Secrets of the Sisterhood (The Cinderella Society, Episode 1) (12 page)

Lexy was known for nicknames. Clark Bar, I got. Thief—her favorite name for me—I understood too. But I’d thought Reggie was a Cindy term.

SJ looked at me, but several seconds ticked by before her brain seemed to follow. She glanced around to check our privacy status. “Reggies was originally their word, an insulting name for people the Wickeds thought could be manipulated because they weren’t strong. We adopted the term in the opposite way because ordinary can be extraordinary with the right motivation.”

That seemed like a pretty tall order. “The meek shall inherit the earth?”

“They’re not meek, but yeah. There are way more Reggies than there will ever be Cindys or Wickeds. The real power’s in their hands, but they have to recognize that and grab hold of it for it to do them any good.”

“Why not just let all of the Reggies become Cindys?” I didn’t really get that part. If every Reggie had access to our training and backup, the Wickeds would have no one to rule.
Bye bye, Lexy.

“There’s no way we could train them all,” SJ said. “Besides, you don’t
need
to be a Cindy to have power. That’s what Gaby was trying to explain. Being a Cindy doesn’t make you superwoman.”

“But it gives you tools to fight them with, right? And a built-in support system?”

“We can help some with the tools part. But they already have a much bigger support system:
each other
. They just don’t know how to use it. Or don’t trust it. Bullying makes them distrust everyone, which keeps them from banding together. It’s part of how the Wickeds win.”

Seemed like the Wickeds thought of everything.

“So does ‘Reggies’ cover everyone?” I asked. “I mean, everyone who’s not a Cindy or a Wicked?”

“As far as girls go, yeah. Most guys are Reggies too, except for the ones who are all into the Wickeds and their mental games. We call them the Villains.”

“What about the good guys?”

“Like Ryan?” SJ teased. “Those are the Charmings.”

I blushed, despite knowing Sarah Jane would never blab about my crushing ways. Ryan definitely did the name Charming justice.

Sarah Jane turned to go, handing me my grape freeze. I took it from her, humbled by how lucky I was to know the Cindys had my back. It seemed impossible that I’d gone from total loner to full-fledged Sister in a matter of days. I wished Heather could too. Or at least that I could offer protection from whatever Lexy was grinding into her.

We headed over to squeeze in near Kyra and Mel and watch a very close baseball game. I tried not to ogle Ryan’s fine form as the teachers pulled off a victory with a home run by Mr. Darden, the football coach. The crowd began to disperse with plenty of good-natured—or mostly good-natured—ribbing, and Kyra and Mel waved off as they headed over to tease Ben.

Fake Blondie had plastered herself to Ryan’s side, so I turned around to search the stands for Heather. Not surprisingly, she was nowhere to be found. I would’ve bailed too.

We found Mark in the crowd and followed the masses out to the main parking lot. I felt like a genuine part of the gang, hanging out with Sarah Jane and Mark as people stopped to gab about tomorrow’s Summer Slam obstacle race. I might be a tagalong, but at least I
was
along. That was a step up already.

When everyone had scattered to the winds, and Mark had deposited us back at the convertible, Sarah Jane turned to me and said the words I’d been dying to hear.

“Are you ready to play Cinderella?”

Chapter Eighteen

Safely entrenched back in the nearly empty Club—most people were probably off hashing out makeover plans at the mall by now—I pulled out my
CMM
and dug in. If I needed to try out some signature style ideas before we could launch my makeover, I was all over it. I’d promised Mom I’d be home for dinner and to help her in the nursery, so I didn’t have all night.

I grabbed a seat near Kat and Mel, who had just gotten back from outings with their own big Sisters. I knew Mel had been with Kyra at the game—probably for a similar kind of recon intro—but I didn’t know where Gwen had taken Kat.

The three of us reviewed different parts of the Appearance section titled
Debuting Your Signature Style
. The packet was like a style bible, filled with articles written by everyone from top designers to Hollywood makeup artists. All for the Cindys.

