Pretty Little Devils (3 page)

Sylvia raised a hand, waving at the delivery guy. He came straight for her table. Ellen got up and rushed toward him, grabbing up the bags. She made a show of how heavy they were.

Brandon bounded over from the jock table and picked up not only the bags, but Ellen as well, carrying her under his arm like a football as she laughed and batted at him. The guys whistled and clapped, Matty included. Sylvia smiled serenely. Hazel knew immediately—this was
her
doing. She watched as Sylvia lifted her cell phone out of her purse.

In the middle of all this, she's taking a call?
Hazel wondered.

Then Sylvia looked down at the phone and started keying in.
Ah, texting.

“What's going on?” someone bellowed from the other side of the caf. It was their resident old hippie, vice principal Clancy, in his million-year-old Dockers and Birkenstocks.

The geometry teacher, Ms. Miller, who also had lunch duty, stomped beside him in her too-young-for-her fashions—low-slung stretchy pants and a clingy top in berry colors.

“Oh God, they're going to get in major trouble!” Lakshmi said, blinking excitedly.

Clancy was closing in. Sylvia's cell phone disappeared. Carolyn and Megan took the P.F. Chang's bags, opened them, and began spooning heaps of noodles, egg rolls, and vegetables onto four plates. Josh darted away, then returned with another plate as Clancy and Ms. Miller headed for the piper like they were going to tackle him on the twenty-yard line.

At a signal from Sylvia, the piper switched from “Scotland the Brave” to “Brookhaven Spirit,” the school song. As the notes played over the cafeteria, clusters of students began to join in:

By the time Clancy reached the piper, nearly every person in the room was singing with gusto. Hazel remained silent.

The two teachers looked around and Hazel could practically read their thoughts. No one was doing anything wrong, exactly. And more people were singing than would at a regular pep rally. Okay, a takeout food delivery? Not exactly in the handbook, but what could it hurt? After all, it was Sylvia Orly. Such an upstanding girl. Pride of the entire administration.

Mr. Clancy waved at the students as if they might possibly be glad to see him.

Sylvia stood on her chair and held an egg roll above her head like the Statue of Liberty holding her torch. “Here's to varsity,” she cried, “and the game this Friday!” Then she stepped down and graciously offered egg rolls to Mr. Clancy and Ms. Miller.

People cheered and the jocks traded high fives. Matty just smiled; he turned his head just so…and for one moment, Hazel thought he might be looking at her.

Breona's table—the varsity cheerleaders—sat stone-faced. Jenna Babcock, Breona's best friend, put a hand on Breona's forearm, as if to say,
Down, girl
.

“That was awesome,” Lakshmi gushed.

“Yeah,” Ginger agreed. She turned from the scene and started winding spaghetti around her fork.

“We could order a pizza sometime,” Lakshmi ventured.

“If
we
did that,
we'd
get in trouble,” LaToya muttered. “We're not celebrities like the PLDs.”

Hazel smiled weakly. Didn't she know it. “I'm going to get some more Diet Coke.”

She picked up her half-full cup and headed across the squeaky tile floor to the food line. The bagpiper had distracted
everyone
, but Hazel finally snagged the attention of one of the servers and got her refill.

She swiped her card at the register and dodged around a couple of guys who were pushing each other for no reason. Then she saw Matty talking to Jenna, who was pointing back at Breona's table, moving her arms, maybe yelling at him.

Matty frowned at her and shook his head. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned away. Jenna stomped off.

Hazel looked back at the cheerleader table. Breona and three or four of the others were gone, and the rest were knitting their brows and anxiously whispering. What was
that
about?

Hazel turned her gaze back at Matty, who was now talking to Josh and shaking his head.

She must have stared a little too long because Matty turned his head again, and this time he
did
look straight at Hazel. Their eyes met. She caught her breath.

“Oh my God!” someone yelped.

Hazel shrieked as her drink cup was crushed against her chest. Freezing Diet Coke and ice cascaded down her shirt. Hazel looked up angrily to see who had run into her.

Her mouth dropped open as she realized—it was Sylvia Orly.

