Bratfest At Tiffany's

BOCD
MAIN BUILDING

Friday, September 18th
1:11 P.M.

The halls in Main Building smelled like tape, glue, and fierce competition. Glitter-dusted floors dotted with scraps of crepe paper, streamers, and dented coffee cups gave off a post-parade vibe, even though the main event was still six hours away.
“Your locker is beyond being beyond,” Kori envy-gushed.
“You think?” Alicia asked, knowing full well her vision was ah-dorable times a hundred. She’d cut out the lining of every pre-2008 designer bag she owned and reattached the material to the cold metal walls, making the inside of the locker appear as though it were the inside of a massive handbag. She’d even had Scooter, the family electrician, install a little refrigerator light that would go on every time she opened the metal door. Massie would have loved it.
“You’re totally gonna win a spot in those trailers,” Kori said, cutting into a roll of mauve Laura Ashley Blossom wallpaper.
“Hope so,” Alicia muttered, knowing the NPC would have to forgive her eventually if they were in the same class. Wouldn’t they?
“All done!” Olivia called.
Alicia and Kori hurried to her side.
Proudly, she swung open the door of her locker, revealing a tiny nursery. The walls were covered in soft pink cashmere, and a duckie ’n’ bunny mobile dangled crookedly from the ceiling. Mother/daughter photos were taped everywhere, and Kate was in the center of it all, her head poking out the top of Olivia’s book-filled Kate Spade tote. She was crying hysterically.
“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Olivia cooed as she cranked the dial on the mobile. But all that did was launch a round of hard plastic animals into the baby’s skull.
“Olivia, turn that off!” Cam raced to Kate’s rescue.
“Oh, so now you care,” she snapped.
“What?” Cam lifted the naked baby out of the canvas bag. A torn piece of graph paper covered in unsolved math equations had been stapled around her butt in lieu of a diaper. He held her to his worn leather jacket and rocked stiffly, like his feet were stuck in gum.
“I don’t see any pictures of her in your locker.” Olivia’s blue eyes darkened.
“It’s not like I’m trying to win,” Cam whispered to keep from scaring Kate. “None of us are.” He tilted his head toward the ex-crushes. They were sitting on the trash-covered floor, hovering over Plovert and his silver Game Boy.
Olivia tucked her blond waves behind her tiny ears. “Don’t you think our family should stay together?”
Cam shrugged. “You’ll just be outside.”
“Still …” Olivia pouted. “The least you could do is hang a few family photos. It makes us look bad if you don’t.”
Alicia quickly turned back to her locker. She couldn’t watch this for one more second. It was like she was trapped inside some lame public service announcement called “Kids Having Kids,” about bad choices and suffering the consequences. She wanted her old life back. The one where she had friends. Cool ones.
Suddenly, Alicia felt something poke into her shoulder. She whipped around and came nose-to-beak with Principal Burns, who smelled like orange peels.
“Cawwww, cawwwww,” squawked Kemp when he saw the crow-lady. The boys cracked up. Alicia tried not to.
“Here’s the schedule for tonight,” she said, deaf to their jabs.
Alicia beamed, grabbing the sheet of paper from her talons.
“Remember, you’ll be announcing the winners, so dress appropriately.” The principal examined Alicia’s tight cream-colored knit ultramini with a scowl. “The local news will be here.”
The tip was hard to take from a gray-haired bird-lady in a poo-colored tweed pantsuit, but Alicia nodded like a pro.
“What are you going to wear?” asked Strawberry, her fingers stained pink with finger paint.
“I dunno,” Alicia admitted. “Any ideas? It needs to say ‘journalist’ and ‘supermodel’ at the same time.”
“You should totally borrow the navy blazer and skirt I wore to my bat mitzvah,” Kori offered. “My bubbe said I looked darling.”
“Hmmmm.” Alicia pretended to consider the nonoption.
“Or that cute black dress you wore yesterday,” Strawberry suggested.
“But I wore it yesterday,” Alicia snapped, wishing more than anything for a minute of Massie time. She’d have had fifteen options ironed and pressed by sundown.
