Bratfest at Tiffany's (15 page)

If what Effie said was true, Claire could
re-present
herself to Cam as someone who had moved on to something better. That way he’d want her again.

All she had to do was:

1. Find a cute boy.

2. Make him like her.

3. Somehow leak the news to Cam.

4. Prove that she has “it.”

5. (Figure out what “it” is, and make sure not to lose “it.”)

6. Watch Cam sweat.

Of course she would have to find a way to pull off steps one through six without:

1. Breaking boyfast rules.

2. Getting kicked out of the NPC.

OLIVIA RYAN’S HOUSE
FRONT YARD

Friday, September 11th
5:17
P.M.

Olivia’s modest ivy-covered four-bedroom Tudor provided a quaint backdrop for the boys as they whizzed and rumbled up and down the U-shaped ramp on their skateboards. Her white-blond brother Andy’s rickety plywood monstrosity took up most of the front yard, reminding Alicia of those huge sunglasses Nicole Richie and Mary-Kate Olsen wore on their doll-size faces. It was a whole lot of accessory for such a small space.

If the boys caught too much air and fell to the right, they’d crash into Mrs. Ryan’s black Lexus hybrid SUV. If they fell to the left, they’d land in the prickly rosebushes. But no one seemed the least bit concerned. Not the soccer boys in their baggy shorts, fat sneakers, and scuffed helmets, or the girls who were snapping their pictures like proud parents.

“Suh-noooozer,” Alicia sighed, hoping Strawberry or Kori or Olivia would admit that they were just as bored as she was.

But they didn’t.

The sun was starting to set, drenching the yard in magical orange light, the kind that made Alicia’s brown eyes twinkle and her skin glow. Instead of admiring her beauty, Josh climbed to the top of the ramp, clutching a green skateboard under his arm.

Alicia forced a smile, trying not to regret having chosen him over the NPC. Besides, what was Massie doing now that was so much better? Getting a mani-pedi? Laughing with the girls over fro-yo? Gossiping in the Blocks’ Jacuzzi? Fine, maybe those things were better. But that didn’t mean she’d never have them again. She would. With a little effort and a ton of patience.

“Cute butterfly hoodie.” Alicia pinched Kori’s pink terry sweatshirt, trying desperately to take the focus away from skateboarding and put it on something that actually mattered. “It’s Juicy, right?”

“Yessssss!” Kori jumped up and down. “S, did you hear that?”

Strawberry lowered her digital camera. “What?”

“Alicia asked if my sweatshirt was Juicy.” She beamed.

“No way!” She raced over and high-fived Kori. “Hey, O, you gotta hear this.”

Olivia was sitting on the Lexus, rocking little Kate. “What?” she called, immediately waking the baby. “I can’t hear you!” she shouted over the rumbling skateboard wheels.

Kori and Strawberry gestured for her to come closer.

Without another thought, Olivia left her screaming plastic baby on the black hood and hurried closer. Her white linen dress and bare feet were backlit by yellow beams of sun, making her look like a corn-fed model in a commercial for fabric softener.

“What did you guys say?” she asked, joining their circle at the foot of the ramp.

“I saaaaid …” Kori stomped her flip-flopped foot in mock frustration. “… Alicia asked if my sweatshirt was Juicy!”

“No way!” Olivia high-fived her friends, oblivious as Kate slid off the car and landed face-first on the gravel driveway.

“Olivia!”
Cam jumped off the ramp and raced over to his fake daughter, paying little mind to his sagging black shorts and lopsided helmet.

“What? I don’t get it. Why is it high-fiveable that I thought your sweatshirt was Juicy?” Alicia asked, all too aware of feeling like the new girl. The one who had to pretend taking pictures of skateboarding boys was fun. The one who didn’t understand their inside jokes. The one who had to shout, “I don’t get it!”

“Be-
cause
…” Kori grinned. “… I DIY’ed this sweatshirt. I copied a Juicy, and these guys said no one would ever fall for it. But
you
did!”

“Great,” Alicia grumbled.

“Hey, Strawberry, get this,” Derrington called from the top of the ramp.

“Hold on.” She propped her camera and raced closer. “Okay. Ready!”

With that, Derrington pulled down his olive green cargo shorts and dropped in with them wrapped around his ankles. He was wearing goofy X-Men boxers and shook his butt as he rode.

