by Nancy Holder
“Hazel!” Lakshmi shouted over the din, half rising from her chair as the others waited for her to come and sit down. LaToya gazed at her over her soda cup, sucking on a straw.
Hazel sighed. She just didn’t know how to do it, how to go through with cutting them loose. Putting on a little smile, she made eye contact, walked steadily to the table, and put down her tray.
They all had on knockoffs of the current fashions: short blazers, white shirts, and light wash jeans. But somehow on them, it looked like trying too hard.
Hazel had gone preppy, with an oxford shirt, knee-length denim skirt, and black ankle boots. Blue went nicely with her auburn hair, which she’d added a tiny bit of henna to. She had blue eyes, and she knew she wasn’t ugly. But looks weren’t always enough.
“Hi,” Lakshmi said, grinning at her as the others made a show of clearing a welcoming place. “Didn’t you see us?”
“Oh, I—I…” Hazel stuttered. “I just got distracted for a sec. I thought I heard someone call my name.”
“Guess what!” Lakshmi said. “Breona and Sylvia had a fight in the mall last night. The security guards had to come and pull them off each other. There’s a deep scratch on Breona’s cheek and she’s going to sue Sylvia.”
Jamie nodded. “She’s going to get plastic surgery. Because of the disfigurement.”
Hazel’s attention immediately ticked to the cheerleader table, where Breona sat with her new, spiky haircut. Her brown sugar complexion was flawless; her dark almond eyes glittered as she talked with the other cheerleaders, all of them in tight kelly green sweaters and gold cheer skirts that showed off their skinny, muscular bodies. There was a Band-Aid on her cheek. But it hardly covered a plastic-surgery-worthy wound. Lakshmi was good for gossip, but sometimes she tended to overdramatize.
Not that the Breona-and-Sylvia war needed dramatization. The two queen bees had always hated each other. They were the two most popular girls in school, and the source of their conflict was always Josh.
The gossip went that last summer things had come to a head. Even though he was officially Sylvia’s boyfriend, Josh had hooked up with Breona two weeks after Sylvia had gone to France with her family. Sylvia came back and Josh pretended everything was fine. But of course Sylvia found out the truth. From what Hazel had heard, Josh was lucky to be alive.
“It’s all over the school,” Lakshmi gushed as she plucked a couple of french fries off Hazel’s plate. “Everybody’s talking about it.”
Hazel watched as Lakshmi popped the fries into her mouth and chewed.
Lakshmi had a skin problem. Hazel had tried to tell her not to eat greasy food, but Lakshmi was very fragile on the subject. She would start crying and insisting that Hazel thought she was ugly. She wasn’t ugly, but her skin could definitely use some help.
Lowering her voice, Lakshmi leaned forward and added, “Sylvia’s got to go to anger management classes. Court-ordered.”
Lakshmi’s face was flushed with excitement: the thrill of having serious information—the coup of being in the know—was almost too thrilling for her.
“Who told you all this? Your mom?” Hazel asked. Mrs. Sharma worked in the school’s office and told Lakshmi all kinds of privileged information. It was wrong and tacky, but Lakshmi and her mom thought it was a way to raise Lakshmi’s social Q, and it gave the rest of the group something to talk about.
Lakshmi nodded and Hazel shifted her attention to Sylvia’s table.
There they were, the PLDs—the Pretty Little Devils—rivals of the cheerleaders as the most popular, stylish, lucky girls at Brookhaven. Party rumors aside, the PLDs got it. They talked about universities and internships and summers abroad. They made appearances at school events but weren’t all “rah-rah” about it. They were just the right combination of interested and too-cool-to-care. Hazel would have given anything to be friends with them—if only she knew how.
Sylvia was dressed all in black, and she looked incredible. Her blue-black hair fell in long, sexy waves down her back. Regal as a queen, she sat in the middle of three chairs. Megan Williams and Carolyn Bosch sat on either side of her. Megan was all girlie-girl in a tan corduroy blazer and light green pleated skirt. Carolyn was serious fashion in black-and-white check. Ellen Schmidt sat across from them in a soft pink poncho (not over?), like a contestant from The Apprentice. She was touching her hair, which was pretty bad, actually: a poorly streaked, hacked-off kind of a bob thing. Hazel wondered if the PLDs were getting on her about it. If they were, they were doing her a favor.
