Sloane Sisters (10 page)

Cate gritted her teeth.

Priya eyed the Josh Hartnett look-alike. “It's definitely okay!” she cried, shooting him a little smile.

“Definitely…” Blythe pulled her shoulders back, sticking out her chest.

“Good.” Stella kept her eyes on Cate. “This is Braden,” she said, pointing to the blond boy, “and this is Ryan, Nate, Kevin, Drew…”

Cate stopped listening after the fifth name. She hated that
Stella
was introducing
her
to Braden Pennyworth. She might as well have been telling her what subway to take to Union Square, or recommending the pumpkin waffles at Sarabeth's.

The boys crowded around the table. Blythe was talking to five of them at the same time, telling them about her summer in Greece. Sophie and Priya stood up to talk to Braden, whose biceps were perfectly toned, as though all he did was eat, sleep, and play basketball. Cate stayed in her seat, feeling like she might puke up her tuna melt.

She squinted her eyes, trying to pretend the boys were the Haverford chess club, and Braden Pennyworth was just Fillmore Weitz, the four-foot-nine pizza-faced eighth-grader who'd actu
ally had the nerve to ask her to the Haverford formal last year. But it was useless. Braden Pennyworth was still Braden Pennyworth, and Stella was still blond, gorgeous, and determined to weasel her way into the Chi Beta Phis.

 

When all the boys had filed out the glass door, Stella pulled up a chair and sat down at the end of the table—the
head
of the table. She had done it: completed the final trial, on time, and given the girls a much-needed dose of hotness. She was as good as in.

“Omigodomigodomigod!” Sophie cried, pressing her hands to her face. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

Priya kept gawking at Stella like she was a celebrity. “How'd you do that?” she asked, twisting her shiny black hair into a ponytail.

“Did you see the boy with the moppy hair?” Blythe breathed. “Drew? I touched his six-pack.”

Cate cleared her throat. “You know, technically the trial was to
steal
the shorts,” she pointed out. “If I order filet mignon, I can't accept Spam.”

Priya grabbed Sophie's milk shake and took a sip. “What are you talking about? I would much rather meet fourteen Haverford guys than sift through a pile of smelly gym shorts,” she laughed.

“We
never
hang out with guys,” Blythe agreed.

Cate looked down at the beat-up wood table, a little hurt. Fine, Cate had never set up any Haverford meet-and-greets, but had they forgotten about last spring, when she'd held a sleepover at the W hotel penthouse? Or the time she'd hired a driver to
take them to East Hampton for the day, where they ate oysters at Della Femina, next to Natalie Portman?

“Forget waiting until Saturday to vote,” Priya added, “I think Stella should be in.” Stella straightened up in her chair, looking pleased.

“But I specifically said
steal
,” Cate said desperately. She looked around for support, but Blythe and Sophie were staring at the table, staying Switzerland-neutral. “Fine, let's vote then,” she growled. She stared at Sophie, who was carving an
S
into the table with her fork. “Who wants Stella to be in?”

Priya and Blythe looked at Stella and slowly raised their hands.

Sophie was still working at her S. “I don't want to vote,” she said nervously, shaking her head. Ever since sixth grade, when Sophie joined the sorority, she had always voted with Cate—always.

“You have to,” all four girls said at the same time.

“Fine.” Sophie put down her fork, then slowly raised her hand. “I think Stella should be in,” she said, cringing.

Cate let out a deep breath.

“Fine,” Cate sighed, defeated. “You're in.” She leaned back and crossed her arms.

“Cheers!” Stella cried. She clasped Priya's hand, overjoyed. Now that she was an official member, it was only a matter of time before she was telling Sophie which pair of sandals she should wear with her teal Cynthia Rowley dress, or telling Blythe to stop using so much bronzer. Stella never had been good at following orders—but giving them? That was something she excelled at.
“We should go to the Pierre to have tea Saturday to celebrate—it's supposed to be just like the Ritz,” she said confidently.

“Let's do it,” Priya agreed.

