WESTCHESTER THEATER
OFFICE
5:02 PM
JULY 5, 2013
Cautiously, Alicia knocked on the door, then let herself in. Sitting at a prominent mahogany desk was a husky man with unruly dark hair and a walrus mustache that he was twirling absentmindedly while studying a headshot. Of herself, she realized as she approached.
"You're late," the man informed her as she came closer.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. She would not screw this up. No matter how much his attitude bothered her. She lifted her hand toward his. "I'm Alicia Rivera."
He raised his shoulder a fraction. "And I'm in a cast. I broke my arm a few weeks ago in a nasty fall, so I can't shake. I can do it the lefty way if you'd like."
She shrugged. "It's okay."
Looking up, he noticed she was hovering over the chair. "Oh, take a seat!" he urged, steepling his fingers and leaning his chin on them. "My name is Mr. Meyers," he said, handing over a business card. "I specialize in ballet, modern, and character dancing. I presume I am your first meeting?" She nodded. "Then I am to inform you of how this works. I give you a packet of looseleaf paper. You write my name at the top. Then you take notes: on me, on this meeting, on what I tell you, whatever you want. At the end, you give me a rating out of ten. Clearly, one is the worst, ten is the best. I also give you a rating. All through the day of Tuesday, July 10, you have meetings with anyone who you rated six or over and we rated eight or over. For example, if you rate me a four, but I rate you a nine, we don't meet. If I rate you a four, and you rate me a nine, we still don't meet. If you rate me a seven, and I rate you a ten, then we meet. Don't worry; you will turn in your packet later and we will turn in ours, and your dance coach will take care of sending you e-mails so you know about your meetings. Also, when someone asks you a question at any of these meetings, you answer the question. You don't elaborate, you don't explain, not unless you're asked to. Got it?"
"Yes, sir." She pinched a pen sticking out of a glass container with the pads of her fingers and raised her eyebrows.
"Yup, you may certainly use that. And you may bring it with you to your other meetings."
She scribbled something onto her paper under his name, and Mr. Meyers grinned, betting it was good. "So, Alicia, you are 11 years old?"
"12," she corrected. "My birthday is June 8."
"2002?" She nodded. "Oh, okay." He scribbled something out and wrote in red pen over it. "Okay," he repeated. "Now. How long have you done dance?"
"Since I was four," she replied.
"Anything other than modern?"
"I started with ballet, went onto pointe when I was eight, then added jazz until I was almost ten. Then I quit both and moved onto modern and crew, mostly modern, but I still do ballet classes once in a while for fun."
"Okay." He wrote something down with a frown. "Do you have siblings, and do any of them do dance?"
"Yes... and no. I have a younger sister and brother who are twins, and actually they were born only two days ago. So they do not dance, although I'm hoping at least the sister follows in my footsteps." She snickered mentally at her own attempt at humor.
"How is your mother now?" Mr. Meyers inquired.
"She's doing well, and so are the twins, thanks."
He nodded deeply. "Tell her she has my congratulations."
"Thank you. I will." She was trying her hardest to be as polite as possible. She would not mess something up with someone who had potential to help her get her dream job.
But then the question she knew was coming came.
"Have you ever captained or co-captained?"
"No, sir. Nawt unless you count having the lead in the school musical in third grade." She made a face.
"I take it you were forced?"
"Yes, sir."
He laughed. "Alright, Miss Alicia, this meeting is over." And without giving a clue to his rating of her, he smiled and reached over, with his left hand, to shake hers. She accepted.
KISSIMMEE PAGEANT
FRONT ROW
5:11 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"Is swimsuit always this long?" Claire moaned, popping a red Tropical Skittle into her mouth. It was her third bag of the night, but hey, she had the whole BJ's-size box of them, and no one else was interested in eating her snacks.
"You used to love swimsuit," Judi chided. "Come on, kiddo, what's wrong? You can tell me."
