Bratfest at Tiffany's (16 page)

“What
is
this?” an enraged girl’s voice hollered from the doorway.

The NPC whip-turned their heads, dying to know who could possibly take issue with such perfection.

Layne, wearing a denim bucket hat and an orange DIY T-shirt dress that said
TRAILER PRIDE
kicked the cotton wall with her black MBTs, leaving behind a muddy round footprint. “How could you
do
this?”

“Do
what
?” Massie shut her vanity and stood. Was Layne Abeley seriously serious? Was it possible she didn’t absolutely ah-dore the makeover? Or was this her attempt at humor? Either way, Massie had no tolerance for anything short of praise and worship.

“Meena, Heather, Dempsey, come see this atrocity,” Layne called, her slitty green eyes targeting Massie.

“Layne, are you a diaper?”

“No!” she snapped.

“Then why are you so pissed?”

The NPC cracked up from their vibrating white massage chairs.

“I’ll tell you why.” Layne shot Claire a
whose-side-are-you-on
scowl as she marched by. Stopping in front of Massie’s desk, she leaned forward until they were practically bumping eyelashes. Her breath smelled like maple syrup. “We were part of something raw and groundbreaking. We were outcasts. Educational outlaws. Pioneers! Charged with rebuilding and redefining school as we know it. And in one weekend, you came along and made us Main Building again. These trailers belonged to the people! They weren’t
yours
to make over. We should have voted.”

“Puh-lease.” Massie waved her away like stinky spray-tan fumes.

They were interrupted by the quick hiss of a room deodorizer that shot a hydrating burst of vanilla mineral water every seven minutes.

“Oh, I’m sure the asthmatics are gonna love
that.
” Layne scribbled a note on her spiral flip-top Hello Kitty pad.

Massie clenched her fists, trying to quell her thumping heartbeat, which pounded rage into every part of her body and made her palms itch. How dare Layne be anything but grateful? How dare she stand there and—

“Who called Ty Pennington?” chuckled Dempsey as he stomped up the steps in his rugged, unlaced, worn-out work boots. “This place is …” He paused, searching for the right word.

Layne and Massie watched him with unwavering focus, like courtroom opponents, waiting for the judge’s final verdict.

“Wow!” He kissed his golden brown fingers and winked at Massie.

Her cheeks warmed. She quickly turned away to swat a fly that wasn’t there so no one would see her blush.

“You
like
it?” Layne stormed toward the exit, which was now crowded with curious LBRs.

“Totally.” Dempsey’s voice screeched with certainty. “I learned a lot about transformation and self-improvement over the sum—”

“Spare me.” Layne shoulder-nudged him and a few of the LBRs on her way out. “Prrooooootest!” she shouted, stomping down the stairs and shaking the trailer. “Who’s with meeeee????”

Meena and Heather were the only two who answered. The rest of the LBRs burst through the doorway with force.

They squealed and gushed and gasped and oooohed and ahhhhed and touched and poked and whooped with delight. Outside, masses of Main Building girls gathered, snapping cell-phone pictures and envy-whispering. Layne and Meena and Heather tried to force petitions in front of their faces, but the MB-ers refused to sign. They were too overwhelmed to do anything but stare.

A familiar buzz tickled the bottoms of Massie’s feet. It was her inner alpha-meter. And it was vibrating maximum intensity to let her know she had reached MAP (Maximum Alpha Potential).
Finally.

“Who wants to see what we did to the inside?” she shouted from the open window. Dozens of MB-ers flocked to the steps, hoping to get a glimpse before the first-period bell rang.

Seconds later, the trailer was filled with yet another round of squeals and gushes and gasps and oooohs and ahhhhs. But it was the people who weren’t there whom Massie noticed most.

Alicia, Derrington, Josh, Cam, Plovert, Kemp—the ones who needed to know she was back and more fabulous than ever. Where were
they?

Another incoming text message hummed on Massie’s iPhone.

Effie:
Get them out! ASAP!

Massie:
Huh?

Effie:
Make them want access. Then deny it. They will want what they can’t have. Hurry!

Massie snapped her phone shut. “All nonmembers must get out!” she shouted. “We have some secret overflow business to attend to.”

Dylan, Kristen, and Claire immediately herded the MB-ers toward the door. And before long, the LBRs were helping.

Once the MB-ers had cleared out, Massie sat and gazed out at her cotton-filled kingdom. Something was off. The room was flawless. Her friends were by her side. And the LBRs worshipped her again. So what
was
it???

Her amber eyes scanned the three rows of mirrored desks, bumping and rolling over every poorly dressed body that occupied them until it struck her. The LBRs, with their limp hair, dull complexions, and drab garage-sale wardrobes, clashed in this environment. They were Zales earrings in Tiffany boxes.

After a quick round of text messages, Massie stood. “LBRs, listen up.”

Everyone turned to their leader, anxious to know what she had in store for them next.

“Um, excuse me.” Great White tucked a dirty blond strand of oily hair behind her ear, her wide-set shark eyes blinking nervously. “What’s an LBR?”

It was obvious from the sudden silence that many others had the same question.

The NPC giggled into their palms. Massie struggled to keep a straight face.

“Look at your desk.”

Great White, Twizzler, Big Mac, Braille Bait, Powder, Monkey Paws, Blond Lincoln, Bag Hag, Candy Corn, Putty, Dempsey, and Loofah lowered their heads and gazed at their reflections in the mirror.

“Not
you,
Dempsey.” Massie stopped the caramel-colored blond just in time. “Not anymore.”

He lifted his army green eyes and dimple-smiled, “Thank you,” even though he had no clue what he was thanking her for.

Massie batted, “You’re welcome,” with her Lancôme lashes.

“Now what?” Great White asked.

Massie refocused. “See that?”

“What? My
face
?” Her sparse light brows lowered in confusion.

The NPC giggled harder.

“Yup, your face.” Massie fought her twitching lips.
“That’s
an LBR.”

Great White, Twizzler, Big Mac, Braille Bait, Powder, Monkey Paws, Blond Lincoln, Bag Hag, Candy Corn, Putty, and Loofah exchanged confused glances.

The NPC exploded into a collective cackle.

“But don’t worry,” she assured her subjects. “I can help.”

Their mouths hung open, salivating for whatever it was she had to offer.

“Tonight …” She pushed back the bell sleeves on her brown metallic pin-striped dress. “… leave your homework in your Samsonites. It’s makeover time!”

They cheered with uninhibited glee while Massie slumped back in her cushy seat. Programming her chair to vibrate, she shut her eyes and practiced deep breathing. Once relaxed, she began picturing each LBR, compiling a hair, makeup, and wardrobe strategy for each one.

Her heart raced just thinking about the amount of work that lay ahead. Turning trailers into Tiffany boxes was one thing. But coal into diamonds was quite another.

*In this particular case,
TBD
does not stand for “To Be Decided.” It’s code for “Total Babe Dempsey” and “Too Bad, Derrington.” But Massie refused to write
that. Puh-lease!
What if someone found her Palm? She’d have to kick herself out of the NPC, and that was so nawt an option. Besides, it was a harmless crush. Nothing at all to be concerned about. Nuh-
thing
!

WESTCHESTER, NY
JAKKOB’S SALON

Monday, September 14th
4:30
P.M.

The LBRs squeezed together on Jakkob’s round red leather couch in the center of the predominantly black marble salon, studying the makeover spreadsheet Massie created while nibbling on Inez’s famous cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches.