Secrets of the Sisterhood (The Cinderella Society, Episode 1) (3 page)

“Well, this is interesting,” Lexy said. “I can’t decide which one of you is slumming.”

I glanced up at her. “Oh, hey, Lexy. I didn’t notice you behind the mountain of makeup.”

“
She’s
your backup, Clark Bar?” Lexy looked from me to Heather. “News flash: two losers do not equal a posse.”

I’d been without backup my entire life. All it took was one person to step forward and give you a fighting chance against a bully. But for an outcast? That was about as likely as winning the lottery. I might not have been much on the social power scale, but at least I could be a backup for Heather. Two was always better than one.

I squared my shoulders. “You’re not the only one with backup power. We’re sticking together, so you’d better get used to it.”

“Is that right?”

“Count on it.”

“You sure that’s how you want it, Clark Bar?”

When Heather didn’t respond, I stepped closer. She needed moral support, and I was more than willing to oblige. Anything to present a united front against the forces of evil.

Instead, Heather looked at me, tears dripping like apologies down her cheek. Her voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

She turned and walked away.

I was so stunned I couldn’t move. I’d thrown myself on the social grenade, solidifying my status as Mt. Sterling’s Most Wanted to help a fellow outcast. Who’d snubbed me right in front of the people I was trying to save her from.

Worse, I wasn’t even sure I could blame her. Heather had just helped me pick up the pieces when Lexy blasted through my life, and I’d practically shunned her. Now she was the target, and I was pushing my way into her life like she didn’t have a choice.

Here, hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite . . .

I could’ve ignored what was happening. Could’ve kept my distance like everyone else. But the breaking point Lexy had been pushing me toward for weeks had finally arrived. For my efforts, I saw the first genuine smile I’d ever seen on Lexy’s face. I’d given her a front-row seat to my ultimate humiliation.

“It must be hard to be you, Parker. Lucking your way onto varsity only to discover they don’t want you. Not a single friend to your name. Even the losers won’t give you the time of day.” Lexy turned to go, delivering her parting shot over her shoulder. “It must really make you wonder what’s wrong with you.”

And the arrow hits home.

By the time my fog of shame lifted, Lexy was halfway across the parking lot. I stared after her, trying to erase the words ringing in my ears. But it was the car idling nearby that finally snapped me out of it. Fake Blondie’s voice reached my ears as she gossiped with another soon-to-be senior. A string of Populars lined the car on both sides. When the crowd broke and Ryan’s eyes met mine, I knew without a doubt that he’d witnessed my final downfall.

My misery was complete.

Drained by the day’s heaping portion of indignities, I trudged back into school for my much-needed beverage of choice. I dropped my bag on a bench to dig one more time for cash. The sound of the bag’s thump against the wood echoed through the nearly vacant halls. Funny how a place could be so alive and kicking one minute and completely devoid of energy the next.

I fished around for the money I hadn’t thought to set aside while it was sprawled on the sidewalk. Since only a few people were hanging around, mostly outside, I dumped the contents of my bag in the corner near the vending machines. At the very bottom of the bag—big surprise—was my wallet. It came out almost dead last. Except for one small, lavender envelope that swept down to land on top of it.

In small, loopy letters it read:
For Jessica’s eyes only
.

Almost no one calls me Jessica. It’s always been Jess, except to Nan and receptionists in doctors’ offices. Whoever had left this for me must not have known me very well. Which, given the givens, wasn’t a shocking revelation. The fact this person knew I even
had
a first name gave them bonus points.

I turned the envelope over in my hand. It was sealed with one of those old-fashioned wax thingies. Where they drip wax on the paper and stamp it with a fancy seal?

I dropped it back on the pile, trying to process this latest development. Someone had given me a note that didn’t look like hate mail. Because, really, anyone who puts fancy wax seals on hate mail has way too much time on their hands.

But a fancy wax seal on an elaborate joke? That would be right up Lexy’s alley.

