“Doing what?” Dylan joked, as Derrick casually released a pinch of Pop Rocks into a passing woman’s champagne flute. Veuve fizzed over the brim and trickled down her white-gloved arm. She screeched. They laughed.
“Pop Rockkkkkss!” Derrick burped.
“Dude.” Cam blushed and then turned to Dylan. His blue and his green eye looked brighter. “He’s not around girls very much. We go to Briarwood.”
“OCD,” Dylan groaned, as if admitting she went to an all-girls school would make him feel better.
“OC-DEEEEEEEEEEE,” Derrick burped.
A Britney look-alike, dancing to Q-Tip’s “Vivrant Thing,” waved the air, then pulled her boyfriend away.
Dylan burst out laughing. “How d’you do that?”
“You actually wanna know?” Cam asked, shocked.
“Toe-dally.” Dylan nodded, imagining herself burping words with the COCs. Maybe a little boy-humor was just what OCD needed to loosen up. Somehow, she doubted it.
“Stay here.” Derrick pushed through the dense crowd like a running back, leaving Dylan and Cam on the packed dance floor. An exchange of friendly smiles and awkward glances around the party made it even more obvious that neither one of them had much experience with the opposite sex.
“I kinda wish we had boys at OCD,” Dylan shouted over Q-Tip. “School would be more fun.”
“Yeah.” Cam stuffed his hands in his pockets, pulled out a handful of gummy sours, and opened his palm. “Want?”
“No thanks,” Dylan politely declined. “I’m trying to lose weight.” She waited a few seconds, hoping he’d take the bait.
“Why?” he mumbled.
Yes! Massie Blo—was wrong! Wrong and jealous!
“Yeah, you’re right.” Dylan shrugged. “Why?” She pinched a red sugarcoated bear and dropped it in her mouth. Cam ate a green one. They looked at each other and giggle-winced from the sour rush.
“Here!” Derrick appeared with two glasses of icy Coke. “Drink these super-fast.”
Without question, Dylan did what she was told.
“As soon as that burp passes your throat, speak!” he explained. “Timing is everything. If you do it too soon, you’ll puke.”
Cam giggled, then popped another gummy in his mouth. He chew-winced and watched Dylan. Derrick was staring too. His butt wiggled slowly, like a tail starting to wag. He reminded her of a happy yellow Lab, and Dylan felt completely at ease… until her torso tightened with pressure.
“Something’s happening!” She tapped her chest, encouraging the gas. Up it crept. Up… up… up… Slowly but steadily, the burp inched toward her throat. Stinging her ears and pushing past her tonsils, the invisible bubble reached its mark. Then, with grace and focus, Dylan bellowed…
“Co-ca Co-laaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
The boys cracked up and high-fived her as if she had just scored the winning goal in some sport that had goals. Dylan’s eyes watered, a little from the burp but mostly from the pride.
“I did it!”
“Wait until your friends hear you.” Derrick beamed.
Dylan thought of the COCs and immediately knew that burping words would appeal to them about as much as a hidden camera in the girls’ bathroom. Unless she could figure out a way to burp the who’s who articles in the Hollywood Reporter, they probably wouldn’t be interested. “I don’t think they’d be that into it.”
“Then you need new friends,” Derrick insisted.
Dylan pressed her glossy lips together and nodded. He was right.
“’Scuse me,” slurred a blond-bouffanted mom dressed in a tight black cocktail dress. A gold crown was on her head and an empty martini glass was dangling in her hand. “Would-ju mind taking our pik-chure?” She gestured to the other moms standing behind her, who were also wearing black dresses.
Dylan reached for the disposable camera. “Su—”
“I’ll do it.” Derrick grabbed it away with a devilish grin.
While the women linked arms and finger-fluffed their hair, Derrick aimed the camera down the back of his jeans and fired off three shots.
Dylan and Cam turned away, hiding their laughter.
“Harri, you are, like, the coolest girl we’ve ever met,” Derrick told Dylan after he handed back the camera. “You’re like a dude, but not.”
Dylan’s cheeks warmed from the compliment. “Thanks.”
Cam nodded in agreement. “Do you play sports?”
