“Thanks, Mom,” Haley said. Coco, of course, said nothing, and emphatically brushed imagined dirt and dust off her jeans after she exited the vehicle. Haley thought it was amazingly rude of her to treat Joan like a chauffeur. Actually, even a chauffeur should be thanked. I guess it’s safe to assume the old Coco is back.
Whitney greeted them at the door, clearly house-proud. “Come on in,” she said, teetering through the half-empty front hall in feathered, high-heeled mules and a dressing gown. “We still have a ways to go with the decorating, but it’s already such an improvement over our last space.”
“Uh, yeah,” said Coco. “A cardboard box in an alley would have been an improvement over that hovel. Please tell me you burned all your old furniture and clothes? I did not come here to get bedbugs or fleas.”
“Everything’s new, down to the hand towels.” Whitney led them upstairs to her room. “Here it is: the Whitney hospitality suite.” Suite was not a bad description of Whitney’s new room, which opened onto a small living area with a sofa, chairs and a coffee table, and branched off to a work area for designing clothes on the left and a bedroom and bathroom on the right.
“Wow, Whitney, it’s huge,” Haley said. “It’s like you have your own place!”
“There’s an identical suite down the hall for Sasha,” Whitney said. “Though she’s never used it. I can’t say I blame her. I wouldn’t want to hang around with Jonathan either if I didn’t have to.”
“How can your mother trust him in the house?” Coco asked. “Isn’t she, like, worried he’s going to steal a painting and head straight for the nearest roulette wheel?”
“Mom says he’s totally reformed,” Whitney said. “But I don’t know…I mean, once a gambler, always a gambler, right?”
“Whit, a diet soda,” Coco demanded. “I don’t want to ask for it twice.”
Two seconds after Whitney left the room to get snacks, Coco turned to Haley and said, “Sasha’s dad is thisclose to popping the question to Whitney’s mom, but Whitney doesn’t know it yet.”
“How do you know?” Haley asked.
“I hear things,” Coco said. “Somebody saw Jonathan shopping for rings in Manhattan, the diamond district. What else would he be doing there? On second thought, maybe he was hocking Linda’s jewelry. Poor, poor woman.” Coco shook her head.
“I’m sure your first guess was right,” Haley said. “I wonder how Whitney will take the news. She doesn’t seem too crazy about Jonathan.”
“She’ll be upset, of course. She’ll freak, actually. Cohabitation is one thing; matrimonial vows are quite another. But I’m more curious to know how Sasha will feel.” Coco arched an eyebrow. “Can you imagine, Whitney and Sasha as stepsisters? What a pair.”
Whitney and Sasha had been lifelong BFFs. Until recently, that is, when Sasha had decided she was tired of the superficial Cocobot lifestyle and threw herself into practicing soccer and guitar. Whitney, meanwhile, had kept clinging to Coco as if she were a life raft.
“Don’t say anything to Whitney, or she’ll have a meltdown, and I cannot deal with that today. You know how emotional she gets.” Coco sifted through a pile of fashion magazines on Whitney’s coffee table. “Rats, she doesn’t have it.”
“Have what?” Haley asked.
“Oh, some European fashion magazine that trashy Mia Delgado claims she has a story in. But I don’t buy it. Sure, there’s a certain…wanton appeal about the girl. But no way is she top-model material. I think she’s making up all this modeling business—and I’m going to prove it.”
Coco sat back on the couch and waited for Haley to beg for more info. At that moment, Whitney rushed back into the room. “WhudImiss, whudImiss?”
“Coco was just filling me in on her theories about Mia Delgado,” Haley said, irritated that the conversation had once again shifted to the stunning Spanish mannequin. No matter where she went these days, everyone always seemed to be talking about Mia.
“Ooh, have you heard the latest?” Whitney nosed in, realizing she had a bit of news she had yet to share with the group. That was the thing about Whitney. She heard lots of juicy stuff, some of it true, some of it false. But as often as not, rumors flew out of Whitney’s head before she had time to pass them on. You had to catch her at just the right moment, such as right after a visit to her hair salon, and then, without applying too much pressure, coax the volcano of rumors that was Whitney Klein to erupt.
