The Diamonds (26 page)

“No, no,” Turbo said, putting his hands on my shoulders. He'd been standing a foot or so away, watching from the sidewalk, but apparently it was time for a demonstration. “You're doing it all wrong.”

“Of course
I'm doing it all wrong,” I said, frustrated. The insides of my palms were red and throbbing. “It's impossible!”

Turbo smiled. “Nothing is impossible, Marni.” He dropped his skateboard—which had been tucked underneath his arm—to the ground and jumped onto it. “Watch.” He kicked up his leg and went gliding down the street, arms loose and weightless in the air. Everything was sturdy and smooth beneath his feet. When he turned and stopped right in front of me, I couldn't help clapping.

“You're really good,” I said.

Turbo blushed and ran his fingers through his hair, which was matted to his forehead. He took off his jacket and threw it onto the pavement. “That was nothing. Now you try.”

“I don't think so.” I held up my palms as evidence. “I can't survive another fall.”

“Sometimes you need to fall so you can get back up again.” He held out his hand. “Here. I'll help you.”

“Okay,” I said. What the hell, right? I grabbed his hand, which was only slightly sweaty, and hopped onto my board. It wobbled, but Turbo steadied me. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was standing on the skateboard, unassisted.

“Now, take your left leg and touch it to the pavement. Then, bring it back to the board,” Turbo instructed.

Slowly, I moved my leg and pressed down, scraping my sneaker against the street. I was off before I knew it. The road in front of Turbo's house had a downhill slant, and I was picking up speed. I stretched my arms as if they were wings, and yelled,
“Shit!”
about a thousand times. I had no idea how to stop. I was moving so quickly there was barely any time to think.

Houses blurred past me. All I saw were colors—red, yellow, blue—and I was pretty sure I was going to die. Or at least break something. Like my neck. Or my boobs.
Can you break your boobs?
Suddenly, though, I was completely still. A pair of arms were wrapped around me. As soon as I caught my breath, I realized that Turbo was, well, hugging me.

I broke the embrace and stepped off the skate-board, planting both feet on the pavement. I felt like a sailor finding solid ground after months at sea.

“Are you okay?” His eyes were wide open and insanely green. He looked worried.

“Yeah.” I pressed my hand to my chest and felt my heart pounding. “You caught me.”

“Did you think I was gonna let you fall?”

Yes. No. Maybe
.

“No,” I said finally. “I didn't.”

“Good.” Turbo reached down and picked up my skateboard. “Do you want something to drink?”

I nodded. My throat felt scratchy and dry.

“Let's go to my house,” he said, leading the way.

“It's unsweetened,” Turbo said, handing me a cold glass of iced tea. We were in his kitchen, which was bright and sunny, on a pair of wooden stools that faced each other. Pictures of nicer kitchens were cut out of magazines and taped to the walls. “We have sugar somewhere,” he said, opening an overhead cabinet and looking around.

“That's okay,” I said, taking a sip. It was good. “I'm fine.”

Turbo sat back down and played with the rim of his glass. “I never thought I'd see the day Marni Valentine was sitting at my kitchen table.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, crossing my legs, noticing each new scratch on my skin.

“I'm serious,” he said in a voice that made me think he actually was. “You're, like, high school royalty. Well, I mean, you
were
.”

I laughed. The pain in my hands was subsiding; I pressed them to the glass, letting the ice work its magic. “Thanks?”

The clock on the wall—which was light blue, like a robin's egg—ticked softly as we drank. It was nearly five-thirty.

“Do you miss your friends?” Turbo asked finally. A few seconds passed. “Is it weird I just asked you that?”

“No, but I'm not sure they were ever really my friends.”

“Don't say that. I mean, they're nasty, yeah, but you must have liked them at some point, right? They must have
some
redeeming qualities.”

I thought about the Diamonds—the times I did my homework with Lili, or went to the mall with Priya, or ate dinner with Clarissa and her parents—and nodded. “There are a few things I miss,” I admitted, “but there are a lot of things I don't. I'm trying to, like, redefine my happiness and be thankful for what I
do
have instead of being pissed about everything I lost. It's hard, though.”