Kat got up to grab a drink from the lounge, and Mel fished around in her zipper pouch filled with colorful pens.

“I’m so excited about the Image Plan,” Mel sighed, pulling out a pearly turquoise pen. “It’s like getting ready for a whole new me, you know?”

Personally, I couldn’t understand why a smart, funny, popular beauty queen would want a whole new her. “Can I ask you something?”

 
“Mm-hmm.” Mel flipped the page in her binder.

“Why are you here?”

“To get ahead on my
CMM
if I can. I’ve got pageant stuff coming up, so I’ll miss a week. I don’t want to get behind.”

“That’s what I mean. Why do you even need a makeover?”

“Are you kidding? Who doesn’t love a makeover?” She zipped her pouch and set it aside. “But I’m mostly excited about the life makeover stuff.”

“But weren’t you Miss Peach Festival and voted Most Popular
and
Nicest in the freshman class? How much of a life makeover can you possibly need?”

Mel shrugged. “Some people are impressive on paper,” she said. “I’d rather be impressive in real life.”

I knew nothing about Mel, really, except for her looks, her reputation, and her pageant success. So naturally, I turned her into a walking stereotype.

Strike one for the new Jess.

Kat came back in with an orange soda that made me think of Heather. If I couldn’t bring her into the Cindy fold, maybe I could suggest a makeover adventure to help us bond. I just needed to figure out how to do one the Cindy way. Good thing that was already on the agenda.

I dove in and devoured words of makeup wisdom from Bobbi and figure-flattering advice from Bradley. The coolest part of all? Some of the big names had gotten together and created a
CMM
Style Quiz
just for the Cindys. But I had to tackle my first project before I could hit the computer and pay a visit to Quiz City.

Kat and Mel already had their projects underway by the time I finished reading. I’d been schooled by the best and was ready to jump head first into creating the new me.

I knocked on the door of Gaby’s office, and she lifted her nose from a binder that rivaled SJ’s. “Back from the front lines?” she asked.

“I got here an hour ago. You were on your cell, so I didn’t want to disturb.”

“Sorry.” Gaby rubbed her eyes. “I’m trying to finish my final Beta project. I’m also going for the Girl Scout Gold Award, so it’s more juggling than I’m used to. Especially after studying like crazy for final exams.”

“You’re in TCS
and
in Girl Scouts?” Talk about a girl-power one-two punch.

Gaby nodded. “I’m usually pretty good about balancing them, but I’ve got a bunch of things hitting at the same time right now. I’ll get it done, though. Somehow.”

Overachiever, thy name is Gaby. “I heard you’re shooting to be the youngest Gamma in the history of TCS,” I said, not bothering to mask my awe.

“That’s the goal. Some girls have done it the summer between sophomore and junior year, but I skipped second grade, so I’m a year younger.”

Dang.
Brilliant after skipping a grade? Einstein had nothing on Gabrielle Winston. “Your parents must be really proud of you being the youngest soon-to-be Gamma.”

Oh. Except they probably didn’t know.

Gaby smiled at the look on my face. “Yeah, I wish I could tell them. I’m kind of overshadowed by my sister, Angie. She was born eleven minutes before me, and she’s been the one to watch ever since. She’s on the fast track to Juilliard as a dancer.” She rolled her pencil between her fingers. “A little advice? Don’t treat your future sibs like two halves of one person. Every twin is a whole person all by themselves, even if parents sometimes forget that.”

I felt bad that I let my resentment toward Mom and Dad spill over onto the babies. It wasn’t the twins’ fault they’d have things I never had—parents who were actually there for them, a place to really call home. Plus, they weren’t even born yet, so how petty was I? At least I’d never had to fight with anyone for my parents’ attention. When they’d been paying attention. Which wasn’t often.

I promised Gaby I’d keep her advice in mind, then shifted back into
CMM
mode. “The binder says I need to get materials for my
Signature Style Portfolio
from you?”