Maybe it wasn’t too late.
“Be right back.” Alicia hurried down the hall and out to the parking lot before anyone had a chance to question her. She heard Josh call after her but ignored him. He was ah-dorable, but sharing every single class with him was a little overkill, no? The magic would fizzle by Thanksgiving.
Puffy white clouds hung in the clear blue sky. Alicia imagined they had been sent to watch over her. There to soften the blow should her plan backfire.
Gripping the banister, she tiptoed up the trailer stairs, removed a gold hoop earring, and mashed her ear against the blue door.
Audible snippets of conversation rose above the chatter like oil in low-fat salad dressing. Alicia held her breath.
“Pass the feathers,” insisted an angry girl.
Layne.
“I thought you were against the new trailers,” Claire teased.
“I am.”
“So why are you decorating your suitcase?”
“This is a political display.”
“What is it?” screeched a male NLBR.
“A tribute to the Native American Indian.”
Kristen cackled. Others snickered.
“It’s not funny,” Layne practically whined. “This kind of thing happens all the time. As soon as the little people make something of themselves, the white man comes along and takes it.”
A round of high-five slaps followed.
She continued. “Where was everyone during the thunderstorm? Back when we had nothing?” No one said a word. “I’ll tell you where they were! They were filing their nails in their-dry coed classrooms, looking out their windows and laughing at the soggy geeks in overflow.”
“Good point,” said a girl. Meena? Heather?
Alicia, being one of the nail-filers, decided this might not be the best time to barge in. Even though she was the furthest thing from a white man, she had a feeling the others might not see it that way.
But what had she hoped to hear? Kristen preaching the joys of forgiveness? Dylan admitting that things hadn’t been the same without her? Massie sob-shouting Alicia’s name?
Maybe Massie wasn’t in there. After all, she hadn’t said a single word about Layne’s tribute suitcase. And it wasn’t like her to let something so ripe for ridicule slide by without a jab or two.
Slowly, quietly, gently, Alicia turned the sparkly knob and cracked the door just enough to peek inside. Even though there were paper scraps and art supplies strewn all over the red velvet rug, the room was spectacular. The mirrored desks glistened ten times more in person than they did on TV. And the white fluffy walls gave the illusion of being inside a real jewelry box. Imagine feeling like a diamond every single day! GPAs would shoot right up because self-esteem would be so high. Gawd! It was brilliant! Massie was brilliant. And soon Alicia would be part of it.
Massie was at her desk in the back of the room, dressed all in white, with her head down. It was the International Alpha’s Sign of Surrender (IASS). And it was tragic.
Kristen, Dylan, and Claire stood above their fallen leader exchanging helpless glances while stroking her back. It brought a tear to Alicia’s brown eyes. Yes, Massie had kicked her out of the NPC. But she had deserved it. She’d made a pact and then refused to honor it. She’d betrayed them. And it was time she faced them head-on and—
Massie lifted her head and sniffed the vanilla-scented air. “Do you smell that?”
The girls sniffed too, then shook their heads up and down.
“What is it?” Dylan asked.
“Angel perfume.”
Alicia’s heart dropped to her tanned knees.
“And it’s coming from the door.” Massie stood slowly, like someone sneaking up on a pesky fly. “And the only person I know who wears Angel is … the devil.”
Alicia gasped. She slammed the door, jumped down the steps, and raced for cover behind a thin tree on the outskirts of the parking lot. She flattened herself against the back and sucked in her abs. Massie poked her head out and searched the grounds. After about three minutes, she finally gave up. Alicia exhaled.
It was time to come up with a better plan. Something that would prove how sorry she was. If she couldn’t, Alicia feared she’d be spending the rest of the eighth grade with girls who thought navy bat mitzvah suits made good television.
And that was not an option.





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