Lakshmi picked up her fish taco and took a big bite.
“We’ll ask Breona about it in lab,” she said, her mouth full of cabbage, cod, and mayonnaise.
“I wish I had a class with Breona,” LaToya said to Hazel and Lakshmi. “It must be nice.”
Hazel shrugged, at the same time that Lakshmi said, “Oh, it is.”
Hazel stifled a laugh. It wasn’t as if she, Lakshmi, and Breona actually spoke. But bragging like that was Lakshmi’s style. Unlike Hazel. Hazel didn’t remind the others that she was on Breona’s radar, that now and then Breona actually said hi to her and complimented her on her clothes, little things like that.
“What’s Breona like?” Ginger asked Lakshmi.
“She’s very nice.” Lakshmi gazed over at Breona’s table. She started blinking, the way she did when she was all wound up. “She looks like Alicia Keys.”
“Not even,” LaToya said, snorting. “Breona is, like, half Korean.”
“Chinese,” Lakshmi corrected her. “And she does look like her.” That triggered something else, and Lakshmi smiled at the others without taking her gaze off Breona. “Ooh, did you guys see Orli Bloom on People’s Choice last night?” She picked at her face, and Hazel had to force herself not to bat her hand away. “Hot.”
“Hot,” Jamie agreed.
Lakshmi had five Orlando Bloom posters in her bedroom. Jamie had two. LaToya was an Usher fan.
Hazel agreed that Orlando was good looking, but she didn’t fawn over him like he was a boyfriend. She tended to live in the real world.
Talk of Orlando continued. Hazel was frowning down at her meal, trying to stay out of the conversation, when a bizarre, discordant drone wheedled into the cafeteria. Heads turned, then people began laughing and applauding and getting to their feet. Hazel’s table did the same, but all Hazel could see were craning necks and shoulders.
“Oh my God! It’s a bagpiper!” Lakshmi announced.
There was a stir among the students; the cluster in front of Hazel’s table parted as the piper, fully decked in Highlander plaid and a beret with a green pom-pom, marched into their midst. He was playing “Scotland the Brave.”
Directly behind him was a delivery guy carrying two enormous bags with P.F. CHANG’S written on the side. P.F. Chang’s was an upscale Chinese restaurant in Brookhaven Center. Hazel had never eaten there, but she’d always wanted to.
Sylvia raised a hand, waving at the delivery guy. He came straight for her table. Ellen got up and rushed toward him, grabbing up the bags. She made a show of how heavy they were.
Brandon bounded over from the jock table and picked up not only the bags, but Ellen as well, carrying her under his arm like a football as she laughed and batted at him. The guys whistled and clapped, Matty included. Sylvia smiled serenely. Hazel knew immediately—this was her doing. She watched as Sylvia lifted her cell phone out of her purse.
In the middle of all this, she’s taking a call? Hazel wondered.
Then Sylvia looked down at the phone and started keying in. Ah, texting.
“What’s going on?” someone bellowed from the other side of the caf. It was their resident old hippie, vice principal Clancy, in his million-year-old Dockers and Birkenstocks.
The geometry teacher, Ms. Miller, who also had lunch duty, stomped beside him in her too-young-for-her fashions—low-slung stretchy pants and a clingy top in berry colors.
“Oh God, they’re going to get in major trouble!” Lakshmi said
, blinking excitedly.
Clancy was closing in. Sylvia’s cell phone disappeared. Carolyn and Megan took the P.F. Chang’s bags, opened them, and began spooning heaps of noodles, egg rolls, and vegetables onto four plates. Josh darted away, then returned with another plate as Clancy and Ms. Miller headed for the piper like they were going to tackle him on the twenty-yard line.
At a signal from Sylvia, the piper switched from “Scotland the Brave” to “Brookhaven Spirit,” the school song. As the notes played over the cafeteria, clusters of students began to join in:
Brookhaven Spirit, our school so dear,
our love for you travels far and near.
Our voices ring proud and loud and clear
with loyalty and spirit, Brookhaven Spirit!
All hail! Our school so dear!
By the time Clancy reached the piper, nearly every person in the room was singing with gusto. Hazel remained silent.
