Bratfest at Tiffany's

by Lisi Harrison

  “Like what?” Strawberry asked, while snapping shots of Andy as he attempted a series of one-eighties.

  “I dunno. Maybe we can go get some fro-yo or something.”

  “Hey, I have an idea!” Josh called from the top of the ramp.

  Alicia air-clapped, certain he was about to suggest they head to the mall, get lattes, then stroll past the mannequins in the windows playing “what would you rather wear?”

  How could she have ever doubted him?

  “So what’s your big idea?” She smiled in anticipation.

  “Try using the sepia setting on my camera,” he called. “It makes the picture come out all brown, like it was taken in the Wild West.”

  “Great,” Alicia groaned. “Just what I was thinking.”

  BOCD

  OVERFLOW TRAILERS

  Monday, September 14th

  7:17 A.M.

  Massie kicked open the door of the gleaming silver Range Rover and she, Kristen, Claire, and Dylan clawed their way out as if a fuel explosion were imminent. “Eh. Ma. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd!” they shrieked.

  Gripping each other’s arms, they gazed across the empty parking lot, seething with excitement.

  “Maybe it’s a mirage,” Claire offered, shielding her eyes from the bright morning light that bounced off the asphalt.

  Speechless, Dylan slid on her Bulgari mirrored sunglasses.

  “How much do you think it cost?” Kristen lifted the brim on her straw Roxy visor.

  “Six thousand eight hundred and seventy-one dollars,” Massie blurted. “We came in a hundred and twenty-nine dollars under budget. My dad is majorly proud.”

  Kristen and Claire exchanged one of their usual must-be-nice-to-be-rich glances. Massie let it go.

  It was a new day. Her second chance had arrived.

  A beaming grin lit Massie’s face like a sunrise. “Let’s go!”

  Without another word, the girls whipped off their strappy wedges, scooped them up, and raced toward their new classroom. They stomped over tiny pebbles and black oil dribbles and flattened gum wads without the slightest concern for their pumice-stone pedicures. Because they weren’t just running for their lives—they were running for their social lives. And nothing was more motivating than that.

  For a split second, Massie thought she heard Alicia panting, begging them to “wait up” as she lagged behind. But she shook the old voice from her mind, increased her speed, and ran past the memory. In fact, she ran past them all; ex-friends, ex-crushes, ex-bomb shelters, ex-main buildings, ex-cafés, and her ex-alpha status. From this moment on, the past was done.

  “It’s a miracle,” Claire huffed when they arrived at the trailers.

  The dingy white crates had been painted robin’s egg blue. They were wrapped in giant white satin bows, and the words TIFFANY & co. were stamped on the side in black block letters. They looked exactly like the jewelry store’s famed boxes—only a billion times bigger.

  “It’s puuur-fect.” Dylan fanned her pits.

  Kristen bounced on the balls of her bare feet and air-clapped. “We should enter it as a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade.”

  Massie dabbed her misting eyes with the corner of her brown metallic pin-striped halter dress. “It’s ex-actly how I sketched it. I awnestly can’t believe—” Her new iPhone vibrated. She thumbed the touch screen and retrieved her new text message.

  Effie: U like?

  Massie: Luv! Like x 1000! thx!!!!!!!!!!!

  Effie: Go inside.

  Massie: Bout 2.

  She clapped her phone shut. “Let’s check out the in—” Her cell vibrated again.

  Effie: Cute dress btw. Love the shimmer pinstripes. Who makes it?

  “What?” Massie searched the thin gray branches of the surrounding trees, as if Effie might be perched on a limb petting a squirrel with one hand and texting with the other.

  Effie: Roof.

  Massie turned toward BOCD’s sprawling stone Main Building and looked up. “Ehmagawd!” Effie, looking like the letter L in a size-eight font, was dressed in all-black, waving binoculars over her head, rescue-me style.

  Massie: ?????

  Effie: Making sure everything goes right.

  Massie: Thx :) … going in now.

  Effie: N-joy.

  “Sandals on,” Massie ordered, leading the NPC up the ruby red velvet-covered staircase.

  Claire wobbled slightly as she fastened her yellow Marc Jacobs wedges. She grabbed the plush banister to steady herself. “It feels just like the inside of the boxes our charm bracelets came in.”

