Spoiled (16 page)

Molly followed Max’s gaze to Brooke’s swatch of grass, where Jennifer was now combing through Jake’s hair with her nails while
he napped against her legs.

“I thought she looked familiar,” Molly said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“How could you tell? She never makes eye contact with anyone. She’s like Audrina from
The Hills
. It’s creepy,” Max complained through a mouthful of spinach. “I don’t know how Jake puts up with it.”

“How long have they been going out?”

“One year, seven months, and a week,” Max said automatically. “Or, you know, so I hear.”

“So where do all the kids of, like, accountants and insurance agents and stuff go?” Molly asked. “Is there a special school
for
normal
people in L.A.?”

“Mavis Moore’s dad is an accountant,” Max offered, pointing to a girl about twenty feet away who was making origami tacos
out of graph paper. “But he counts the votes for
the Oscars, so I guess that doesn’t count. Every year he sits in a locked room for three days.”

In the distance, Mavis began crushing her tacos one by one.

“I think it explains a lot,” Max added. “Arugula’s dad is a botanist, so that’s kind of normal. Although her mom is Brick’s
agent, so…”

“She’s the one your brother likes, right?” Molly asked, gazing at Arugula, who was splitting time between reading a chem textbook
and listening to Brooke.

Max grinned. “He’ll deny it, but he’s totally had a crush on her since his sophomore year. She’s in all the senior science
classes with him, but he’s too chicken to ask her out.”

Molly watched Brooke and Arugula chuckle over something together. The idea that Brooke had a genius for a friend was sort
of intriguing, if unlikely. Maybe there was a
Cosmo
hidden behind the textbook somewhere.

“Excuse me, do you want this?”

Max’s jaw swung open lightly. Shelby Kendall, clad in a fitted navy blazer, black leggings, and black leather knee-high flat
boots, was standing over them, holding out a coffee cup. Her sleek hair was braided. She looked like she was about to grab
her Thoroughbred for some show jumping.

“My driver accidentally brought me two nonfat mocha lattes with foam, and it seems everyone else around here is lactose intolerant,”
Shelby continued. “Can you
imagine
?”

Molly looked at Max, then back up at Shelby. “Oh, are you talking to me?” she asked stupidly.

“I doubt she’s talking to me.” Max snorted.

“Please do take it. It’ll just go to waste,” Shelby said, smiling very wide. “Coffee is the number one social lubricant for
youths aged fifteen to twenty-one, according to a piece I’m doing for CR-One next week. My source is Dr. Oz.” She lowered
her voice. “Old family friend, you know.”

“I’ll take it,” Max said loudly, reaching for the paper cup.

Shelby steadfastly ignored her and waggled the cup in front of Molly’s face.

“Um, of course, yeah,” Molly stammered, getting to her feet. “Thanks for—”

“Magnus!” Shelby shouted, as heads turned to stare at her standing with Molly. “Magnus, we need to discuss your dad’s lawsuit
against ESPN.”

Shelby swept away, straight through a bespectacled girl juggling a clipboard, some books, and her lunch tray. Everything,
including her glasses, crashed to the ground. Molly saw Brooke look up and snap her fingers, dispatching a burly athlete to
the kid’s aid.

“Very interesting,” Max breathed.

“I know, I can’t believe people actually answer when Brooke snaps,” Molly said, distracted by sitting down without dumping
steaming hot coffee in her lap.

“That’s not what I meant.” Max pointed at Brooke. “
That
is.”

Brooke was still staring right at where Shelby and Molly had been, and she looked distinctly unhappy. Nervous, even.

“Oh, crap. What did I do?” Molly sighed.

“Those two are mortal enemies,” Max explained. “Damn, Shelby must be loving you right now. Brooke looks like she just ate
a brain tumor.”

The bell rang, prompting everyone to clear up their lunches. Brooke and Arugula hustled off, whispering furiously.

“Why do they hate each other?” Molly asked.

“Who even knows.” Max shrugged as they walked back inside. “Brick is an actor, Shelby’s dad is a tabloid guy. Never the progeny
shall mix, or some shit like that.”