Cate shook her head, seething. Stella had made it into the Chi Beta Phis and now she was stuck with her—forever. Every sleepover, every sample sale, every Sunday afternoon in Sheep Meadow—Stella would be there, hanging out with
her
friends. And once someone was voted in, they were in. It was practically impossible to get them out.

Or was it?

Suddenly Cate remembered the day after
Finding Nemo on Ice
, when she took the Nemo hat Beth Ann Pinchowski had bought her and gave it to Sophie's dog Peanut to use as a chew toy. Beth Ann had stormed out of Sophie's room and stopped talking to them completely. She'd become friends with Tabitha Ferguson, a mousy girl with a gap between her front teeth.

Cate pulled her iPhone out of her purse and held it up to Sophie. “Sophie,” she said loudly, waving her phone in the air. “Can you help me pick out a new ring tone?”

Stella was describing Braden Pennyworth's cologne—something between Old Spice and Drakkar Noir. Sophie turned away from the conversation and pushed a flat piece of light brown hair out of her eyes.

“What?” she asked, a little annoyed.

“I need a new ring tone—I was thinking of using that new song, ‘Kick It'? By
Cloud McClean
? You know who she is, right, Stella?” Cate raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Stella stopped talking, her face ashen. Her face looked confused,
then betrayed, as though Cate had taken a picture of her picking her nose and sent it to every newspaper in London. Cate felt the slightest pang of guilt. That
was
sort of hitting below the belt. But lying and friend-stealing were equally bad crimes.

“You are not using that song,” Priya said, whipping her head around. The jeweled stud in her nose caught the light. “She wears
unitards
.”

Stella sat up straight in her seat and cleared her throat. She wanted to crawl under the table and cry, but she would never give Cate that satisfaction. “Don't you guys vote for the leader every year?”

Blythe, Priya, and Sophie all looked at each other, then at Cate. “Um…yeah, technically.” Priya let out a nervous laugh. Sophie rested her chin on her hand and started humming softly.

“We should have a revote,” Stella pressed on, glancing around at the girls. She looked directly at Cate and smirked. She didn't know how Cate had found out about the affair, but that comment was just cruel. And cruelty deserved retaliation.

“That's a good idea,” Blythe agreed, tucking her hair behind her ears. “It is a new year…and we
are
in the upper school now.”

Cate dug her nails into her palm. Blythe was agreeing to this? She must've been angry about the interrogation in the bathroom. None of them were thinking straight—did they really want some random British girl bossing them around? They'd be drinking tea every Saturday for the next four years, their teeth slowly turning a dull yellow.

Priya tilted her head from one side to the other. “Yeah, let's do it,” she said. Sophie nodded slowly in agreement.

“Brilliant,” Stella cried, clasping her hands together and grinning. “Then it's settled. We can vote at the Pierre on Saturday.” She shot Cate a sweet smile.

Cate clenched her fists. Stella was out for her throne. Now it was
really
on.

L
ola leaned in close to Elton John's shiny face, studying the gap between his teeth. “He looks so real,” she said softly.

“I thought you went to the one in London.” Kyle pushed his bangs off his forehead. He walked past a wax figure of Tina Turner and touched her hair. She looked like she'd been attacked by a crimping iron.

They'd decided to go to Madame Tussauds tonight, while Kyle's parents went to see a new off-off-Broadway play where a man disassembled a television set while singing opera.

“No, never,” Lola said, staring at Kyle for a second too long.

Since her “lesson” on Tuesday, Lola had been studying nonstop—tossing her hair in the mirror and walking down the sidewalk so carefully an old lady with a walker had passed her. She'd even memorized the Wikipedia article on football (er, soccer) word for word and knew all the field positions (goalie, fullback, forward, midfielder). She was ready.

Kyle sniffed the air like a dog trying to pick up a scent. “I keep smelling vanilla cake batter in here,” he said. “Weird.”

“That's just my perfume,” Lola said softly, tossing her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously, the way Andie had shown her. She had on her favorite pair of Gap jeans, the only ones that actually came down past her ankles, and one of Stella's “casual tops”—a bright green silk blouse. This morning had been better than Christmas. She'd discovered Stella's missing boxes under her bed—
DRESS TOPS III AND BEAUTY SUPPLIES
—just in time for her date. She was considering them payment for Stella hanging out with Cate all week.

