Bratfest At Tiffany's

BOCD
ASSEMBLY HALL

Thursday, September 17th
8:49 A.M.

Massie led the NPC and the NLBRs past the row of silver lockers toward the auditorium. They were exactly four minutes late for the schoolwide assembly. Perfect!
“Main Building is sooo last year,” she said.
“So is this stale lunchbox smell.” Kristen fanned the air.
“Sorry.” Dylan laughed. “That was me.”
“Ew!” Massie expected to hear Alicia say. But a muted giggle from Claire was all she got.
Stopping in front of the heavy double doors, Massie held up her palm like a crossing guard.
“Let’s just go inside,” Braille Bait urged. “We’re gonna get detentions.” She thrust her Valentine Fossil watch toward Massie’s chin.
“Ehmagawd, are those precious pink and baby blue hearts on the band?”
Braille nodded proudly.
“Then get it away from me,” Massie snapped.
“What are we waiting for?” squirmed Loofah.
“We have to make an entrance,” Massie insisted.
“Why?” Big Mac mumbled. “It didn’t exactly work so well last time you tried it.”
The NLBRs snickered. Massie’s fists curled. How dare they talk back to her after everything she had done for them?
“Um, Big Mac, are you a—” Massie stopped herself. She needed her flock to be happy and confident if they were going to remain enviable. Reducing them to tears would have to wait. “Now, everyone, please line up for a quick evaluation. Girls in front of me, boys in front of Dempsey.” She smiled as a line of male NLBRs dutifully faced him. His entire face smiled back.
Shyly, Massie looked away, her insides a vibrating Motorola.
“I’ll start.” Massie spun slowly, then froze. “My gray metallic stretch jeans look ah-mazing with my red Kors flats and white baby-doll top. My high pony is super-long thanks to my clip-on hair extensions and super-ah-dorable thanks to my purple streak. I’m all good.” She unfroze, hands on her hips and face at a three-quarter angle favoring the left. She was ready. “Next!”
Dylan stepped forward. Massie scanned her, but it was mostly for show, since they’d had extensive wardrobe meetings the night before. “The electric blue halter looks great with your red curls. Love the super-faded jeans. Next.”
Kristen stepped forward. “Love the yellow hooded Capri jumpsuit. Very bold and sporty. Totally you. Next!”
“Kuh-laire, my denim Citizens minidress looks great on you. Don’t scuff the orange MJ flats. I just got them. Next!”
“Monkey Paws, what did I say about wearing apelike clothing? Take off that brown angora cardigan and go white tank only. Nice job on the shaved legs, though. Next!”
“Great White, a touch more lip liner and you’re good. The green miniskirt is doing wonders for your calves. Great improvement. Next!”
“Braille Bait, ehmagawd! Never, ever tuck in a flowy top, especially an empire cut. Next!”
Massie tingled with pride as Dempsey cleaned up the boys. Side by side, they prepared Team Overflow for their first post-newscast entrance. They shared a passion and skill for makeovers that was unmatched. And it made Massie want to stand closer to him … strictly on a professional level, of course.
“Blond Lincoln, unzip your hoodie. All that green makes you look edamame-ish. Next!”
“Bag Hag, your short hair is cute but flat. Mess it up a little. You look like a Fisher-Price doll. Next!”
“Big Mac, a little more gloss wouldn’t hurt. Those matte lipsticks robbed you of all your moisture. One smile and your face will shatter. Stay lubricated.”
Massie sighed with relief. Her team was ready. She was ready.
“Done?” Dempsey asked.
“Done and done.”
“Can we please go in now?” whined Candy Corn.
“Yes,” Massie assured him. “It’s time.”
The NLBRs mashed up against the double oak doors.
“One more thing.” Massie grabbed the handles. “We’re walking to Ciara’s ‘Like a Boy.’ It starts with ‘Ladies, I think it’s time to switch roles.’ Ready? A-five, a-six, a-five, six, se-vuhn, eigh—”
“What’s that?” blurted Great White.
The NLBRs nodded, sharing her confusion.
Massie exchanged an eye-roll with the NPC.
“Okay, how about, ummmmm, okay, Gwen Stefani’s ‘Hollaback Girl’?”
“Is that a song?” asked Powder.
“Isn’t the Hollaback a type of whale?” Twizzler screeched.
“You seriously don’t know that song?” Dempsey ran a tanned hand through his silky blond hair. “Even the tribesmen I visited knew it.”
“Does everyone know ‘Happy Birthday’?”
They nodded yes.
“Great. We’ll go with that. Now remember, don’t look excited. Don’t fuss with your hair. And Sell. The. Dream. Here we go. A-five, a-six, a-five, six, se-vuhn, eight.” Massie threw open the doors. Before they took their first steps, hundreds of heads whipped around. Envy-filled whispers hissed to the top of the domed stained-glass ceiling like steam from a whistling teakettle.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you …
