A Tale of Two Pretties (3 page)

Kristen was just fixing her stocking, which had been hanging crookedly from a tack on the wall, when a knock came at the door.
She opened it to find Dempsey Solomon, her next-door neighbor. Blushing, she wrapped her Gap Outlet robe more tightly around
her and wished him a Merry Christmas.

Dimples firing, he held out a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “My mom made them. They’re gluten-free.” He rolled his eyes,
but smiled. The warm feeling Kristen had had all morning rose into a heat wave.
Did Dempsey feel it, too?

Marsha appeared at Kristen’s side, her big green eyes beaming.

“What a nice surprise! Come on in and join us for some cider?”

“I’d love to, but I’m heading out to Long Island to see my cousins.”

“Oh, we’re sorry to hear that,” Marsha said, putting her hands on Kristen’s shoulders. “And by
we
, I mean Kristen,” she tease-winked.

“
Mo-om!
” The heat wave turned into two fireballs on her
cheeks that she could’ve roasted chestnuts over. Kristen couldn’t shut the door fast enough.

“Gift time!” Marsha trilled, probably to avoid a
stop-embarrassing-me
fight with her daughter. It worked. Kristen kicked a fallen ornament out of the way and cheered when it touched the opposite
wall, pretending it was the winning goal in a championship game, and then snuggled onto the cozy couch.

David Beckham, Kristen’s fat gray cat, leaped onto the seat next to her and then curled into her lap, purring contentedly.
Seconds later he was asleep. Earlier, she’d stuffed his paw-shaped stocking with catnip toys, which were now strewn all over
the apartment. Kristen made a mental note not to give him all his gifts at once next year. He clearly couldn’t handle it.

Her mom held out a large square box, a smile blooming on her face. “This one first.”

Kristen attacked the gift like she attacked the sale rack at Nordstrom. Maybe it was the new iPod she’d asked for. Or maybe
the ultra-lightweight Nikes she wanted that would fit right in her purse. She tore away layers of sparkly silver wrapping
paper and filmy tissue paper to reveal…

… a soccer ball?

It looked like every other soccer ball she owned.

“Thanks, Mom!” Kristen managed. After all, it was a perfectly good soccer ball.

“Anything else in there?” Marsha asked, like she already knew.

Kristen double-checked. Sure enough, a letter lay nestled in the tissue paper. Slowly, she unfolded it and scanned the type.

“I’ve been accepted into the Soccer Sisters!” Kristen screamed. Beckham jumped off her lap and bolted down the hall.

“I know!” Marsha screamed back.

They hugged and jumped around the small living room until Mrs. Krandall, the cranky biddy in the apartment below, poked her
ceiling with a broom. Kristen fell back on the couch and bicycled her legs in the air. She’d forgotten she’d even applied
to be part of the elite, super-intense squad. Most of the Soccer Sisters’ players ended up in Division I programs—and some
of them had even made it all the way to the Olympics! Her coach at OCD had singled her out after a particularly tough game
early in the season and encouraged her to apply. Kristen had been so sure she wouldn’t get in that she never bothered to tell
anyone that she’d sent the forms in.

Adrenaline pumping, Kristen paced the cramped living room, stretching her hamstrings and calf muscles every few steps. Her
mom picked up the letter and read it aloud.

“ ‘This elite organization takes soccer very seriously…’ ”

“Same.” Kristen beamed.

“ ‘Success is the result of extreme determination and hard work…’ ”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Kristen was never one to back away from a challenge.

“ ‘… Practices are held every weekend—no exceptions—from January through June, taking off for the month of July, and then
resuming August through November.’ ”

Kristen paused mid-lunge. “Every weekend?”
For the rest of eighth grade?
How was that even possible?

Marsha waved the letter. “That’s what it says.”

Kristen fell back onto the couch and grabbed the letter from her mom, holding it close to her chest. Playing with the Soccer
Sisters every weekend meant Kristen would have to sacrifice ah-
lawt
. No more Friday night sleepovers with the PC. No more spa days, courtesy of Massie. No more shopping trips to New York City,
courtesy of Dylan’s mom. No more hanging out with Dempsey…

But she would gain a lot, too, and not just in muscle mass. Soccer was her passion, and she’d be spending weekends with girls
who’d rather run the field than play it, who’d rather charge a goalie than a gloss. Girls like her.