As tempted as I was to toss the stupid thing in the trash—
that
would show her—I couldn’t. I’ve always been too curious for my own good. I also knew myself well enough to know I’d never make it home before I gave in to temptation, so I plowed ahead, determined to get the joke over with once and for all. I tossed some coins in the machine and grabbed my pop (soda, whatever), gathered up my stuff, and headed straight for the girls’ bathroom.

I checked under the stalls to make sure they were free of spectators before locking myself in one so nobody would have a prime view of my trip to the Joke’s On You emporium. Because, let’s face it, that would’ve been on par with the rest of my day.
 

I peeled open the envelope, taking care not to break the seal in two. Somehow, the seal made the envelope’s contents feel important. And wasn’t it always the breaking of some seal that opened the portal to the seventh level of hell in movies? So yeah, case number two for keeping that baby intact.

My hand hesitated at the open flap. Part of me wanted to tear into it, but the bigger part of me—the one concerned with self-preservation—resisted.

How had my life come to this? Where I feared opening random notes because they might be the latest in a long line of adolescent aggravations. Yes, there was a chance it could be a legit note, but the odds of that were minuscule. I might’ve been an optimist, but I wasn’t an idiot.

Still . . .

I reached into the envelope and withdrew the matching lavender note card, which sported the same swirly design as the seal. I opened the card, my hands trembling in dread and the faint remnants of what I used to call hope, as a tiny silver high-heel pin bounced into my hand.

What the . . . ?

I juggled the pin for a second, barely managing to keep it from falling into the toilet, and flipped open the note with my other hand. The words inside were written in the same girly handwriting. Not a message but an invitation, one that sent shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with the blasting A/C.

Your presence is requested at the Grind.

Tonight, 7 p.m.

Wear the pin.

Discretion MANDATORY.

Chapter Three

I stood on the stone sidewalk, checking the silver pin I’d inconspicuously fastened to the ruffled hem of my shirt. Seven on the dot. I peered through the massive windows of the Grind, relieved to see it was wall-to-wall people. As intimidating as crowds were right now, this one offered a distinct advantage. With that many people around, I could easily pass off the visit as a simple drink stop, and my pin wouldn’t be noticeable until I wanted it to be.

If
I wanted it to be.

I traced the outline of the pin with my fingertip. I’d spent most of the afternoon listing the zillion reasons why this was obviously a setup. Not to mention the fact that I had no clue when the note had even been put in my locker. (My locker wouldn’t exactly win awards for tidiness.)
Tonight, 7 p.m.
could’ve been a week ago Tuesday.

On the flip side, the list of reasons why I
should
come was short and sweet: my curiosity was killing me, and my luck was bound to turn around sometime. Or at least that was the theory. Karma and all that.

But ultimately, it was the pathetic saga of my life that clinched the deal. I’d already withstood Lexy’s campaign of torture, plus embarrassment (twice) at the hands of my dream guy. How much more could someone do to me in a public place like the Grind, where there’d be witnesses galore, including adults? Even Lexy wouldn’t be that bold. I hoped.

I said a quick prayer for good luck and pushed through the glass doors, the chill of the coffee shop barely making its way to me through the throngs of people. Couples waited in line, kids chatted about summer events . . . everyone seemed to have a purpose for being there, and not one of them seemed to involve me.

I slipped into line and waited, keeping my eyes peeled for any unusual activity. I recognized some faces, but nothing made my inner danger signal ping. Mostly because there was no sign of Lexy or her band of merry gossip girls.

I was almost to the front of the line when Sarah Jane Peterson and Kyra Gonzalez, our cheer team co-captains, stepped out from the hallway near the bathrooms. They looked like a teen cover shoot for one of the fashion mags I devoured every month, Sarah Jane’s glossy blonde hair and high cheekbones a striking contrast to Kyra’s deep auburn hair and flawless tan complexion. Even in glam-crazy Mt. Sterling, they still stood out as starlets. Except that Sarah Jane and Kyra were peacemakers, not divas.