The two teachers looked around and Hazel could practically read their thoughts. No one was doing anything wrong, exactly. And more people were singing than would at a regular pep rally. Okay, a takeout food delivery? Not exactly in the handbook, but what could it hurt? After all, it was Sylvia Orly. Such an upstanding girl. Pride of the entire administration.
Mr. Clancy waved at the students as if they might possibly be glad to see him.
Sylvia stood on her chair and held an egg roll above her head like the Statue of Liberty holding her torch. “Here’s to varsity,” she cried, “and the game this Friday!” Then she stepped down and graciously offered egg rolls to Mr. Clancy and Ms. Miller.
People cheered and the jocks traded high fives. Matty just smiled; he turned his head just so…and for one moment, Hazel thought he might be looking at her.
Breona’s table—the varsity cheerleaders—sat stone-faced. Jenna Babcock, Breona’s best friend, put a hand on Breona’s forearm, as if to say, Down, girl.
“That was awesome,” Lakshmi gushed.
“Yeah,” Ginger agreed. She turned from the scene and started winding spaghetti around her fork.
“We could order a pizza sometime,” Lakshmi ventured.
“If we did that, we’d get in trouble,” LaToya muttered. “We’re not celebrities like the PLDs.”
Hazel smiled weakly. Didn’t she know it. “I’m going to get some more Diet Coke.”
She picked up her half-full cup and headed across the squeaky tile floor to the food line. The bagpiper had distracted everyone, but Hazel finally snagged the attention of one of the servers and got her refill.
She swiped her card at the register and dodged around a couple of guys who were pushing each other for no reason. Then she saw Matty talking to Jenna, who was pointing back at Breona’s table, moving her arms, maybe yelling at him.
Matty frowned at her and shook his head. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned away. Jenna stomped off.
Hazel looked back at the cheerleader table. Breona and three or four of the others were gone, and the rest were knitting their brows and anxiously whispering. What was that about?
Hazel turned her gaze back at Matty, who was now talking to Josh and shaking his head.
She must have stared a little too long because Matty turned his head again, and this time he did look straight at Hazel. Their eyes met. She caught her breath.
“Oh my God!” someone yelped.
Hazel shrieked as her drink cup was crushed against her chest. Freezing Diet Coke and ice cascaded down her shirt. Hazel looked up angrily to see who had run into her.
Her mouth dropped open as she realized—it was Sylvia Orly.
“Oh no! Oh, Hazel, I am so sorry!” Sylvia said, one hand across her mouth. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. This is totally my fault.” Sylvia seized the drink cup from Hazel’s hand and began yanking wads of napkins out of the nearest dispenser.
“Oh, you’re soaked. Here.” She handed more napkins to Hazel. “I’d help you clean up, but I don’t want to, like, paw you. Oh God, this will stain. You have to tell me how much this cost. I’ll pay for a new one.”
“That’s okay, Sylvia,” Hazel said, laughing despite the rush of attention and the ice-cold layers of clothing clinging to her chest.
“Don’t be silly. I insist,” Sylvia said.
“It’s old,” Hazel fibbed. “Really. It’s no biggie.”
Sylvia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You are so lying, Hazel. I saw it in Neiman’s last week. You’re sweet, but you have to let me make this up to you.” She considered for a moment. “We’re having a little soiree tonight at Charlie Pollins’. Officially, it’s a babysitting job.” She wrinkled her nose as if to say, But we both know better. “Maybe you could come by.”
Hazel’s lips parted. Was this actually happening? Was Sylvia Orly actually inviting her to one of the PLDs’ infamous parties? For a second, she couldn’t breathe. But she quickly recovered. “Sure,” she rasped. “What time?”
“Eight. Charlie’s dad is going to be gone till midnight. The fun doesn’t really start until nine-thirty. We close down around eleven-thirty.”
“Cool,” Hazel said, trying not to sound too eager. “Thanks.”
“Which in French is merci,” Sylvia replied, grinning. She was fluent in French. Word was she taught all the PLDs to speak the language too.
“Do you know the Pollinses’ address?” Sylvia asked.
“Um, no.”
Sylvia whipped out her cell phone, glanced down, and chuckled at the screen. “Oops. Just a minute.” With rapid-fire fingers, she texted something. Then she glanced at Hazel and said, “What’s your cell number? I’ll put you in.”
