The Clique_ Charmed And Dangerous_ The Clique Prequel Part 12

Hermia opened her gold-dusted lids as if woken from a nap. "You again?" She released her client's hand.

The chai smell had been overpowered by a nauseating mix of holiday perfumes.

"Do you need a minute with your daughter?" asked a familiar-looking woman, blowing into a tissue.

"My daughter daughter?" scoffed Hermia.

"Oh, I remember you," Ma.s.sie blurted, taking in the woman's red nose and lap full of crumpled pink Puffs tissues. "You're the one who likes Rick."

"Liked!" she quickly corrected. "After you told me he was here, I went out to find him and he was she quickly corrected. "After you told me he was here, I went out to find him and he was gone gone. He couldn't wait five minutes for me."

Ma.s.sie paced across the dusty Oriental rugs, shaking her head as if horrified by the nerve of it all.

"I told you." Hermia sat back on her stack of pillows and ran a hand through her vibrant red hair. "Rick is still with his wife. And he is staying with her. You need to move on."

"I know." Jenna blew into a pink Puffs. "I know."

"Are you really gonna listen to her?" Ma.s.sie snapped, remembering her own crisis. "Thanks to her 'advice,' I have no friends, no bracelet, and no hope." She slammed the purple stone on the scarf-wrapped table. "Take it. It doesn't work."

"I meant what I said," Hermia insisted. "The five pieces will be joined at midnight." She checked her cell phone. "And it's almost midnight. So you better go."

"Where am I supposed to go go?" Ma.s.sie's throat locked.

"Didn't you hear?" Hermia asked with a Ches.h.i.+re cat grin. "A young dancer slipped on a charm during her performance. She's backstage right now getting iced."

"What?"

The psychic stood, shuffled over to Ma.s.sie, and pulled her into a hug. "Hermia is never wrong," she whispered, her breath smelling like Halls Mentho-Lyptus. "Now go," she urged. "Go!"

Ma.s.sie hurried out of the tent, not quite sure if Hermia actually knew something or was just trying to get rid of her. Still, with the help of a fifty-dollar bribe, she bulldozed her way backstage just in case. A small object was knocking against the outside of her thigh while she walked. Without stopping, she dug her hand inside her dress pocket and gasped. The purple stone was back.

But how? Who? When? When?

Ma.s.sie began to run, fueled by questions she couldn't answer. A mystery she couldn't solve. A destiny she couldn't reach. And the hope that with every frenzied step, she was getting closer.

MERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYMERRI-LEE'S DRESSING ROOMFriday, December 31st11:09 P.M. P.M.

Pus.h.i.+ng past the backstage riffraff, Dylan stomped toward her mother's dressing room. Eminem's "The Real Slim Shady" blared from behind its closed door. Her temper was hot but her backside was cool, thanks to the six-inch split in the rear of her pants.

"Yazzzzz-min!" She burst through the door, gold YSL wedges blazing. It smelled like salsa and fruit-scented products. "Your Guccis are for hoochies!" She whipped her leopard faux-fur collar on the floor.

"What?" Yasmine turned down the music. Humid fog clouds swirled around the stylist as she steamed the rejected clothes that had been kicked, clumped, and tossed by the Marvil sisters.

"My pants ripped on the air!" Dylan turned around and wiggled her exposed b.u.t.t as proof. "Where'dja get them? EBay?"

Kali, who was in the midst of pulling red hair chunks from her brushes, turned away, obviously not wanting to get involved. But it was too late for that. The whole world world was involved. was involved.

"I just flashed ham on a global broadcast, thanks to these terrible pants you made me wear," Dylan shouted, her heart pounding. "What happened? Did you buy a pair of Bebes and slap a Gucci tag on the back, then charge my mom for-"

"Enough!" Yasmine barked, her bottom teeth jutting out like a bulldog's. With cheeks flushed from the hot steam, she clomped over in her angry black boots and grabbed Dylan by the wrist.

"Owie," Dylan moaned.

But Yasmine only tightened her grip.

"Maybe you beefed up a little over the holidays." She dropped Dylan's arm and took a step back, as if expecting to be slapped.

"Please! I wish." Dylan scoffed. "All I do is eat. And every time I look in the mirror I see skin and bones. I'm starting to think I have a tapeworm." I wish." Dylan scoffed. "All I do is eat. And every time I look in the mirror I see skin and bones. I'm starting to think I have a tapeworm."