“Oh no! Oh, Hazel, I am so sorry!” Sylvia said, one hand across her mouth. “I wasn't watching where I was going. This is totally my fault.” Sylvia seized the drink cup from Hazel's hand and began yanking wads of napkins out of the nearest dispenser.

“Oh, you're soaked. Here.” She handed more napkins to Hazel. “I'd help you clean up, but I don't want to, like, paw you. Oh God, this will stain. You have to tell me how much this cost. I'll pay for a new one.”

“That's okay, Sylvia,” Hazel said, laughing despite the rush of attention and the ice-cold layers of clothing clinging to her chest.

“Don't be silly. I insist,” Sylvia said.

“It's old,” Hazel fibbed. “Really. It's no biggie.”

Sylvia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “You are so lying, Hazel. I saw it in Neiman's last week. You're sweet, but you have to let me make this up to you.” She considered for a moment. “We're having a little soiree tonight at Charlie Pollins'. Officially, it's a babysitting job.” She wrinkled her nose as if to say,
But we both know better
. “Maybe you could come by.”

Hazel's lips parted. Was this actually happening? Was Sylvia Orly actually inviting her to one of the PLDs' infamous parties? For a second, she couldn't breathe. But she quickly recovered. “Sure,” she rasped. “What time?”

“Eight. Charlie's dad is going to be gone till midnight. The fun doesn't really start until nine-thirty. We close down around eleven-thirty.”

“Cool,” Hazel said, trying not to sound too eager. “Thanks.”

“Which in French is
merci
,” Sylvia replied, grinning. She was fluent in French. Word was she taught all the PLDs to speak the language too.

“Do you know the Pollinses' address?” Sylvia asked.

“Um, no.”

Sylvia whipped out her cell phone, glanced down, and chuckled at the screen. “Oops. Just a minute.” With rapid-fire fingers, she texted something. Then she glanced at Hazel and said, “What's your cell number? I'll put you in.”

Oh, great
, Hazel thought.
Already I have to betray my total lameness.

“I don't actually have a cell phone,” she admitted. “At the moment.”

“You are so lucky,” Sylvia replied without missing a beat. “They're a total pain. With a cell, you never get a moment's peace. I curse the man who invented them.” She smiled charitably. “Well, let's go to my table. I'll write it down for you.”

In a daze, Hazel followed Sylvia through the cafeteria. She knew people were watching, could see heads pressing together, people taking stock of this turn of events. Her cheeks were hot. Hazel prayed they weren't bright red.

Matty was watching too. His head was cocked just so, and his lazy smile broadened the slightest bit when their gazes met.

“Good taste,” Sylvia whispered, noticing the mini-exchange. “Hey, look whose lovely new clothes I massacred.”

They had reached the PLDs' table. Hazel looked down at Megan, Carolyn, and Ellen. She nodded at them.

Ellen fluffed her hair and said, “Hey, Hazel.”

“Hey,” Hazel managed.

“So listen, to make up for my horrible faux pas, I'm inviting Hazel to the flash mob tonight.” Sylvia flipped open a purple notebook and held out her hand. “Who's got a pen?”

Ellen opened her bag and instantly produced a gel writer in coordinating purple.

Megan and Carolyn smiled at Hazel as Sylvia wrote out a street address and phone number in beautiful, unusual handwriting. She ripped out the piece of paper and handed it to Hazel with a flourish. She had a French manicure, and Hazel noticed three identical Claddagh rings on the middle three fingers of her left hand, each with a different-colored heart.

“No selling this on eBay, right?” Sylvia winked, then pulled out her chair and sat down. “See you tonight.”

Hazel knew she was being dismissed. She smiled pleasantly and said, “Okay.”

The other three PLDs waved, bright smiles on their faces. Hazel saw that all of them were wearing Claddagh rings. It must be a PLD thing.

Then Sylvia gave Hazel a sly smile and said, “Oh, and be sure to dress to impress. There may be another addition to the guest list.” She nodded in Matty's direction.

