Picture-Perfect (From the Files of Madison Finn, 8) (3 page)

And Madison didn’t know what to do.

“W
E HAVE TO FIND
the right chaperone, that’s all,” Madison told her friends at lunch the next day.

They were sitting together at their usual orange table in the back of the lunchroom, ignoring their guy friends Egg Diaz, Drew Maxwell, and Fiona’s brother Chet, who were seated at the opposite end from them.

“My mom won’t go for that,” Fiona said. “Not even a chaper—”

“No!” Madison interrupted. “My mom said that your mom
will
go for it if we come up with a smart plan about how we can go and who can take us. So let’s think. Who? WHO?”

Aimee picked at a leaf of lettuce on her tray and sipped from a bottle of water. “I’m so bummed out.”

“We should be celebrating!” Madison said. “We’ll be able to go. We have to think positive.”

“Okay, okay,” Fiona said. “My dad could drive us.”

Aimee looked up and made a face. “I’m sorry, Fiona. No offense, but I’d be kind of embarrassed to go with your dad.”

“Me, too,” Madison admitted.

“Fine, then you guys name someone else,” Fiona said.

“What about your dad, Maddie?” Aimee asked. “He’s cool, right? Or his girlfriend Stephanie? She’s pretty cool, too.”

“Why is Maddie’s dad cool and my dad isn’t?” Fiona asked.

“My dad is cool in his own mind,” Madison said, chuckling. She was remembering the many times he’d mortified her in public restaurants, at the bowling alley, and everywhere else they ever seemed to go lately.

Fiona giggled. “What about your dad, Aimee?”

“Are you JOKING?” Aimee laughed out loud.

“What about your mom?” Fiona asked.

Aimee paused. “Mom wouldn’t go to a concert unless it was a folk singer or something. She’s into all that music like Bob Dylan and the Beatles.”

“Who’s Bob Dylan?” Fiona asked.

Madison pounded her fist lightly on the table. “Come on, you guys! We have to think. We only have lunch period together today. That gives us twenty more minutes to come up with a perfect chaperone.”

From the other end of the table, Chet leaned over to ask if he could eat his sister’s dessert. She’d left half a brownie on her plate. As soon as he nudged over, Egg and Drew squeezed closer, too. Fiona blushed a little when Egg moved nearby. Her crush on him seemed to get worse every day.

“What’s the deal—I hear you guys won tickets to some concert?” Egg asked the girls.

Aimee looked at him and smiled. “Yes, we did. Are you jealous?”

“Of tickets to a girly concert?” he said. “No, I don’t think so.”

Drew snorted. He did that when he laughed. “Nikki’s cute,” he said, half under his breath.

Chet put his hands up into the air and declared, “No, Nikki is superhot. There’s a difference.”

The girls looked at each other and giggled

“So when is this concert?” Egg asked.

“In a week,” Fiona said.

“And Mom is never letting you go, so give it up,” Chet said.

Madison spoke up. “She will so let us go to the concert. We have it all planned.”

“Yeah? What?” Chet asked. “You’re bluffing.”

“We are not. We’re just not telling you guys,” Madison said, practically shooing the boys away like bugs.

“Don’t look now,” Aimee whispered. “Her highness is coming over to this table, too.”

Headed straight for the orange table was Ivy Daly, otherwise known in the Madison-Aimee-Fiona circle as “Poison Ivy.” Ivy represented everything about seventh grade that Madison detested. She was a big show-off, and she tried to wield her Class President power around like some kind of weapon. Even worse, she liked the same exact boy that Madison did: Hart Jones. Fortunately, Hart was nowhere in sight right now.

“Hel-lo,” Ivy whined as she stopped next to the table. Right behind her were her drones, two girls who followed Ivy’s every move. Rose and Joan had also gotten their own bad nicknames over the years, too. Rose was Rose Thorn and Joan was Phony Joanie. The names fit them perfectly.

“Hello, Ivy,” Fiona said. She spoke for the table. Madison and Aimee remained silent.

Madison noticed that Ivy was wearing a baby-T with the words “Sugar-Sweet” on it. She recognized that shirt as part of the newest Nikki fan-club package. Madison had wanted one of her very own, but the club had sold out of them by the time she requested hers. Madison’s shirt was back-ordered for two months.

“What are you three doing this weekend?” Ivy asked.

“Who wants to know?” Aimee snapped back.

“I was just wondering,” Ivy said. “Don’t have a cow.”

