“Are you sure you have to do this?” she asks, turning the engine off. She blinks fearfully at the mini-mansions and manicured lawns rolling out around us, a quiet enclave of wealth and obedient household staff. “Just think what will happen if you get caught, all the trouble —”
“We won’t get caught.” I ignore her, turning to Bliss. “You ready?”
She nods, bouncing out of her seat with enthusiasm.
“Then let’s go.” I grab my bag and reach for the car door, but something in Meg’s expression makes me think twice. I remember how I felt at the start, those early days hanging out with boys whose fingertips were always stained with spray paint, boys who could start a car just by reaching under the dashboard, boys who didn’t leave the house without wire cutters and a flask. It was thrilling, sure, but I was terrified, too — that lurch of panic kicking low in my gut. I barely feel a flicker now, but back then, I would wait for sirens, always ready to bolt.
I pluck her purse from between the seats and rifle through for her slim wallet.
“Wait, what are you —”
“Security,” I tell her, holding up her driver’s license with a grin. “You wouldn’t think of driving off and leaving us here, right? Especially not without your license. That would be very bad.”
“Illegal,” Bliss agrees from the backseat. Meg’s face falls.
“I said I’d wait.”
“And now I know for sure that you will,” I tell her, slipping her license in my bag. “Now, keep watch on the driveway, and call me if you see any cars pull up, OK? I’ve programmed our numbers into your cell.”
Meg nods. She’s still resentful, but the protest is gone from her expression. Good girl.
“And keep the engine running,” I add. “We might need to make a quick getaway.”
Bliss is already bounding ahead of me up the sidewalk, like we’re heading to a pep rally, not a break-in. “Chill, Bambi.”
“Sorry.” She drops back, still glowing with excitement. “Kaitlin’s house is just up . . . here.” She falls silent as we reach a huge red-brick house at the end of the cul-de-sac. All the houses in this part of town are look-at-me large, but this one is even bigger than the rest. And occupied. Lights are on in every room, classic rock music drifts from an open window, and I can see a woman walking between rooms inside, chatting on the phone. Great.
“I thought you said they were out for the night.” I turn to glare at her. I may have learned certain . . . skills when it comes to getting into places I shouldn’t, but that’s only when there’s nobody around to dial 911 and wield their desk-drawer handgun.
Bliss bites her lip. “Sorry. Does that mean it’s off?”
“Nope.” I sigh. “But we’ll have to find a Plan B, unless you want to just walk right in . . . Wait, I wasn’t serious!” But Bliss is already sashaying toward the front door.
“Follow my lead and look normal,” she whispers at me, smoothing down her hair.
I attempt a perky grin.
“I said normal, not psychotic.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, but I adjust my expression just as Bliss hits the bell. A moment later, Kaitlin’s mom answers, holding the phone speaker-down against her shoulder.
“Bliss, honey, what are you doing here?” She’s bronzed and rake-thin, wearing a crisp white shirt and khakis. You know, typical relaxed Friday-night clothes. “I thought you kids would be out for hours.”
“Hi, Mrs. Carter!” Bliss choruses. “We will be; don’t worry. But we’re having a fashion emergency. Kaitlin’s bra snapped!”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Carter looks suitably horrified.
“I know!” Bliss agrees. “She can’t leave the bathroom, of course, so Jo . . . anna and me volunteered to come pick up a replacement.”
She caught herself just in time. Even the mention of my name is enough to strike fear into the heart of every parent in town.
“Of course.” Mrs. Carter waves us into the vast marble hallway, already putting the phone back to her ear. “You know where her room is.”
“Sure I do!” Bliss beams again, hurrying toward the stairs. “We won’t be a minute!”
I follow her up to the first floor, pausing to scope out the framed family portraits covering every wall, full of dead-eyed creepy smiles.
“How’s that for fast thinking?” Bliss crows.
“We’re not done yet,” I remind her as she heads for the room at the far end of the hallway. I follow her inside, quickly closing the door behind us, already in attack mode. I figure we have about five minutes before Mrs. Carter comes to check; more, if she’s gossiping with an old friend. That means we need to —
I stop. “Somebody lives here?”