“Since when do you wear perfume?” Kyle asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Next to them, three older boys with Mahwah High sweatshirts tried to look up Tina Turner's sequined skirt.

“Since always,” Lola said, turning away quickly. Her face felt hot and red. She felt a little silly acting, but it seemed to be working. Kyle had already complimented her once on her shirt, telling her she looked so…
girly
. He hadn't mentioned the ice cream disaster, either. It was like he had selective amnesia, forgetting only the things Lola wanted him to.

“Look!” she cried, spotting a few familiar friends. “The Spice Girls!” Scary Spice was sticking out her tongue, showing off a silver stud. Victoria Beckham was crouched down in Posh Spice mode, her arms raised above her head. Lola smiled, seeing an opportunity. “I wish I got to see Becks play when he was on Manchester United.”

“Totally,” Kyle agreed, resting his hands on the waist of his mesh shorts. “Wait…” He paused. “You never told me you liked soccer. Or do you just like Beckham?”

Lola stared into Kyle's big brown eyes and then shoved his shoulder playfully, just like she'd rehearsed with Andie. “I love football,” she lied. “It's my favorite sport—right after snowboarding.”

“You snowboard?” Kyle smiled at Lola, revealing his dimples. A church group in blinding fluorescent yellow T-shirts strolled through, pausing to take pictures with Miley and Billy Ray Cyrus. “Impressive.”

Lola's whole body warmed up. “Cheers.” She smiled, walking alongside him into the Hall of Presidents.

Lola stood next to Kyle, staring at a man with a nose so big it needed its own zip code. The rehearsal dinner was Saturday night, and her mum had told her she could bring anyone she wanted. Stella and Cate were bringing those daft girls who were always at the house, and Andie had said she'd probably bring Cindy. But Lola only had one person in mind. Her palms started to sweat just thinking about it.

“Do you know who any of these people are?” Kyle asked, glancing at a white-haired man with a saggy neck and a Will Smith look-alike. They were standing behind debate podiums in one corner of the room.

Lola laughed. “I don't have a bloody clue.” She could stare at the big-nosed man all day long and she still wouldn't know.

“Well, this is Richard Nixon—we learned about him in history class.” Kyle pulled his gum out of his mouth and pinched it between his fingers, a mischievous grin curling over his lips. “Dare me to stick some gum up his nose?”

“No!” Lola squealed, swatting him in the arm. She glanced
around the hall, but the tourists had disappeared. There was only a middle-aged man in a tracksuit muttering furiously to “Bill Clinton.”

“Oh, come on. Remember when we used my mom's hair dryer to melt all those crayons?” Kyle grinned wickedly, and Lola smiled too. Growing up, she and Kyle were always doing things they weren't supposed to—using the buds of his mum's rhododendrons as ammunition in their fort war, mixing Stella's different creams to make a “potion.” She'd never had so much fun breaking the rules.

“Fine,” Lola said softly. “I
dare
you.” She put her hands on her hips. Kyle looked both ways before stuffing the wad of blue gum up Nixon's big nose. Lola clapped her hands in front of her face and laughed.

“We have to get out of here—fast,” Kyle said, grabbing Lola's thin arm. He pulled her toward the Hall of Sports Figures, the two of them erupting in a fit of giggles.

Lola ran toward the glowing red exit sign, feeling happier than she had since she'd arrived in New York. Kyle was already forgetting his old mate Sticks—the one who had terrible bangs and wore board shorts over her bathing suit when they went swimming in his pool in London.

Lola caught her reflection in the mirrored doors, her kelly green silk top looking perfect with her pale freckled skin. She was already forgetting Sticks too.

S
tella rested her hand on the cold metal clothing rack. It was packed with bridesmaid dresses, a cloth rainbow of greens, purples, browns, and blues. “So we should each pick a different style, but we'll all do satin and we'll all be in the same color—apple green,” she said authoritatively, pinching a pale green dress between her fingers. She'd picked the color out of a French
Vogue
wedding spread.