Sarah Jane scanned the room, her eyes falling on me. She looked at me, expressionless, glanced from my eyes to my chest and back as if passing swift judgment, and continued on to scan the rest of the room. She and Kyra headed toward a table of girls in the corner, and I was quickly forgotten.

I would’ve brooded over the fact that Sarah Jane and Kyra were two of the nicest, most popular girls in school—not to mention my teammates—and they’d just passed me over as insignificant. Which I understood, given how the whole cheer rumor went down. Except why did Sarah Jane look at my shirt? Could it mean—?

“Showing your face in public so soon?” Lexy asked, loud enough to break through the din. “How brave. I would’ve thought you’d been snubbed enough for one day.”

She’d snuck up next to me while I’d been lala-ing in fantasy land. It served me right for letting down my guard.

“It gets me right here”—Lexy tapped her chest where a normal person would have a heart—“to know you’ll be flying solo this summer. But keep the faith. Maybe you’ll find a friend by graduation.”

I
so
wanted to remind her that I’d be spending part of that summer at the cheer camp she’d never go to, but I didn’t. Partly because I didn’t want to engage the enemy. I just wanted her to go away. But also partly because her words stung more than I wanted them to.

It was uncanny. Lexy had a knack for knowing exactly which buttons to push to hit you where it hurt. And how to push them in the most public way possible. It was like she had a giant cheat sheet listing everyone’s biggest insecurities, and she got a gold star every time she nailed one.
 

I ignored her, studying the coffee menu like I didn’t have a care in the world.

“Isn’t that sad?” Lexy asked Morgan. “She’s pretending she doesn’t hear me so she doesn’t have to face reality.”

Deep breath.
No way was I letting her get so much as a blink from me. Until Morgan bumped Lexy’s elbow sending her coffee flying. Like my chest was a bull’s-eye.

I gasped. The coffee seared through the thin material of my shirt, scalding my skin like a hot iron. Lexy’s fake apologies fooled everyone but me as Sarah Jane swooped in and grabbed my arm. Lexy looked irritated by Sarah Jane’s interference, but painted an innocent look on her face when the night manager came out looking peeved.

Sarah Jane hurried me to the bathroom, but not fast enough that I missed the behind-the-back low five Lexy and Morgan exchanged for a job well done. My face flushed redder than my throbbing chest at the injustice. How did girls like Lexy always manage to get away with it?

Sarah Jane pulled me toward the sinks as several girls exited the bathroom in a hurry after seeing my condition. In a rush to hear the gossip, no doubt.

Sarah Jane quickly soaked a wad of paper towels with cold water and handed it to me. “Put this under your shirt,” she instructed.

The cool relief felt like heaven on my scorched skin. Sarah Jane and I stood there for several minutes, resoaking the paper towels in cold water when they got warm, as an awkward silence engulfed us.

In all my years of wishing for backup, I’d never let myself imagine it could come in the form of someone like Sarah Jane Peterson. I beat back the needy hope that I might be teetering on the brink of cheer acceptance.

After many rounds of cold paper towels, I pulled the neck of my T-shirt open and peered down. My bra was a total loss, and my chest was beet red, but no blisters.

Kyra poked her head in the doorway. “Everything okay in here?”

“It’s just us.” Sarah Jane motioned her inside. “She’s got it on.”

“Thank you, God. What was Lexy trying to prove?” Kyra turned to me. “Did she see the pin?”

“What?”

Sarah Jane flicked the hem of my shirt. “Did Lexy see this?”

“No clue. Does it matter?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

I tossed the paper towels in the trash as Kyra turned to Sarah Jane with wide eyes and dire news I didn’t understand. “They left in
three
SUVs.”

“What do they need with three? And what were they doing here, anyway? This isn’t part of their tradition.” Sarah Jane shook her head. “We need to get out of here.”