Part 2 (2/2)

”Kali, can you give me an updo?” Ryan wobbled over to the makeup chair in her gold wedges.

”No, me first.” Jaime clomped behind her, her green thong underwear peeking out the back of her leather pants. ”I want my hair super-straight and that takes longer.”

”What about me?” Dylan screeched, tugging on her half-straight, half-curly hair. ”I'm not even done yet.”

”You look fine.” Ryan jumped into the chair.

”No, she doesn't,” said a girl's voice.

Everyone turned.

A dark-haired beauty in a black and silver dress, black kneesocks, and gray Prada wedges stood in the doorway. Hands resting on her narrow hips, she shook her head disapprovingly.

”What?” Dylan snapped, not sure if she should hate the intruder for her nerve, or love her for that perfect chignon. ”Who are you?”

”Ma.s.sie Blo-”

”This is a private dressing room!” Yasmine marched toward the door. ”You're not allowed back here.”

”Sorry. I kinda got lost looking for my friends and then I saw-”

Yasmine was about to slam the door in the girl's face when Dylan stopped her. ”Whaddaya mean I don't look fine fine?”

”Those pants are a little...” She pursed her s.h.i.+ny lips and tapped her chin. Her amber eyes darted, then rested on Dylan's face. Dylan returned the gaze. They connected for a split second, like two parts of a seat belt that clicked together.

”You know when you squeeze a tube of lip gloss too hard? And some oozes over the top? That's kind of what those pants look like on you. The oozing part.”

Ryan and Jaime gasped.

”That's enough!” Yasmine insisted.

”Wait.” Dylan held up her palm. ”Can I see the mirror?”

Yasmine sighed, then wheeled it over.

After a deep breath of courage, Dylan peeked. She was as long and lean as ever, her leather-clad legs looking like two delicious sticks of black licorice.

”The only thing oozing oozing is your jealousy,” Dylan told the opinionated stranger. is your jealousy,” Dylan told the opinionated stranger.

Her sisters giggled.

”And your your...” Dylan walked straight up to the girl and examined her from top to bottom, searching for the ultimate insult. But couldn't find a single thing wrong with her. So she slammed the door in her annoyingly perfect face, then b.u.t.toned her leather pants when no one was looking.

She was so tired of girls envy-hating her because she was almost famous. So tired, in fact, that she ate two chocolate brownies, hoping the caffeine in the cocoa might perk her up before showtime.

Pop!

WESTCHESTER, NYTHE COLEMAN RESIDENCE3748 BREAKWATER CIRCLE BREAKWATER CIRCLEFriday, December 31st8:32 P.M. P.M.

After an hour and thirty-two minutes of breathing through her mouth, Kristen Gregory lost it.

”Does it always smell like beef stew in here?” Her pert nose crinkled in disgust.

”Prob'ly,” Ali, her fifteen-year-old cousin, muttered. ”I think Mr. Coleman hunts. But I've been babysitting here for so long I'm used to it.” She settled into the beige corduroy couch balancing a DVD, a giant gla.s.s of c.o.ke, and a bag of mini marshmallows. Without offering Kristen a single thing, she emptied the bag into the soda, pausing while they fizzed in protest.

Kristen stretched out her legs on the gla.s.s coffee table and anger-flipped through her math textbook. The only thing worse than being a babysitter's a.s.sistant on New Year's Eve was being treated treated like one. like one.

”Shhhhhhhhhh,” Ali hissed. ”Could you be turning those pages any louder?”

”Huh?” Kristen looked up, shocked.

”I just got Max to sleep.” She clicked the video monitor as proof. A black-and-white image of a crib with a lump inside filled the tiny screen.

”He's all the way upstairs.” Kristen rolled her eyes. ”He can't hear pages turning.”

”Don't talk back.” Ali tossed the video monitor on the gla.s.s coffee table. It landed with a loud smash. ”Or I'll dock your pay.”

”What-ever,” Kristen mouthed, and then reached for her green glitter binder.

Ali stared at her for an uncomfortable second. ”Oh, I I know what you're smelling.” She scooped up a marshmallow with her tongue and mashed it against the roof of her wide mouth. know what you're smelling.” She scooped up a marshmallow with her tongue and mashed it against the roof of her wide mouth.

”What?” Kristen thumbed through her colored divider tabs.

”All that brown brown in your nose.” in your nose.”

”Whaddaya mean?”

”I mean mean, who does math homework on New Year's Eve?” she asked, like Jerry Seinfeld doing stand-up.

”People on scholars.h.i.+ps scholars.h.i.+ps who need to keep their grades up.” Kristen folded her arms across her red Juicy Couture hoodie, the only Christmas gift her parents could afford this year. Not that she'd ever admit who need to keep their grades up.” Kristen folded her arms across her red Juicy Couture hoodie, the only Christmas gift her parents could afford this year. Not that she'd ever admit that that to Ali, who only babysat Friday nights to build a resume for her Ivy League applications. The money was a bonus, a useless prize at the bottom of a cereal box. Her father owned the second-biggest BMW dealers.h.i.+p in the tristate area. He hadn't lost his fortune in an art deal gone wrong like Kristen's dad. to Ali, who only babysat Friday nights to build a resume for her Ivy League applications. The money was a bonus, a useless prize at the bottom of a cereal box. Her father owned the second-biggest BMW dealers.h.i.+p in the tristate area. He hadn't lost his fortune in an art deal gone wrong like Kristen's dad. She She wasn't living report card to report card, struggling to survive at the most prestigious private school in the county. Hardly. Ali was homeschooled with three other kids from her gated community. They'd have to set her estate on fire to be kicked out. wasn't living report card to report card, struggling to survive at the most prestigious private school in the county. Hardly. Ali was homeschooled with three other kids from her gated community. They'd have to set her estate on fire to be kicked out.

Ali handed her the Blockbuster box. ”Can you please please try to have some fun?” She tilted her head toward the DVD player, telling Kristen to start the movie. ”Besides, cla.s.ses at OCD don't start for three more weeks.” try to have some fun?” She tilted her head toward the DVD player, telling Kristen to start the movie. ”Besides, cla.s.ses at OCD don't start for three more weeks.”

Kristen looked down at her first pedicure-a holiday gift from her aunt Ginny-and sighed. Would her Baby's Breath Pink toenails still be intact when fourth grade started up again? And if so, would people make fun of her for wearing flip-flops in January? If they even noticed.

It wasn't like she was a loser at Octavian Country Day or anything. In fact, she was the most popular girl on the soccer team. But off the field, when she was in cla.s.s, Kristen felt like a guest in someone else's home. A very expensive, very exclusive home. A home where no one ate lunch, they did did lunch. Where Apples were for students, not teachers. Where the letter lunch. Where Apples were for students, not teachers. Where the letter A A had more to do with a guest list than a grade. Where Religions were jeans, not beliefs. Where there was no ”hip” in had more to do with a guest list than a grade. Where Religions were jeans, not beliefs. Where there was no ”hip” in scholars.h.i.+p scholars.h.i.+p.

”Start the movie.” Ali nudged Kristen's leg. ”Before the Colemans get home. If they open the door while we're watching Ghost s.h.i.+p Ghost s.h.i.+p, we might scream and wake Max.”

”Only if you pay me six dollars instead of five,” Kristen tried. Not that this job was completely completely about the money. But why not let Ali think that? It was better than the truth: that she didn't have anything better to do. about the money. But why not let Ali think that? It was better than the truth: that she didn't have anything better to do.

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