Fffffffpuuurpppp. Fffffffpuuurpppp.
Claire stomped her bare foot. She knew that fake fart sound anywhere. “Todd, come out!” She yelled at her daisy-print comforter.
A shock of orange hair appeared from under the bed. It was attached to a small freckly boy wearing Batman pajamas and a mischievous grin.
“Ehmagosh, was he under there the whole time?” Sari screeched, her thin upper lip practically disappearing from the horror of it all.
Claire responded by shoving Todd out the door. How would she ever convince her friends to spend New Year’s Eve at her house again if they were flanked with a snooping brother and a hyper-protective babysitter?
“It’s way past your bedtime, Toddy.” Kelsey reached for his hand. “Now, back to night-night for you.” She closed the door behind her, purposely leaving it open a crack.
“Now what?” Sari yawned.
Claire checked the timer—nine more minutes until their next sugar hit. “How ’bout a dance contest?’ She flicked on her clock radio.
A commercial for Simmons Toyota urged people to drive on down before midnight to take advantage of their crazy year-end deals.
“Let’s Google dirty words.” Mandy wiggled her thick black eyebrows.
“We did that last Saturday,” Sarah whined.
“Well, maybe there are more,” Mandy tried. “It’s been a week.”
Sarah shot her hand in the air. “I know! Let’s pretend we’re ghosts and scare Kelsey.”
Claire giggled at the thought.
Sari and Mandy yanked the white sheet off the twin bed. They gathered underneath in a giddy cluster, bumping into each other and giggling with glee.
“Shhhhhh, listen.” Mandy suddenly poked her head out.
“Fffffffpuuurpppp.” Sari did her best impression of Todd’s fake fart.
Sarah and Claire cracked up.
“No, seriously.” Mandy threw the sheet off their heads. “Turn up the radio.”
Claire hurried over to the white Sony Dream Machine and rolled the dial. SCUM 101.1’s late-night DJ was playing the Miss Kiss theme song.
“That’s right, it’s Dr. Party,” he announced in the raspy, sleep-deprived voice that had earned him his moniker. “And joining me tonight is the lovely Miss Kiss. Miss Kiss, your reign ends at midnight. How do you feel about that?” He made a crude sniffing sound. “By the way, has anyone ever told you you smell like grapefruit?”
She giggled. “It’s Happy, by Clinique. One of the wonderful sponsors I had the opportunity to work with over the past year.”
“Well, it’s making me happy, I’ll tell you that.” Dr. Party chuckled like a perv.
The girls rolled their eyes.
Miss Kiss giggled again. “Sorry, what did you ask me?” Her high-pitched voice sounded slightly muffled, like she was curling up shyly and speaking into her shoulder.
“Are you going to miss Miss Kiss?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, suddenly sounding serious and rehearsed. “I’m going to miss it so much. I’ve gotten to work with so many wonderful people, charities, and mammals. And I learned bunches about all the different car shows in the state of Florida. Did you know there are over nineteen different exhibitions on the Gulf Coast alone? And that doesn’t include antique shows or monster trucks.”
“We have to take another break, but for those of you dying to get a whiff of this lovely lady beside me, be the first caller to properly name the last five Kissimmee pageant winners. If you can, you and Miss Kiss will ride in our station limo to see tonight’s midnight performance of Orlando’s very own boy band, ThRob, at Disney’s Grand Floridian Resort and Spa. Their song ‘Twice the Fun’ will be broadcast live via satellite on Merri-Lee Marvil’s New Year’s Yves. And so will you, when twins Theo and Rob plant a big smooch on your lips, making you their first kiss of the New Year. And you know what they say? You never forget your first, right?” He snorted, making Trojan, his sidekick, cackle-cough. “Phone lines are open. The number to dial is 1-800-YRU-SCUM. That’s 1-800-YRU-SCUM. Back in a flash with Dr. Party and Trojan on Florida’s destination station, SCUM 101.1.”
“Ahhhhhhhh!” The girls scrambled for their Nokias.
Claire, who had been forbidden to get a cell phone until her sixteenth birthday, ran into her parents’ bedroom and grabbed the tan cordless off the cradle. She dialed and immediately got through. Her insides soared. Finally, a New Year’s Eve worth remembering. “I’m in,” she shouted-ran back to her room, forgetting all about Kelsey and her sleeping brother.