Todd leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on his sister's ear. "Yeah, Claire, you can tell us." He swooned up close and puckered his lips, blinking. He looked like a dying fish.
"Cuz I'm really going to say anything with that creep running around." She flicked Todd on the skull, hard enough that they would have heard it if the noise from the crowd wasn't so loud.
"That's not nice, Claire." Judi sighed. "And honestly, what's wrong with swimsuit? At least tell me that."
Claire couldn't tell her that either. Because truly, the bathing garments the girls on stage (including Abby Boyd, even though she was judging) were sporting, along with huge smiles and gigantic Cole Haan and Louis Vuitton sunglasses, reminded her of how much fun she used to have in Florida. But if she told Mrs. Lyons that, then she'd also have to explain why she wasn't having fun anymore. Then she'd have to explain why. Then she'd end up crying. And then Todd would take a video and post it on YouTube. "I guess it's cuz they look so thin and I'm so fat," she told her. Anything was better than the truth.
"Oh, sweetie, you're not fat!" Although she was trying to look sympathetic, anyone could tell she was delighted that she had gotten to the heart of the problem. "Look, I'm fat." Judi jiggled her arm to prove that she had flab. Then she pinched her stomach.
"Why don't you do Pilates with Kendra, then?" Claire snapped. "She even has a personal trainer, and she's offered it up a billion times. Just take her up awn it! Have you seen her stomach? It's like this." She lifted her shirt a fragment, just up to right above her belly-button, and sucked her stomach in so much she looked emaciated. "And she has abs. Like, better abs than her husband. And Mass has them from doing Pilates too."
"How would you know about any of the Blocks' abs?" Judi inquired, a smile tilting up the corners of her mouth.
"Kendra I know because she comes swimming with us sometimes, and she wears a bikini."
"She wears a bikini?" Judi squawked. "How old is that woman?"
"I dunno... Maybe..." She tapped her chin, trying to recall what Massie had told her. "Probably around 39 or so."
"Oh. Well that explains it." Judi was sour. "And of course she takes Botox."
"And I know what Massie's abs look like because she also swims in bikinis. Plus, we awl change in one room when we have sleepovers. Except Alicia. She hates her boobs."
"You look at each other changing?" Judi furrowed her brow.
"No! But you just know these things, Mom."
"Here's the one I'm interested in: how do you know about William's abs?"
"Oh, I don't," Claire assured her quickly. "I'm just guessing."
Judi shook her head and ran a hand through her frizzy locks and spontaneously changed the subject. "I don't even know what color my hair is these days-I go to the hairdresser too much."
"Maybe blonde, or auburn. I don't really know, Mom. I don't care."
"Don't be like that. Look, I'm trying to distract you, but clearly you're just worried about whatever it is that's bothering you. So why don't you tell me?"
"Cuz of him!" she exclaimed, pointing to her brother. Really, she had no intention of telling her mother, whether Todd was there or not, but it was a good reason. And it wasn't like they were going to go somewhere without him right in the middle of the pageant.
"I have to pee!" her brother suddenly whined desperately.
"Oh God." Judi jumped up. "This is when it stinks being in the middle. Claire, will you be okay sitting here by yourself? You know not to move, or people will take our seats, and you know how to get back to the hotel in a cab if you get lost, or we get lost, right?"
"Duh, Mom. It's the Hilton in Orlando, right by Disney. I'm sure someone in this vast crowd of people can take me there."
"You don't ask "someone" unless you recognize them or if it's a woman with kids. Understood?"
"Uh-huh." She sat tight in her seat. A spring inside her was coiling up, although she didn't realize it. But the second her mom was out of sight, she sprang up. She fought her way through the crowd until she arrived at the backstage entrance. Usually, there was a security guard. Right now, there was no one. She took it as an omen and let herself inside.
