Bratfest at Tiffany's Read Free

GREAT LAWN
    Tuesday, September 8th
7:47 A.M.
    “Heyyyyy.” Massie walk-waved as she hurried toward the oak.
    “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” the girls squealed back. They dropped their designer purses on the moist grass, ran to her with open arms, and collided in a forceful group hug, Massie blissfully at its center.
    A blend of familiar fruity and exotic perfumes enveloped her, calming her even more. Alicia was still wearing Angel (spicy chocolate), Dylan was dabbling in Missoni (exotic amber notes), Kristen had stayed true to Juicy Couture (crushed leaves meets green apple), and Claire smelled like drugstore-bought vanilla-scented body oil. Or was it marshmallow? Either way, it smelled like cheap.
    By the time they separated to scan each other’s outfits, the smile on Massie’s face was 100 percent toothy and 200 percent genuine. Maybe now the new kids would see how deeply she was adored. You couldn’t slap a dollar amount on that kind of advertising.
    “Let’s sit.” She linked arms with her BFFs and led them back to the oak with back-and-better-than-ever bounce.
    “So, has anyone seen them yet?” Alicia asked in a hushed tone.
    A heavy silence followed.
    “Not even a distant sighting?” Claire snapped, obviously starving for some word on Cam Fisher.
    Everyone shook their heads no.
    Massie pressed her high-glossed lips together, fighting back the army of expletives marching up the back of her throat. Why was
everyone
so obsessed with boys these days? Wasn’t she enough anymore? What had she done to deserve this? And who could she pay to make it all change? She thought of the light blue bag inside her purse and hoped to Gawd its contents would put her back on top—at least with the Pretty Committee.
    “Soooo …” Dylan hand-fanned her pits once the girls ducked under the leafy shade of the tree. She pulled out the black hair stick that held her red hair in place. After three quick neck tosses and a rapid finger-comb, she put her hands on her hips and smiled for a camera that wasn’t there. “You like?”
    But the Pretty Committee was too busy propping their purses like beanbags to notice. Once they lowered themselves onto their designer leather cushions, she tried again.
    “Um, thoughts please?” Dylan stroked her new hip-length, professionally straightened hair like a precious chinchilla. “Ay-sap!”
    “Ehmagawd,” they gasped in awe.
    “I got it done at the spa in Hawaii.”
    “Love it!” Massie air-clapped.
    The others followed.
    Satisfied, Dylan smiled and joined their tight circle.
    Two seventh-grade twin girls wearing burgundy OCD baseball caps and ill-fitting white denim J.Crew cuffed capris strolled by. Their heads were cocked as they clearly tried to figure out if the Pretty Committee’s seats were actually
real
designer purses—and if they were, how they could be allowed to touch the wet grass.
    “Um, excuse me,” Massie called sweetly.
    They stopped and stood close to each other, their skinny arms hooked for safety.
    “Yeah,” answered the prettier girl in the crisp light pink button-down.
    “Do you work at the American Airlines ticket counter?”
    They exchanged a puzzled glance.
    “Then why are you checking our bags?”
    The Pretty Committee exploded in laughter and sent the girls speed-walking for the school’s nearest entrance. Massie watched her friends giggle-scan the campus for their ex-crushes. They were ah-bviously hoping the boys would spot them during a moment of extreme fun. But no such luck. The soccer boys were nowhere in sight.
    After a final round of high fives, Alicia rubbed a French-manicured finger across Massie’s indigo sparkle shirt. “I heart the shine. It’s pure day-for-night boldness.”
    “More day than night, though, right?” Massie pressed, and then hated herself for leaking insecurity.
    “Given.” Alicia tapped a reassuring hand on Massie’s charcoal gray satin shorts. Her tanned hands were covered in silver rings she must have picked up in Spain.