“Me too.” Mandy sucked on a piece of black hair.
“Same.” Sarah bounced on her toes.
“Number three!” Sari announced.
Mandy and Sarah immediately ended their calls.
“Why’dya do that?” Claire gasped.
“I had number fifty-nine.” Mandy sighed.
“Sixty-one.” Sarah moped.
An automated voice informed Claire that she was eighty-seventh in line.
“How did you get so close?” Claire asked Sari, hanging up.
“I have them on speed-dial,” confessed the bony blond. “For All-Request Wednesdays.”
“Dr. Party and Trojan, back with the lovely Miss Kiss during her last moments as our reigning hottie.”
She tee-heed at the compliment.
“Time to turn to the phones and find some lips for Theo and Rob, the twin brothers in ThRob, to kiss at midnight. Caller one, can I have your name please?”
“Theo and Rob can kiss my pimple-infested a—”
Dr. Party disconnected the line with an embarrassed chuckle. “Next caller. Can you name the last five winners of the Miss Kiss pageant?”
“Oh my lord, Dr. Party, is that really you? I swear I’m a huge fan. I saw you perform at the Comedy Castle last month and you were hair-sterical!”
“Thank you, uh…”
“Jillian!”
“Jillian. Okay, Jillian. Can you name the last five Miss Kisses?”
Claire, Sarah, Sari, and Mandy gripped hands and shook their heads, cosmically jinxing Jillian.
“I sure can. Polly Cayman…”
No more.
“Vicki Tomlinson…”
No! Stop!
“Camille Anning…”
JINX! Double jinx! Triple jinx!!!!
Claire’s palms began to sweat. She felt like she was being robbed.
“Hayden Henning…”
“Yes!” Claire pulled her hand away from Sari’s and punched the air with joy.
“Awww, so close.” Dr. Party sounded genuinely upset as he hung up on Jillian. And then, with a quick click, he was on to the next caller. “You’re on with SCUM 101.1, can I have your name, please?”
No one responded. “Number three, can I have your name please?” The only sound he got was the deafening screech of feedback. “Caller number three, turn off your radio and—”
“Ehmagosh, caller three!” Claire shouted at Sari.
The girl was statue-still.
“Stage fright!” Mandy barked. “Someone grab it!
Sarah backed away.
Without thinking, Claire yanked the phone away from Sari’s ear and turned off her Dream Machine. “Hi, Dr. Party, this is Claire.”
“Hi, Claire, can you—”
“PollyCaymanVickiTomlinsonCamilleAnningJenniEaganandCoraShandler. Hayden Henning was the original winner but she fell during her acceptance walk and the crown was given to Jenni.”
A cheering-crowd sound effect blasted in the background. Claire’s friends fused together in a victorious group hug.
“Stay on the line, Claire, so we can get your address,” Dr. Party told her. “A limo is on the way!”
“Ahhhhhhhh!” The girls began screaming and jumping.
“What are we going to wear?” asked Sarah, wiggling out of her pj’s.
“Nothing!” Sari joked, whipping off her nightgown.
They stomped on their paper hats and masks in a mad dash for the closet.
/> “Shhhh.” Claire pointed to the open bedroom door.
“How are we going to get past Kelsey?” Mandy whispered, wrapping an old orange and black Halloween boa around her neck.
“Very quietly,” whispered Claire, dabbing her lips with green glitter. “Very, very quietly.”
WESTCHESTER COUNTY AIRPORT
MERRI-LEE MARVIL’S NEW YEAR’S YVES PARTY
Friday, December 31st
8:39 P.M.
With the help of a huffy security guard and a keen eye for “fashion don’ts,” Massie found her way back to the Ahnnabees. They were standing in the center of the crowd, sipping smoothies out of champagne flutes. It was obvious from the four half-empty tumblers by their feet, and the pink stain down the middle of Brianna’s Burberry, that they had transferred the drinks into the grown-up glasses themselves. As if flutes would somehow fool people into thinking they had style.
“What happened to you?” Ahnna asked, placing a sticky palm on Massie’s shoulder. “We were soooo worried.”
Lana, Brianna, and Shauna nodded slowly in agreement, their lips assuming various interpretations of a concerned pout.