FRANCE
AUNT JEAN'S HOUSE
11:02 AM
JULY 5, 2013
"And can you feel this magic in the air? It must have been the way you kissed me. I fell in love when I saw you standing there. It must have been the way... today was a fairytale. It must have been the way... today was a fairytale." The lyrics of her old favorite song made her smile as she brushed her wavy chestnut hair off her face. Every other second, she would scorn herself for singing Taylor Swift. Then her heart would remind her. Alex Carson. Oh my God. Alex Carson.
To say her infatuation was bad was an understatement. Massie Block was obsessed in every sense of the word.
The way he'd smiled, and the way she'd gotten the nerve to push a soft clump of brown hair off his forehead. The way they'd talked for exactly two hours and four minutes before she'd had to go.
Whenever she thought about any of it, her heart skipped a beat. Or two.
NEW CHALET NEIGHBORHOOD
PARKING LOT
6:07 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"I just can't figure out which house is theirs," Ms. Miller muttered, tucking a blonde lock of hair behind her ear.
Kristen looked around at the confusing house numbers. 102, 108, 210, 381, 382. And they were all right next to each other. What the heck? Then she did a double-take. "Hold awn... I think I get it. She said her house was 216, so we want to go that way." She pointed in front of them, where the road curved left. "These are townhouses condos. One is right awn top of the other; that's why everything's screwed up. She doesn't live in one of these, Mom. She lives down the street, in those cottages."
"Oh." She pressed lightly on the gas and coasted the car around the bend, then stopped. "You mean to the right?" she asked, tilting her head.
"I think so." She squinted, trying to see what kind of houses they were. "Alright, well, try it, I guess."
"You know, I'm not so sure I want you to sleep over here if I can't easily find the house. What if it's dark and there's an emergency and I can't get to you? And it's your first time there too."
"I know, but-" She clamped her mouth shut. She'd almost told her mother why she was sleeping over. She and Layne were going to watch a huge mathetmatical bee extremely early the next morning, and Kristen knew her mother would never let her go in a million years, not all the way to southern New Jersey. So she'd begged permission for a slumber party. And what her mom didn't know wouldn't hurt her. "I really want to."
"Well, if I don't find it in the next minute..."
Kristen let out an agitated breath. "There is it!" she sqealed, bobbing in her seat. "There!"
"Where?" Gripping the wheel, she whipped the Subaru into a parking space. "Ha. You were right. 216. It's right here. I wonder why the GPS didn't work on these back roads."
"Me too." Kristen shrugged and grabbed her bag, hoisting it over her shoulder. It was an old gray and pink gym bag, one she'd never used when staying at Massie's or with another member of the Pretty Committee, but with Layne, anything was fine. "Are you coming in?" she asked her mother.
"Of course! I have to meet her parents before I let you stay here."
"Well, her dad's nawt here tonight. He's staying at a hotel near his office in Brooklyn."
"Oh." Marsha relaxed. "Well, I'd still like to say hi to her mother."
"Okay." Kristen led the way up to the gravel path toward the small residence that was number 216. She rang the doorbell, and then stepped back, because this was the only front door she'd ever seen that opened outwards. In a couple of seconds, full of fidgeting and exchanging glances with her mother, it was clear no one was coming to answer their call. She rang again, pressing hard with the pad of her index finger. They were once again ignored.
"Come on, Kristen." Her mother shook her head. "This seems wierd. I'll take you home and we can try again some other time."
"Hold awn." She wasn't giving up this easily. "Let's wait five minutes."
"Okay, but no more ringing. If they're in the bathroom or something, they'll think you very rude."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatevs." She settled onto the wooden bench by the doorway, leaning on the black metal arms. Then she noticed something. "Their car's here," she pointed out, narrowing her eyes. "I wonder..."
Then an Audi rolled in. Immediately, Layne's head stuck out. "I am so sorry! There was a huge line at-" she leaned back in to hear something someone was saying to her. Then she hopped out, grabbed three bags of groceries from the trunk, and sprinted toward Kristen "-there was a huge line at the supermarket, and then that red light off Route 6 broke down, so they had to get people to fix it, and it took, like, 45 minutes, and we were the third car in line so we couldn't go back and take the detour by Stony like the people in the back could and... ugh."
