Spoiled (26 page)

“Everyone settle down,” Perkins droned. “No parking on the sidewalk, ahem,
Magnus
. Lunch today is meatless meatballs and tofurritos, and smoking kills so don’t do it on campus. Now be quiet and listen to
whatever this is.”

She settled behind her desk with a copy of
The Secret
and flicked on CR-One’s morning newscast. Shelby appeared and began droning about a recent school board meeting at which
the PTA voted five to four to expand the salad bar to include bok choy.

“I saw you on
Us Weekly
’s website this morning,” Mavis whispered over the top of her innards. “Having dinner with Brick. Your dress looked great
with that dessert.”

“Thanks, Mavis.” Molly smiled. Weird compliments were still compliments.

“And now, a more sobering story,” Shelby said on-screen. “This is part one of my groundbreaking series, ‘Children of Neglect.’
”

A graphic whizzed behind Shelby’s head of a blonde girl in giant sunglasses, standing in front of a cartoon mansion that had
been torn in half.

“Hey, that kind of looks like you, Brooke,” Magnus bellowed.

His jovial words echoed briefly, then died out as nobody else made a peep. Because it not only looked like Brooke, it clearly
was
Brooke. Molly’s hands went clammy as she
twisted to throw a shrug in Brooke’s direction. But Brooke was applying lip gloss, studiously ignoring both gawkers and the
monitor, sending her usual message that Shelby wasn’t worth her time.

“In this series, I plan to examine how inattentive parents have impacted Colby-Randall students,” Shelby continued. “To shield
them from further heartbreak, I am compelled to protect their anonymity to the very best of my journalistic abilities.”

“
What
abilities?” Brooke said airily. Scattered chuckles broke the tension.

“Today’s subject, whom we’ll call Munich, is a particularly tragic case,” Shelby said. “Munich seems as if she has it all.
But really, she has nothing. Nothing… but
despair
.”

The twinkle in Shelby’s eye made Molly’s breakfast bran muffin start to rebel.

“Munich’s father is a very successful, very
rad man
,” Shelby said, with unmistakable emphasis. “But he’s too busy to spend any time with her. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Her mother ran off years ago without any forwarding address. So Munich longs for nothing more than the loving embrace of two
committed parents, but instead she’s treated like they’ve both forgotten that she was ever born…”

Mrs. Perkins put down her book to look up at the TV.

“… and left alone to write beseeching e-mails to her mother,” Shelby said, oozing insincere sympathy. “E-mails she does not
send because of the certainty of rejection.”

Oh, God, no. I didn’t even have any coffee.

Molly was too scared to look at Brooke again. From what she could tell, no one else did, either. The difference was that the
rest of the class was entranced, while Molly was trying to figure out if there was any way—short of faking a seizure—that
she could stop what was happening.

“I’d like to read one of her revealing missives aloud,” Shelby announced, and then cleared her throat. “ ‘Dear Mom, Dad’s
been in Prague filming that movie about werewolves for six weeks. I don’t have anyone to talk to. I cry all the time. I think
some of it is because I’m so bloated. Where are you? I need a mom.’ ”

Shelby shuffled some papers and leaned forward, affixing the camera with a gaze that was supposed to be full of gravitas,
but came off smug.

“According to psychologists, feelings of abandonment such as Munich’s can lead to drug use, teen pregnancy, gang violence,
and premature baldness. Colby-Randall, please seek help before you end up like Munich: damaged, tragic, tanorexic, and beyond
help. I’m Shelby Kendall. Have an excellent day.”

The screen went black. The room was utterly silent.

“Dude,” Jake Donovan breathed.

Molly couldn’t tell if her vision was blurred or she was in shock. Two seconds later, it was both: A heavy satchel smacked
her with admirable precision right in the back of her head. As she clapped a hand to the raw spot, Molly saw that Brooke had
swept past her toward the door.

“Ms. Perkins, my foot hurts, I have to go to the nurse,”
she said, barreling into the hallway—but not before fixing Molly with a look of agonized hatred.