“Nah.” Dylan shook her head regretfully. “I’m too skinny.”
Derrick nodded like he saw her point. “What’s your real na—”
“Dylan!” Shouted a thin, Elmer’s glue–colored man. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He pressed a finger against his headset and pushed a button on his walkie-talkie. “Got ’er. Have Merri-Lee’s bodyguard meet us… dance floor… near the soda bar…. Over.”
“Your real name is Dylan?” Derrick asked shyly. “I’m—”
“You’re Derrick and he’s Cam.”
“How’d you know that?”
Dylan pointed at their Canine Chorus name tags and smiled smugly.
“Oh.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed.
“Time to go,” the stage manager said once Merri-Lee’s hefty bodyguard arrived.
“Thanks for the lesson,” Dylan whisper-giggled. “And the sours.”
The boys both told her she was welcome, and smile-waved goodbye. It was obvious from the awestruck shimmer in their eyes that they thought she was special. A skinny, fun dude-chick with trendsetting hair, who’d burped a four-syllable name on her very first try.
Dylan sauntered away with the confidence of a Grammy-toting pop star. If they thought she was fun now, wait till they saw her on TV.
WESTCHESTER, NY
THE COLEMAN RESIDENCE
3748 BREAKWATER CIRCLE
Friday, December 31st
9:08 P.M.
Kristen tossed her math book onto the coffee table. It landed with a thud, summing up her state of mind perfectly. Studying positive integers was the only “positive” in her entire night. And she couldn’t even concentrate, because Ali had been yapping ever since she got baby Max back to sleep.
“What do you mean he was flirting with her?” Ali twirled her dirty-blond blowout. “Flirting like talking, or flirting like touching?”
Kristen rolled her eyes and turned on the TV. Merri-Lee Marvil’s party was raging. The DJ was playing Lil’ Bow Wow’s “Bounce With Me” and judging by all the sweaty foreheads, it looked like the party guests had been bouncing with him for a while.
“You have to keep him away from her,” Ali whispered into her cell phone, pacing in front of the TV. “I dunno, spill salsa on her lap, just do something!”
Mic in hand, Merri-Lee stepped into the foreground and began shouting over the music. “Make sure you stick around, because a very lucky girl is about to have her New Year’s dreams come true when she gets kissed by ThRob over at our Orlando party.”
They cut to a stunned blond girl with crooked bangs and round blue eyes standing in front of her house. She was dressed in a ridiculous red dress waving, metronome style, at the camera. Kristen hate-kicked her math book onto the floor. Even the freaks were having fun tonight!
“Tell him you’re on the phone with me and that I say hi.” Ali crossed in front of the TV. “Tell ’im. Tell ’im now. Go. Gogogogogo. Yeah, I’ll wait!”
“Move!” Kristen waved Ali aside.
Ali responded by sticking out her tongue and middle finger.
Kristen turned up the TV.
“We’re also going to see performances from…” Merri-Lee paused, and then looked down. She squinted in confusion while the rest of her forehead remained Botox-smooth. The camera pulled back to reveal a brunette, about Kristen’s age, whispering something to Merri-Lee. Then she grabbed the mic from Merri-Lee’s hand and addressed the crowd. Wearing kneesocks, wedges, and a black dress covered in metallic triangles, she had Teen Vogue style and CosmoGirl confidence.
“Excuse me, I have an announcement to make.” Her alluring amber eyes were fixed on the uproarious guests, refusing to be discouraged by the chaos. Off to the side, Merri-Lee was shaking her head and shrugging her bony shoulders, letting everyone know she had no clue who the girl was or what she was doing. But as always, Merri-Lee embraced spontaneity. Her end-of-year highlight shows were always hilarious because of it.
“I lost some very important charms,” the girl shouted. “A dollar sign, a shoe, and a pig. If anyone finds them, please return them to me, Massie Block. My cell number is—”
Merri Lee grabbed the mic away from Massie. “Okay, that’s enough. We don’t want every creep on the planet calling you now, do we?” She giggle-petted Massie on the head.
“Watch the hair.” Massie swept Merri-Lee’s hand aside.
Kristen gasp-laughed. The girl had guts.