Marsha pulled her daughter aside. "She seems a little, er, ruffled. Can I hazard a guess she isn't part of Massie's group?
"You can," Kristen said stiffly and sourly. "But I'd think you were the last person who would have the opinion that looks matter more than personality."
"I'm not saying that, but-"
"I'm just going to bring these inside," Layne announced, producing a key from the pocket of her baggy jeans. With it came two squashed jelly-beans and a feather. "Oh, I forgot I had these!" she exclaimed, popping them in her mouth. The feather she removed from the mess carefully and tucked it into the wreath hanging on the front door. Then she strolled inside. "See you in a minute, Kris!" she called over her shoulder.
"Oh my." Her mom blushed. "I don't know if this is the best-"
"Just meet her mother," pleaded Kristen. "She's so nice."
And sure enough, a woman with ebony hair that matched Layne's (although it was combed a lot neater), black velour track pants, and a red sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up, had just gotten out of the driver's seat. She, too, grabbed some plastic bags, and then marched up toward them.
Automatically and instantly, Marsha turned polite. "Hi, I'm Marsha Miller, and this is my daughter, Kristen Gregory. We can't help you carry anything, can we?"
"No, no, it's fine," she assured them, sticking out a hand. Her wrist was covered in bracelets, from I Heart Boobies rubber ones for breast cancer to knotted ones that looked like friendship bracelets (but what grown woman wore friendship bracelets?), to real ones that looked like they could be diamond. "I'm Missy Abeley. Nice to meet you. And hi, Kristen, it's great to see you again."
"You too."
"Anyway, my husband would be here to meet you, but he's in the city for his job." She sighed as she led the Gregorys into the house. "If you don't mind, could you leave your shoes at the front? It's hard work cleaning dirt and mud off the carpets."
Marsha slipped off her ballet flats and rubbed at her feet. Today had been a tough day at Cafe Salsa.
Kristen hooked her white patent leather by Jimmy Choo ballet flats on her finger before gently sliding them to the floor. Then she followed Mrs. Abeley into the living room. "So here we are, the heart of the place. Living room, obviously. We have a tiny den off behind that door. In there is the master bedroom, over there is our son's room. And there's Layne's. She's probably waiting for you, Kristen."
She took that as a sign to take off, so she walked toward her friend's door. As she was about to knock, Layne pulled it open and almost slammed into her. "Oh, sorry, I was just going to look for you." She stepped grandly aside. "Come on in."
Surprisingly, her room was clean, with the bunk beds neatly made and her organized desk pushed against the stretch of wall underneath a window, where the sun still shone. "The mom made me do it for you, since it's your first visit and all. Don't expect it." She laughed.
"I wasn't even expecting it this time." Kristen winced, thinking of Layne's locker at school. There was a pile of papers just sitting there, taking up half of the five-foot space, and on top of that she plopped her binders, and on top of those her independent reading books, and on top of those, her daily snack, which could be anything from piping hot, it-smells-to-heaven oatmeal to mustard-covered popcorn kernels.
Layne smirked. "Must seem different than Massie and Alicia and Dylan's houses, ey?"
"It's kind of a welcome change, actually. I feel so... insecure and stuff there. Like, just cuz I'm middle-class they call it poor. Here I feel like I belong. Seriously. I mean, their houses aren't even houses. They're estates and mansions and manors and the ridiculous amount of money they give their combined staff is enough to pay off the debts of every Third World country awn the Earth."
"So why are you friends with them?"
"Cuz I like them, they like me, that makes us friends. And it's great hanging out with them. It's just that the places where they live are a little imposing. That's why I liked having our Friday Night Sleepovers in the guesthouse where Kuh-laire lives, cuz it was a little closer to normal. But Mass moved them to her bedroom." She stuck out her tongue. "Although speaking of staff, her chef makes the best sushi. And he does it by hand."
