Spoiled (19 page)

Molly just smiled. Shelby was an interesting creature.
She exuded friendliness in a way reminiscent of Brooke’s initial onslaught of goodwill, but with an underlying edge that Brooke
lacked, which Molly attributed to Shelby’s much-professed ambition of becoming the Anderson Cooper of celebrity news. She
teemed with amusing gossip, and even though fact seemed to blur with fiction occasionally—for example, Molly had a hard time
believing that Shelby had a part in discovering Sandra Bullock’s divorce—Shelby’s entertaining penchant for embellishment
made her good company.

“So, tell me about Indiana—is there a boy? Is he worth it?”

But reporter mode was never far away.

“That reminds me, I should get a picture of this beach for him. It’s so gorgeous,” Molly said, using her attempts to get a
good shot on her phone as a way of evading this. “Thank you so much for bringing me here. Danny will be so jealous, if he
ever checks his messages.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Shelby wondered, concern edging her voice.

In fact, reporter mode was never away, period.

“No, it’s just been hard to keep up with each other,” Molly said evasively. “The time difference puts a weird kink in things.”

“Maybe he’s struggling with the fact that you’re not
ordinary
anymore,” Shelby said, her eyes glazing over as if she were already writing a headline. “I mean, what happened to you is
really remarkable, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Molly said. “I mean, it’s only
been, like, a week. And I’m still me, you know? The only thing that’s changed is my location. Well, and my dad, obviously.
But
that
doesn’t quite feel real yet, anyway, especially since Brick’s been in Florida practically this whole time.”

Shelby leaned forward. “That must be so
lonely
, honey.”

“It’s just quiet,” Molly said. “Brooke isn’t exactly speaking to me.”

“And you mentioned in the car that Brick is forcing you to share a room with her,” Shelby noted thoughtfully. “Far be it from
me to question your father, obviously, but that seems a bit unfair.”

Molly shook her head. “No, I get it. He just wants us to be friends.”

“Oh, of
course
!” Shelby said. “What father wouldn’t? But just think of the emotional stress it’s putting on you. I hate imagining you being
thrown to the wolves like that.”

“Yeah,” Molly sighed. “Things haven’t been exactly easy.”

Her voice faltered.

Shelby reached over and squeezed her hand. “Let it out, Molly,” she said.

“I guess it’s just that my mom hasn’t really been dead very long,” she heard herself confessing. “People seem to forget that
part. It sucks. It’s so awful.”

Molly was surprised to find herself opening up like this. She hadn’t intended to, but Shelby’s sympathy was so
unexpected and complete that once she started talking, it was hard to stop. Sort of like popping a big, painful zit.

“And I gave up
everything
to come here—my house, all my friends, my grandparents. My boyfriend,” she added.

“Danny was a lifeline for you, I’m sure,” Shelby said.

“And having a sister could really have helped, but Brooke doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. And I don’t know what
I did wrong,” Molly continued, feeling freer by the second. “She obviously doesn’t like me very much and I don’t think there’s
anything I can do to change it. And that hurts, too.”

“That is so like her.” Shelby tsked. “Afraid of change. Afraid of competition.”

“But this isn’t a competition.”

“Oh, Molly, you are sweet,” Shelby beamed. “Of
course
it’s a competition. At least for Brooke. And if you just hang back and do nothing, Brooke will think she’s won. You know,
freshman year, when she decided to tell everyone I had plastic surgery, the only way I could manage to shut her up was by
having prescription hemorrhoid cream delivered to the registrar for her.”

“Wow, that is”—
brilliant? deranged?—
“creative,” Molly said. “What’s the deal with you guys, anyway? When I mentioned we were going to the beach today, she practically
choked on her egg whites.”

“Oh, the details of all that don’t really matter,” Shelby said, airily waving a well-manicured hand. “Put it this way:
Brooke is the Voldemort of Colby-Randall. And I’m Dumbledore. And you could be my Harry Potter. Right down to being an orphan.”