Everyone doubled over laughing while Kori and Olivia raced to get the shot. Alicia thought Derrington’s butt-flash was funny … for a second. But mostly because she pictured Massie standing there looking embarrassed. She imagined catching Massie’s eye while she was trying to look all mature and serious, and making her crack up. Soon Dylan and Kristen and Claire would be laughing too. And then, after like ten minutes of ab-splitting hysterics, they’d grip their stomachs and ask each other what had been so funny in the first place. None of them would know. And that would make them crack up all over again. Before long, the boys would be staring at them, half chuckling, half wondering what was wrong with them. And their interest would make them feel beautiful.

But then Alicia remembered that Derrington was now Massie’s ex-crush. And Massie was now Alicia’s ex-friend. So were Dylan, Kristen, and Claire. So there was really no point in thinking about any of it. Right?

“Hey, why don’t we go do something different for a change?” Alicia offered with over-the-top enthusiasm.

“Like what?” Strawberry asked, while snapping shots of Andy as he attempted a series of one-eighties.

“I dunno. Maybe we can go get some fro-yo or something.”

“Hey, I have an idea!” Josh called from the top of the ramp.

Alicia air-clapped, certain he was about to suggest they head to the mall, get lattes, then stroll past the mannequins in the windows playing “what would you rather wear?”

How could she have ever doubted him?

“So what’s your big idea?” She smiled in anticipation.

“Try using the sepia setting on my camera,” he called. “It makes the picture come out all brown, like it was taken in the Wild West.”

“Great,” Alicia groaned. “Just what I was thinking.”

BOCD
OVERFLOW TRAILERS

Monday, September 14th
7:17
A.M.

Massie kicked open the door of the gleaming silver Range Rover and she, Kristen, Claire, and Dylan clawed their way out as if a fuel explosion were imminent. “Eh. Ma. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd!” they shrieked.

Gripping each other’s arms, they gazed across the empty parking lot, seething with excitement.

“Maybe it’s a mirage,” Claire offered, shielding her eyes from the bright morning light that bounced off the asphalt.

Speechless, Dylan slid on her Bulgari mirrored sunglasses.

“How much do you think it cost?” Kristen lifted the brim on her straw Roxy visor.

“Six thousand eight hundred and seventy-one dollars,” Massie blurted. “We came in a hundred and twenty-nine dollars under budget. My dad is majorly proud.”

Kristen and Claire exchanged one of their usual
must-be-nice-to-be-rich
glances. Massie let it go.

It was a new day. Her second chance had arrived.

A beaming grin lit Massie’s face like a sunrise. “Let’s go!”

Without another word, the girls whipped off their strappy wedges, scooped them up, and raced toward their new classroom. They stomped over tiny pebbles and black oil dribbles and flattened gum wads without the slightest concern for their pumice-stone pedicures. Because they weren’t just running for their lives—they were running for their
social
lives. And nothing was more motivating than
that.

For a split second, Massie thought she heard Alicia panting, begging them to “wait up” as she lagged behind. But she shook the old voice from her mind, increased her speed, and ran past the memory. In fact, she ran past them all; ex-friends, ex-crushes, ex-bomb shelters, ex-main buildings, ex-cafés, and her ex-alpha status. From this moment on, the past was done.

“It’s a miracle,” Claire huffed when they arrived at the trailers.

The dingy white crates had been painted robin’s egg blue. They were wrapped in giant white satin bows, and the words TIFFANY & co. were stamped on the side in black block letters. They looked exactly like the jewelry store’s famed boxes—only a billion times bigger.

“It’s puuur-fect.” Dylan fanned her pits.

Kristen bounced on the balls of her bare feet and air-clapped. “We should enter it as a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade.”

Massie dabbed her misting eyes with the corner of her brown metallic pin-striped halter dress. “It’s ex-actly how I sketched it. I awnestly can’t believe—” Her new iPhone vibrated. She thumbed the touch screen and retrieved her new text message.

Effie:
U like?

Massie:
Luv! Like x 1000! thx!!!!!!!!!!!

Effie:
Go inside.

Massie:
Bout 2.

She clapped her phone shut. “Let’s check out the in—” Her cell vibrated again.

Effie:
Cute dress btw. Love the shimmer pinstripes. Who makes it?

“What?” Massie searched the thin gray branches of the surrounding trees, as if Effie might be perched on a limb petting a squirrel with one hand and texting with the other.