Layne whistled. "God, I should be part of the Pretty Committee." She grinned. "But if I may just point something out: I like Josh Hotz, that hot Spanish kid who plays forward on the Tomahawks. Even if he liked me, we could never be a couple."
"But he doesn't like you. And I know: he's going out with Leesh."
"But that's not the point! If he did-"
The door opened, and Marsha poked her head in. "Bye, Kristen, I'm leaving. I'll be picking you up at 1:00 tomorrow afternoon, okay?"
"Mo-om!" she shrieked, mortified. "You have to knock! This isn't your house!"
"I'm sorry. I don't think Layne minded. Bye, now. Hug, Kristen?"
Hurriedly, she performed the requested act and sat back down again on the floor, nudging the door closed with her foot. "Anyway, Layne?"
"If he did like me, that wouldn't just make us a couple. So just because you like them and they like you, you don't have to be friends."
"Well, I want to be friends with them," she scowled. "And your completely hypothetical Josh situation is different. You could never be a couple."
"And why not?" Layne raised a bushy eyebrow.
"Because he doesn't like you!"
"What if he did, though? Then could we be a couple?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Cuz..."
"Because I'm making you think about the social heirarchy of OCD, that's why! And you can't handle it! Because you know you're popular!"
"That's not why!" she argued. "But it is true. Josh is hawt and nice and uber-good at soccer and cool. And you're... you. No offense, Layne."
"Don't worry. I try to challenge the system. But don't you agree with me?"
"About the social heirarchy? Sure, Layne."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll give up. You don't get it like my other friends."
Kristen let that one slide. "Let's talk about something else. Did you do your summer reading?"
Layne sniggered. "That's your idea of "something else?"
"Fine! You suggest something!"
"I want to talk about the social he-"
"Give up, Layne!"
KISSIMMEE PAGEANT
BATHROOMS
6:38 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"Ehmagawd," Claire sob-whispered to no one. "Ehmagawd." She couldn't believe what had just happened. She had to tell somebody. Massie, preferably. But her phone didn't text or call internationally. Who was the next best? Layne. But she'd been ordered to ditch her. The other members of the Pretty Committee would kill her if they found out she'd been hanging out with Layme. She sighed. Kristen.
Deftly, she scrolled through her contacts and selected the Delta's name. It rang, and rang, and rang, and then went to voice-mail. Great. Her cell was off.
Alicia or Dylan? She wasn't particularly friends with either of them.
Alicia was cool, aloof, and would never admit to having friendship problems. Plus, she looked at Claire as though she were an LBR third-grader. No. She wasn't an option.
That left Dylan. She was bubbly and fun, but she also had the born-and-bred-elite personality built into her. She wouldn't solve this problem for Claire.
Or she could borrow her mother's phone and talk to Massie. But that involved explaining just what was going on. Because Judi would definitely ask why she had been crying, and why she wanted to talk to Massie. And she knew she couldn't talk to her mom about this. Not now, not ever.
Layne really was her only choice. She couldn't help grinning in spite of herself. It always came down to the true friend. Hesitantly, she dialed her number.
Layne picked up on the third ring. There was some scuffling, then a voice said, "Claire?"
"Layne! Hi!"
"What?"
"Hi!"
"No, I heard you. What do you want?"
"I'm-I'm-" And she broke down, crying hysterically.
"Do you want to talk to Kristen?"
"What?" She couldn't have heard her right.
"Do you want to talk to Kristen?"
"Why? Is Kristen with you?"
"Yeah, but her cell's dead. Here, I'll pass you over." There was a bang and a squeal, and then Kristen spoke.
"Kuh-laire? What's wrong?"
"I'm... MandyandSarahandSariditchedmecuztheythinkI'vechang ed. TheythinkI'mlikeyoubutI'mnawtlikeyou. ImeanIamlikeyoubutinagoodwayandIdon'tknowwhytheyha temeforit."
"Whoa. Slow down. Pause. Rewind. Play. Slower."