Turbo swished his drink around. “Tell me about it. When I left Dover, I thought my life was over. Things got better, though. Not like they did for you, but I manage.” He looked like he was about to ask something serious, but then my phone rang.

It was Anderson.

I knew exactly why he was calling—in case I was having an awful time skateboarding and wanted him to pick me up—but I didn't feel like leaving just yet.

“Aren't you gonna get that?”

“It's just Anderson. I'll call him back.”

Turbo raised his eyebrows. “Trouble in paradise?”

“No,” I said playfully. “We're fine, thank you very much.”

“It's just that I never see you guys apart. You're basically attached at the hip.”

Were we? I certainly didn't feel that way. In fact, it seemed like ages since Anderson and I had spent quality time together
alone
, without the Stonecutters. “We're close,” I said, leaving it at that.

“Dude,” Turbo said, “that's the understatement of the century.”

“Oh, whatever,” I said, getting up and placing my glass in the sink. “I think that was the longest you've gone without saying ‘dude’ since I've known you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, pausing to notice the way his hair curled over his ears. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why
do
you talk like that?”

Turbo cocked his head. “You mean like a skater?”

“Yeah.”

“I dunno. I guess it's what people expect of me.”

I thought about the way I acted around Clarissa, about how important to me it was—used to be—that people were intimidated by me, in awe of me. That I sparkled.

“Well,” I said, “if there's one thing I've learned, it's that being what people expect you to be sort of, um—”

“Sucks?”

I smiled. “Besides, I like it when you talk like a normal person.”

Turbo returned my smile. “Okay, well, maybe I'll try it more often.
If
you keep on skateboarding with me.”

I looked at my hands, which were as red as tomatoes, and considered his offer. “Sure. Why not?”

“Cool,” Turbo said, sliding off his stool and standing next to me. “One more question—how did it feel? When you were boarding?”

I didn't even have to think about my answer. “Like I was flying.”

The Diamond-helmed fashion show had turned into a
huge
deal at Bennington; what had once been an illformed idea at my lunch table back in October was now an extravagant reality. It was set to take place the Friday before the announcement of the official Snow Court, the next weekend—the last weekend in December before winter break—being the Snow Ball itself.

Clarissa had made sure that the event garnered more than its share of press, too. All the major department stores and local boutiques were donating clothes to be displayed by Bennington's elite. The custodians had even constructed a catwalk running the length of one of the aisles in the auditorium. Every single flyer read
FOR HOMELESS TRANNIES EVERYWHERE
.

The fashion show was an
event
. Not a single Bennington student,
plus
however many parents and faculty members purchased tickets, would dare miss it.

The basic structure of the Stonecutters’ plan was to embarrass the Diamonds before the entire student body and expose them for the evil hobgoblin snatches they were. Tommy had the (brilliant) idea to print anonymous slips of paper depicting Clarissa's wrongdoings and slip them into the fashion show programs, which,
since we didn't have any
actual
proof, would at least be enough to get people talking. (Tommy seemed unconcerned about our lack of evidence against the Diamonds. “It's called building your case, Marni,” he told me one morning before school. “You're not going to get everything overnight. You have to keep collecting pieces until the proof is overwhelming. Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.”)

So I decided not to worry that all we had were a few blurry pictures to support our accusations. Instead, I focused on the details of our plan to correct all the wrongs the Diamonds had perpetuated over the past few months.

Allow me to set the scene: the show is about to begin. Audience members are leafing through their programs, chatting idly. Music is playing in the background. Suddenly, it stops. Everyone is wondering what the deal is. Clarissa and the Diamonds try to rush the models into their clothes and continue as if nothing happened. No one realizes (until it's too late) that the models are stuffed into the
wrong
clothes. The duds donated by the local stores have vanished, replaced with extra-large T-shirts featuring defaced pictures of Clarissa, Priya, and Lili on the front. The models float down the runway, unaware at first of what is happening; then, suddenly, the entire audience is laughing. A woman calls attention to the program insertion in a loud and obnoxious way. Clarissa & Co. trample onstage to see everything they've worked for crumble before their very eyes. I am standing in the
back of the auditorium with Anderson, and later that night, the Stonecutters toast our success.