Gaby pulled out a large, chunky envelope and handed it to me. “Instructions for the portfolio are inside. Magazines are in the storage cabinet in the lounge. But I have three words for you:
zen is queen.
If a style gives you even the tiniest twinge of nerves, it’s not for you. Make zen your mantra and you’ll do great.”

“Whatever it takes, Captain,” I said. I’d have made
Lexy is queen
my mantra if it meant getting to my makeover faster.

The butterflies revolted at the mere thought.

Okay, maybe not that. But I’d have done just about anything else to rock my
CMM
project. The new and improved future Jess depended on it.

Chapter Nineteen

The
Signature Style Portfolio
was broken down into three sections:

STYLES I ADMIRE

STYLES THAT MAKE ME NERVOUS

STYLES FOR THE REAL ME

For each one, you had to find examples in magazines that fit that particular statement for you. Then you cut them out and created a collage, along with words to represent each section. Like
carefree
for things I admired or
dramatic
for things (and people) that made me uneasy.

My chameleon ways were giving me a fit.

Instead of gluing my heart out and writing words and slogans in curly script, I mostly just shuffled a huge stack of pictures around next to my three poster-board cards. Just when I thought I’d finally figured out the difference between styles I admired and styles that were really me, Gaby’s mantra would pop into my head.

Zen is queen.

And I’d realize that the “real me” page was actually the “really
think
this should be me” page. Which is not at all the same. Why couldn’t I just get this done and move on? I wasn’t curing cancer here!

Good thing I hadn’t been gluing, changing my mind, and peeling things off the whole time. My boards would’ve looked like a three-year-old learning to use a glue stick. Instead, my trusty glue stick sat next to me, still capped, waiting for me to commit.

Kat’s chair squeaked as she sat back, rolling her shoulders in slow circles to loosen up her neck. Without even thinking, I started doing the same to ease the crick in mine. Sitting hunched over for long stretches did not make muscles happy.

Mel had already scooted to go to a pageant rehearsal, so it was just the two of us left. And Gaby in her office. Of course.

 
“Pretty amazing stuff, yeah?” Kat asked me.

“Amazing and then some,” I said, leaving out the
and also insane-making
part. “I don’t know what I’ll look like when I’m done, but I can’t wait to see the new me. Have you done a full-out makeover before?”

“Nah,” she said. “My dad doesn’t really believe in that stuff. He’s seen what actresses go through to stay ‘camera-ready’. He thinks everyone should just be grateful for what God has given them and stop stressin’ so much.”

Easy for him to say. Kat’s dad was former stuntman Roscoe Walker. He was a dead ringer for Dwayne Johnson (a.k.a. The Rock), so what God gave him was pretty darn nifty. Even if Kat got nauseated every time someone told her they thought her dad was Mr. McGorgeous.

“He’s my
dad
,” she’d groaned when someone joked about it at Overnight. “It’s just . . .
ick
, you know?”

Kat flipped her
CMM
shut and stood to go. “But I figure God wants us to make the most of what he’s given us, right? I can be the best me, inside
and
out. Nothing wrong with getting a little help from our friends,” she added, with a wink.

Especially when those “friends” were people like Bobbi and Bradley.

I looked at my watch as Kat headed home, shocked to see that almost two hours had gone by. I’d never make it home in time for dinner. A quick negotiating call to Mom that involved me promising extra nursery help—plus a dreaded outing to Babies ‘R’ Everywhere as a bribe—and I was off the hook for the night.
 

I fished around in my locker to check my cash situation and settled on a ham and cheese panini. I popped my head into Gaby’s office to see if she wanted anything. Her bleary eyes were ready for a break, so I ordered for both of us.

I’d almost decided to just cut out every photo of Jennifer Garner to make my “admire” page complete when Audrey came to the door with savory food and lively company. Gaby came out of her office, her nose leading the way toward our most excellent yummage, and Audrey asked if we minded if she took her dinner break with us.

Cut. It. OUT.