Just Flirt (29 page)

Mug shot.

If Sabrina goes through with her threat, I’ll go from Superflirt to criminal. What
was
I thinking last night, did I expect her to say, golly, thanks for the info, you’re a life saver? And what would Ivy say if she knew I broke the restraining order? She’d freak out, which is why I didn’t tell her. Instead, I made sure to wash my hair early this morning and put on extra deodorant in case I get interrogated or have to share a cell with a woman named Hildegard Hairpuller or Bertha Buttkicker. Good thing we have a magic class instead of our usual Saturday craft hour. I can hide out in the store with Natalie and watch for the sheriff, who I hope will be compassionate enough not to put me in handcuffs.

Oh my poor mother.

Now I understand why people drink to settle their nerves. As a camper who is dressed up as Dumbledore rolls by on a skateboard, I reach for a Snickers bar, my drug of choice for the day. “Isn’t that your second one?” Natalie asks, watching me rip it open and take a huge bite. “The last thing we need is for you to throw up in the squad car and be covered in vomit when they’re taking your fingerprints.”

“Relax, Dee,” Roxanne says as she opens the screen door and two junior wizards push past her. She notices my empty wrappers and then glares at the little girl who is trying to confiscate her Snapple using a Harry Potter
Accio
summoning spell. “No one’s getting arrested, except for
annoying brats who try to take my green tea
!”

The girl shrieks and runs out of the store.

“How do you know, Roxanne?” I ask, spewing a bit of chocolate on my shorts. Great. Now I’ll have barf
and
pooplike stains on my clothes. “Sabrina probably told Mona all about how demon-girl Dee tracked her down.”

Roxanne sits beside us on an empty stool, making me stop thinking about myself long enough to realize that she’s wearing a tank top—a tight, figure-showing tank top—along with her cargo shorts. She looks good. Sexy tomboy good. “Dee, it’s ten-thirty,” Roxanne says. “If Sabrina did tattle, the sheriff would have been here by now, so ease up on the chocolate, there, Piggly-Wiggly.”

I choke on a peanut. Did she call me Piggly-Wiggly? The peanut starts to feel more like a coconut in my throat, making me cough. As Natalie pounds on my back, I laugh and choke at the same time, all of the mounting stress from the lawsuit and a Snickers sugar rush turning me into a delirious, suffocating mess. “Piggly-Wiggly. Oh my gosh, that cracks me up!”

Natalie turns to Roxanne. “Oh, man, she’s lost it.”

Roxanne starts to smile, but something outside the window catches her eye. She blinks, pointing at what could only be a state trooper coming to arrest me. “Ah, Dee?”

It’s a Trooper, all right.

A bright yellow one with Mardi Gras beads hanging on the rearview mirror.

At first I think it’s Mona, but it’s
Sabrina
who parks and then heads toward us in the store. The screen door creaks extra loud when she enters with her chin tilted up in defiance. “Okay, here’s the thing,” Sabrina says when she sees us. “Just because I came here does
not mean
we’re friends or anything.”

My sugar rush turns to panic.

Is this a trap? Her way of getting back at me? I’m about to make a break for it when Sabrina says, “And, Dee, I didn’t call the sheriff.”

Natalie’s face hardens. “Then why are you here, huh? Need more evidence for your case? Or—hey, want to take another picture of me, maybe while I’m scratching my butt cheek this time, something to give all your friends a good chuckle.”

I can’t believe it when an embarrassed flush darkens Sabrina’s face. “Look, I don’t blame any of you for hating my guts. So if you want me to leave, just say the word and I’ll take care of Larson myself.”

Here’s my big chance.

I can throw
her
out and let
her
know how it feels to be an outsider, but something she said stops me.
I’ll take care of Larson myself.

She believes us.

“You showed your mother the picture, didn’t you?” I ask.

Sabrina nods, her lower lip giving the slightest twitch.

“And I take it that it didn’t go well?” Roxanne asks.

Sabrina nods again, more briskly this time, with tears glistening. Wow. Seeing the ice queen breaking down should be satisfying … but it’s not. So when she notices the Snickers bar still in my hand, I can’t help but take one from the display and slide it toward her. “Tell us. How bad is it?”