Kristen sighed loudly. It was nothing against the Pretty Committee. They were her best friends, her family. But the
chance to join the Soccer Sisters… to be able to do something she loved and something she excelled at…

It was a lose-lose situation. Choosing one meant sacrificing the other, even though it shouldn’t have to. Any sane person
would have assured Kristen she could have both: friends at school and soccer on the weekends. But “any sane person” didn’t
know Massie Block.

Meaning this was one Christmas miracle Kristen was going to have to keep to herself.

“Homesweethommmmme,” Dylan burped as the stretch Hummer stopped in front of the Marvil house.

The driver suppressed a smile.

“We haven’t eaten in days,” snapped her sister Ryan. “How are you still burping?”

“Like thissssssss,” Dylan burped again.

“Gross,” hissed her other sister, Jaime, while her mother checked the screen of her BlackBerry. Despite having just spent
ten luxurious days in the Caribbean, everyone was on edge.

Dylan examined her arms closely. Definitely pinker than when she had left on the surprise spa vacation. But Dylan was more
taken with the
size
of her skin than its color. And now that she had put her limbs to the final test, checking them in Westchester light, it
was confirmed. They were definitely lither.

Merri-Lee had flown her daughters to the Caribbean for a ten-day cleanse: no candy, no soda, no all-you-can-eat yogurt-covered
pretzels. It had been impossible at first, but once the Marvils got past their caffeine- and carb-withdrawal headaches, they
started feeling pretty good. And Dylan had only cheated six times! She victoriously wiggled her shrunken butt
in the heated leather seat. She couldn’t wait to show the PC how pink, refreshed, and skinny she was.

Merri-Lee locked the doors and then signaled the driver to raise the partition. “Girlies, one little thing before we go inside.”
She popped open her monogrammed Chanel compact and began reapplying her Guerlain KissKiss lipstick. “I have a Christmas surprise,”
she said, blotting her lips on the label of her Evian bottle.

Another surprise? What now? Cutting off our water supply?
Dylan and her sisters exchanged curious glances.

“You may want to touch up your faces before you see it,” she suggested.

Ryan and Jaime dumped out their makeup kits and got busy. But Dylan couldn’t be contained. Just before they left, Merri-Lee
had Zachary Levi and Katharine McPhee on her talk show to sing “Terrified” and Zachary’s smooth voice—
or was it his face? or his dark features? or maybe his smile
—made her flat-ironed red hair curl. All week Dylan had begged her mom for an introduction, and this was it.

Eager to stake her claim before her older sisters, Dylan grabbed her Louis Vuitton and broke out of the Hummer.

“Wait!” Merri-Lee called. But Dylan couldn’t be stopped. Her rejuvenated skin tightened from the cold New York air but there
was no time to moisturize. Zachary was waiting and her pinkish tan was fading.

“Hello?” Dylan called bursting through the front door. “Zach?” she muttered, taken aback by legions of cameras and lighting
rigs.
Were they filming this meet-and-greet the way
Oprah filmed
Twilight
fans when Robert Pattinson stopped by? Of course they were.
Daily Grind
fans loved watching other regular people being surprised.
Only Dylan was far from “regular” and her only surprise was a lack of Zach. Thick black cords curled into loops over the
Italian marble floors, and booms and lights towered over her. Against the far wall stood a craft service table piled high
with the foods Dylan hadn’t seen in ten (minus six cheats) days, and crew members hustled about like they owned the place.

Merri-Lee appeared in the doorway. “Surprise!” She clapped.

Jaime and Ryan appeared beside her, their heavily made-up faces looking stunned. Lights popped on. Men lifted cameras onto
their shoulders and aimed the lenses at their faces.

“What’s going on?” Dylan asked, blinded.

“We have our own reality show called
Marvilous Marvils
!”

Dylan’s forehead started to bead with sweat. Why had she eaten all six of those Luna Bars?

“That’s why we had to leave town,” Merri-Lee continued, through a bright smile. “The crew needed to wire the house while we
wired our bodies.” She winked at Dylan. “A ten-day cleanse to counteract the ten pounds the camera adds!”