“Ha! What a hoot!” Merri-Lee took a step back to admire the intriguing stranger. “You sound like one of my daughters.” Then she leaned in, as if confiding in Massie. “Wait, you don’t think you’re fat, do you?”
“Gawd, no.” Massie put her hands on her hips and rolled back her shoulders. “I’m perfect.” She winked into the lens.
Kristen burst out laughing. Was the girl joking or boasting? Not that it really mattered. She was exactly the kind of person Kristen needed in her life. Fearless. Flawless. Fabulous. Fun!
“Okay!” Ali shouted into her phone. “I promise I’ll be there as soon as I possibly can. Yes, alone.” She side-glared at Kristen. “It won’t be too late—the Colemans are pretty dorky. They never stay out past—”
The front door clicked open.
“Gottagobye.” Ali hung up her phone, slid her marshmallow-and-Coke concoction over toward Kristen, and then picked the math book off the floor. She plopped down on the couch and began leafing through the pages.
Kristen considered telling her that the book was upside down but didn’t bother.
“Mr. and Mrs. Coleman!” Ali looked up. “What are you doing home so early? It isn’t even midnight.”
Mrs. Coleman gripped her mouth with one hand and her stomach with the other. Then she made a mad dash for the bathroom.
“Greta ate some bad sushi.” Mr. Coleman loosened his tie. “She threw up five times at Merri-Lee’s.”
“You were at Merri-Lee’s?” Kristen cried.
“Not the point,” Ali said through clenched teeth. Then smiled with the compassion of a nun. “I pray she’ll be okay. We should probably get going.”
“There was bad sushi at Merri-Lee’s?” Kristen wondered, unable to imagine anything being bad at that party.
“No, we ate before we got there.” He pulled a money clip stuffed with bills out of his side pocket. “We stopped at my sister’s house first. She took an international cooking class at the community center and made her own tuna hand rolls.” He shuddered. “I warned her. I said, ‘My sister can’t make reservations. What makes you think she can cook?’ But Greta insisted.”
“Wow, that’s too bad,” Ali said, checking the time on the cable box. “I guess we better get going then.”
“Listen,” Mr. Coleman said, flipping through his cash, “I won’t be able to take you home because, you know.” He thumbed in the general direction of his barfing wife. “But I told our driver to drop you wherever you need to go.”
“Awesome!” Ali stuffed the math book under her arm. “Hey Kristen, you may want to put your glass of whatever that is in the sink. It’s rude to leave dishes.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Kristen stomped into the kitchen, vowing revenge on her cousin with every indignant step she took.
She returned to find Ali stuffing a wad of cash in her pocket.
“Thanks again, girls,” Mr. Coleman said, ushering them toward the door. He tossed a gold dollar-sign charm on the front-foyer table, then extended his hand for a shake. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year to you, sir.” Ali returned the gesture with Girl Scout gusto.
“What’s that?” Kristen asked, eyeing the charm.
“Oh, just a little something Greta spotted on the ground at the party while she had her head between her knees. She wanted to take it home for good luck, but frankly, I don’t think it’s working.”
Kristen picked it up and closed her fist around the gold charm.
“Would you like to have it?” Mr. Coleman asked before Kristen had the chance.
Too overwhelmed to speak, she nodded her head yes and was out the door before he could change his mind.
The limo smelled like cigar smoke and hair spray. “We’re going back to Merri-Lee Marvil’s party, please,” Kristen told the driver, cracking the window.
He started the engine.
“No way!” Ali barked. “He’s dropping me at Morgan’s house.” She pulled a pair of patent leather stilettos from her green-and-white L. L. Bean bag.
“Please,” Kristen heard herself beg. Fate was calling. She had to answer. “I’ll only be a minute. Then we can go wherever you want.”
“We?” Ali snapped, hooking the stiff heel of her stiletto and forcing it over her heel.
“You’re not going anywhere with me. You’re going home.” She leaned forward. “First stop, the Pinewood Apartments, and then we’re going to 6783 Sycamore Crescent. Over by the high school.”
“No, we’re not.” Kristen leaned forward too. “We’re going to Merri-Lee’s party, then Sycamore Crescent.”
“Are not!” Ali unscrewed her mascara wand.