Sabrina sits with perfect posture as she rips off the wrapper. But then she slouches, her composure crushed as she says, “Bad, real bad! Mom was furious and said the woman in the photo could be his
cousin
or something. And then she called Larson and asked if he would sign a prenup—just to prove me wrong—and he said that true love like theirs will last forever, so there’s no need for a prenup.”

“Oh, gag,” Natalie says. “And she fell for it?”

“Hook, line, and scumbag. She refused to even talk about it, and—huh? Is that guy out there by the pool dressed like Dumbledore?”

Yeah, that’s Mr. Clark from Dundalk, but I’m not about to casually discuss his obsession with Hogwarts. She’s not getting off that easy. “Look, Sabrina, let’s stop the tap-dancing, okay? You know
perfectly well
I never pushed you and that Blaine lied about what happened, so why don’t you just tell the truth and have the lawsuit dropped? Then maybe my nightmare of a summer would go back to normal
and
Larson would leave.”

Everything would be over.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” Sabrina says softly. “Mom refuses to believe he’s conning her, even though he’s the one who convinced her to go to trial.” She pauses, taking a huge bite of her candy bar like she hasn’t had chocolate in months. “And she said that if I change my statement, she’d tell the judge I’m lying because she’s marrying Larson and that…”

She stops. “And what?” Natalie asks.

Sabrina takes a deep breath and looks at me. “And that she’ll have you arrested.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in.

Sabrina is
protecting me
? Why?

“Larson also convinced her to go to
Vegas
next weekend to get married.” She crumples the candy wrapper and banks it into the trash with impressive accuracy. “And we all know that I can’t stop him without your help, and you can’t stop him without me. If we want this to end, then we need to work together and find more proof that Larson is a gold digger—even if it means breaking a few rules. So
my
question, ladies, is this: Are you in?”

Duh.

Did she seriously have to ask?

*   *   *

Two hours later, Natalie, Roxanne, and I are ringing Sabrina’s doorbell. She opens the door and lets us in. “Good timing, Mom just left for the grocery store.”

It’s amazing how much her house screams of Mona, with its cool ’50s vibe, antique jukebox, and a glass cake stand holding a plate of cookies beside a vintage television. Roxanne leans over to read the titles of about fifty Harlequin novels stacked on the kitchen counter while Natalie helps herself to a cookie. “Ew,” she says. “Too much vanilla.”

“Tell me about it.” Sabrina takes one anyway and then leads us down the hallway to her bedroom while saying, “Okay, step one, we need to sneak into Larson’s house without tripping the alarm.”

Earlier, at the campground, we agreed that the best place to find any kind of evidence would be Larson’s home office, seeing as how there are too many employees roaming around the inn. And now, being in Sabrina’s bedroom—what I would have called the Devil’s Lair only yesterday—is both disconcerting and oddly exhilarating. Especially when I see the photo of Blaine on her dresser, smiling with all his charm.

Ha. He doesn’t know yet that he’s part of our plan.

“Wait, don’t tell me,” I say. “Blaine made you turn around when he entered the alarm code, too, right?”

“Every time,” Sabrina says, flicking his photo with her finger hard enough to knock it backward. She then grabs her cell and dials. “So watch and learn, ladies, watch and learn.”

We watch.

And we learn as she brushes her dark hair back and holds the phone against her ear, giving us a wicked grin before saying, “Torrance,
heeey
, it’s been, like, a whole week since we’ve talked!”
Nod, nod, nod
. “What I said? Honey, I was just kidding about buying my clothes off eBay. Oh, you knew all along? Right, of course you did!”

Sabrina breathes out a gloomy moan. “How am I doing? Well, it’s been rough. I’m so depressed over Blaine. What’s that … Yes, being dumped really does hurt—thanks for the reminder, Torrance.”

She covers the phone long enough to whisper to us, “Hello, I dumped him,” before saying, “I just don’t know what happened, Torr. I wish I could
beg
him for an answer, but I don’t know where he’s going to be today.” She nods and interjects a few
uh-huhs.
“He has a lesson at the driving range at three? And you know this specifically because … Right, because Prescott told you, sure. And, um, what are you doing today? Oh, yay, that sounds just
fabulous.
Well, thanks, Torr, you’ve been a
great friend.
Love ya!”

Sabrina clicks the phone shut. “Game on.”

“Aren’t you afraid Torrance will show up?” Roxanne asks her.