“Do tell,” Coco encouraged, without seeming too eager.
“Well, apparently, Drew Napolitano heard Mia arguing with Sebastian. About a tape.”
“What sort of tape?” Coco imperceptibly leaned forward, suppressing her curiosity.
“A tape apparently made by someone Mia used to date. Someone who wasn’t Sebastian Bodega. And,” Whitney added, a wicked grin on her face, “it’s a naked tape.” She whispered those last three words, scandalized by the thought of such salacious viewing material.
“No,” Haley gasped.
“Yup,” said Whitney. “Mia was denying it, but Sebastian is not happy. And he said if her modeling agency ever caught wind of it, or actually saw the tape, her career would be over.”
“You don’t say,” Coco mused.
Whitney grabbed three tortilla chips and loaded them with guac. But now it was her appetite for gossip that needed to be sated. “Have you two heard about what the football team’s been up to lately? Cecily told me that Drew told her but swore her to secrecy.”
“Figures,” said Coco.
“But luckily, I have my own sources. It’s called the booster club. Here’s what I know—the varsity players are hazing the freshmen, saying if they want to be part of the team they’ve got to do whatever the upperclassmen say.”
“Like what?” Haley asked innocently.
“I can’t believe what idiots boys can be.” Coco sighed. “Thank goodness my Spencer’s not immature like that.”
“Right,” Haley said. “Spencer’s real mature. He only runs an illegal gambling ring.”
“It may be illegal but it’s certainly not childish,” Coco said. “And besides, he’s given that up because of the campaign. So tell us, Whit, what exactly do the football players do?”
“Well, I heard they took one kid and blindfolded him and made him take off all his clothes and walk through town at midnight,” Whitney said. “In his jockstrap. And his father happened to drive by and see him, but he must not have recognized him because he didn’t stop. And when another kid said he didn’t want to do it, they filled his locker with manure.”
“Yuck,” Haley said. “Why aren’t they getting in trouble for all this?”
“Because the freshmen grunts are too afraid to squeal,” Whitney said. “And the older boys took a vow of silence or something.”
“I guess the vow of silence doesn’t apply to girlfriends,” Coco said, thinking of Cecily and Drew.
“Guess not,” Haley agreed.
There seems to be an awful lot of gossip swirling around Hillsdale these days. It’s enough to make Haley’s head spin. If even her highly principled mother is capable of getting caught up in the rumor mill, who is Haley to resist spreading the word?
Sasha’s dad is about to propose to Whitney’s mom, and neither girl knows anything about it? That’s big—and maybe Sasha and Whitney have a right to know. It’s their lives too, after all. Of course, if that rumor isn’t true, it could cause a lot of damage for nothing.
And what about the sports hazing—shouldn’t people know about that? Or should Haley leave it up to the victims themselves to turn in their tormentors?
The juiciest rumor by far is Mia’s scandalous love tape. This one’s the most tempting to spread, because of Mia’s man-eater status. With her around, the other girls hardly stand a chance. Shouldn’t all those admiring boys know what kind of girl they’re drooling over? Or would that just make them drool even more?
If you think Haley should be "TALKING TRASH", spreading the rumors she’s just heard around the schoo
l. If you think she should not get involved in any of this, have her take the "HIGH ROAD". And if you’re not sure what Haley should do, and want to find out more before making a decision, send her to hear "PRINCIPAL CRUM’S LITANY".
Some people love to hear gossip from their friends, but not so much when the gossip is about them.
SOLVING FOR EX
Some people never learn—not even in the library.
“So, what are you doing your history research paper on?” Reese asked as Haley waltzed into the library for their “date.” The very idea of having a date at the library seemed suspect to Haley, but she wanted to give Reese the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had some kind of bookish surprise cooked up for her. The fact that the first words out of his mouth were about their AP history paper didn’t exactly seem like a good sign.
“I was thinking of comparing the presidencies of John Adams and John Quincy Adams,” Haley said as she settled at a study table next to him. “You?”
“Teapot Dome Scandal,” Reese said. “We’re not getting to it until the end of the semester but that means I’ll have a head start.”
“Smart move,” Haley said.