The next day, Tommy prints my exposé in the paper and the tables turn on my former BFFs. The Diamond Court immediately becomes defunct; Jed reclaims his rightful place at the head of the student government; and other students no longer feel the need to abide by the Diamond Rules or
any
rules whatsoever. Soon after, there are no more social cliques at Bennington. Druggies mix with preps; preps mix with druggies; boys hold hands with other boys in the hallway (even though they're just buddies!); and girls kiss other girls on the cheek before class merely as a way to say
I value your friendship
. Anderson and I apply to the same college; on the day we receive our acceptance letters, we gaze overhead, and I sigh in his arms and cry,
Look! A rainbow
.

Too bad I can't actually predict the future.

The fashion show was eerily close, which meant the Stonecutters had their plates full and
then
some. Anderson's house had become a sort of refuge from the tragedy of school. Clarissa had continued full speed ahead with her plan to purge the hallways of her Ice Queen competitors. She wasn't attacking only the girls, either. Everyone was a potential victim.

The worst part? She was no longer even bothering to create fake-yet-realistic reasons to bring people in front of the court. She was attacking the quality of people's clothes, the style of their haircuts, their
complexions, who they hung out with, where they went on the weekends—their
lives
.

Clarissa knew that the best way to secure her own position as a princess (and future queen) was to discredit her competitors to the greatest degree possible. As a result, the trials of the Diamond Court had become even more sinister. Mock trial meetings were now closed to the Bennington public. Rulings were printed in the school paper and posted on Facebook, the sudden mystery behind the Diamonds’ actions propelling them even further into an unparalleled, celebrity-like status.

“We, as a country, get the government we deserve,” Mr. Townsen told us during AP Gov. I knew he was talking about the United States, but his words seemed perfectly relevant to the situation at Bennington. Principal Newman refused to shut the Diamonds down without multiple complaints from the student body (which, since everyone was scared shitless of Clarissa, were nonexistent); even Townsen himself seemed all too happy to let the Diamonds rule supreme as long as the majority approved.

Which they did.

Most people loved the Diamonds more than ever. But did that mean Bennington
deserved
Clarissa's wrath? It hardly seemed fair, especially since the minority—the outcasts—were the ones who were truly suffering.

At this point, however, nothing involving my former BFFs fazed me. Which was why when I noticed something white and folded sticking out of my locker,
I expected the worst. I pulled and saw that it was not
one
piece of paper but several, stapled together in a thin packet. It said:

THE DIAMOND RULES—UPDATED

To the Bennington student body—

Below you will find a list of addendums to the Diamond Rules. Please take note and adjust accordingly.

Lili Chan-Mohego •
STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT

Clarissa von Dyke •
MOCK TRIAL PRESIDENT

Priya Ramnani •
FASHIONISTA

1. If the Diamond Court determines that you have cankles, or any other body imperfections, you will be given one (1) warning by the Court. If drastic measures are not taken to fix said imperfections, you will be tried by the Court for Public Indecency
   .
   

2. Anyone found guilty by the Diamond Court is no longer allowed to voice an opinion in public, whether in an extracurricular club/organization or by publishing articles in the
   Bennington Press.
   

3. If your thighs touch and/or your stomach has more rolls than a bakery, never speak out loud. To anyone
   .
   

4. Anyone overheard “dissing” the Diamond Court or any members of the jury or the mock trial team will be tried for Treason by the Court
   .
   

5. Preexisting student groups must reapply for funding through the Diamond Court and present a current roster of all group members for the Court's approval
   .
   

6. No student group or extracurricular activity (with the exception of sports teams) may have more than twenty active members
   .
   

7. Anyone found guilty by the Diamond Court is no longer allowed to vote in any student government elections
   .
   

8. Hooking up with a fatty does not count for community service
   .
   

9. If you come to school looking a Hot Mess (as determined by the Diamond Court), turn right around. You're not welcome here
   .
   

10. Any punishment issued by the Diamond Court is binding; afterward, if the Court does not feel that the recipient has learned his or her lesson, the Court is hereby allowed to reissue punishment, determining the length and severity on a case-by-case basis
    .