“Nope. She told me she’s having a spa day with her mother. Not even the chance to see me beg would keep her from a mani-pedi.” Sabrina turns to where Natalie is snooping through her cosmetics bag and looks at her like a cobra stalking a field mouse. “And now for step two.”

Natalie drops the puffy brush she was dabbing her cheeks with, her body tense and nose twitching like this mouse is about to bolt. “Uh, maybe this isn’t the best idea. What if Blaine recognizes me? And what if Larson shows up?”

I push down on her shoulders before she can escape. “Blaine won’t. You and I didn’t become close until
after
we broke up and besides—he probably wouldn’t recognize the woman who cleans his house twice a week, so you’ll be fine.”

“And my mother said Larson is out of town for the weekend,” Sabrina says, flipping through the clothes in her closet. “And trust me, once I’m done with you, your own momma won’t recognize you. And if Blaine does, well, it won’t matter as long as you show enough leg.”

Natalie leans her head against the back of the chair and swallows hard. I kneel down beside her and say, “Nat, come on,
you’re
the real Superflirt. You’re the one who’s been writing the blog everyone loves. You’re the brave one, Natalie, not me.”

She twirls a finger with a sarcastic frown. “Yeah, it takes a lot of courage to write an anonymous blog, big whoop.”

“It is a big whoop,” Sabrina says, taking a black miniskirt and then dismissing it by throwing it on her bed. “Your writing is fantastic.”

The worry lines on Natalie’s face soften. Roxanne drapes a towel around Natalie’s neck and leans down to say, “She’s right—your blog rocks. So shut up. This should be a piece of cake for you.”

“I hate cake,” Natalie whines, her eyes widening when Sabrina pulls out an adorable pink minidress. “Oh, no. I’m not wearing that.”

“Natalie, stop! You’d look fabulous in this—” I take the dress from Sabrina and check the label. “Hollister, are you kidding me? You got a Hollister dress off of eBay?”

Sabrina picks up her scissors and taps them against her palm as though uncertain how to answer. Finally, she says, “Yeah. I did.”

“Cool. You totally have to show me how.”

25
Sabrina

Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to comprehend the fact that I’m sitting in a parking lot beside Dee Barton and Roxanne Swain with a pair of binoculars that we will use to spy on Natalie Green as she tries to flirt with my ex-boyfriend.

Seriously?

It’s been the weirdest summer.

We couldn’t drive the Trooper to the driving range—it’s not exactly subtle—and my car is still in the shop, but my neighbor, Mrs. Mason, was more than willing to loan us her Subaru, since I sold her panel curtain sets on craigslist for thirty-five dollars each. Dee straightens the humongous sunglasses I loaned her and asks, “So, what’s Natalie doing now?”

I adjust the binoculars and focus on Natalie, which is hard to do considering we’re parked on the far side of the packed lot. “Okay, she’s in the pro shop waiting in line. And, girls, it looks like she’s talking to herself again.”

Poor Natalie. She’s probably repeating the same
I am Superflirt, hear me roar
mantra that she nervously muttered during the drive here. But even if Natalie is a wreck on the inside, she’s fabulous on the outside. After convincing her to trust me—after all, I have been cutting my mother’s hair since age seven—I chopped off four inches, giving her a sweet, pixyish bob that’s proportionate to her petite frame. I also did her makeup and put her in a pair of sleek white shorts and a drapy pink top that is both hot and athletic at the same time.

Okay, not to brag or anything, but yeah, I’m good.

And it was fun! So, maybe I should … I don’t know, take some cosmetology classes at the vocational school that’s right behind Riverside High. I’ve never thought about it before. Well, no, I
have
thought of it, but the people in my crowd make fun of Vo-Tech students. Especially Torrance, who thinks girls in cosmetology only cut hair because they’re too stupid for anything else, even though she’s the one who spends a hundred fifty dollars on highlights every six weeks. And after today, there’s a good chance I’ll never be welcome with my crowd again.

Do I even want to be?

“What about Blaine, can you see him?” Roxanne asks, scooting up in the backseat so she can get a glimpse of herself in the rearview window and fluff her freshly cut hair. After much persuasion, I gave her a makeover, too, by covering that awful red with a semi-permanent brunette wash and making her skin glow with bronzer, light mascara, and gloss.

So yeah, I’m calling my guidance counselor on Monday.