Hazel's heart pounded. As she made her way back to her own table, she tried to send an ESP message to Lakshmi and the others to stop looking so freaked out.

“What was that about? What did she give you?” Lakshmi demanded as Hazel grabbed up her backpack. Lakshmi reached for the piece of notebook paper, but Hazel held on to it.

“Just her number,” Hazel said, her voice catching a little. She fished her purse out and popped the paper into it. Lakshmi hungrily followed it with her eyes.

“
She wants you to call her?
”

“Uh, yeah.” Hazel shrugged. “She wants to see about replacing my shirt.”

She glanced over her shoulder toward Sylvia's table.

Sylvia was talking to Matty—and handing him a piece of notebook paper too.

Hazel quickly glanced away and sat down, nearly throwing herself into her chair.

“Don't you want to go to the bathroom to clean up?” Lakshmi asked. “You're soaking wet.”

“I'm fine.” To prove it, Hazel picked up a fry and dipped it in her ketchup. “Where did Breona go?”

“Oh!” Lakshmi leaned forward. “Clancy came and got her. Something's up. Definitely.” The other three nodded excitedly.

“Definitely,” LaToya echoed.

A
t eight-fifteen Hazel parked her Corolla across the street from the Pollins residence. It was a sad little ranch-style house made of mud-brown stucco.

Hazel sat behind the wheel, building up her nerve. A parade of the cool and unapproachable from Brookhaven sauntered through the arched doorway.

To get out of the house, Hazel had told her parents she was “studying.” She didn't give out any details—and wasn't asked. Her mom didn't realize that she had gone a little boho, changing into her new gold pointy flats, an ankle-length green cotton skirt, and a black cami, or that she had put on more makeup than usual. Typical. Her mom was too into her own stuff to notice.

Hazel watched as Brandon walked across the street with Josh. They were dressed in the same outfits they'd had on at school. Thanks to the Diet Coke incident, Hazel had a good excuse for changing.

Her palms were wet and her cheeks were hot. She flicked on the dome light to check her makeup in the rearview mirror.

She gasped when she noticed a figure staring back at her.

“Hey, girlfriend!” Hazel laughed when she realized it was Trina Esposito waving through the rear window. They had gym together. Hazel unlocked her door and climbed out.

“What's up?” Trina asked warmly, coming over to the driver's side. She was dressed up too, in a leather jacket, silver heels, and black cropped pants. “Sorry if I scared you.”

“No problem,” Hazel answered. “I'm a total wimp. Sometimes I can't believe I get spooked so easily.”

“I haven't seen you at one of these before,” Trina observed. “Didn't think this was your style.”

“Well, yeah,” Hazel said. “Sylvia invited me.”

“Cool,” Trina replied. “So, Breona. What an idiot, don't you think?”

Hazel frowned. She wasn't following. Trina raised a brow. “You
do
know she got expelled today, right? For drug possession?”

Hazel couldn't contain her shock.
“What?”

“It went down at lunch. Didn't you see?”

Hazel tried to remember what she had seen—Jenna talking to Matty, Sylvia talking to her, then Breona gone. “No, actually,” she said.

“Got escorted out of the caf by Clancy,” Trina said. “Right after the bagpiper thing. Not that many people knew what was happening, so I guess that's why it's not all over the school.”

“Oh my God,” Hazel murmured. “She's a senior. What's she going to do?”

“Don't know,” Trina replied. “Sucks for her.”

“Seriously.”
What was Breona thinking?
Hazel wondered.
She knows Brookhaven has a zero-tolerance policy. Why would she risk bringing drugs into school?

Trina and Hazel crossed the street together. Like the other arrivals, Trina opened the door without ringing or knocking. She smiled and waved at the crowd in the living room. For a moment, the faces were a blur. Then Hazel got her bearings. There were probably a dozen kids in the room; for that many, the noise level was low.

Sylvia was sitting on Josh's lap on one of the sofas. She wore a baby tee with the words
MANGEZ-MOI
written in sequins across the front and a pair of low-slung jeans. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a loose, sexy updo and she was drinking something amber-colored out of a square glass.