Lola and Andie sat on the beige settee, quietly nodding. Cate was texting furiously on her mobile. She hadn't taken her Prada sunglasses off since they left the town house, not even when they entered the soft lighting of the Vera Wang dressing suite. Emma stood on a pedestal in the middle of the room as Gloria tucked her fingers into the sweetheart neckline of her dress, pulling it up.

Cate dropped her iPhone into her black Prada Cervo pleat bag. “Sophie says hi,” she said breezily, picking up an armful of dresses without even looking at them.

Stella gripped the metal rack tighter. “That's funny, I just
talked to her.” Cate had been trying to taunt her all day—bragging about how she and Priya had run around the Central Park reservoir during gym, or how Sophie had said the
funniest
thing in geometry. But Stella hadn't flinched. She'd been texting all day with Blythe and Priya, and she had talked to Sophie online after school. They kept asking her about the Haverford basketball team and when they were going to hang out with them again. Stella had promised something was “in the works,” but she hadn't talked to the boys since yesterday. And she wouldn't…not until the girls voted her their leader.

Cate picked up the skirt of one of the pale green dresses and scrunched up her nose. “Ugh.
Of course
you picked this color. I'm going to look so washed out.” She strutted into the dressing room, slamming the oak door shut.

Andie and Lola began thumbing through the rack like they were in slow motion, every now and then pulling out a dress only to put it right back. Gloria fanned out the small train of Emma's gown. Her gold bracelets clinked together, making a sound like wind chimes. When Gloria had told Vera Wang
Emma Childs
was getting married—this Sunday—she'd offered one of her couture gowns as a wedding present.

“I adore this floral waist corsage—breathtaking,” Gloria cooed, pressing her fingers to the fabric on the side of the dress. It was delicately formed into roselike flowers. Stella had already oohed and aahed over the mermaid dress. It could have been covered in rubies and diamonds—it didn't change the fact that her mum was getting married this Sunday and stranding them, permanently, in New York.

Lola pulled a bubble-hem satin gown off the rack and held it up to her lanky frame. “This is gorgeous!” she cried.

“That wouldn't look right on you,” Stella said, taking the hanger from her. She picked out a full-length strapless dress with an empire waist and shoved it in Lola's arms. “This one's for you, and this,” she said, passing the short dress to Andie, “is for
you
.”

“Thanks, Stella!” Andie said brightly, hugging the dress to her chest. Then she retreated to the dressing room.

“Cheers,” Lola mumbled. Lately her self-confidence had been on a roller coaster. She'd felt good yesterday, pretty, even, hanging out with Kyle. But suddenly she felt like the ugly duckling again. She couldn't help but remember the way that man with the skinny little legs at Fashion Week had looked at her at first—like he couldn't
believe
she was Emma's daughter. Lola turned the dress over in her hands and looked at her mom, who was studying her reflection in the mirror. Sometimes Lola couldn't believe it either.

Stella turned back to the rack and her gaze fell on another full-length satin dress with a deep V-neck in the front and the back. With the exception of the pale green color, which screamed
Wedding!
, it was just the kind of dress she would wear.

She pulled off her red gingham halter and slipped the soft satin dress over her head. It clung perfectly to every curve—not that Stella had much in that department, but it emphasized what was there. She'd pair it with her silver Manolo Blahniks with the brooch on the toe and twist her curly hair up, a few tendrils falling in front of her face. A diamond solitaire in each ear would be the finishing touch. She stared at her reflection and smiled.

“Mum!” she called, opening the door of the dressing room. Gloria and Emma looked up from studying the Chantilly lace detailing on the front of the wedding dress. It reminded Stella of the curtains in her grandmother's sitting room.

“Nice,” Gloria said flatly, then went back to Emma's dress, fluffing the small train. Her face was stiff and expressionless, like it had been blasted with liquid nitrogen.

“It's lovely, Stella.” Emma pushed a blond tendril away from her face.

Lola stumbled out of the dressing room in her strapless gown, her jeans still twisted around one ankle. She hopped on one foot, kicking furiously as if a denim boa constrictor had grabbed hold of her leg. The top of the dress sagged at her chest, and the crisscrossing tan lines on her back made it look like she was wearing a white Speedo.