“You were?” Massie squinted, trying to spot the truth. Her insides felt like a soft-serve vanilla-chocolate ice cream cone—half light, half dark. A swirling blend of wanting to believe Ahnna and not trusting her.
“Of course we were.” Anna smiled slowly, baring her oversize front teeth. “You weren’t here for the check-in call with my dad. And he was mad. He said if anyone’s missing for the next check-in he’ll take us home. Midnight or not!”
“And that makes us worried,” Lana added, a thin blue vein bulging in her neck.
“Very worried.” Shauna took off her red glasses and glared.
“Very, ver—”
“I get it!” Massie snapped, cutting Brianna off. “But if you hadn’t run off like that I never would have gotten lost and—”
“Who’s gonna show me their thong?” shouted a deep voice over the microphone.
“Whooooooooooo!” answered the audience.
All of a sudden, a lively, booty-shaking beat filled the hangar.
“Let me see that thonnnnng,” the voice began singing a cappella.
More cheering.
And then, a bare-chested muscular man in baggy white pants flipped onto the stage. His dark skin had been shined to reflect the pulsating stage lights.
“Sisqó!” Ahnna shouted. She quickly placed her champagne flute on the floor in preparation to rush the stage. The other Ahnnabees did the same.
Massie looked around, wondering if anyone had a problem with four girls leaving eight fragile glasses on a packed dance floor. But no one seemed to notice. All anyone cared about was shaking their backsides and—
“Ehmagawd, stawp!” Massie shouted. “I see Her!”
Her being short for Hermia, Merri-Lee’s infamous resident psychic.
But the girls had already made a break for the stage.
“I said, stop!” she shouted louder.
Several models, barely wider than the straws in their fruity cocktails, froze mid-grind.
“No, not you.” Massie blushed. “Them!”
“Who? Za Good, Za Plaid, and Za Ugly?” joked an exotic blonde wearing a white thigh-dusting dress. Her date’s necktie hung sloppily around her neck.
Massie giggle-nodded. Not a bad joke for a model.
She raced to catch up with Ahnna, then tapped her on the shoulder.
“That thong th-thong thong thong!” Ahnna gyrated-sang as she whipped her head around to face Massie. “What?”
“Hermia’s here!” Massie pointed to the gold tent at the edge of the dance floor.
“I can read,” Ahnna snapped. Her heavily lined brown eyes fixed on the video screen beside the tent. The spiritual messenger’s face—spackled with makeup and framed by a mass of ruby red hair—appeared alongside footage of the earthquakes, stock market fluctuations, and celebrity breakups that had occurred in the past year. All of which Hermia had predicted. The future is coming. Are you ready? appeared in spooky black calligraphy with a massive digital clock counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until the New Year. The phrase pulsated on-screen and then vanished.
“We have to see her,” Massie urged. “We can find out if LMNOP will—”
“How ’bout we show Sisqó some love!” Merri-Lee cooed into the mic from the dancers’ pit at the bottom of the stage, her red hair radiating a fresh dye job. It was the first time Massie had ever seen her in person. And if she could get close enough, she might advise her to go lighter on the blush. “How much do we love him?”
The hangar echoed with a torrent of eager applause. “And now, coming to you via satellite from Orlando, the boy-band capital of the world, please welcome one of this year’s hottest groups, N’S—”
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” The Ahnnabees shook their hands and ran-shoved to the front of the stage.
“They’re nawt even here!” Massie called after them. “It’s via satellite!”
But that obviously didn’t matter. In a blur of Bur, the Ahnnabees were gone.
An itchy wool peacoat of sadness hung over Massie’s entire body, weighing her down with despair. She’d ditched her parents, Paris, and Chanel shopping for this? Not even one compliment on her fetching outfit/chignon/makeup/charm bracelet/brooches/or ability to pull off mixed metals had come her way. Nawt one!
It was only a matter of time before people started to stare. Not because of her fetching outfit/chignon/makeup/charm bracelet/brooches/ability to pull off mixed metals. But because she was standing in the middle of a thumping dance floor on New Year’s Eve at the best party in the country, motionless, friendless, and on the verge of tears.
A camera on tracks rolled by. What if someone saw her on TV? Alone?