In that moment, Molly knew the e-mail was authentic. Brooke’s rapid flight, without one of her customary remarks about Shelby’s
mind showing the hallmarks of advanced venereal disease or something, all but proved it. Shelby Kendall had bested Brooke
Berlin.

The bell rang. Slowly, the exiting students found their voices.

“I can’t believe I ever thought she was scary.”

“Who knew she was so pathetic?”

“Molly totally did this, right?”

“This looks like the small intestines.”

That last one was Mavis Moore, studying her knitting.

“It’s not that bad,” Molly said, hoping no one noticed her voice was shaking.

“It’s not bad at all,” Mavis beamed. “It
is
the small intestines.”

This was enough to galvanize Molly to get out of that classroom.

“Way to go, Molly!” shouted Spalding, bouncing so hard her ponytail whacked three people in the nose.

“You are a disgusting semihumanoid,” Arugula hissed, jostling past her in the hallway with a sharp elbow.

“You are going to get killed,” suggested Neil Westerberg with a sympathetic face.

Shame flooded Molly’s veins.
Of course
everyone thought she was behind this. The whole school knew she and Brooke
didn’t get along, and Molly had made no secret of palling around with Shelby. She felt like a coward, and a rotten sister,
for not running after Brooke. But what could she say?
Hey, Sis, sorry everyone thinks your mom doesn’t love you. I didn’t do it. Want a fat-free scone?

“Wasn’t it brilliant?”

Shelby hooked arms with Molly and smiled with great satisfaction, the way Danny did when he ate his first Big Mac after swim
season ended.

Molly recoiled. “Don’t touch me and don’t talk to me,” she said. “We are done here.”

Shelby narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t
believe
you just did that.”

“Did what? Took Brooke down about thirty pegs, just like you asked?” Shelby said, smiling coldly as any sweetness evaporated
from her tone. “You might want to watch your tone, Molly.”

“I had nothing to do with this, and you know it,” Molly snapped. “And I’d certainly never use her
mother—
”

“Oh, give the mommy issues a rest, little girl.” Shelby sneered. “What did you think was going to happen when you started
whining to me about Brooke needing a taste of her own medicine?”

“When Brick hears—”

“When Brick hears what, exactly? That I was in his house, and using a computer, with
your
permission?” Shelby said, running her tongue over her canines in an
alarmingly wolfish way. “And when exactly will you tell him? Has he even bothered to come home yet?”

“You are
disgusting
,” Molly breathed. “What kind of person—”

“Oh, please. You wanted this just as much as I did, sweetie. Your hands are as dirty as mine are. Maybe dirtier.” Shelby examined
her nails, then added with dangerous calmness, “And don’t you ever disparage me in public or you’re next. Okay, princess?”

Molly simply stared at Shelby for a second. Suddenly, her flawless, painstakingly crafted face no longer seemed stunning,
but cold and carved and cruel.

“Shelby?” Molly said loudly, making sure to enunciate. “Fuck. Off.”

The gasps of her fellow students rang in Molly’s ears as she shoved past Shelby and out onto the quad. It wasn’t until she
paused to catch her breath that she noticed Teddy and Max jogging at her heels.

“That was intense. Are you okay?” Teddy asked.

Molly’s knees wobbled and she leaned against the nearest solid object, which happened to be a tree with very prickly bark.
She straightened abruptly.

“That was all Shelby, I swear,” she said. “Except it may have been my fault. Inadvertently. Oh, my God.”

“What did Brooke do?” Max asked eagerly. “Turn green? Start yelling obscenities? Thank God these bitches keep this place
so interesting
.”

“Max, shut up and be a good friend for a second.” Teddy frowned.

“I
am
a good friend,” Max said. “But guys never get all the details so I figured I ought to.”

Teddy had already turned his attention back to Molly. She couldn’t read his face.

“Seriously, Teddy,” Molly insisted. “I would never, ever have signed off on that.”

