I end up telling Beth everything—Mr. Werner, the failed test, how I got kicked off the team, and of course, all the posts about me on DD.
“I’m sorry about DD,” she says. “But everyone’s got Dirt on them on the app. God knows I’ve got my own share of DD gossip.”
“Really?” I sniffle. It’s hard to imagine Beth being gossiped about. She’s so nice, she’s like a sitcom character.
Beth sits up. “I have just the thing to cheer you up.”
“A passing grade in English Lit?”
“Okay, I have the second-best thing to cheer you up. Tonight, get dressed and meet me outside my room at nine.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Just meet me there at nine. Bring a jacket.”
***
Five minutes to nine, and I’m standing outside Beth’s door, armed with a fake cold. I feel bad about flaking out, but after spending the rest of the afternoon alternating between worrying about track and worrying about English Lit, all I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep this terrible, no-good day away.
“You’re early!” Beth says, by way of greeting. She’s super dressed up—a bright-yellow, figure-hugging dress with flowers up one shoulder, hair all glossy and curled, heels that go all the way up to the sky. She pauses as she takes in my grubby Futurama shirt and greasy hair. “Well, good thing we’re early.” And then she yanks me into her room.
“I don’t—” I stop and stand there, gaping at the sight of her room. Wow, I had no idea a dorm room could look like this. How do I describe Beth’s room? It’s like a Buzzfeed intern was given unlimited funds to decorate it. The walls are painted a light peach, there are white, faux fur throws everywhere—even her chair is lined with white, faux fur—and clumps of healing crystals here and there. It would be really pretty, if not for the incredible mess—there are mounds of clothes strewn everywhere.
“Put this on,” she says, grabbing something from one of the mounds and throwing it at me.
I catch it. It’s a silver dress made of the softest material I’ve ever touched. The label says Chanel. “I—wait, I can’t—this is Chanel.” It probably costs more than an entire month’s rent.
“Yeah, you’re right, Chanel is so basic. Okay, um…how about this one?”
“No, that’s not what I meant—” I catch the second dress before it hits the floor. The label says Dior. “All this stuff is way too expensive.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” She sighs, and I know she’s about to say something condescending that will completely ruin our friendship. “Lia, honey.” My heart skitters. Here it comes. Time stutters. Her plumped lips move in slow motion. “Look at your abs. You were made for Dior.”
God, I love Beth. Even as I laugh, she’s rummaging in her closet. She resurfaces with a pair of sparkly heels.
“Shirt off! Come on, let’s get going.”
There’s no use arguing with her. I hurriedly undress and slip the dress over my head, and oh. Whoa. Is that really me? The dress doesn’t show cleavage or anything, but somehow, I look unbelievably hot. I move this way and that, marveling at the way the material moves with me. The dress goes surprisingly well with my kris necklace.
“Oh, to have your body,” Beth sighs. “Okay, Cinderella. Let’s go.”
Outside, the air is bracingly cold. It doesn’t take long before my teeth start chattering.
“Where are we going?”
“Dude, don’t be so loud, or we’ll get caught.”
What? I’d assumed—I don’t know why, maybe because Beth exudes Good Asian Kid out of every pore—that the school allows parties once in a while. But now that I realize we’re breaking school rules, I don’t know. I’m excited, but mostly I really, really want to run back to my room and hide under the covers.
We creep all the way to the far end of the Eastern Gardens, where a ten-foot-tall hedge borders the grounds.
“I can’t climb that in this dress,” I say. The thought of ruining one of Beth’s thousand-dollar dresses is enough to make me sweat despite the frigid weather. I fan my armpits desperately. How do rich people keep from getting sweat stains on their expensive clothes?
“We’re not climbing anything, sa gua.” She creeps along the hedge, one hand trailing across the leaves. “Here it is.” She gets to her hands and knees and burrows into the hedge. Within two seconds, she’s gone.
We’ve gone full Narnia. I stand there, hesitating, and jump when Beth says, “Hell-ooo, come on, Lia. We’re all just waiting for you.”
We? All?
I scoot my dress up a few inches and kneel on the grass, wincing at how cold and wet it is. At a glance, the hedge seems solid, but when I look closer, there’s a hole behind a layer of leaves. I push my hand through it, revealing a hole just big enough for me to squeeze through.
“Alright, Lia!” It’s Sam, looking stunning in a blue, body-con dress. She helps me up and gives me a quick hug. “Glad you could make it.”
Grace stands behind her, equally gorgeous in a backless, red dress. She smiles and waves at me. What’s going on?
“We’re really sorry you’ve been getting so much crap on DD,” Sam says. “Um. We’re kind of too chickenshit to say anything publicly, but we thought we’d take you out clubbing to make up for it.”
“Oh. I mean. That’s just.” I turn away so they can’t see how full my eyes are. “Thank you.”
Sam waves me off and takes something small and black out of her purse. She hits a button. Next to her, Grace does the same.
Lights flood the grove. My mouth drops open. Two cars are parked a few paces away. Not just any cars. They look like something Batman would drive to Pride.
“You got the Aston in pink?” Beth says. “That is the cutest.”
“Wait till you see the inside. I got it all blinged out. Lia, you’re with me. Beth, you slum it in Grace’s Porsche.”
I’ve never been in a sports car before and getting in is a lot trickier than it seems, especially because the car sits so low. I feel gigantic and awkward, all knees and elbows, but once I’m in, it’s surprisingly spacious.
“Belts on!” Samantha says, sliding in gracefully. The engine turns on with a rumble. It sounds hungry. “Ready?”
My reply turns into a squeak as the car leaps forward. I clutch the side handle, getting that sick roller-coaster feeling of my guts being pressed into my spine. I want to yell SLOW DOWN, AAAAHHHH, but then maybe Samantha won’t like me anymore and OH GOD, A TREE—
With a practiced flick of the wrist, the car swings left. I glance at Samantha. She’s perfectly relaxed. I force myself to swallow the bile that’s risen up my esophagus.
We zoom down the empty streets, and before long, we pass by a YOU’RE LEAVING DRAYCOTT sign. Sam won’t tell me where we’re headed, and my mouth drops open when the Golden Gate Bridge suddenly looms before us. The lights of the city twinkle in the distance, and in no time at all, I find myself in the heart of San Francisco.