Yasmine rolled her eyes, then bit her thumbnail.

"Wait a minute." Clarity snapped the back of her neck like a hair elastic. Dylan inched toward Yasmine's dewy face and squinted suspiciously. "I know what you're doing." She nodded slowly, like a smug detective who just cracked a case. "You're trying to put this on me."

"That's it it!" Yasmine huffed, meeting Dylan's green eyes with her hazel ones, then exhaling the smell of corn chips.

Kali turned up the music.

"You want to know what's happening here?"

Dylan raised her eyebrows and nodded yes in an oh, this is gonna be good oh, this is gonna be good sort of way. sort of way.

Yasmine glanced at Kali. Kali shrugged as if to say, Go for it. It's your life. Go for it. It's your life.

"Fine. I'll tell you." Yasmine exhaled. "I got sick of your mother and sisters complaining that they were fat so I brought in skinny mirrors. They shave ten pounds off when hung straight, fifteen when tilted."

Dylan considered this for a moment. She could see how the stylist would be driven to such lengths. After all, her sisters were thin-sane. But that didn't explain the other mirrors in her life.

"What about the ones at home?"

"I had them replaced with skinny mirrors when you were in Saint Martin over Christmas." Yasmine leaned against her sewing table and folded her arms across her flat chest.

"What about our hotels?" Dylan tried.

"Replaced."

Dylan's insides sank. Or was that feeling her fat cells creating more s.p.a.ce for their friends?

"What about the dressing rooms at the mall?"

"Oh, those are just tilted," Yasmine explained.

Dylan exhaled months of denial. A slab of skin curled over the top of her pants like a pouting lip. Had it always been there? Images from the last year of her life sped through her mind like a TV show rewinding.

A bag of cheese-flavored Combos... two slices of ham and pineapple pizza... chips and salsa... chips and guac... chips... caramel latte with whip... extra whip... two brownies... chicken BLT... extra B... extra mayo... waffles and sausage... mixed berries... creme fraiche... hot chocolate...

And that was just today.

The sting that comes with realizing you've been lied to p.r.i.c.kled and itched Dylan's skin. Her mouth dried. Her lashes fluttered. She was having another snapshot moment. It could be t.i.tled "the moment Dylan lost her innocence." Or "the moment Dylan stopped trusting people." Or "the moment Dylan became fat."

She smacked the pants that had betrayed her. The leather felt cold and unapologetic. "Size four?" She tugged at the label. "Did you fake that too?"

Yasmine looked away guiltily.

"Oh my Gawd, you did!" Dylan stomped her gold wedge. "I am so suing you!"

"Dylan, wait!"

"No, you you wait!" Dylan shouted, not quite sure exactly what she meant. wait!" Dylan shouted, not quite sure exactly what she meant.

And with that, she stormed toward the door and marched out. It didn't matter that there was a huge tear in the back of her pants. Or that her blue-and-green polka-dot underwear was showing.

She had already been exposed.

MERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYBACKSTAGEFriday, December 31st11:23 PM If there was a feeling more pathetic than being the last kid in the school parking lot, waiting for Mom to arrive, Kristen was feeling it now. Seated backstage on a cracked plastic chair by the VIP entrance, she was crying into the terry-cloth sleeve of her sweats.h.i.+rt, wis.h.i.+ng harm on the happy performers who slowed down to stare when they entered. Hoping Marshmallow would stop staring at her. Praying her cab would arrive before tears shrank her Juicy.

Being kicked out of the party by Marshmallow for "impersonating Rihanna" had been a particularly low moment. Leaving without returning the dollar-sign charm had been rock bottom. And watching Ali pull away in the limo had been subterranean. But when her mom found out she'd spent her emergency money on a cab from the airport hanger party she'd crashed, and ridden alone, Kristen would be buried alive.

"Here." Marshmallow finally handed her a crumpled-up napkin from his inside pocket. It smelled like coffee. "Everything is going to be fine."

Then why are you hovering over me like a prison guard? Kristen wanted to shout. Instead, she took the napkin and wiped the corners of her eyes. He had been standing watch over her for the last forty minutes. His dark brown eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and pity. It was nothing she didn't already feel. Kristen wanted to shout. Instead, she took the napkin and wiped the corners of her eyes. He had been standing watch over her for the last forty minutes. His dark brown eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and pity. It was nothing she didn't already feel.

Just then, the pretty redheaded girl from her school burst through the door. As usual, she was dressed like a runway model. Her face was also streaked with tears.

Kristen looked up and tried to smile, silently acknowledging that they were both crying on New Year's Eve.

"Ugh!" the girl sobbed. "There are people everywhere everywhere!"

"Everything okay, Ms. Marvil?" asked Marshmallow. The burly bouncer looked confused, almost afraid, to be surrounded by sobbing tweens.

She sniffle-nodded yes, then casually placed her hands over her b.u.t.t and began backing up toward the wall, as if covering up an embarra.s.sing stain.

"Are you related to Merri-Lee Marvil?" Kristen asked, forgetting herself for a second.

"Yeah. I'm Dylan. Don't you go to OCD?" she asked, sounding more suspicious than interested.

Kristen nodded. "I play soccer," she said, hoping that might explain why they hardly knew each other.

"What are you doing here?" Dylan asked, hand-drying her cheeks.

"I-" Kristen peered up at Marshmallow, silently asking if he would let her fib. He shrugged like he was too exhausted to care. "I was already inside but some spaz waiter spilled c.o.c.ktail sauce all over my Chanel dress and I had to run out and change. Thank Gawd I had a pair of Juicy sweats in the limo. I'm Kristen." She smiled, realizing she hadn't really answered the question.

"Why are you you crying?" Dylan eyed the red velour pants with interest. crying?" Dylan eyed the red velour pants with interest.

"My cousin took off with the limo. I'm stuck waiting for a cab."

Marshmallow looked away, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Why didn't you leave with her?"

What was with all the questions?

"Oh, um, because I found this charm on my way out. I heard some girl lost it and I wanted to return it." Kristen swallowed hard, her heart pounding against the inside of her chest as if trying to tip Dylan off to her many lies.

"No way!" Dylan jammed her hand inside her tight leather pocket. "I found a charm too."

"What is it?" Kristen leaned forward, teeth chattering.

Dylan held her hand out dismissively.

"Oh, a pig." Kristen smiled. "Cute."

Dylan quickly stuffed the charm back in her pocket. Then, as if contemplating something important, her emerald green eyes wandered. She twirled one of her long red curls. When she let go, it bounced back into place. "Where do you live?"

"Um, the Montador Building," Kristen lied again. But her building, the Pinewood Apartments, was next door to the luxury condos, so it wasn't too bad. "Why?"

"I'll make you a deal," Dylan offered, her eyes sharply focused on Kristen. "Trade outfits with me and I'll give you a ride home after the show."

"Yeah, right." Kristen giggled, a.s.suming the proposition was a joke. The G G's stamped into the leather either stood for Gucci or Gap. Either way, they were nicer than anything she'd ever owned.

"I'm serious serious." Dylan pressed her b.u.t.t against the door.

"Shoes too?"

"Everything." Dylan began unbuckling her wedges.

"I'm more of a silver person," Kristen added, trying to sound like she was settling. "But okay."

"Come on. Let's go change." Dylan pulled her by the hand. Marshmallow stepped aside, unwilling to argue with the boss's daughter.

"Cancel the cab," he said into the curly wire clipped to the white lapel of his suit. "Have fun." He smiled as Kristen reentered the world of the rich and famous.

"We will." She smiled back.

Now that she wasn't alone, the crowded dance floor looked like a dimly lit dream about supermodels in a club made of gold. It smelled like Kobe beef and exotic perfume. It felt more luxurious than a cashmere sleeping bag. And tasted sweeter than refined sugar.

"How crazy is this?" Dylan giggle-shouted over a Destiny's Child song while yanking Kristen through the crowd. Her red hair and emerald green eyes were so vibrant and alive, she almost looked animated.

"Cray-zzzzzy!" Kristen beamed, wondering if she looked animated too. But maybe she just felt that way. Because a world usually reserved for celebrities and the popular girls at OCD was starting to open up to her. All she had to do now was find a way to keep it open. And trading clothes with Merri-Lee Marvil's daughter was the perfect place to start.