Bratfest At Tiffany's

BOCD
THE NEW GREEN CAFé

Friday, September 18th
8:02 P.M.

Alicia was used to people staring at her. But this was different.
Tonight, the BOCD kids and their meddling parents had little interest in her beauty, her wardrobe, or her C-cups. All they wanted were the results of the Pimp My Locker contest. And she had them. Sealed in the red vellum envelope clutched in her shaking hand.
It wasn’t a fear of public speaking that made her nervous. Puh-lease! A cafeteria filled with locals picking at complimentary cupcakes and blowing on lattes was hardly nerve-racking.
Trying to win back Massie Block was.
Alicia leaned into the mic on the podium at the front of the Café and swallowed twice. It did nothing. Her throat was an emery board, dry and scratchy. “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” she said with measured enthusiasm. A chorus of creaks and squeaks erupted as everyone shifted in their bamboo chairs.
“The new school jewels, who will spend the rest of the year in those wonderful Tiffany’s boxes, designed by Massie Block, Kristen Gregory, Dylan Ma—”
“Just tell us who won!” shouted a mom wearing a black Hermès head scarf and gold oversized square-framed Dior sunglasses.
While the other parents laughed, Alicia peeked at the NPC. They were holding court in the back of the room at table eighteen. As usual, Massie was at the head, with a view of the entire room. Her nose slightly upturned, arms folded across her white sequined tunic, she exuded pure alpha.
From that distance, it was hard to know for sure if Massie knew Alicia was looking at her. And then her spine ignited like a wick on dynamite. Massie knew. They were still connected.
Alicia sent a telepathic IM back to table eighteen that said, Pay attention. This one’s for you! Then, with renewed purpose, she ripped open the envelope and scanned the winning names. Surprisingly, the NPC and the NLBRs were on the list, along with a few new names she had never heard. People must have voted with their consciences after all. But returning Massie to the place she’d started from would hardly be enough. The alpha wanted more. She wanted her school back. She wanted her dignity. She wanted revenge!
“And the Tiffany’s boxes go to Derrick Harrington, Josh Hotz, Chris Plovert, Kemp Hurley, Cam Fisher, Dempsey Solomon …”
“What?” Principal Burns squawked. “Impossible!”
Alicia trembled, avoided her beady stare, and kept reading the rest of the NLBRs’ names.
Gasps, screams, fist poundings, and demands for a recount rose above the jubilation expressed by the victorious NLBRs and their parents.
When she reached the bottom of the list, a lavender flash of light caught her eye. Was she being marked by a sniper? Going blind for lying? Waking from a coma?
The beam was now on her hand. Her wood platform sandal. Her … She lifted her head and saw Massie, standing off to the side by the frosted glass doors. She was tilting the purple Swarovski crystal–covered crown on her charm bracelet, scooping up the light and reflecting it back to Alicia.
“What?” Alicia giggle-mouthed, then quickly read off another name.
Massie held up her forearm. DEMP IN MB was written in smeared mascara.
Alicia nodded once. And Massie hurried back to eighteen.
“So congratulations to everyone, especially Dempsey, uh, Rosen. You got a lot of votes.” Alicia smiled sweetly. “What?” she asked a fake person in the crowd. “Say that again. I can’t hear you.” She paused, counted to three, put her hand on her heart, and conjured up a look of great shock. “Oh, I am so sorry. I always get Dempsey Solomon and Dempsey Rosen mixed up. Just to clarify, Dempsey Solomon is in the main building, and Dempsey Rosen will be in the trailers.”
Massie was smiling. Alicia could feel it. The ex-crushes and the NLBRs would be spending the next year together stuffed in two metal Tiffany’s boxes. Victory!
“Who’s Dempsey Rosen?” shouted Dempsey from the back of the room.
She ignored him and addressed the crowd. “Thank you. This is Alicia Rivera for BOCD saying, I heart you!”
A bony hand reached for the microphone and ripped it from Alicia’s clammy hands.
“What was that?” squawked Principal Burns.
“Justice,” Alicia said with pride.
“No,” she insisted. “Justice is suspending you for making up your own list of winners. Do you know how outraged the board members will be when they find out—”
“How are they going to find out?” Alicia tore the list into tiny pieces. “And if they do, just explain that my list convinced my dad’s clients to drop the lawsuit they were filing against you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah!” Alicia practically fainted from dry mouth. “This whole trailer thing messed them up. They were about to sue you for billions of dollars in therapy. This new list convinced them to drop everything. You can thank me later.”
Before the principal had a chance to respond, Alicia jumped off the platform and speed-walked to table eighteen. Her friends were waiting.