bony girl into dropping her notebooks.
“
What
? What’s happening?” Kori quickly scooped up her clear binders to prevent them from getting stomped on by the mad rush of ballet flats and Pumas.
“That new teacher coming out of the bathroom looks exactly like the reporter on—”
“You watch
news
?” Kori stood, wiping dust off the knees of her cropped straight-leg Sevens. Her red-and-white gingham blouse and short stumpy pigtails made her look like a farmhand—the cute kind you see in fashion magazines, not the real-life ones that actually feed pigs.
“Of course I watch
news
.” Alicia tugged her sleek black ponytail, which swung from the opening in the back of her pink cap and made her feel like a preppy RL model. “Mostly with the volume down, but still. If I’m going to be a famous reporter one day, I have to see how the anchors dress and style their hair and what makeup they use and—”
“Well, there
is
a cameraman with her, so maybe—”
“Ehmagawd, it’s Winkie Porter!” Alicia whisper-shouted.
Thankfully, she’d ditched her blue-and-white striped Ella Moss T-dress when she heard the weather forecast and opted for baggy black Ralph Lauren Blue Label cargos, a wide silver belt, and a gray Vince ruffle tee. The colors said, “I’m serious about current events,” while the playful cuts and luxe fabrics said, “And I’ll deliver them in style.”
Alicia decided she was at least a nine point three—it was time to make her move. She grabbed Kori’s wrist and pulled her through the crowded halls, not caring how many designer bags she bashed into along the way.
The heady floral scent of Trésor perfume swirled around Alicia as she approached the sharply dressed and neatly coiffed reporter.
“Hi, I’m Alicia Rivera, BOCD’s anchorwoman.” She extended her right hand. “I love your shoes. Are they Manolos?”
Winkie smiled at her gray pumps. “Indeeeed they are.” Then she gave Alicia’s hand a firm shake. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ech-hem.” Kori fake-cleared her throat.
“I’m—” Winkie started.
“Oh, I totally know who you are,” Alicia said, feeling her heart beat in her gums. “What are you doing here?”
Kori coughed.
“We’re doing a piece on how OCD and Briarwood have joined together.” She swiped a bloodred Shu Uemura lipstick across her mouth, then dabbed the excess on a silver Doublemint wrapper she had in the pocket of her cream-colored pantsuit.
“I’ll take that.” Kori held out her hand, obviously desperate to find her way into the conversation.
“Thank you,” Winkie muttered, while gazing at the mad rush of students flirt-rushing to their next class. “We better get started before we lose everyone.” She half-nodded at her cameraman, who immediately handed her a mic.
“Rolling.”
“Great.” Winkie conjured a wide smile. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Ehmagawd! Opposite of yes.” Alicia smiled for the long dark lens.
Kori, having just returned from dumping the lipstick-covered gum wrapper in the trash, was freshly glossed. She stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Alicia as the passing students slowed to see what was going on.
“I am standing in the
dry
halls of BOCD, surrounded by, the beautiful students who were lucky enough to hold on to their spots in the most prestigious learning institution on the East Coast. No trailers and rainstorms for them,” Winkie announced. “And here to tell us why these kids made the cut is BO’s very own anchorwoman, Ali—”
“Hi, I’m Alicia Rivera,” She pulled the mic from Winkie’s hand and began strolling down the hall. The cameraman followed.