“Okay then.” Kristen sat back on the black leather seats. “I’ll just follow you to the party and tell everyone that sometimes you pick your nose and roll your boogers into a ball when you think no one is looking.”
Ali punched the seat. Makeup scattered onto the floor. “You can’t!” she pleaded.
“I can and I will.” Kristen folded her arms across her red Juicy hoodie. “Unless we stop at Merri-Lee’s first.”
Ali checked the time on her cell phone. “You better be quick.”
Kristen leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.
It was finally time to enjoy the ride.
MERRI-LEE MARVIL’S NEW YEAR’S YVES PARTY
THE STAGE
Friday, December 31st
9:15 P.M.
Alicia took the raucous applause for the Canine Chorus as a good sign. If people went this wild for three mutts who barked what sounded more like “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” than like “Auld Lang Syne,” surely they would go mad for BADSS. And if they didn’t, someone would. Maybe a talent agent in L.A.? A pop star looking for a video honey? A Broadway director out to cast the next Maria in West Side Story? Millions of people were watching. At least a hundred of them could make Alicia’s dreams come true.
Brooke and Alicia held hands in the wings, anxiously bobbing up and down on the balls of their Capezios.
“Forty-five seconds,” said a male stage manager with bigger boobs than Alicia.
“Poor guy,” Brooke mumbled, eyeing his chest.
“I know how he feels.” Alicia glanced down at her bulging vest, where the glitter was starting to flake. She had deliberately worn a bra one size too small to be sure Thing One and Thing Two didn’t try to jump out and steal the show.
“At least you have boobs.” Poppy unbuttoned her vest to the belly button. “I’m so well proportioned it’s boring.”
Alicia and Brooke rolled their eyes but held their tongues. Poppy had learned the routine in fifteen minutes and saved their act. If it weren’t for her well-proportioned body they’d still be listening to the mutts.
The houselights dimmed. Merri-Lee spoke into the mic.
“Up next we have some local talent….”
This was it!
“Ahhhhhh.” Alicia and Brooke squeezed each other’s hands numb. Brooke squeezed because she was nervous. Alicia squeezed because she was on the verge of greatness. With Skye and her studio-owning, daughter-favoring parents two time zones away, Alicia wo
uld finally get the attention she deserved—and introduce Mrs. Fossier, and the world, to the real captain.
From the front row, Nadia Rivera flashed an encouraging thumbs-up to her daughter and dabbed her almond-shaped eyes with a handkerchief. Len put his arm around her and squeezed proudly. Alicia wanted to smile back at her parents with love, but all she could do was lift her hand in heartless acknowledgment. It was their fault her hairy calves were sweating in her leg warmers. And if that sweat was responsible for distracting her from her performance…
She blinked back the thought. Anything less than perfect was not an option.
“I am proud to introduce BADSS!” Merri-Lee gushed.
The audience applauded. The cameras turned to face them. Alicia’s stomach dipped. Her ears rang. Her legs sparked with electricity. It was time for her mind to take five and let her body take over.
Shakira’s “Ojos Así” blasted through the speakers, and the girls flick-kicked onto the stage. From there, they exploded with raw energy and refined talent. Poppy was punching every move in ways that And-rrhea never could. And the audience was going crazy. They whooped, clapped, and whistled. Cameras started flashing. The audience was dancing along. Alicia’s mother began chanting her name and soon the entire party was chanting, “Alicia! Alicia! Alicia!” Their support and approval filled her with something lighter than air.
She danced with the grace of a swan and the strength of a bull. With every layout, twist, and triplet, Alicia grew confident—no, certain!—that her future as a captain-slash-superstar would be cemented in—
What the…?
Her Capezio came down on what felt like a pebble; a slippery pebble that took her left foot for a skate while her right foot remained planted firmly in second position. Pulled in opposite directions, her legs felt like the rope in a ruthless game of tug-of-war. The next moment, Alicia was on her butt in a half split, struggling to breathe.
Brooke rushed to her side.
The camera lights dimmed.
The Shakira track stopped playing.
Merri-Lee decided to “check in” with the party in Orlando.
The Clique: Charmed and Dangerous Page 7