Out of sheer desperation, Massie flipped open her cell and managed a half-smile. The only way to save pride was to fake a phoner and get out of there. Fast.
“Heyyyy.” She burst out laughing as if Jim Carrey was on the other end. “What?… No!… Did you say private jet or private fete? Seriously?… Wait, I can’t hear you…. Hold awn….” She jammed a finger in her ear, then marched toward the gold tent, like whatever Jim was saying was urgent, possibly tragic, and deserved her undivided attention.
A snaking line of women, some glossing, others biting their nails, most drinking pink cocktails, had formed outside Hermia’s lair.
Massie’s glossy lips began to quiver. The only thing worse than being solo in the middle of a dance floor was standing at the back of a line on New Year’s Eve to see a TV psychic. Little said I am beyond miserable and need hope quite like that. Tears were on the way, and they were bringing friends. Massie hurried toward the tent flaps.
Just as she was about to enter, a heavy hand descended on her shoulder, its square fingernails digging into her flesh. “Back it up, honey. We’ve been standing on this line since last New Year’s. No cutting!”
You talking to me or your manicurist, Clawberry Shortcake?
Turning slowly, Massie sniffled. “I wasn’t cutting.” She locked eyes with her captor and then released the first teardrop. “I—I need to see my mommy. It’s an emergency.”
“Jenna’s not your mommy,” the woman slurred.
“She’s not even married,” added her friend. She tucked a frosted curl behind her ruby-studded ear. “Or dating for that matter.”
“Hasn’t had a guy for years, thanks to Rick,” said Clawberry. “That’s why she’s with Her.”
They burst out laughing.
“Nawt Jenna.” Massie wiped her salt-stained cheek. “Hermia.”
“Hermia’s your mother?”
Massie nodded. Clawberry released her grip. “You are so lucky. You must always know—”
“Yip.” Massie rolled her eyes, feigning boredom with her mother’s gift, and then hurried inside.
“Um, excuse me.” A red-nosed woman, probably Jenna, blew into a tissue. “This is my reading.�
�
“I know, but your friends wanted me to tell you Rick is here,” Massie said with an innocent grin. “I think that’s what they said. Rick or Ray or something?”
“Really?” Jenna sniffed back years of heartache and rolled her shoulders. Her face seemed to change from black-and-white to color, like Dorothy when she landed in Oz.
Jenna leaned over the table of tarot cards and gave the psychic a condescending squeeze. “Nice try, Hermia. But you were wrong. He left his wife! He left her! I knew he would. I knew it!”
Hermia smiled with her mouth pressed shut.
“Thank you!” Jenna kissed Massie on the cheek, grabbed her black sequin clutch, and bolted.
“Yes?” Hermia asked, her tone dripping suspicion. “And how can I help you, Ms.?…”
Um, shouldn’t you know?
“Block. Massie Block.” She helped herself to a seat on the vacant but still warm wood stool.
Around her, the tent was ripe with the smell of dust and chai. Piles of Moroccan pillows, overlapping Oriental rugs, and the warm glow of candlelight surrounded Massie like an exotic womb. Beyond the gold velvet walls, the party was in full swing; staccato bursts of laughter, bass booming from the speakers, clinking crystal…. Yet everything was muffled like the distant dinner party noises that often lulled Massie to sleep while her parents entertained. They were the sounds of feeling safe.
Hermia crossed her fleshy arms over her maroon-colored caftan and glared at Massie expectantly, as if she’d just powered up a cell phone and was waiting for a signal.
“What?” Massie giggled and anxiously crossed her legs.
Hermia held out her palm—a map of cracks and lines that were tinted orange. (Henna? Spray tan? Beta-carotene poisoning?) Without hesitation Massie offered her hand. Her charm bracelet fell over her thumb. “Sorry,” she said shyly. “It’s a little loose.”
Hermia grinned patiently.
“I’m not really sure why I’m here,” she began nervously. “I just needed a place to—”
“No more,” Hermia insisted, closing her gold-shadowed lids and tossing back her flaming red hair. She rocked back and forth and exhaled with dragonlike force—and then began to chant: “Spiritus maximus shareshareshare… spiritus maximus shareshareshare… spiritus maximus shareshareshare…”
The Clique: Charmed and Dangerous Page 4