Effie:
Roof.

Massie turned toward BOCD’s sprawling stone Main Building and looked up. “Ehmagawd!” Effie, looking like the letter
L
in a size-eight font, was dressed in all-black, waving binoculars over her head,
rescue-me
style.

Massie:
?????

Effie:
Making sure everything goes right.

Massie:
Thx :) … going in now.

Effie:
N-joy.

“Sandals on,” Massie ordered, leading the NPC up the ruby red velvet-covered staircase.

Claire wobbled slightly as she fastened her yellow Marc Jacobs wedges. She grabbed the plush banister to steady herself. “It feels just like the inside of the boxes our charm bracelets came in.”

“That was the whole point.” Massie reached for the bumpy, white glitter-covered door handle. “Aren’t you happy I made you cute today?”

Claire glanced down at the Trust Fund green lace Juicy blouse and dark cropped Hudsons Massie had Inez deliver to the guesthouse that morning. “Totally.”

“I
always
look cute.” Dylan grabbed the hem of her yellow-and-white daisy-covered luau dress and giggle-rushed past Claire.

“Not as cute as me.” Kristen slapped the butt of her gold C&C woven romper and charged past them both. “Open it!” She stomped her bronze Roman sandaled-foot impatiently.

Massie turned the coarse handle. “Here. It.
Isn’t.”
She giggled while the others bashed into her back.

“Come awn!” they urged.

But Massie wanted to linger in this hope-zone a little while longer, just in case disappointment was waiting on the other side of the semi-glossed blue door.

“Hurry.” Kristen flapped her hands, dribbling invisible basketballs. “The LBRs will be here in a few minutes. And you said you wanted to see it before—”

“Okay, okay.”

Massie took a deep breath. Opened the door. Stepped inside. Then exhaled.

“Eh. Ma. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!”

Every surface had been covered in something shimmery, which reflected sunlight-soaked kisses in their eyes. White fluffy cotton covered the walls, and red velvet lined the ceiling and floors.

“This is how diamonds must feel all the time,” Claire gushed.

“Yup.” Massie sparkled.

“It’s so cashmere-ic.” Dylan rushed past her and hugged the luxurious walls.

“And these are sooo gem-tastic.” Kristen marveled at the three rows of mirrored desks that gleamed like unclasped tennis bracelets.

“Lift the top.” Massie bit her lower lip in anticipation.

“Ehmagawd, it’s a vanity,” Kristen said to her reflection. “And look at the chairs!”

Everyone slid into padded white recliners—inspired by the massage pedicure chairs at Golden Nails—and flipped open their desks, locking the tops in a vertical position with the silver hook. Inside the velvet-lined cubbies were solar cell phone chargers and metallic mesh makeup caddies stuffed with Sephora products.

Massie scanned the inventory.

• Sugar Travel Tan face bronzer

• L’Occitane 100 percent pure shea butter hand cream

• DuWop Lip Venom

• Lancôme’s Juicy Tubes (Cherry Burst, Copper Cabana, Exotic Kiss, and Dreamsicle)

• 1 oz. petite perfumes (Prada, Bobbi Brown’s Beach, Kiehl’s Cucumber Oil, and Chanel Mademoiselle)

• Frédéric Fekkai glossing hair cream

• Evian face mist

It was all there.

“The boys’ desks are stocked with Gatorade, Axe deodorant, Axe body spray, Altoids, and Crest Whitestrips,” she announced.

“Sooo awesome,” Kristen said to the mirrored cutouts of stars and moons and snowflakes that hung from the ceiling on thin iridescent threads known to fashion insiders as Lurex. “
I
sketched that. And here it is. I can’t believe it.” She twirled like a kid in a Christmas blizzard, mesmerized by the light reflecting off her mobile and onto the cotton-covered walls.

“This was my idea.” Claire knocked the white, wall-mounted dry-erase board that replaced the ugly green chalkboard. “Instead of chalk, Ms. Dunkel can use these.” She held up a bouquet of bright-colored markers.

“Love it!” Massie air-clapped.

“This was all me!” Dylan shouted from the back of the class, where a row of sixteen matching brown-and-gold monogrammed Louis Vuitton suitcases were mounted on iron hooks. “Say hello to our new lockers.” She sniffed the leather. “Effie got them from my mom’s travel closet at the studio.”