“I know,” Teddy said. “I was just trying to decide whether it would be piling on to say that I told you so. But you look miserable
enough as it is.”

“Brooke
hates
me now. And I don’t blame her. I’d think it was me, too. I don’t know what to do.”

“You know, for all Brooke’s faults, she’s not stupid,” Teddy said. “She’ll see how upset you are and then she’ll have no choice
but to believe you.”

“I don’t know, Teddy,” Max said. “I think she’s more likely to go slash and burn.”

Molly walked in a tight circle, wriggling her hands as she tried to breathe.

“I can’t calm down,” she panicked. “I can’t go back in there because every time anyone looks at me, it’s obvious that they
think I did it, and it reminds me that Brooke is off putting my stuff through a shredder, or whatever. I have a history test
after lunch, but I don’t think I can make it that far without throwing up. I might throw up
now
.”

“I have a better idea,” Teddy said. “Have you been to Griffith Park yet?”

It took a second for Molly to realize this wasn’t just a random non sequitur. “You mean… ditch?”

“Damn.” Max pouted. “Principal Mom is proctoring my fifth-period study hall. She’ll go postal. I’m out.”

“Won’t she get mad at you, too?” Molly asked Teddy.

Teddy shrugged. “I can take the heat. Besides, I’m the good child,” he said.

Max sighed. “I’ll just tell Perkins you started projectile vomiting or something.”

“Come on, Indiana,” Teddy said. “No point in waiting around here for things to get worse. Let’s go.”

The sights and smells from where Molly lay sprawled on lush green grass more than made up for the zero she was going to take
on her history test. In front of her: the exotic, blooming gardens of the Getty Center, a sprawling steel and warm stone museum
nestled high in the rolling Santa Monica Mountains. Beyond that: a 180-degree view of Los Angeles stretching clear out to
the gleaming blue Pacific. And directly to her left: Teddy McCormack, holding a giant Jamba Juice with an immunity boost.

“Better than class, right?” he asked.

“Amazing,” Molly agreed.

When they’d left school, she and Teddy had gone straight up to the Griffith Park Observatory, where Teddy had pointed out
the downtown skyline (a surprisingly
small cluster of skyscrapers poking at the smog layer) and gestured in the vicinity of the Capitol Records building and a
few of the major studios. Then he whizzed her down Sunset, first to browse the vinyl collection at Amoeba Records—where he’d
been delighted to find William Shatner’s spoken-word album, which he swore would provide great inspiration for his work with
Mental Hygienist—and then past the Viper Room, where River Phoenix died.

“Who?” Molly had said.

“Joaquin Phoenix’s brother? Who OD’d really young and died on the sidewalk there? He was in
Stand by Me
?”

“
Stand by Me
… doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Oh, come on, that’s the one where they’re kids and Jerry O’Connell is fat, and—”

“Jerry O’Connell, one of the great actors of our generation, was
fat
?”

Teddy gawked at her for a second until he noticed Molly biting her lip to keep from laughing, at which point he dove his hand
into the bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos that sat between them and threw a handful at her head.

“Cute, Indiana,” he said. “For a second there I thought we were going to have to send a humanitarian shipment of movies to
your hometown.”

Teddy rattled off other landmarks they passed—the Playboy mansion, the courthouse where Winona Ryder was tried for shoplifting—as
he navigated his rickety old 4Runner toward the Getty. They’d whipped through a
couple cool photography exhibits before collapsing on the beautiful sloping lawn.

“Sometimes on the weekend, I come here and read for hours,” Teddy explained. “It’s free to get in, and it’s so peaceful.”

“This is the kind of place that makes me want to hide until closing, and then camp out and spend the night,” Molly said. “Like
in
The Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
.”

“I loved that book,” he said. “But security here is a bit tighter. And I don’t think handcuffs go with your outfit.”

“Honestly, if the choice is between going to prison and having to face Brooke again, bring on the pokey,” Molly said, sighing.

“You’re pretty upset about this, huh?”