"Mandy and Sarah and Sari ditched me cuz they think I've changed. They think I'm like you but I'm nawt like you. Nawt you particularly but the entire Pretty Committee. And I mean I am like you guys but in a good way and I can't figure out why they hate me now. Can you tell me?"
She sounded so pitiful that Kristen wished she could teleport herself to Florida and give Claire a solid shoulder to cry on. "They probably think you're snobby."
"But... but am I?"
"Nawt compared to the rest of us. Look, moving to Westchester, you had to change. So you adapted. It's what we do best."
"I told them that."
"Well, if they didn't listen, they're nawt very good friends."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah." She braced herself.
"What are you doing with Layne? I thought she was awf-limits. I thought she was an LBR."
"Just between us." Kristen dropped her voice to a whisper, although the only person within hearing distance of either of them was the girl they were speaking of. "I still like her."
"Hey." Claire grinned. "I like her too."
WANG HOUSE
DYLAN'S ROOM
7:27 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"Dinner!" Vera hollered in the direction of her goddaughter's room.
"Coming!" Dylan shouted back, climbing off her bed, putting her iPhone 5 down, and strolling toward the kitchen. "Yum, Vera, this smells delicious."
"Thanks." She smiled. "And now I would like you to meet someone. Two people, actually."
Dylan thanked any lucky stars she might have left that first of all, she was wearing high-waisted green Chanel shorts with a gray Burberry top tucked in. A mostly gray Hermes tie she was using as a fashion-forward belt slithered through the loops of the shorts.
And secondly, she now had an excuse not to discuss moving to California and leaving Vera.
Two girls stepped inside. They were older than Dylan, at least in college, probably. Her mind ticked through the possibilities of who they could be. Then she placed them. They were-
"My daughters." Vera waved them closer. "Cecilia."
"Hey." She smiled tightly. "I'm Cecilia. Don't ask how old I am. It's a secret. I don't tell. Anyone."
"I don't even remember," joked Vera. "And this one's Josephine."
"I'm 17. I don't care if you know. I'm not old like her. And aren't you Dylan Marvil?"
"That's me."
"Merri-Lee Marvil's daughter, yes?" asked Cecilia.
She nodded. "Are you staying for a while?"
Josephine nodded. "We're doing a shoot for Mom." She put an arm around the older woman. "And we're really happy to meet you," she added. "If you're interested in doing the shoot with us, we'd be glad for you to join. It's not lingerie or anything," she explained, noticing Dylan's expression, "it's mostly jeans and there are a couple of sports bras, but Cecilia's agreed to do those. So you're good." She grinned.
Well, this changed things. How could she go to California when Vera Wang's daughters wanted her to do a photo shoot with them? "I'd be happy too."
"It'll be fun," Cecilia chimed in, checking her Blackberry.
Josephine tugged a corner of a gold iPhone out of her pocket. "I've got the 5," she told Dylan. "I don't know why she doesn't upgrade."
"I'm perfectly happy with my phone. When it turns crappy, I'll update."
Josephine smirked affectionally. "Whatever floats your boat." She turned to her mother. "The lasagna smells fantastic." She rubbed her flat belly. "God, it'll make me bloated."
Dylan thought Vera would convince her to eat anyway. She seemed like that kind of mother. So Vera's reply surprised her.
"Don't eat this, then. There are salad ingredients in the fridge. We cannot have a trace of pooch in my ad."
"I know, Mom." She crossed over to the refrigerator and threw it open. "Ugh. You know I hate tomatoes."
"Sorry. I think there might be red onions and tuna somewhere." She began dishing out food. "You girls do want lasagna, right?"
Dylan and Cecilia nodded enthusiastically.
In an effort to make conversation, the redhead decided to say something. "So how long will you guys be here?"
"Three weeks," Cecilia told her. "Actually, I meant to ask you: could we stay in your room? Cuz that used to be ours. You can take the couch for a little while, right?" She flashed a megawatt smile.
How could she say no? "Sure," she agreed graciously. "Of course."