Molly considered pointing out that her father was alive and sending texts from Florida that read things like,
Humidity works wonders for my pores! Let’s get a steam room! xoxoxo, Brick (Dad).

Instead, she just said, “Brick won’t like it if I cause any trouble. He just wants me and Brooke to get along, and fighting
in public kind of flies in the face of that. I guess I feel like if I don’t react, she’ll get bored and move along to someone
else. Right?”

Shelby made a doubtful noise. “Whatever you think is best. I’m just saying all this because I care,” she said. “One of the
first things you learn in this town is to fight fire with fire. That, and never to let the paparazzi catch you eating, obviously.”

“But they get people coming out of restaurants all the time,” Molly said, picking up the copy of
Hey!
on her lap. “Look, here’s Blake Lively leaving Chipotle.”

“Oh, yes—entering and exiting, for sure, but you almost never see them chew,” Shelby said. “Believe me, we try. One of Father’s
top reporters tailed Renée Zellweger for two years and he never caught her putting anything into her mouth that wasn’t a breath
mint.”

Shelby stood up and grabbed her BlackBerry. “This gives me an idea,” she said, punching a few keys. “Let’s grab some dinner.
Nobu is right nearby. You’ll die for the eel.”

“Aren’t we sort of underdressed?” Molly asked.

She gestured to her wrinkled white Hanes V-neck and denim skirt, which were sitting in a sandy pile on her beach towel.

“This is L.A. If you’re dressed, you’re overdressed,” Shelby said. “And I have a few spare pairs of heels in the car.” She
smiled. “Come on, you’ll enjoy this. I just want you to feel at home here.”

Molly grabbed her stuff and tailed Shelby back to the car. She’d come this far. Dinner couldn’t hurt.

After half an hour of BMW-to-BMW traffic on Pacific Coast Highway, Shelby shot through an opening in the sea of cars and exited
into the quaint, unassuming little strip mall where Nobu sat. A cluster of paparazzi photographers huddled outside, their
backs to the valet stand. They all perked up whenever the door opened, only to deflate when the restaurant expelled someone
unrecognizable.

Shelby pulled up to the valet stand at 55 miles an hour, like she was relieved to have some open road at last, then slammed
on the brakes at the last possible second. The valet looked terrified as he ran off to get her a ticket.

Molly stared nervously at the paparazzi. There was a borrowed pair of Prada sandals on her feet, but they didn’t make her
feel much better about her non-outfit, since Shelby—despite her assurances that their attire would be
fine—had changed into a BCBG dress she’d pulled out of an overnight bag in the trunk.

“I’m having total acid flashbacks from the party,” Molly shuddered. “Thank God none of those guys remember who I am.”

Shelby tucked away her lip gloss. “Of course they do,” she said. “It’s their job. Half of them were
at
your party.”

“What? Wait, this is not a good idea,” Molly said, peering at herself in the passenger side mirror and noticing that her nose
was pink. “I don’t think that Brick—”

“Brick will be delighted that you’re out having fun,” Shelby said, pushing open her door. “Hurry up, we’re causing a traffic
jam here.”

Molly considered her options. If she stayed in the car, she’d look like a bratty child. If she got out, she’d be immortalized
in a wrinkly, damp outfit and hair that looked like she’d combed it with an immersion blender.

Shelby made the decision for her, walking around to open Molly’s door and all but drag her to her feet.

“Shelby Kendall and Molly Dix Berlin,” she called out to the assembled photographers as she led Molly toward the entrance
of the restaurant. Once they were smack in front of the photogs, Shelby planted her feet and turned to smile at the cameras,
which started obediently clacking their shutters. Molly tried to step away but Shelby wrapped her arm around Molly and turned
to her, laughing as if Molly had just said something deeply hilarious.

“Molly, one on your own, please!” called out a voice.

“Please, Molly, just one over here!”

“Come on, Molly, we love you! Step over here!”

Shelby tugged on her hand. “Enough,” she said. “I’m so hungry. Let’s get a table.”