“Well, far be it from me to look a gift latte in the mouth,” Molly said, stopping at her locker. “At least Shelby isn’t treating
me like I’m diseased. That wins her a few points.”

Molly tried to open the locker door, but it was jammed. She gave it a vicious tug, and it flew open, dumping a cascade of
corn husks all over her feet and the floor.

Raucous laughter came from her left. Molly looked up and saw Brooke and her friends giggling while Magnus high-fived another
giant jock type.

Molly just shook her head.

“Seriously, corn husks? That’s so fourth grade,” Max shouted in Brooke’s direction. “Okay, I can see why you’re so fixated
on normal. You need a break.” She grabbed Molly’s notebook and scribbled something on the page.
“Come over for dinner tonight. We may not be any more normal than anyone else, but at least we’re
sane
.”

The PA system crackled. “Molly Dix, please report to Headmistress McCormack’s office.”

Molly waved a hand at the heavens. “You sure she’ll want me for dinner? Maybe whatever I’m about to get busted for is really
bad.”

“She’s working late,” Max said triumphantly. “You’re in the clear. And look, other than how you totally just tried to peer
pressure me into chugging Miller behind the bleachers, you haven’t done anything wrong, right?”

Molly laughed grimly, then trudged off toward the headmistress’s office as just about every guy in the hallway tried to hide
a joke about her last name inside a coughing fit. She
hadn’t
done anything. So why did it feel like she was going to spend her entire L.A. life in trouble?

“
I HEARD SHE HAS DENTAL IMPLANTS
in front because she got in a bar fight.”

“It wasn’t a bar fight. She got dropped doing a keg stand.”

“Those aren’t even my favorites,” Arugula said to Brooke as the two chattering students walked by their table. “I prefer the
stories involving livestock. Very inventive.”

“I’m sure I don’t know
what
you’re talking about,” Brooke said airily, leaning back in her wicker chair with an innocent smile and toying gently with
the sheath on her cardboard cup of organic mood-cleansing tea. But she mentally patted herself on the back for the stellar
work she’d done, subtly allowing a “confidence” or two to be overheard, and making some anonymous comments on
the few short blurbs that had popped up online about her and Molly. Even off campus—albeit not far; Café Munch was popular
with Colby-Randall students precisely because they could get there during free periods without a car—the fruits of her labor
were still the juiciest topic du jour. It was astoundingly easy to manipulate the grapevine when you knew how to find its
roots.

Brooke turned her face to the sky and closed her eyes, enjoying a mood as warm as the weather (clearly, her tea was already
helping). The week was on its way to ending on a high note. If Brick had any lingering doubts about that picture that ran
in
Hey!
, they seemed to be fading, as he’d handed her two peanut butter PowerBars before he left for Florida that morning—which to
Brick was tantamount to giving her a bag of diamonds. Shelby Kendall had been too busy at CR-One to get in her face yet. And
Operation Lose the Hoosier was chugging along at a brisk pace. Molly had made no effort to join any activities, nor assimilate
with the Colby-Randall crowd. Instead, she just absorbed everything that was thrown at her, by Brooke or anyone else. It would
be a mere matter of time before she tucked her forked tail between her legs and toddled back to Indiana, where grody nylon
backpacks were like Birkins and backbones were obviously optional.

Brooke lowered her head again and peered at the Crunch Gym across the plaza. She knew from careful attention to detail—which
was different from stalking; a girl couldn’t help it if noteworthy things just
happened
to take place in
front of her—that Bradley Cooper favored the afternoon spinning class, and running into him there was central to her scheme
to marry him someday. But beyond the other Colby-Randall students milling around the outdoor café, scarfing all-natural beverages
and organic muffins, she’d only spied an Olsen twin (wearing a wool overcoat over her yoga pants even though it was eighty-five
and sunny). Bradley was AWOL. It was the only thing this week that hadn’t gone her way.

“I do have one query,” Arugula piped up. “Do you feel at all repentant for all this enmity, given that her mother has shuffled
off this mortal coil?”