Reese got up and headed into the aisles of books in search of twentieth-century history. Haley started to follow him, wondering if he might try to steal a kiss among the stacks, but he pointed her to the next row and said, “I think the eighteenth century is in that stack over there.”
“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.” This has to be the most prudish, boring date in the history of romance, she thought as she halfheartedly scanned the rows of presidential biographies. She waited for Reese to find his book and then find her, but he didn’t reappear. This can’t be all there is, she thought, and turned the corner to find him engrossed in a pile of books.
“What are you doing Friday night?” she asked, hoping to salvage this sad date by setting up another. “Want to get together, and, I don’t know, go to a movie? Make out in my basement?”
“Actually, we’re having our freshman initiation Friday night,” Reese said, barely lifting his head from the book he was reading. He was a star of the soccer team, and the upperclassman players had a tradition of initiating the freshman kickers at a special party every fall. Haley wasn’t sure exactly what went on at those events—they were shrouded in mystery and rumor. But she and her cocaptain, Sasha, had always thought the girls’ soccer team should have an initiation party too. After all, if it was good enough for the boys, it was good enough for them too.
“That’s cool,” Haley said. “Sasha and I thought it might be fun to have a coed soccer initiation this year. Maybe we could team up with you guys on Friday night? What do you think?”
“Sure, whatever you want,” Reese said, but Haley wasn’t sure he’d heard her suggestion. And even if he had heard her, it wasn’t clear from his lackluster response how he really felt about the idea. Were the girls welcome, or did he think they were horning in on the boys’ fun?
With a sigh Haley sank to the carpeted library floor and watched, bored out of her mind, while Reese studied. This sucks, she thought. Just then, Devon McKnight passed by her carrying a bound copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the drama club’s next play. She found herself watching Devon as he strutted over to the counter and checked out the book. What would it be like to spend time alone with him? Haley wondered. Would he be as boring as Reese, or could something actually heat up?
This library date with Reese is obviously going nowhere. What was he thinking? And what was Haley thinking when she agreed to it in the first place? Reese is so caught up in his studies this year, he is barely listening to a word Haley says.
How much of this is Haley willing to tolerate at this stage in their relationship? It could be just a phase, and if she waits it out, the old, charming Reese may return to her. Or maybe not. Meanwhile, arty photographer Devon is looking pretty hot right about now, and at least he’s doing something more interesting than burying his head in a book. Oh wait, maybe not.
If you think Haley should ditch Reese and find out what Devon’s up to, go to "RUN LINES WITH DEVON". If you think she’s serious about having a coed initiation, no matter what Reese says, send her to the "INITIATION". Finally, you can hear the latest Hillsdale High gossip on "PRINCIPAL CRUM’S LITANY".
Every relationship hits a snag once in a while. But is this a minor bump in the road or a serious dead end? It’s up to you to steer Haley in the right direction.
FREEDOM ROCK
Rock shows tend to bring out the blockheads.
“I can’t wait to see these bands,” Haley said, growing more and more excited. She was sitting in the backseat of Sasha’s Mustang, with Johnny Lane riding shotgun as Sasha steered the car down the Garden State Parkway to the George Washington Bridge. The three of them were headed to the College Music Festival in Manhattan—a hundred bands in three days, with headliners packing into dozens of venues. Sasha’s mom had bought them tickets for day two, which had a stellar lineup. Haley was actually surprised to find Johnny in the car when Sasha arrived to pick her up. The couple hadn’t exactly been spending loads of time together of late. But then, Haley knew Johnny would never pass up a music festival with this caliber of talent. And Sasha would never be able to go to one without him.
“Wait ’til you see this first performance,” Sasha said, turning to Johnny and grinning. “Twenty-five musicians onstage, dancers, fire-eaters, fiddlers, a chorus—”
“It’s Thai dinner theater meets the Grand Ol’ Opry,” Haley offered.
“That’s cool for some bands,” said Johnny. “But I don’t get it. It’s not the Hedon. Lately I’ve been thinking we should be paring things down, not cluttering them up.”