Cecilia shot Josephine a triumphant beam. Her younger sister returned it with a smirk.
"You know," Josephine muttered, "I can't find any carrots in here. Can I take the baby ones?" She was mostly asking Dylan, as though she knew (although how could she?) that the baby carrots were Dylan's favorites.
"Sure." She shrugged, and once again, that look passed between Vera Wang's daughters.
Evil step-sister thing much?
WESTCHESTER THEATER
OFFICE
8:08 PM
JULY 5, 2013
With a sigh of relief, Alicia closed her last meeting and hurried downstairs to give her looseleaf packet to her coach. With a hurried thanks, she ran outside and dialed Alex. "¿Me puede recoger en el Teatro Westchester? ¿Dónde estaba mi recital?"
"Si."
"Gracias." Then Alicia sat down on the stone steps to await her driver. As she did that, she ticked off her meetings in her head. There were a few she'd especially hated, and a few she really liked. But she'd given almost all of them high scores, in case they'd wanted her. She'd never pass up an opportunity, especially if it was going to make her famous.
After a few minutes, when Alex still hadn't shown up, her thoughts turned to Dylan. Just because she was dance captain and hadn't picked her as her alternate didn't mean that they had to be enemies. Plus, Massie would murder her if she came home and her Beta and Gamma were deathly foes. And she'd blame Alicia, because she had the higher Pretty Committe rank. So she texted her.
HOLAGURRL: Hey Dyl.
BIGREDHEAD: Can't talk. At dinner. TTYL.
She had no way of knowing whether she was being ignored, or whether Dylan was actually eating. But then another text buzzed in.
BIGREDHEAD: K. I'm here. Sry. Vera's daughters r here.
HOLAGURRL: Vera's daughters? Like, Josephine and Cecilia Wang? OMG, I've wanted 2 meet them since I waz in diapers!
BIGREDHEAD: U could come over, I guess. But they're in my room, so u'll hav 2 sleep awn the couch w/ me.
HOLAGURRL: That's fine! I'll be over at 9:00 sharp.
BIGREDHEAD: I have 2 ask first...OK, she said u can come over. And watch the shoot 2morrow, if ur quiet.
HOLAGURRL: Definitely. I'll be there.
WANG HOUSE
FRONT PORCH
9:01 PM
JULY 5, 2013
Dylan answered the door.
"Ehmagawd. I was so excited I couldn't even be fashionably late!" For Alicia, that was huge. She was jumping up and down so hard, her boobs were bouncing out of her bra.
The redhead grinned. "They're so nice," she gushed. "Like, I'm nawt even kidding." She began to go inside.
"Wait! Rate me!"
"Okay. Miss Alicia Rivera is wearing a white pique eyelet summer dress with spaghetti straps and a loose, pleated skirt. Her hair is in a deep side-part with loose ringlets. In her ears are pink diamond earrings that match her lip gloss, eyeshadow, and blush. She also has a matching ring and necklace. Awn her feet are thin pink Victoria's Secret flip-flops. 9.5."
"What would make me higher?"
"Rub in that blush a little more. And your foundation's a little blotchy. You need a personal stylist."
"Mom's working awn it. Better?"
"Much. Come awn."
As they walked in, they were bombarded. First was Alicia, with a hug from Vera. "I've heard about you," she said, although the Beta couldn't figure out whether it a compliment or an insult. "It's nice to meet you."
Alicia brushed hair out of her eyes. "Thanks." She smiled shyly and turned to the sisters. "I've been looking forward to seeing you," she told them.
"Great," Cecilia said happily, looking her up and down. "I like your dress..."
"Alicia," she supplied.
"Alicia," Cecilia finished, reaching out to shake her hand.
The beauty took it and fought back a squeal. After a fast exchange with Josephine, Dylan led her into the den. "See? Nice."
Alicia agreed. She'd fallen for their facade, just like everyone else.
But the only two people in the world who knew Cecilia and Josephine's true colors were each other.