“Fewer five-dollar words, please?”

“Read your SAT prep books, Brooke.” Ari frowned. “What I said was, don’t you feel bad about freezing Molly out? The girl’s
mom died. Have you even talked about that?”

“Okay, first of all, I resent the idea that I’m contractually obligated to like someone just because she had a death in the
family,” Brooke said, feeling the effects of her soothing herbal blend begin to wane. “And Daddy gave me no leg to stand on
at home, so I need some territory to call my own. It’s not like I’m
disemboweling
her.”

Arugula combed her hair thoughtfully.

“I both accede to your argument and appreciate your use of a multisyllable word.” She nodded.

Privately, Brooke did feel a tiny bit guilty, but that was exactly why she tried not to think about it. She didn’t have time
for compassion. She was on a mission.

“Besides, it’s not like she’s all alone in the world,” Brooke continued. “Her happiness is, like, Brick’s number one priority.
And she’s always hanging out on the balcony talking to her boyfriend. She’s fine.”

“She has a boyfriend?” Ari asked, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah, some dope she’s got on the hook back home,” Brooke said. “She tried to tell me once but I couldn’t handle the number
of times she said ‘um’ in one sentence.”

Arugula stood up and brushed off her Thakoon pencil skirt. “Intriguing. A hometown sweetheart is so adorably rural.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Brooke asked, checking her Rolex. “We don’t have to leave for ten more minutes. I can’t be on
time to my first rehearsal. I have to
arrive
.”

Arugula rolled her eyes and sat down again. “Five more minutes,” she countered. “I told Teddy McCormack I wanted to go over
some stuff from chemistry this week.”

She then undid one of the top buttons on her collared shirt. Brooke giggled.

“Very studious.” She nodded.

“Oh, give me a break. It’s just a
little
extra epidermis,” Arugula said. “Men are visual creatures.”

“Dude, he drives a
Toyota
.”

Ari shrugged. “He’s smart. And I need to be intellectually stimulated. I don’t expect you to understand.” She paused. “No
offense.”

“Some taken,” Brooke said, only half seriously. She checked her watch again and sighed. Her future first hus
band had obviously blown off his workout today, and she certainly didn’t need to stick around to watch the constant stream
of D-list starlets wandering in and out of Crunch sporting booty shorts and sports bras, as if they were just waiting for
someone to notice them and ask for an autograph. When she hit it big—soon, obviously, once Brick witnessed her mastery in
My Fair Lady—
Brooke resolved never to go begging like that. Spandex was so desperate.

“Fine, let’s get out of here,” she said, swigging the last of her tea. “I have an entrance to make.”

The new Brick Berlin Theater for Serious Emotional Artistry sat near the edge of campus on an unassuming stretch of grass.
Brick had chosen a nondescript setting because “the stage is a canvas to be painted by your souls, and also, if there’s nothing
to do outside, people are more likely to get back to their seats after intermission.” The 2,500-seat building, modeled after
one prong of the Sydney Opera House, sported an orchestra pit, dressing rooms, and a concessions area run by the freshman
class. Even to Brooke’s biased eye, it was over the top, but she liked it as a brick-and-mortar reminder of her own social
superiority.

“No, Jake, you can’t wear your letter jacket to play Freddy,” Jennifer was saying as Brooke entered. “Freddy isn’t a jock.
Freddy is, like, sensitive.”

“So football players can’t be sensitive?” Jake asked,
combing back his blond hair with his fingers. “Tell that to my sprained pinky. It hurts like a bitch.”

Brooke winced. Jake insisted he needed the diversity on his transcripts, and Jennifer swore she could turn him into a great
actor—“Like Peyton Manning!”—but Brooke already suspected his casting had been a mistake. He lacked subtlety.

Still, being inside the theater got her blood pumping. They’d staged small-scale plays in the past, but this was Colby-Randall’s
first major production, and
she
was going to make it great. Molly could steal her precious closet space, but she couldn’t take that away. Brick’s approval
was all but assured.