Oh, great, Hazel thought. Already I have to betray my total lameness.
“I don’t actually have a cell phone,” she admitted. “At the moment.”
“You are so lucky,” Sylvia replied without missing a beat. “They’re a total pain. With a cell, you never get a moment’s peace. I curse the man who invented them.” She smiled charitably. “Well, let’s go to my table. I’ll write it down for you.”
In a daze, Hazel followed Sylvia through the cafeteria. She knew people were watching, could see heads pressing together, people taking stock of this turn of events. Her cheeks were hot. Hazel prayed they weren’t bright red.
Matty was watching too. His head was cocked just so, and his lazy smile broadened the slightest bit when their gazes met.
“Good taste,” Sylvia whispered, noticing the mini-exchange. “Hey, look whose lovely new clothes I massacred.”
They had reached the PLDs’ table. Hazel looked down at Megan, Carolyn, and Ellen. She nodded at them.
Ellen fluffed her hair and said, “Hey, Hazel.”
“Hey,” Hazel managed.
“So listen, to make up for my horrible faux pas, I’m inviting Hazel to the flash mob tonight.” Sylvia flipped open a purple notebook and held out her hand. “Who’s got a pen?”
Ellen opened her bag and instantly produced a gel writer in coordinating purple.
Megan and Carolyn smiled at Hazel as Sylvia wrote out a street address and phone number in beautiful, unusual handwriting. She ripped out the piece of paper and handed it to Hazel with a flourish. She had a French manicure, and Hazel noticed three identical Claddagh rings on the middle three fingers of her left hand, each with a different-colored heart.
“No selling this on eBay, right?” Sylvia winked, then pulled out her chair and sat down. “See you tonight.”
Hazel knew she was being dismissed. She smiled pleasantly and said, “Okay.”
The other three PLDs waved, bright smiles on their faces. Hazel saw that all of them were wearing Claddagh rings. It must be a PLD thing.
Then Sylvia gave Hazel a sly smile and said, “Oh, and be sure to dress to impress. There may be another addition to the guest list.” She nodded in Matty’s direction.
Hazel’s heart pounded. As she made her way back to her own table, she tried to send an ESP message to Lakshmi and the others to
stop looking so freaked out.
“What was that about? What did she give you?” Lakshmi demanded as Hazel grabbed up her backpack. Lakshmi reached for the piece of notebook paper, but Hazel held on to it.
“Just her number,” Hazel said, her voice catching a little. She fished her purse out and popped the paper into it. Lakshmi hungrily followed it with her eyes.
“She wants you to call her?”
“Uh, yeah.” Hazel shrugged. “She wants to see about replacing my shirt.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward Sylvia’s table.
Sylvia was talking to Matty—and handing him a piece of notebook paper too.
Hazel quickly glanced away and sat down, nearly throwing herself into her chair.
“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom to clean up?” Lakshmi asked. “You’re soaking wet.”
“I’m fine.” To prove it, Hazel picked up a fry and dipped it in her ketchup. “Where did Breona go?”
“Oh!” Lakshmi leaned forward. “Clancy came and got her. Something’s up. Definitely.” The other three nodded excitedly.
“Definitely,” LaToya echoed.
PERSONALBLOG
HAPPY2BME
BREONA SUX. SHE DESERVES WORSE FOR ALL THE CRAP SHE PULLS. WHAT SHE GOT THIS AFTERNOON—AND WHAT SHE’S GOING TO GET! THIS IS JUST PHASE ONE. ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS WHO THINK THEY’RE BETTER THAN ME? THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY’RE IN FOR!
CHAPTER TWO
At eight-fifteen Hazel parked her Corolla across the street from the Pollins residence. It was a sad little ranch-style house made of mud-brown stucco.
Hazel sat behind the wheel, building up her nerve. A parade of the cool and unapproachable from Brookhaven sauntered through the arched doorway.
To get out of the house, Hazel had told her parents she was “studying.” She didn’t give out any details—and wasn’t asked. Her mom didn’t realize that she had gone a little boho, changing into her new gold pointy flats, an ankle-length green cotton skirt, and a black cami, or that she had put on more makeup than usual. Typical. Her mom was too into her own stuff to notice.