As she dragged Molly inside, the reporters groaned. Molly turned, offered a half smile, and waved an apology to the reporters.
Their flashes went off a few more times, and then suddenly Molly was inside. The room was much better lit than she’d anticipated—she’d
expected tiny tables and dim lighting, the better to rendezvous with an illicit fling, but Nobu was bright and buzzing with
life. Molly noticed a crowd waiting for tables and didn’t see a single empty seat.

“Table for two,” Shelby announced at the podium.

“It’ll be about an hour,” the hostess told her.

Shelby smiled and handed her a business card. “You misunderstand.”

The hostess glanced at it, then back up at Shelby. “Okay. But it’ll be an hour,” she said, dropping the card in the “Free
Lunch” raffle jar.

“Well, then,
Hey!
won’t be printing the name Nobu for the rest of the year,” Shelby snapped. “Come on, Molly, let’s go to Katsuya.”

Molly wondered if the entire meat of her friendship with Shelby would involve firing off apologetic glances as Shelby pulled
her from place to place. But as she made eye contact with the beleaguered hostess, the girl’s eyes widened.

“I know you!” she gasped. “You’re Brick Berlin’s daughter! The one with the dead mother!”

“I… yes,” Molly said.

“Why didn’t you
say
that?” The hostess snapped her fingers frantically at another woman, then grabbed two menus and said, “We’ll have a seat
at the bar for you right away.”

Molly couldn’t believe it. She turned to Shelby, who blinked so quickly that Molly almost didn’t notice the icy glint in her
eye. Almost.
Man, she and Brooke are more alike than they think.

“Very bold to go straight to ‘Don’t you know who my father is?’ ” Shelby said as they followed the girl to the two empty seats
that had magically appeared, even though a moment ago the restaurant was packed to capacity.

“But I didn’t, that was—”

“I mean it. Well played. You’re going to fit right in here,” Shelby said, sliding into the padded chair the hostess held out
for her.

Molly thanked the hostess, then turned to the menu, but before she could even open it, one of the sushi bar chefs slid a plate
of something in front of them.

“Compliments of the house,” he said.

“Of course, now you’ll have to tip them,” Shelby said. “My advice is to buy each of them a sake bomb, and be sure and order
a few of the pricier items on the menu. It’s polite.”

“I don’t have that much cash,” Molly said, scanning the
menu and watching the imaginary bill inflate before her eyes.

Shelby put down her menu and placed both hands on the table, as if summoning strength from it.

“Honey,” she said. “You think Brooke feels guilty when she buys four pairs of peep-toes in one swoop? You’re a Berlin now.
Put it on your card.”

Molly popped a slice of their complimentary tuna roll in her mouth. It was bliss—savory, spicy, perfect. The black Amex Brick
ordered for her hadn’t seen the outside of her wallet since Stan had handed to her. But Brick probably wouldn’t begrudge her
one little dinner out on the town with a new friend. Especially if keeping the chefs happy meant the Berlins maintained a
generous reputation.

And the VIP seats they’d been given were only four people down from Kate Winslet and a guy who looked eerily like Steven Spielberg.
Which meant it probably was Steven Spielberg. Molly was officially A-list adjacent.

“You’re right.” She grinned at Shelby. “It’s about time I had some fun being Brick Berlin’s kid.”

“That’s my girl.” Shelby beamed.

“
SEE?
It’s true!”

Even with her confidence slowly returning as her second school week began, Molly wondered if the sound of Brooke shrieking
in her direction would ever
not
make her seize up a little.

“Here we go,” muttered Max as Brooke headed for them. “This ought to be priceless. What did you do now?”

“I must have spiked her morning grapefruit with carbs.”

Max affected a deep, manly voice: “We’ve switched Brooke Berlin’s regular skim milk with one percent. Let’s see if she notices.”

Brooke came to a halt in front of Molly as the hum of interest from passing students grew a little louder.

“There,” Brooke wailed, pointing to Molly’s feet with
the same rolled-up copy of
Hey!
that Shelby had brought Molly on Saturday. “It’s just like the blind item said. Those are my favorite wedges.”