Beside her and Josh, a couple was making out like crazy. Hazel had no idea who they were.

“Hey, Sylvia,” Trina called.

Sylvia turned and waved at both of them. “Treeeeena,
bon soir
. Haze, hello!
Mes amies
, Hazel is here!”

As if on cue, Ellen, Carolyn, and Megan converged on her with friendly smiles. “Hazel,” Ellen said brightly, giving her a quick hug. “Welcome to my humble babysitting job.”

“As if,” Hazel replied, totally loving the warm reception. “Thanks.”

Sylvia rose off Josh's lap. “Follow me. Let's get you something to drink.”

Trina, Hazel, and the PLDs sailed through the room, Trina greeting other guests with hugs before everyone hung a left.

Their destination was obviously the kitchen. It was packed with kids sipping from paper cups. The only sign that this was a babysitting job and not some spring break party house was the refrigerator loaded with kid art. Among the crayon drawings Hazel noticed a photograph of a mother, a father, and a little boy holding a Siamese cat. He had a cute buzz cut and large, thick glasses.

“That's Charlie, the kid I'm sitting,” Ellen said, pointing to the picture. “His mom died six months ago. Cancer.”

“Oh my God,” Hazel said. The woman looked far too young to have died of anything.

“Yeah. It sucks.” Megan sighed. “So, what do you want to drink? People bring stuff, and Charlie's dad contributes to the cause without realizing it.”

Ellen giggled. “Some of the parents we sit for have so much booze lying around they don't miss it if we take something here and there.”

Hazel gazed at the counter. It was a glittering row of liquor bottles. The stars of the school were pressed hip to hip, pouring drinks and carrying on. A heady mixture of perfume, cigarette smoke, and alcohol hung in the air.

I'm here,
Hazel thought.
These parties are for real and I'm here
—
as a guest of the PLDs.

“We have a rule that everyone must drink in the kitchen,” Sylvia explained. “It makes it easier to clean up. Spills, you know.”

I guess the rules just don't apply to Sylvia,
Hazel thought, glancing at the glass Sylvia had carried with her from the living room.

“Go ahead,” Megan urged. “Pick your poison.”

Hazel scanned the liquor bottles. She didn't do much drinking, but there were a few things she knew she liked. She reached for the bottle of Amaretto and got herself a paper cup from a stack beside the stove.

“You'll have to drink a lot of that to get a buzz on,” Megan said. “This does the job quicker.” She picked up a fifth of Jim Beam.

Hazel poured Amaretto into her cup. “That's okay—I need to pace myself.”

“A girl who knows her limit,” Sylvia noted. “I like that.”

“Hey, who's the new chick?” a low voice asked. Hazel felt a hand slide over her butt. She jerked. The Amaretto splashed around her cup.

“Don't be fresh, Stephan,” Sylvia scolded. “This is Hazel.”

Hazel glanced over her shoulder at Stephan Nylund.

“Hey-zel. Lookin' good.” His eyes scanned her up and down. “We're
going outside
for a while,” he said, making quotation marks in the air. “Want to come?”

“Going outside?” What did that mean?
Hazel looked to Sylvia for help, but she was pouring herself a drink. “Maybe later,” she told him. “I just got here.”

“Cool.” He gave her another long, lingering gaze before sliding open the glass door. “By the way, Meg, how's it hangin'?” he shouted as he sauntered out.

Megan glared at his back and hissed, “Ignore him. He's such an asshole.”

“You'd do well to follow your own advice,
ma petite
,” Sylvia put in.

Megan clamped her mouth shut.

Hazel's eyes returned to the picture on the refrigerator. “So where's the little boy?”

Sylvia gestured with her head. “Up in his room. He gets these really bad headaches. He has to lie down a lot. Ellen will check on him in a little while.” She threaded her arm through Hazel's. “But don't worry about him. Let me show you around. This is your first time at one of our parties. They're not like the keggers you're probably used to.”

Lowering her voice to a purr, she added, “We're low-key, but we have a hell of a lot more fun.”

“So I've heard,” Hazel said.