“Ivy has tickets to the hottest concert in town,” Rose Thorn said.

Fiona looked confused. “Huh?
This
weekend?”

“No,” Ivy said, smoothing out her T-shirt. “But this weekend I’m going shopping for the ultimate concert outfit.”

“What concert are you talking about?” Aimee asked.

Poison Ivy and her drones laughed.

“Nikki,” Phony Joanie blurted. “Duh. Who else?”

Fiona almost jumped in to say that they had concert tickets, too, but Madison quickly cut her off. She didn’t want Ivy to know that they’d be there, too.

“Ivy, who’s taking you to the concert?” Madison asked. She knew if Ivy had to admit in public that it was her mom or dad, she might get to see Ivy squirm a little. There was something so uncool about parental chaperones, as the girls knew. And Ivy wouldn’t risk looking uncool around anyone—especially not at school.

“Actually, my sister Janet is taking me to the Nikki concert,” Ivy explained. “You need to have someone who qualifies as an adult. I think they have to be sixteen or seventeen.”

“Wow.” Aimee had to admit it. “That’s pretty sweet.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ivy said.

“Are you two going to the concert, too?” Fiona asked Rose and Joan.

They just shook their heads.

“No, just me,” Ivy boasted. “Tickets have been sold out since a half-hour after they went on sale. I’m one of the lucky ones. My dad knew some important people.”

“Mmmmmm,” Madison said. She glanced at Aimee and Fiona, who were doing their best not to laugh. “So where are you sitting at the concert?”

“In the fifth row,” Ivy said. “I can practically reach up and touch Nikki right there on stage.”

“Wow,” Aimee said, faking a serious voice. “I’m soooo jealous.”

Poison Ivy grinned. She thought Aimee meant it.

“Even better, I get to go backstage and meet Nikki after the concert,” Ivy said. “My dad has a friend who—”

“How nice for you,” Aimee said, cutting her off. She stood up with her tray still full of uneaten food and turned back toward the kitchen.

Madison and Fiona stood up, too, with their trays.

The bell for the end of the lunch period was about to ring.

“See you later,” Fiona said as they walked away.

Ivy shrugged. “Yeah, later.” She didn’t like it much when people walked away while she was in the middle of speaking.

And Madison and her friends were good at that.

They hurried over to the dish area where they dumped their trays and leftover food.

“That was unbelievable!” Aimee said, trying hard to contain herself. “In the dictionary next to the word
fake
is a picture of Poison Ivy Daly—in that stupid T-shirt.”

Madison chuckled. “Yeah.”

“I thought us snagging tickets was special,” Fiona said. “But I guess not.”

“You guys!” Madison reminded them. “We still WON our tickets. We’re in the FRONT row, not the fifth row. We
are
special. More than special.”

“But we haven’t decided on a chaperone yet,” Fiona said. “Ivy has Janet. She’s all set. What are we going to do?”

“If Ivy’s bringing her sister Janet,” Madison said, “it doesn’t have to be a parent who goes with us.”

“How about your brothers, Aim?” Fiona suggested. “They can drive.”

“
My
brothers?” Aimee shook her head. “Are you kidding? They wouldn’t be caught dead at a concert with me. All they do is pick on me for the music I listen to. Plus, they bother me.”

“What about Roger?” Madison asked. “He won’t pick on you.”

Roger was Aimee’s oldest and sweetest brother. He helped Mr. Gillespie run the front counter at Book Web, the family bookstore. He volunteered to feed senior citizens in the Far Hills neighborhoods with Meals on Wheels. Roger always did the right thing, said the right thing, and acted the right way, at least as far as Madison was concerned. He wouldn’t be as embarrassing as a dad. He was twenty-three, the ideal chaperone age. And he was cute, too.

“Roger is too busy,” Aimee said. “He’s got a girlfriend now, and he’s always with her when he’s not at the store. He’s a drag. You don’t want him.”

“He can’t take us for one night?” Madison asked. “One dumb concert? Pleeeeeease.”

“Yeah, Aim,” Fiona joined in. “Pretty pleeeeeeease?”

“Well …” Aimee hedged. “I just don’t—”

“You
have
to ask him,” Fiona insisted. “Otherwise we can’t go.”

“Yeah,” Madison said. “You wanna go, don’t you?”

Aimee finally gave in. She said she would ask him that night. And she’d tell her mother about the concert, too. But she wasn’t making any guarantees. In fact, she was certain he’d say no instantly.

Heee-ooooo! Heeee-oooo!

The girls jumped. Out of nowhere, a siren had started ringing. That meant fire drill.

“Okay, boys and girls,” some teacher yelled from the faculty lunch table. “Order in the room! Fire drill!”

“Where’s our Cafeteria Marshall?” another teacher asked aloud.

Madison, Aimee, and Fiona ducked out a side door and joined with the throng of kids parading down the main staircase into the school lobby. They had to file out in order and then meet up with their homeroom groups outside, across the street.

“See you guys later,” Madison said, as she waved good-bye to Aimee and Fiona. They were in different homerooms. Madison looked for hers, for a sign that said
A-F.

“Maddie!” a voice yelled out from the sidewalk. “Over here!”

Egg was standing with her homeroom group. Even though Madison often found him to be a pain in the neck, he was still one of her best friends ever. And he was definitely her best guy friend. Madison, Aimee, and Egg had all been pals throughout elementary school. Some old habits—and old friends—were hard to leave.

Madison clustered together with the rest of the kids from her homeroom, most of whom she usually never noticed. At today’s fire drill she ended up standing next to a quiet girl she recognized from her science class.

“Aren’t you in Mr. Danehy’s section?” Madison asked the girl after a while.

“Yes,” the girl said softly. She introduced herself as Carmen, but she didn’t have much to say after that. She barely even smiled.

The longer Madison looked, she saw that Carmen wasn’t just pretty, she was prettier than pretty. Her long, thick, black hair rolled down her shoulders, and she had light, hazel-colored eyes. Carmen dressed really nicely too, like some magazine models. Her fingers and arms were long and thin and her skin was a pale brown color, as if she’d been to a tanning salon or something.

Carmen wore a plain sweater and spoke in a whisper, but none of that mattered to Madison. She stood there wishing that she looked and talked the same way as Carmen. She was suddenly self-conscious about her clothes, her hair, and even her feet. Madison quickly checked her own sweater for fear that she had food stuck on the front or cuffs. Carmen had on leather shoes with tiny buckles. Madison had on old sneakers.

“Line up in alphabetical order!” their homeroom teacher demanded.

It turned out that Carmen’s last name was Forrest; and she ended up right behind Madison Finn for the duration of the fire drill. No one was supposed to talk, but Madison leaned in to talk anyway.

“Do you like Nikki?” Madison asked after a moment or two of silence.

Carmen shook her head. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Madison said. “How come? I think she’s the coolest—”

“She’s okay,” Carmen said, cutting her off.

“Oh,” Madison snapped back. She didn’t understand why Carmen had to be rude all of a sudden like that. Carmen was obviously like all the pretty girls. The prettiest girls in school always acted supersnobby.

Madison decided right there that Carmen was a supersnob.

“Okay,” the teacher said. “We’re going to file back into the school quietly, and you should all report directly to your next period class. Is that clear?”

Everyone pushed a little as they headed back into school. Madison’s eyes scanned the crowd for signs of Aimee or Fiona.

Did they know Carmen?

Did they have any more ideas about the chaperone for the concert?

Where were they?

Up ahead, Madison saw a familiar, brown, curly head.

Hart Jones.

She hurried to catch up with him, but other kids kept getting in the way. Hart was probably headed up to art class, the same destination as Madison. She’d chosen art as a spring elective, and luckily Hart had ended up in the same section. They’d only met for class once before, so they hadn’t picked final seats yet. Madison hoped that she’d be seated near her crush.

As they headed into the school lobby, Madison nearly went flying. Egg caught her elbow. He’d been right behind her the whole time.

He was chattering on and on about some stupid new video game that he’d bought. He was obsessed with computers. Of course Madison loved them just as much, in a different way. But listening to Egg could get so boring—so fast.

Up ahead, Madison still had her eye on Hart, plowing through the crowd with his backpack on his back. But as he turned to head up the stairwell toward the art classroom on the fifth floor, Madison noticed something she hadn’t seen before.

Hart was walking with another girl.

And that girl was Carmen.

T
HE ART ASSIGNMENT IN
class was to draw a still life. Madison hung her head down in despair. She was floundering.

Mr. Duane, the art teacher, stood over Madison’s desk, arms crossed, and looked at what she’d drawn so far.

“Is that a pear?” he asked, pointing to a green blob in the corner. “And is that a bowl?”