Secrets of the Sisterhood (The Cinderella Society, Episode 1) (11 page)

Soul-deep confidence
. I liked the sound of that. I had no idea how to get there, but it sounded like a happy place to be.

“The Image Plan projects are pretty fun once you get into them,” Gaby added. “So get creative. Your big Sisters will be there if you need them.”

With promises from us not to go crazy with our makeovers, Gaby turned us loose to our fairy godmothers, a.k.a. big Sisters. While the other big Sisters cozied up to the table next to their Alphas, Sarah Jane strolled up to me with keys in her hand. “Ready?”

I looked from her keys to my binder to the other Alphas around the table. Everyone else looked to be here for the duration, except for Kyra helping Mel gather up her things.

“I don’t have to do the prep stuff?” I asked. Did I pull a rockin’ big Sister card or what?

“Oh, no, you definitely do. You can’t launch the new you until you know who she is.”

Thanks, Dr. Phil.

“But first, I’m going to introduce you to signature style the same way my big Sister introduced me.”

“Which means . . . ?”

“Reconnaissance mission.”

Chapter Sixteen

Blue Ridge Park is a jumbo sports complex with baseball diamonds, soccer fields, basketball courts, a skateboard park, and several playgrounds for the preschool set. In the summer months, every Mt. Sterling resident under twenty inevitably finds their way there.

“First things first,” Sarah Jane said as she turned off the engine. She pulled a small glittery box out of her purse. “A gift for my little Sister.”

Pressies!
I unraveled the ribbon and lifted the top. A shiny silver charm bracelet twinkled at me from inside. Even with no charms on it, it was totally glam.

I slipped it on and slowly turned my wrist, watching the beveled links catch the sunlight, and noticed it actually did have a charm on it. The butterfly from initiation. I’d given it to Sarah Jane after the ceremony, for ‘a little something special’, she’d said. I got choked up seeing it again and had to blink hard against a sappy show of emotion.

“Every Cindy gets a charm bracelet when she goes Alpha,” Sarah Jane said. “The first charm is a butterfly to symbolize the change you’re about to make in your life.”

“A metamorphosis.” I
so
wanted to be the butterfly.

“You’ll get new charms as you pass other milestones, but this one’s a constant reminder that real beauty is there all along. You’re just making sure the real you shines through.”

As cornball as her spiel sounded, I bought it like a large buttered popcorn on movie night. “It’s awesome, Sarah Jane. Thanks.”

“Remember what it means, and you’ll never get off track. That’s the secret to surviving the Alphas.”

I knew she was kidding, but then thought about her enormo binder and decided there was probably a hint of truth in there too. After surviving hundreds of pages of training and projects, we’d deserve every charm and then some.

“Okay, let’s talk basics.” Sarah Jane unbuckled and turned toward me. “The goal of the Appearance section of your Image Plan is to make you feel comfortable and confident.”

I barely resisted pumping my fists in the air in triumph. Finally, the good stuff!

“Signature style is the ultimate example of you being comfortable in your own skin,” she explained. “Gaby wasn’t kidding about that being the key to confidence with your new look. It’s where you pull all the pieces together—hair, makeup, wardrobe, accessories—to show who you really are. Are you casual or glam or girly or sporty or a combination of two or three? Once you’re clear on that, you’ve got the foundation for your signature style.”

To help me understand, we wandered through the park and checked out the hodgepodge of people. Skater boys with down-to-there waistbands and basketball players in cut-off muscle shirts and high-tops. Not exactly the fashion mecca you’d expect for a signature style intro.

SJ slowed in front of a baseball diamond, where I recognized some kids from school. Some teachers too.

“This is the annual Student-Teacher Summer Slam,” she explained. “The teachers and students always play each other for bragging rights the next year. Yesterday was the basketball game—we crushed ‘em—and today’s the baseball game.”