Dylan turned to her sisters in amazement. They were grinning.

“We’re gonna be stars!” Jaime exclaimed.

“The Kardashians are Kardashi-
out
!” Ryan added.

A loud bell rang. Dylan and Ryan jumped. Jaime screamed. The crew lowered their gear.

“Okay, gang, we’re gonna take it from the top,” a male voice announced over a PA system. “Dylan, this time without the Zach
mention. Jaime, instead of ‘stars,’ can you say ‘reality stars,’ and Ryan, leave out the Kardashian comment—same network.
Merri-Lee, you were perfect.”

A tired-looking brunette in a black hoodie, black skinny jeans, and gray Converse ushered the Marvils back out the door.

After the director called “Action,” Dylan entered the foyer again and yelled, “Hullo?”

And again.

And then again.

And another time after that.

After the final take, Dylan peeled off her faux-fur bomber jacket and raced for the food table. She was deciding between a
plate of nachos and a baby carrot when a pale man with a walkie-talkie clipped to his jeans handed her a stack of papers.

“Here’s your shoot schedule, miss,” said the production assistant.

Dylan scanned the grid.
Ehma
-Emmy! They planned on using her
ah-lot
. She reached for the carrot and took a bite. She could practically hear Ryan and Guiliana scoring major gossip points about
her on
E! News
.

Dylan grabbed her HTC Evo, a Christmas gift from her sisters. Wait until the PC heard about this! She was forming the perfect
“Who’s got red hair, her own reality show, and isn’t Kathy Griffin?” text when the walkie-talkie guy grabbed her phone.

“’Scuse me?” Dylan said, her fist clenching.

He handed her another stack of papers thicker than September
Vogue
.

“Sign those. And if you’re under eighteen your mom needs to sign, too.”

“No need. I’m twenty-one.”

“Cool,” he said, unfazed.

“Wait! You actually believe I’m twenty-one?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been working on reality shows for three years. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Deflated, Dylan glanced at the papers. The header said
CONFIDENTIALITY CONTRACT
in all-caps. She winced at the memories of the last time she had needed to sign a confidentiality clause, when Merri-Lee
had interviewed the (former) world champion tennis star Svetlana Slootskyia in Hawaii.

“Do I have to?” Dylan asked.

“Yes,” Merri-Lee insisted, butting in. “And this is serious. You can’t even tell your friends. They’ll have to hear about
it like everyone else, during my live New Year’s Yves party!”

The pale guy added, “It’s a legally binding document that will hold up in a court of law. If you violate it, the repercussions
are severe.”

“How severe?” Dylan wondered aloud. “Lindsay Lohan severe, or rest of the country severe?”

“Rest of the country,” he assured her. “For starters you’ll have to reimburse us for the cost of the show. Two million
plus,” he said before she had time to ask. “So be honest: Can you keep this secret?”

Dylan grabbed her phone from his hand. “Puh-lease!”

She managed to conceal six cheats during a ten-day juice fast. How much harder could this be?

“You know why his name is Bernie Madoff?” asked a silver-haired man in a blue suit and a crisp red tie.

Alicia took a small sip of sparkling water and waited for the punch line.

“Because he
made
off
with everyone’s money.”

Her parents, Len and Nadia, seemed as amused as the other guests at their table. Alicia’s laugh was faker than the
Hills
finale, but thankfully no one noticed.

This lunch was important. She had carefully selected a sophisticated, simple outfit for The 21 Club’s annual Christmas lunch—a
dark gray Ralph Lauren sweater that downplayed her C-cups and played up her pencil skirt. But judging by the flouncy cocktail
dresses in the dining room, she’d made a mistake. She felt like one of the darts she’d thrown in Josh Hotz’s game room: totally
off the mark.

Every Christmas Day, Alicia and Nadia joined Len for a luncheon with his lawyer colleagues. It was a candlelit snoozefest,
but Alicia was always rewarded for her attendance with an extra-special present afterward. Today, as they dined deep in the
heart of Manhattan, their table and bellies stuffed with heavy meats and risotto, Alicia was hoping for some cardio-shopping
on Fifth Avenue.