Hi all! So, here is the first thing I'm going to say to you: *this is a one-shot!* I'm not posting any more chapters unless I'm influenced by the very friendly nature of my temporary Australian neighbours (did I mention I've temporarily relocated due to family issues? At least I get some space). By the way, Australians do not say "g'day" or eat Vegemite with everything, and not many of the people I've met ride their kangaroos to work. However, I have seen some gorgeous koalas and wallabies, and one that might have been a kangaroo with a baby! So I'm glad I've visited Australia, has anyone else ever? Oh, yeah, I don't own Virals. This can take place any time, I was thinking after the second book. Hope you like it :)
Slamming the door of her house after school one Friday, Tory charged inside. Discarding her shoes and bag with a flourish, she manoeuvred speedily around a side table and barrelled for the kitchen. Tory had barely even passed through the kitchen doorway when she was knocked aside by It. A very blonde, very busty, very busy It.
Named Whitney.
Oh damn.
Tory bounced back out through the doorway of the kitchen, ending up in the hallway. Closing her eyes, she groaned inwardly. Tory was determined to get a sandwich, but with Whitney trying to make a fifteen-course meal for three people, on a Friday, she'd have to be quick or her brain cells would implode, or explode, or melt, or something. Tory could already feel her IQ dropping as she cautiously re-entered the kitchen, just seeing Whitney beginning to coo over her like a courageous, or very stupid, pigeon.
Shuffling around the opposite side of the kitchen from the stove, Tory rummaged in the cupboard for something edible that might taste vaguely compatible with two slices of bread and maybe a daub of butter. Her fingers closed around a promising-feeling jar and she extracted it from the cupboard, one ear half-paying attention to Whitney's prattling.
"..and basil!" Whitney clasped her hands enthusiastically. "It won't be the best with the Shardonnay, of course, but if we keep the basil as an undertone and maybe more of a creamy flavour over the top, won't it just be heavenly? And, of course, we can have those little napkin rings..."
Tory checked the label on the jar hopefully, ever-ready to have that sandwich she'd been craving since Hi stole her lunch.
Oh.
Tomato paste.
Never mind.
Reluctantly placing the paste back, she opened the cupboard door wider, trying to read a label. Jam, honey, marmite, whatever they might have that spread on bread would do. Finally, Tory found a jar of nutella and opened it enthusiastically, then stopping when she saw the use-by date.
Big mistake. Not finding the nutella, but opening the cupboard door wider. The problem was, it'd caught Whitney's attention.
And that was never a good thing.
"What are you doing, dearest?" Whitney fluttered her eyelashes at Tory like the next diva model.
"Stuff." Tory's signature answer.
"Victoria, darling, a young lady should always answer politely when she is asked a question." Whitney's voice was as sugar-coated as a chocolate raisin.
"'kay, Whitney. What were you saying about basil?" Diversion tactics. Replacing the nutella, Tory crossed her fingers.
"Basil? Oh! I found the sweetest dress for you Victoria! I didn't buy it yet, but I will! It reminded me of basil because it's the exact same shade. I wonder if..."
Tory sighed - this sandwich was going to be a long time in coming.
Crossing to the fridge, Whitney pulled out some chicken, still babbling about fashion, although she threw in the occasional comment about food. Tory stood glumly, waiting for Whitney to get out of the way so she could find some jam or something.
"...and we can jewellery shop! I have a friend who owns a private store, and she has the most fabulous emerald collection! Emeralds would be absolutely lovely on you, Victoria..." Whitney squealed in excitement as a thought hit her. "Oh, Victoria! We'll get your ears pierced!"
Tory froze in horror, her mouth hanging open.
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Whitney..."
"Why ever not? It'll look lovely for your debut, and cotillion, and I can call my friend at the jewellery shop, she's got the most gorgeous little studs..."
"Whitney," Tory started slowly, hoping to be clear enough that the blonde bimbo could actually understand what she meant. "I don't want my ears pierced."
Whitney turned around, her features widened in utter shock. "You.. you don't want to pierce your ears?" Her voice was high in disbelief. "Tory, that's impossible. Everyone wants their ears pierced."
"You called me Tory," the girl in question noted. "Anyway, it's not impossible. I don't. See, they get caught, and they're a pain to sleep in, and you have to change them, and then you'll make me wear a million-dollar pair for stupid cotillion, and-"
Whitney's perfect eyebrows disappeared into her carefully styled hair and her eyes widened like an owl's. "Stupid cotillion? Stupid cotillion? Victoria Brennan, those cotillions are one of the most positive influences on your life! For once a month you get to be a proper female, instead of tramping around with those... those scruffy boys on that smelly island! Wearing shorts! For heaven's sake, Victoria! You only have proper friends in cotillion! Those girls are practically your sisters!"
Tory saw red for a second. Then she retaliated. "Sisters? Sisters? I hate them! And they hate me! They're trust-fund, prissy, snobby idiots! And they're more interested in popularity than actually having friends, which is why I hang around with the guys! They're my friends because we actually care about each other, not our frigging reputation!"
Whitney recoiled in horror. "Snobs? Victoria, those are Charleston's finest young ladies, belonging to the most elite families around for miles! It's a privilege to be able to attend cotillion with them, you should be absolutely honoured!"
"Well I'm not. They're awful people, Whitney! I'm not trying to be popular, I don't want to be 'introduced to society' if I have to be social with them, those silly, fluff-brained snobs who only care about themselves and their hair!"
"Victoria Brennan! I'm astounded at your lack of manners and grace! The lovely ladies who attend cotillion with you are wonderful girls who wish to contribute to society!"
"Yeah, by being the next model on the ever popular magazine Blond Idiots!"
By the time Tory decided she was wasting her life and stormed off to her bedroom, the two girls were flat-out screaming at each other. Tory stomped to her bed and sat down on it with a huff. Then, her stomach grumbled loudly.
Tory punched the pillow next to her in frustration, then jumped up and went back outside the house.
...
Hi Stolowitski opened the door, straightening out his flamboyant shirt, only to see Tory standing on the doorstep. She got right to the point.
"Got any food?"
And there you have it. Reviews are great, but it'd be pretty stupid if you followed this as it's almost certainly remaining as a one-shot. Hope you enjoyed it!