Focusing on the purple-and-yellow BOCD PRIDE banner that hung across the stage, Massie avoided eye contact with the gawkers, whose stares warmed her skin like a familiar cashmere blanket.
“Please take your seats.” Principal Burns exhaled sharply into the mic.
The overflowers quickly grabbed an empty row in the back. Massie would have preferred something more central but thought it best to sit with her protégés. She was about to slide in next to Dempsey, but Claire pushed past her and stole her seat.
“What are you doing?” Massie whisper-snapped, yanking Claire’s blond fuzz-covered arm.
“Nothing.” Claire’s cheeks reddened. “I thought you said you didn’t like him.”
“I don’t,” she mouthed. “Why? Do you?”
“No!” Massie barked as loud as someone can when an auditorium full of people are waiting for you to sit. She squatted above an armrest. “How about we both don’t sit next to him?” she challenged.
“Huh?” Claire quickly sat. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Ehmagawd, you did nawt just—”
Another gale of nose wind blew through the speakers. Massie sat beside Claire and boiled.
“As I was saying,” squawked the gray-bobbed principal, “it has been brought to my attention by several concerned parents …” She rolled her beady black eyes. “… that the overflow trailers are unfair.”
Massie looked down the row and flashed a thumbs-up to her people. Her plan was working. Everyone was jealous. They had major “it.”
“So we’re going to give some other students a chance to experience our fun new facility.”
Cheers and applause filled the auditorium.
“She’s joking, right?” Massie’s heart, temples, and head panic-thumped. The NLBRs and the NPC looked to her for some kind of explanation. But she was just as shocked as they were. And had nothing encouraging to say. She lowered her eyes in confusion and shame.
“Tomorrow night, we will hold a schoolwide competition. Students will be charged with decorating their lockers using the same spirited style and manner displayed in our—”
“Speak English!” someone shouted from the middle of the room.
The entire school cracked up.
“It means we’re having a Pimp My Locker contest!” Dean Don shouted, his stylishly stubbled face scratched up against the mic. “Who’s with me?” He punched the air and everyone whooped and hollered. “You make over your lockers and local residents pick their favorites. The winners will spend the next semester in the overflow trailers.” He paused for more whooping. “The contest is tomorrow night, so get busy. Classes will be shortened so you have time to create.”
Everyone jumped to their feet and cheered. The only ones still sitting were the ex-crushes, the NLBRs, Layne, Meena, and Heather.
And, of course, the NPC.
“This is worse than being robbed.” Massie lowered her face into her palms. She felt violated and used. “It’s like having your brain and heart stolen.”
“Kind of how I felt when you copied my math test last year and did better than me,” Monkey Paws huffed.
“You went to OCD last year?” Massie mumbled, her face still hidden in her hands.
“Yeah! I was in all your class—”
“Oh, one more thing.” The dean swatted a mass of shaggy black hair away from his dark eyes. “Suitcases are welcome to enter.” He winked at the back row.
The NLBRs hopped up and joined the merriment.
“No! Wait!” Massie kicked the seat in front of her. “Sit down! This isn’t fair!” She kicked it again. “We built them! You can’t take them away!” Her vision blurred. Her ears buzzed. Her voice sounded tinny and hollow. Was she falling or fainting or both? “We need a new lawyer!” she shouted at the NPC, who were too stunned to do anything but nod.
Dempsey leaned across Claire and placed a warm hand on Massie’s shoulder. “We’ll get through this,” he promised, the sincerity in his green eyes backing him up.
Massie turned her back on his kindness. It was too soon to treat the wound. She had to stop the bleeding first.
“Why is this happening to me?” she wanted to ask Bean. “Did my alpha card expire?” The pug would offer her sympathetic black eyes, and Massie would see her reflection in them.
Normally, that would have been enough to motivate her. But this was different. Her sold-out comeback tour had just been cancelled. And a girl could only reinvent herself so many times.
Now what? Dylan texted.
Can they do this? Claire sent.
Guess we sold the dream. Kristen wrote.
And got the nightmare!! Massie typed, her thumbs heavy with defeat.