“Yeah.” Bliss flops down on the king-size bed covered in crisp white linens. “Kaitlin’s kind of a neat freak.”
Something of an understatement. The pale carpet is spotless, every surface is clear, and there’s nothing but a mirror and a makeup box out on the dresser. I shiver at all the perfection. My room may fit in the en suite bathroom, but at least it doesn’t look like a catalog shoot. “Weird. Anyway, you want to get searching?”
“Oh! Right.” Bliss bounces up again and heads to the gleaming flat-screen computer in the corner. “If we’re lucky, she won’t . . . Oh, crap.” She stops.
I look over her shoulder at the screen. The background is set to a big photo of Kaitlin, Bliss, and the rest of their shiny clique, but hovering in front of it is a little box demanding our password.
“Seriously?” I ask. “The girl is happy wandering around the locker room completely naked, but now she has to worry about privacy?”
Bliss shrugs. “She’s always complaining about her little sister snooping around. I guess she’s paranoid.”
“And has something on there worth protecting,” I say decisively. “Keep trying. Most people use basic stuff for their passwords: birthdays, pet names. I’ll see if she’s got anything stashed around here.”
“OK.” Bliss settles into the desk chair while I go lift the bedspread and peer underneath. It’s where I keep my contraband, but apparently I have a different definition of banned substances. Instead of cigarettes, a vibrator, or even coffee (Mom swears it will stunt my growth), Kaitlin’s got what looks like the entire back-catalog of ChicK magazines under the bed, neatly stacked according to year. Like I said: weird.
“Any luck?” Bliss is still clicking away.
“Not yet.” I pull out every box to be sure, checking for anything remotely illicit. It’s like peeking into another universe: a world of designer purses, stacked heels, and discarded makeup sets barely out of the box. MAC, NARS, Lancôme . . . God, she’s got my entire yearly paycheck down here, gathering dust.
I move on. The bedside tables are decorated with a few photos in heavy silver frames. Kaitlin and crew at the lakeshore. Kaitlin and crew hanging out by the pool. Kaitlin and Bliss, grinning widely in matching red bikinis. They look happy, like best friends should. Suppose you never can tell.
I glance over at Bliss, wondering again why she’s going through with all this effort and strategy, when she could just knee that ex of hers in the groin and be finished with it. It’s what I would do. When I found out my last boyfriend had been hooking up with the door girl from Club Ninja behind my back, I made like Carrie Underwood and dug a vicious scratch into his precious car. But maybe Bliss has her reasons. Just like I have my reasons for humoring her until I can get on with my own agenda for the night.
Finished with the tables, I’m just heading to the dresser when I look up. “Holy sh — ugar!” I jump, clutching my chest. A small kid is standing in the doorway, watching us silently with big, dark eyes.
“Avery, hi!” Bliss looks panicked. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
The girl just stares. She’s sucking her thumb, dressed in a hideous lacy nightgown covered in ribbons and bows.
“What do we do? Just . . . ignore her?” I whisper. I’ve watched way too many demon spawn movies not to be freaked o
ut by her pale skin and perfect little ringlets.
“I don’t know,” Bliss whispers back, so I tentatively take another few steps toward the dresser.
“What are you doing?” Avery finally takes her thumb out of her mouth.
“I’m your sister’s friend, remember?” Bliss pastes on an innocent smile, the same one that reduces adults to putty. Avery isn’t so easily convinced.
“Why are you looking through her stuff? She doesn’t like it when I look through her stuff. Mommy says it’s wrong.” The kid glares at me.
“I, umm . . .”
“We’re looking for something!” Bliss says quickly. “Kaitlin lost something very important. We’re helping her find it!”
“Mommy says I’m not allowed to look.” Avery takes a step back toward the hallway. She raises her voice into that high-pitched, bratty tone. “Momm —!”