“No, no, no.” Gloria ran her mauve fingernails through her thin hair. “We need to cover up those tan lines. And you'd need a padded bra.”

Emma pressed two fingers to her lips. “Let's try something else, luv,” she said, offering Lola a weak smile.

Andie emerged from the dressing room wearing the bubble-hem dress that Stella had picked out for her. The style was perfect. She looked like a pale green bell. “What do you think?” she asked, biting her lip nervously.

“You look like quite the young lady,” Emma cooed.

“Thanks, Emma!” Andie cried, her face turning a pleased pink. She spun around twice, admiring herself in the mirror, then returned to her dressing room.

Stella watched as Lola adjusted her Burberry headband, the nose twitch just barely visible. “Come on,” she said. “I'll help you find something else.” They returned to the rack and started thumbing through it again as Gloria and Emma disappeared into the wide curtained dressing room designed especially for brides.

The door to Cate's dressing room swung open and she strutted out, a pleased grin on her face. She had twisted her dark brown hair up into a sleek bun, and she was wearing a full-length gown with a deep V-neck in the front and in the back. It was a beautiful dress. It was also the same one Stella was wearing.

“Too late,” Stella snapped.

Cate scanned Stella's outfit, then rested her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, ‘too late'?” she asked indignantly. “This dress looks amazing on me.”

“Well, I've already decided I'm wearing it.” Stella stepped toward the full-length mirror on the wall, annoyed. It was shopping 101—first to try is first to buy.

“No, you're not—it fits me perfectly.” Cate followed Stella to the mirror and stood behind her, talking over her shoulder at her reflection.

Stella met Cate's gaze in the mirror. “I'd rather snap the heels off my Louboutins than let you wear it,” she said coolly, turning to the side to see her profile.

“Lola!” Cate cried, spinning around. Lola froze, one hand on the dressing room door. “Who looks better in this dress—me or Stella?” Cate demanded.

Stella rested her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows
as if to say,
You already know the answer to this question
. Stella was the one who had taken care of Heath Bar when Lola was at equestrian camp last summer—she had even let the little furball sleep on her pillow!

“Um…right,” Lola bit her finger and looked back and forth between the girls, her skin second-degree-sunburn red.

“Lola, it's a simple question—who looks better in it?” Stella kept her eyes on Lola. Fine, she hadn't spent the last week French-braiding Lola's hair, but she was still her
sister
.

Just then, Gloria pulled the curtain open and Emma stepped out. She had changed back into her bright yellow dress with thick rope halter straps. Gloria passed Emma her black heels while arguing with her mobile. “You will never work again!” she threatened, staring menacingly at the glossy screen.

“Forget it,” Cate growled. “I'm wearing it. I'm the head of Chi Beta Phi and I've decided I want this dress—you
have
to listen to me.”

“No way,” Stella cried. “We're having a revote tomorrow. You're not going to be in power for long.” Soon Cate would be carrying
her
books.

Emma sat down on the small beige couch and eyed the girls. “Stella,” Emma said in a calm but serious voice, “it's not a big deal. Just pick another dress.”

“Mum!” Stella squealed, spinning around. “I tried this on first!” But Emma shot her a look that said,
That wasn't a question.

Stella was about to head back into the dressing room but thought better of it. She pulled up the hem of her long gown, holding up one silver Sigerson Morrison wedge for Cate to see.
“Like my shoes?” she whispered. “Blythe lent them to me.” Blythe had pulled her aside after Jackson Hole and told her what a great idea the revote was.

Cate slapped her palms to her cheeks in mock surprise. “I
thought
I recognized those,” she cried. “Her senile golden retriever peed on them last year. She swore she'd never wear them again.” Cate leaned forward so that she was close to Stella's ear. “They're rejects—
just like you
.” Stella retreated to her dressing room, slamming the door shut.

Cate grinned. So it was a lie; Blythe had never even had a dog. But Cate was like the NASA space station—it was dangerous to push her buttons. She twirled around in the mirror and looked at the dress one last time. It
did
look better on her. Forget the wedding. She'd wear it Saturday, for her victory lap around the town house.