  “That was the whole point.” Massie reached for the bumpy, white glitter-covered door handle. “Aren’t you happy I made you cute today?”

  Claire glanced down at the Trust Fund green lace Juicy blouse and dark cropped Hudsons Massie had Inez deliver to the guesthouse that morning. “Totally.”

  “I always look cute.” Dylan grabbed the hem of her yellow-and-white daisy-covered luau dress and giggle-rushed past Claire.

  “Not as cute as me.” Kristen slapped the butt of her gold C&C woven romper and charged past them both. “Open it!” She stomped her bronze Roman sandaled-foot impatiently.

  Massie turned the coarse handle. “Here. It. Isn’t.” She giggled while the others bashed into her back.

  “Come awn!” they urged.

  But Massie wanted to linger in this hope-zone a little while longer, just in case disappointment was waiting on the other side of the semi-glossed blue door.

  “Hurry.” Kristen flapped her hands, dribbling invisible basketballs. “The LBRs will be here in a few minutes. And you said you wanted to see it before—”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Massie took a deep breath. Opened the door. Stepped inside. Then exhaled.

  “Eh. Ma. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!”

  Every surface had been covered in something shimmery, which reflected sunlight-soaked kisses in their eyes. White fluffy cotton covered the walls, and red velvet lined the ceiling and floors.

  “This is how diamonds must feel all the time,” Claire gushed.

  “Yup.” Massie sparkled.

  “It’s so cashmere-ic.” Dylan rushed past her and hugged the luxurious walls.

  “And these are sooo gem-tastic.” Kristen marveled at the three rows of mirrored desks that gleamed like unclasped tennis bracelets.

  “Lift the top.” Massie bit her lower lip in anticipation.

  “Ehmagawd, it’s a vanity,” Kristen said to her reflection. “And look at the chairs!”

  Everyone slid into padded white recliners—inspired by the massage pedicure chairs at Golden Nails—and flipped open their desks, locking the tops in a vertical position with the silver hook. Inside the velvet-lined cubbies were solar cell phone chargers and metallic mesh makeup caddies stuffed with Sephora products.

  Massie scanned the inventory.

  • Sugar Travel Tan face bronzer

  • L’Occitane 100 percent pure shea butter hand cream

  • DuWop Lip Venom

  • Lancôme’s Juicy Tubes (Cherry Burst, Copper Cabana, Exotic Kiss, and Dreamsicle)

  • 1 oz. petite perfumes (Prada, Bobbi Brown’s Beach, Kiehl’s Cucumber Oil, and Chanel Mademoiselle)

  • Frédéric Fekkai glossing hair cream

  • Evian face mist

  It was all there.

  “The boys’ desks are stocked with Gatorade, Axe deodorant, Axe body spray, Altoids, and Crest Whitestrips,” she announced.

  “Sooo awesome,” Kristen said to the mirrored cutouts of stars and moons and snowflakes that hung from the ceiling on thin iridescent threads known to fashion insiders as Lurex. “I sketched that. And here it is. I can’t believ
e it.” She twirled like a kid in a Christmas blizzard, mesmerized by the light reflecting off her mobile and onto the cotton-covered walls.

  “This was my idea.” Claire knocked the white, wall-mounted dry-erase board that replaced the ugly green chalkboard. “Instead of chalk, Ms. Dunkel can use these.” She held up a bouquet of bright-colored markers.

  “Love it!” Massie air-clapped.

  “This was all me!” Dylan shouted from the back of the class, where a row of sixteen matching brown-and-gold monogrammed Louis Vuitton suitcases were mounted on iron hooks. “Say hello to our new lockers.” She sniffed the leather. “Effie got them from my mom’s travel closet at the studio.”

  “What is this?” an enraged girl’s voice hollered from the doorway.

  The NPC whip-turned their heads, dying to know who could possibly take issue with such perfection.

  Layne, wearing a denim bucket hat and an orange DIY T-shirt dress that said TRAILER PRIDE kicked the cotton wall with her black MBTs, leaving behind a muddy round footprint. “How could you do this?”

  “Do what?” Massie shut her vanity and stood. Was Layne Abeley seriously serious? Was it possible she didn’t absolutely ah-dore the makeover? Or was this her attempt at humor? Either way, Massie had no tolerance for anything short of praise and worship.