In an instant, I lunge forward and grab her, clamping my hand over her mouth. She squeals, biting down on my fingers. Hard. “Owww!” I groan, struggling to stay quiet. Bliss stares at me in shock. “You want to shut the door?” I tell her, fighting to keep the kid in my arms. She quickly does it.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving your ass,” I tell her, wrestling Avery into an armlock. I’m careful not to hurt her, however much she kicks and flails against me. Then she throws herself to the side, and I lose my balance. “Mneugh!” I fall hard, twisting my body at the last minute so that I hit the ground beneath her, instead of the other way around.
This is why I’m never going to breed.
“You want to maybe keep trying?” I order. Bliss looks at me as if I’m crazy, but she starts hitting keys again. Which leaves the demon spawn to me.
Gritting my teeth, I try my best to sound friendly. “Hey, kid! Kid, I’m not letting go until you keep quiet.” I hold tight and eventually she stills. “Good.” I exhale. “Now, we’re going to make a deal here. You know what a deal is?”
She shakes her head against me.
“A deal is where you stay quiet, and I give you something. Anything you want. Do you like the sound of that?”
A pause, and then she nods. Ah, capitalism.
“OK. But if you call for your mommy, the deal’s off.” I slowly release her. Avery folds her little arms and glares at me, but she doesn’t scream.
“I want my present.”
“I’m sure you do.” I pick up my bag from where I left it on the bed, nursing my poor hand. Damn, that kid’s got teeth on her. “Bliss, status?”
“Nothing yet.” She’s rifling through desk drawers now. “I’ll check if she wrote it down.”
Great.
“Your present, OK. I have, umm . . .” I dig through my bag, flipping past the items that won’t — or, rather, shouldn’t — interest a preteen. But there’s nothing that might win her over. No sparkly gadgets or cool little toys or anything colored pink.
“How about a Twinkie?” I hold up the package with defeat. But she snatches it from my hand and happily tears off the wrapper. Soon, she’s sitting cross-legged in the corner, devouring the snack with rapturous abandon.
I raise my eyebrows at Bliss.
“Kaitlin’s mom is really into health food.” She shrugs. “The house is like, a sugar-free zone.”
“Lucky us.”
Suddenly, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. “Quick!” I hiss, scooping Avery into my arms again. I pull her behind the door and crouch there. “Keep quiet, and I’ll give you another Twinkie,” I whisper, listening as the steps come closer. Avery’s eyes widen, and she nods, mouth smeared with crumbs.
“Bliss, how are you doing?”
“Great, Mrs. C.!” From my huddled corner, I can see Bliss give another innocent smile. “I’m just trying to find the right one. See, it can’t be dark, because then it would show through the dress, and it can’t have straps, or lace, because that would totally screw up the line of the bust, and —”
“That’s fine, hon.” Mrs. Carter cuts off her inane chatter. She pauses. “Where’s your friend?”
“Oh, she’s just in the bathroom!”
“OK. You girls make sure to keep it down. Little Avery is fast asleep.”
“Of course.”
The door closes, and I sigh with relief, handing Avery the other snack cake. God bless refined sugar products.
“I can’t stall her forever.” Bliss closes the door again and helps me up.
“I know.” I nod grimly. Who knew Kaitlin would be so smart? “So what do you want to do?”
Bliss shrugs helplessly.
“Great.” I sigh. “You know, this was easier for Harriet the Spy. They all just kept journals with their darkest secrets. Nice, solid things with padlocks and keep out scrawled across the front.”
“Like Kaitlin’s special secret book?”
We look around. Avery has finished the Twinkie in record speed and is licking off her fingers.
Bliss brightens. “Kaitlin has a secret book?”
Avery nods.
“Well?” I prompt. “Where is it?”
“I want another present.”
I give Bliss a look. “That was my last one,” I whisper.
“So what do we do?”
What I always do. When in doubt, bribe.
“Avery, hon. I don’t have another Twinkie”— she opens her mouth to complain, but I quickly cut her off — “but I do have money. Well, Bliss does. Which means you can buy your own Twinkies. As many as you want!”
She pauses, furrowing her evil, demonic brow. “How much?”