SJ steered us toward some empty bleachers near the outfield to give us a good view of the grandstand, the real reason we were there. With so much of the In crowd in attendance, it was practically a fashion event waiting to happen. We climbed up a couple of rows, made ourselves as comfy as the metal benches would allow, and shifted our attention to our fellow classmates.

Inadequacy hit me like a wave. I’d rarely fit the bill for trendy anywhere I’d lived. Oh, I’d tried. But after breaking the bank trying to overhaul my wardrobe every time we moved—only to find out I was unforgivably last year or, worse, the poster child for generic—I’d learned to become a savvy observer of fashion and style.
 

SJ leaned back, propping her elbows on the bleacher behind her. I followed suit, and we let our sunglasses hide our gazes from the world.

“Let’s start with one close to home,” SJ said. “How would you describe my signature style?”

Um, perfect?
I glanced over at the ever-fabulous Sarah Jane Peterson. Sarah Jane had classy prep down to a science. If Ralph Lauren or Tommy Hilfiger made it, it inevitably found its way into SJ’s closet. With her classic blonde good looks and natural makeup, it was a freak of nature she wasn’t the latest face of Cover Girl.

“All-American classy prep?” I ventured.

I saw SJ’s eyes widen. “I call it all-American dockside prep, but you nailed it. What about Kyra? She’s sitting second row from the bottom.”

I squinted at the crowd and found her sitting next to Mel, cheering for Ben at bat. Kyra had a totally fun and flirty style—she was decked out in a super cute sundress that was one of my favorites on her. Plus, she had that amazing auburn hair and tan skin that needed almost zero makeup to look fabulous.

“Fun and flirty girl-next-door.”

“You’ve got the gift, J. Kee calls it ‘flirty and fresh romance,’ but again, bull’s-eye. Your makeover’s going to be a breeze.” She scanned the grandstand again before giving me my final test. Top row, dead center. Black shirt.

My eyes skimmed the row until they landed on the last person I wanted to see. I stifled a groan and dutifully studied her signature style. I hated to admit it, but Lexy had a way tight style. Designer all the way. Form-fitting Hugo Boss for getting noticed (always high on Lexy’s agenda) and Diesel jeans with Urban Chic tanks for slumming. With her custom-dyed, blacker-than-black hair and pale skin, she definitely made a statement: Welcome to
Sex and the City, The Early Years.

“Revolting sex kitten?”

Sarah Jane gave me a gentle but disapproving look. Definitely a no-Wicked-chatter kind of girl, our Sarah Jane.

“Lexy has a powerful style, I’ll give you that much,” she said. “Try to take your emotions out of it and give it another shot.”

I watched Lexy slouching with the Wickeds, doing her best to draw attention to herself while pretending to be oblivious to everything around her. I narrowed my eyes at the ruse. “Calculated sexy chic.”
 

“That’s closer,” she said. “The effect is thrown together and sexy, but it takes a lot of effort to pull off. You have to be fully committed to that kind of style.”

Bottom line? These were no mere mortals. Master fashionistas roamed the halls of Mt. Sterling High. How could I possibly compete with them? Ryan knowing my name was one thing. Putting it in a sentence that included “Wanna go out?” was another.

SJ sat up, giving me a huge grin. “You’re a natural at style, Jess. Way more savvy than I was when I first started my Image Plan.”

I didn’t believe that for a second, but it still made me glow. Until she said, “How would you describe your own signature style?”

I had no idea.

I’d always been a chameleon about clothes, so I’d never bothered to put my own stamp on fashion choices. Scrambling to catch up was as much as I could muster.

“I don’t have one,” I admitted.

“What do you want it to be?”

That was a tough one. Stylish, for sure. Fun and carefree, but not too girly. Sporty, but not boxy or boyish or too body-conscious. Memorable, definitely. And irresistible enough to get Ryan’s attention away from someone like Fake Blondie without being blatantly sexy.

I glanced at Lexy again and shuddered. Sexy was definitely not my game.