Sylvia shrugged. “Gossip is so déclassé. People who have lives don't bother chattering about people who do.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Hazel replied.

Sylvia gave her an appraising look. Hazel stayed cool.

“Tell me, how did you wind up with Lakshmi Sharma as your best friend?”

“She's
not
my best friend,” Hazel shot back, the vehemence in her voice surprising even her. “I inherited those guys.”

Sylvia nodded. “From Joy. What the hell was she doing with them?”

“I don't know,” Hazel admitted. “I wondered that myself.”

“Well, you need to move on, girlfriend,” Sylvia drawled. “They are going nowhere fast.”

“I know that.”

“And…so? What's stopping you? Are they blackmailing you or something?”

“Yeah. They're blackmailing me. Holding my pet goldfish hostage. Isn't that how everyone keeps their friends nowadays?” Hazel bantered.

Sylvia laughed. “You're spunky.”

“And witty,” Hazel added.

“I like that.” Sylvia laughed harder. “I
knew
you were the right person to drench with Diet Coke.”

“Actually, I planned the whole thing,” Hazel continued, sensing she was on a roll. “It's the next step in my plan to achieve world domination.”

“The world is a very big place. You'll need help.” Sylvia winked. “Come with me—you can see how this half lives.”

Sylvia walked her out of the kitchen, waving her hand and saying a brisk “Excuse me” to anyone who stood in their way. They headed into a hallway behind the living room, where she pointed to the nearest door.

“That's Mr. Pollins's study. Anything illegal goes in there.”
Illegal? Like drugs?
Hazel covered her shock with a quick nod.

Sylvia chuckled. “You'll see. People wander in and out of the room all night.”

Hazel shook her head. “How do you guys get away with all this?”

“We're very careful about cleaning up after ourselves, and the people who party with us know they won't get invited back if they're careless.”

“Right.” Hazel glanced down and realized she had carried her cup of Amaretto out of the kitchen. “Oh. Sorry!” she blurted.

Sylvia smiled kindly. “That's okay. You're new.” She took the cup from Hazel's hand and sipped. “Our philosophy is basically maintain and don't leave a mess. Use your manners and don't cause problems and you can do pretty much anything you want here.” Sylvia stopped in front of another doorway on the hall. “This is the guest bedroom.” She turned the knob and strode into the darkened room. “You can probably guess what goes on in here.”

“Hey! Occupied!” came a girl's voice. Hazel heard the sound of another girl stifling a laugh. She did a double take and then squinted at the two figures entangled on the bed.

“Carolyn?” she blurted.

“Out!” Carolyn snapped. “Haven't you two ever heard of knocking?”

“Come on,” Sylvia said. She pulled Hazel out of the room, laughing as she slammed the door behind them.

“Wait a minute,” Hazel said, confused. “If that was Carolyn, is she…I mean, was that—”

“Was Carolyn fooling around with another girl?” Sylvia finished. “Yes. Carolyn is gay. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, not at all. I just didn't—”

“Good. It's not information we spread around, because it's none of anybody's business. You know what they say: what happens here stays here.”

“Cool,” Hazel said, taking a minute to absorb the information. “So, what about Charlie? The kid you're sitting?”

Sylvia shrugged. “He's this little science geek. He has weird electronics stuff all over his room. He stays in there and works on his projects,” she said. “He would never tell his father about us. We've been his sitters forever. Before his mother got sick, even.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. So he just doesn't mention it. And we all go home happy.” Sylvia spread her arms. “Now you know the lay of the land, so to speak.”

“Thanks,” Hazel said. She craned her neck, peering into the crowded kitchen.

Sylvia crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Looking for anyone in particular?” she asked.

“Maybe,”
Hazel replied coyly.

“He'll be here,” Sylvia murmured, “I invited him—just for you.”

Someone cranked up Gwen Stefani on the stereo. The bass thumped so loudly that paintings shook against the wall. Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Gotta go check on that. We keep things quiet for the neighbors so we don't get busted.” She air-kissed Hazel and said, “Mingle,
ma cherie.
Go on, have some fun.”