  “Meena, Heather, Dempsey, come see this atrocity,” Layne called, her slitty green eyes targeting Massie.

  “Layne, are you a diaper?”

  “No!” she snapped.

  “Then why are you so pissed?”

  The NPC cracked up from their vibrating white massage chairs.

  “I’ll tell you why.” Layne shot Claire a whose-side-are-you-on scowl as she marched by. Stopping in front of Massie’s desk, she leaned forward until they were practically bumping eyelashes. Her breath smelled like maple syrup. “We were part of something raw and groundbreaking. We were outcasts. Educational outlaws. Pioneers! Charged with rebuilding and redefining school as we know it. And in one weekend, you came along and made us Main Building again. These trailers belonged to the people! They weren’t yours to make over. We should have voted.”

  “Puh-lease.” Massie waved her away like stinky spray-tan fumes.

  They were interrupted by the quick hiss of a room deodorizer that shot a hydrating burst of vanilla mineral water every seven minutes.

  “Oh, I’m sure the asthmatics are gonna love that.” Layne scribbled a note on her spiral flip-top Hello Kitty pad.

  Massie clenched her fists, trying to quell her thumping heartbeat, which pounded rage into every part of her body and made her palms itch. How dare Layne be anything but grateful? How dare she stand there and—

  “Who called Ty Pennington?” chuckled Dempsey as he stomped up the steps in his rugged, unlaced, worn-out work boots. “This place is …” He paused, searching for the right word.

  Layne and Massie watched him with unwavering focus, like courtroom opponents, waiting for the judge’s final verdict.

  “Wow!” He kissed his golden brown fingers and winked at Massie.

  Her cheeks warmed. She quickly turned away to swat a fly that wasn’t there so no one would see her blush.

  “You like it?” Layne stormed toward the exit, which was now crowded with curious LBRs.

  “Totally.” Dempsey’s voice screeched with certainty. “I learned a lot about transformation and self-improvement over the sum—”

  “Spare me.” Layne shoulder-nudged him and a few of the LBRs on her way out. “Prrooooootest!” she shouted, stomping down the stairs and shaking the trailer. “Who’s with meeeee????”

  Meena and Heather were the only two who answered. The rest of the LBRs burst through the doorway with force.

  They squealed and gushed and gasped and oooohed and ahhhhed and touched and poked and whooped with delight. Outside, masses of Main Building girls gathered, snapping cell-phone pictures and envy-whispering. Layne and Meena and Heather tried to force petitions in front of their faces, but the MB-ers refused to sign. They were too overwhelmed to do anything but stare.

  A familiar buzz tickled the bottoms of Massie’s feet. It was her inner alpha-meter. And it was vibrating maximum intensity to let her know she had reached MAP (Maximum Alpha Potential). Finally.

  “Who wants to see what we did to the inside?” she shouted from the open window. Dozens of MB-ers flocked to the steps, hoping to get a glimpse before the first-period bell rang.

  Seconds later, the trailer was filled with yet another round of squeals and gushes and gasps and oooohs and ahhhhs. But it was the people who weren’t there whom Massie noticed most.

  Alicia, Derrington, Josh, Cam, Plovert, Kemp—the ones who needed to know she was back and more fabulous than ever. Where were they?

  Another incoming text message hummed on Massie’s iPhone.

  Effie: Get them out! ASAP!

  Massie: Huh?

  Effie: Make them want access. Then deny it. They will want what they can’t have. Hurry!

  Massie snapped her phone shut. “All nonmembers must get out!” she shouted. “We have some secret overflow business to attend to.”

  Dylan, Kristen, and Claire immediately herded the MB-ers toward the door. And before long, the LBRs were helping.

  Once the MB-ers had cleared out, Massie sat and gazed out at her cotton-filled kingdom. Something was off. The room was flawless. Her friends were by her side. And the LBRs worshipped her again. So what was it???

  Her amber eyes scanned the three rows of mirrored desks, bumping and rolling over every poorly dressed body that occupied them until it struck her. The LBRs, with their limp hair, dull complexions, and drab garage-sale wardrobes, clashed in this environment. They were Zales earrings in Tiffany boxes.

  After a quick round of text messages, Massie stood. “LBRs, listen up.”

  Everyone turned to their leader, anxious to know what she had in store for them next.

  “Um, excuse me.” Great White tucked a dirty blond strand of oily hair behind her ear, her wide-set shark eyes blinking nervously. “What’s an LBR?”

  It was obvious from the sudden silence that many others had the same question.

  The NPC giggled into their palms. Massie struggled to keep a straight face.

  “Look at your desk.”

  Great White, Twizzler, Big Mac, Braille Bait, Powder, Monkey Paws, Blond Lincoln, Bag Hag, Candy Corn, Putty, Dempsey, and Loofah lowered their heads and gazed at their reflections in the mirror.

  “Not you, Dempsey.” Massie stopped the caramel-colored blond just in time. “Not anymore.”

  He lifted his army green eyes and dimple-smiled, “Thank you,” even though he had no clue what he was thanking her for.

  Massie batted, “You’re welcome,” with her Lancôme lashes.

  “Now what?” Great White asked.

  Massie refocused. “See that?”

  “What? My face?” Her sparse light brows lowered in confusion.

  The NPC giggled harder.

  “Yup, your face.” Massie fought her twitching lips. “That’s an LBR.”

  Great White, Twizzler, Big Mac, Braille Bait, Powder, Monkey Paws, Blond Lincoln, Bag Hag, Candy Corn, Putty, and Loofah exchanged confused glances.

  The NPC exploded into a collective cackle.

  “But don’t worry,” she assured her subjects. “I can help.”

  Their mouths hung open, salivating for whatever it was she had to offer.

  “Tonight …” She pushed back the bell sleeves on her brown metallic pin-striped dress. “… leave your homework in your Samsonites. It’s makeover time!”

  They cheered with uninhibited glee while Massie slumped back in her cushy seat. Programming her chair to vibrate, she shut her eyes and practiced deep breathing. Once relaxed, she began picturing each LBR, compiling a hair, makeup, and wardrobe strategy for each one.

  Her heart raced just thinking about the amount of work that lay ahead. Turning trailers into Tiffany boxes was one thing. But coal into diamonds was
quite another.

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  IN

  OUT

  Tiffany’s

  Trailers

  New LBRs

  LBRs

  TBD*

  TBD*

  *In this particular case, TBD does not stand for “To Be Decided.” It’s code for “Total Babe Dempsey” and “Too Bad, Derrington.” But Massie refused to write that. Puh-lease! What if someone found her Palm? She’d have to kick herself out of the NPC, and that was so nawt an option. Besides, it was a harmless crush. Nothing at all to be concerned about. Nuh-thing!

  WESTCHESTER, NY

  JAKKOB’S SALON

  Monday, September 14th

  4:30 P.M.

  The LBRs squeezed together on Jakkob’s round red leather couch in the center of the predominantly black marble salon, studying the makeover spreadsheet Massie created while nibbling on Inez’s famous cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches.

  LBR HAIR: JA$$$[MS PAGE NO 162]$$$ FACE:$$$[MS PAGE NO 162]$$$ WARDROBE SUGGESTIONS HPC: BEAUTY REP

  Great White 1. Blond highlights. 1. Hydrating facial to get rid of scaly complexion. 1. NO GRAY OR WHITE! Dylan Marvil—good with bright colors.

  2. Add body by layering. 2. Eye shadow to make it look like your eyes aren’t attached to your ears. 2. Bright, non-shark-like colors.

  3. Trim split ends. 3. Lip liner so it looks like you have lips and not just a food hole. 3. Miniskirts to show off your defined calves. They are your best feature.

  Braille Bait 1. Bangs to hide the forehead bumps. 1. Noncomedogenic concealer. 4. NO RED OR PURPLE. It draws attention to the pink splotches on your skin. Kristen Gregory—sweats often during soccer practice, so prone to breakouts.

  2. Noncomedogenic foundation. 2. Pastels would be best. Good with pore cleansing and dressing to distract from zits.

  3. Noncomedogenic blush. 3. Skinny jeans, ballet flats, and empire tops. This will flatter your thin legs and hide the little roll of fat that hangs over your leggings.

  4. Mascara.

  5. Smile.