Johnny was the lead guitarist for one of the best local bands in Hillsdale. Their sound was raw seventies garage rock, and there was most definitely no room for fiddlers or fire-eaters on their stage. Even so, Haley thought Johnny should be a little more generous. Sasha had, after all, gotten them the tickets.
A few months back, Sasha had had a stint with the Hedon. But she had quit to go solo as a singer-songwriter over the summer. Haley believed that decision had probably saved Sasha and Johnny’s relationship, or what was left of it anyway. Through Sasha, Haley had seen firsthand the tension and infighting that could spring up between bandmates. “Now I know why the Beatles broke up,” Sasha had put it at the time.
Haley stared out the window as the Mustang flew over the GW Bridge. Across the Hudson, the New York City skyline reflected the golden sunlight of a crisp fall Saturday. Haley felt a surge of excitement every time she crossed the river into the city. She’d felt the same way in California, driving from her home in Marin County into San Francisco. But NYC had an energy even San Fran couldn’t match—anything could happen here. You never knew whom you’d meet.
“Is there anything you do really want to see?” Sasha asked Johnny, anxiously awaiting his response.
“Well, it’ll be great to see some new blood,” Johnny said. “We all got so hyped up over that Battle of the Bands competition last spring, we lost our sense of mission. We need to get back to our roots. Forget Rubber Dynamite. Our real competition is in here. We should be modeling ourselves on the friggin’ Stones, man.”
Sasha laughed. “Nothing like keeping your expectations low.”
They drove down the FDR Drive and, just as quickly as they’d entered Manhattan, they exited it, heading over the Williamsburg Bridge into Brooklyn. The first festival event was to be held at a warehouse-sized club called the Lo-Fi. A crowd of hipsters jammed the entrance, hoping to snag tickets for the sold-out show. Sasha, Haley and Johnny pushed through the crowd, waved their tickets at the bouncer and went inside. Haley felt like she fit right in, wearing an old Sonic Youth T-shirt she had borrowed from Sasha with skinny jeans tucked into slouchy eighties boots. Those had been picked up for a song at Jack’s Vintage. Sasha looked equally cool in plaid leggings, motorcycle boots and a black knit minidress under a leather jacket. Johnny, meanwhi
le, wore his standard uniform: black jeans, plain black tee, tinted glasses and his signature slouch.
One of the opening bands was already onstage, pounding out a funk-metal riff. “I’m going to get a bottle of water,” Haley shouted to Sasha over the music. “Need anything?”
“I’m good,” Sasha said. Johnny gave a nod, meaning if he needed anything, he’d handle it himself.
Haley headed for the bar, just as she was ordering her sparkling water, someone tugged on her sleeve. “I always say New York is just a small town in disguise.” Haley turned around and was shocked to see Alex Martin, of all people, grinning at her. He stood out among the rocker crowd in his neat button-down shirt, and khakis, but he didn’t seem to be self-conscious about it—maybe because he had two VIP press passes dangling from his neck.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Covering the show for the College Music Festival Web site,” Alex said. “They don’t pay but I do get to hang in the VIP area—best seats in the house.”
“It’s standing room only,” Haley reminded him, looking up at the balcony and over at the roped-off pit near the stage.
“Right,” Alex said, pursing his lips.
“How did you get the gig, anyway? You’re not in college,” Haley asked.
“A minor technicality,” Alex said. “Besides, they like to groom their writers young.”
Haley nodded. Alex was certainly different from most of the guys she knew in Hillsdale—and there seemed to be a lot she didn’t know about him yet.
As the opening band finished their set and cleared the stage, a trio of roadies prepped the equipment for the next act.
“Come on,” Alex suddenly blurted out. “Let’s go get a good spot near the stage.” He took off one of his press passes and hung it around Haley’s neck.
“Thanks,” Haley said, taking his hand as they wove their way through the crowd, flashing their passes at a guard standing by a roped-off area. Haley waved to Sasha to let her know she was okay. Sasha smiled when she saw Alex and gave Haley a big thumbs-up. They reached the front of the stage—just in time for the first song. The band started playing, and Haley could see everything. She’d never been so close to a famous act before. She danced and sang along with her favorite songs, with Alex right beside her.
What If... All the Rumors Were True Page 13