“Five dollars!” I announce. Avery shakes her head. “Ten?” She shakes it again. Man, kids these days. I had to save for weeks for the latest Harry Potter when I was her age. “Twenty dollars?” I try, impatient. At least it’s not my money. “That would buy you . . . twenty whole Twinkies.”
Avery’s eyes widen at the thought of all that pure, unadulterated sugar. “Yes.” She nods. “Twenty.”
I turn to Bliss. “You heard the kid.”
“You’re bribing a ten-year-old?” She looks shocked.
I roll my eyes. “Do you want the book or not?”
Reluctantly, she pulls a twenty from her bodice. And there I was thinking there was nothing but double-sided tape behind that dress.
Avery reaches for the money, but I dangle it just out of reach. “Not until you show us where it’s hidden.”
She heads straight for the closet.
“I thought you checked there.” Bliss gives me a scathing look.
“I did,” I snap back as Avery expertly clambers up the shelves and reaches into a pile of jeans. She pulls out a blue journal: leather-bound and surprisingly tasteful for the girl who dressed as a burlesque dancer for our last school fund-raiser. Our daytime school fund-raiser.
“My present!” Avery demands. I hand her the twenty; Bliss snatches the diary.
“You can’t tell anyone you saw us,” I say. “You’ll get in trouble for not being in bed.”
She nods and then scampers away — no doubt back to her lair of doom.
“We did it!” Bliss bounces up and down with joy, but I know better than to celebrate too soon. I quickly pluck a beige strapless bra from the pile and shut the wardrobe.
“Come on. We should bail, before Meg has a breakdown and walks home.”
We hurry downstairs. Mrs. Carter is in the living room, watching some Real Housewives episode on the big-screen TV, so Bliss calls through. “Thanks, Mrs. C., we’re just leaving now!”
“Hang on, girls, I just want to —”
We don’t wait. Bursting out the front door, we race across the lawn. The sprinklers switch on, and Bliss cries out as the cold water hits her skin. I ignore her shrieks, dragging her through the jets and down the street. I’m full of familiar adrenaline, that breathless excitement of making it out, free. From the gleeful expression on Bliss’s face, she’s buzzing too.
Meg’s car is still loitering on the corner, thank God. I throw open the fron
t door and pile in. “Go, go!”
“What?” Meg stares at me, panicked. “Did you get caught?”
Bliss tumbles into the backseat. “No!” She laughs. “We got it!”
I glance back at the street, just to be sure, but we’re all clear. I give Meg a nod.
“Stage One is complete. Now go!”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Jolene drums an impatient rhythm on the seat beside her. “I said get the hell out of here!”
I’m wound so tight with tension, I slam my foot hard on the gas, speeding away with a painful screech. Damn. I hit the brake, overcompensating with another amateur lurch. We shudder to a halt.
“The point of a getaway car is to, you know, get away!” Jolene gives me a look of utter exasperation.
I blush. I scored perfectly on my driver’s test; my dad made me practice drills until I could parallel park in my sleep. Eighteen months without so much as a single ticket, but, of course, I have to fall apart now, when it actually matters, when they’re depending on me.
Focus, Meg!
I force myself to take a deep breath and then finally drive away like a normal human being — even remembering the obligatory pause at the stop sign at the end of the block.
“Did they suspect anything?” I ask, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Not at all,” Jolene declares proudly. She lets out a whoop as we turn out of the quiet subdivision and head toward town, the windows down and a warm breeze whipping through the car.
“Thanks to who?” Bliss leans forward between us, her hair falling in the kind of effortless, glossy cascade it took me two hours of trying — and failing — to achieve. “Uh, my cover story was brilliant, thanks very much.”
Jolene makes a noise of protest. “And who silenced the demon child with nothing but her powers of persuasion and some sugary treats?”
“And half my emergency money!” Bliss cries, indignant.
“Whatever, like you’ll miss it.”
I exhale a slow sigh of relief as they bicker beside me. Finally, after that agonizing wait, my nerves are beginning to ease, blossoming into a kind of fluttering excitement as I absorb their rush of laughter.
We did it!
The Anti-Prom Page 4