How did you condense all that down into one signature style? I mean, I read
Vogue
just like the next girl. But looking at clothes and putting together a style of my own were totally different. While other girls had been perfecting their trendy looks, I’d been racking up volunteer hours by the dozen. Which wasn’t super helpful at solving the dilemma at hand.

“What do you recommend?” I asked.

Sarah Jane shook her head. “You need to figure it out for yourself. No one knows you better than you do.”

Given my tunnel vision of forever trying to fit in at new schools, I wasn’t sure even I knew me all that well.

“Try some different styles on for size and see how they feel,” she suggested. “When you find one that makes you feel comfortable and confident, that’s the signature style for you. And when we hit the mall”—I almost fainted with excitement—“give yourself permission to try new things. Even if they’re totally different than what you’re used to. You don’t always know if something’s you until you give it a shot.”

That seemed fair. Plus, hello? The mall was in my future, with Sarah Jane at my side.

Batter up!

Chapter Seventeen

With recon complete, we wandered over to the Snack Shack to grab a slush freeze and some seats in the grandstand. I managed to only stumble a little when I saw Ryan get up from the bench to warm up for his at bat. I carefully focused my eyes straight ahead so he wouldn’t think I was stalking him. But when his head turned to watch us go, it was all I could do to keep my cool. As soon as our backs were to him, the thrill overpowered me. Ryan Steele had just watched me walk by.

Me.
Walk by.

Now, before you go assuming I think I’m all that, yes, I was walking with Sarah Jane, who could probably turn the heads of half the MSH faculty. But since she was dating one of Ryan’s best friends, I didn’t think he’d be bold enough to show it even if he did have the hots for her.

I could barely contain my glee as we stood in line. I was in such a tiz that I almost missed seeing Heather pay for her drink and head around the side of the shack.

“Cherry Jubilee or Grapetastic?” SJ asked.

“Grape, thanks.” I handed her my money. “I’ll be right back.”

I walked around the side of the building to catch Heather before she hit the stands again. I was almost around the back when I heard her voice. Not her, Heather, but her,
Lexy
.

I peeked around the back and saw Lexy, Morgan, and Tina—the Three Musketeers of the Wickeds—crowding around Heather. With their backs to me, I could only see one pink-sleeved arm of Heather. Lexy’s voice was low, but a lifetime of drawing attention to herself made it impossible to muffle entirely.

“Quit acting like a baby, Clark Bar. A few more favors, and you’ll be free and clear.”

Heather’s voice was drowned out by a roar from the crowd. I started to move toward them but hesitated. Heather had already told me to butt out.

“Don’t forget what got you here to begin with. I can make it your worst nightmare or”—Lexy snapped her fingers over her right shoulder—“make it all go away.” They moved past Heather, knocking her arm so her soda landed with a splat on her Keds. “Don’t call us, Reggie. We’ll call you.”

Heather stood there shaking, looking pale and terrified. The orange soda soaked into her dirty shoes, turning the dingy canvas to a mucky brown swirl. She swiped at a tear, suddenly and with a ferocity I wouldn’t have imagined her capable of, and bent to grab the remnants of her battered cup.

I hurried over, kicking myself for playing the bystander. Since when did I hesitate to do the right thing? I’d let Lexy win. Again.

“Hey,” I said quietly, trying not to spook her. “You okay?”

She chucked the cup into a nearby trash can, not meeting my eyes. Her body was so tense I thought she might shatter.

I tried again. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“You
can’t
,” she cried, her tension fizzling into heartbreak. “No one can.”

I opened my mouth to tell her I could if she’d let me, but she was already darting around the building in the opposite direction Lexy and her cronies had gone.
 

Lexy had done her job. Heather looked as victimized as any target I’d ever seen.

“What was that about?”

SJ’s voice made me jump. How long had she been there? “Lexy and the crew,” I said, opting for brevity. “Ganging up on Heather Clark.”

“Any idea why?”

“She won’t say.”

SJ chewed her lower lip and watched the puddle of orange carbonation sink into the grass. “They rarely do.”

“Why did Lexy call her Reggie?”