rockâ
âGod, Aspen, you look like Deathâs ugly stepchild. I mean it. I bet the Grim Reaper has lighter circles under his eyes.â
So much for the ocean breeze. When I open my eyes, Laurel is studying me with a horrified expression. âThanks, Laurel. I thought I couldnât possibly feel worse, but you just pushed me past that barrier.â
âHey, Piedmont, come here.â Tessa Chandler, one of Cottonwood Creekâs party girls, hooks a thumb at Laurel. Sheâs lounging on the grass under a tree, filing her nails. âWe need to talk.â Tessaâs the only high school studentâmale or femaleâwith smaller boobs than mine. That should make her one of my favorite people, but it doesnât.
Laurel nudges me, and we head over.
âNot her, just you,â says Tessaâs best friend, Wynter Green. People make fun of my name, but they let her slide. Just shows how much you can get away with if youâre popular.
Laurel stops in her tracks. âNo thanks. If you want to talk to me, Aspen comes, too.â
Tessa and Wynter look at each other with raised eyebrows.
âThatâs your problem.â Wynterâs nostrils twitch like somebody passed gas. Her dark brown hair and eyebrows are tiger-streaked with platinum, and her eye shadow matches. Her boobs look like grapefruit halves poking out of her pink V-neck tee.
Tessa spreads her fingers to better admire her talons. âBring her if you have to.â Iâve always envied her olive skin and wavy blue-black hair, but no torture has been devised that would make me admit it.
Before I can say, âIâd rather stick my tongue in a food processer than talk to those two sluts,â Laurel has my arm in a vise grip and is dragging me over. She thinks Tessa and Wynter stand at the pinnacle of the popularity pyramid. Manny tells me theyâre more familiar with the horizontal position.
Once we arrive at their magic tree house, I notice that the popularity princesses have made themselves a mat out of opened textbooks. Last year I spilled one drop of Pepsi on my algebra book and had to pay a two-dollar fine. Twenty bucks says theyâll wiggle out of paying for all those broken spines.
They leave us standing while Tessa files her nails and Wynter adds another coat of lipstick. Just as Iâm about to execute a quick turnaround and kick dirt in their faces, Tessa speaks.
âThis is the situation, Laurel, â she says, using an orange stick to push back her cuticles. âWhen you started school last fall, Wynter and I were somewhat interested. Your look isnât awful, andâsince youâre from Chicagoâwe thought you had more potential than the bumpkins whoâve lived here forever.â Tessa flicks her eyes toward me.
âUnfortunately,â Wynter takes up the narrative, âyou disappointed us with your poor choice of friends.â
Hmm. Who can they be talking about?
Itâs Tessaâs turn again. âUntil last week, when we read your post on Facebook â¦â
Am I the only person in school who didnât see Laurelâs cyber Pig Proclamation?
â⦠and we thought you were getting it together.â Tessa sticks the tip of the orange stick in her mouth, which seems borderline gross to me. âPigs in Hammondâs office would have been too perfect.â
Wynter adjusts her bra to give âthe girlsâ more exposure. One more adjustment and their pink noses will be getting sunburned. âBut, after all the hype, you disappointed us again. Although,â she pauses for effect, âI heard that a trash can outside the teachersâ lounge was crammed full of shredded toilet paper this morning. And one of the senior girls stepped in a gross pile of stuff in the elevator. Almost like something went on here last night.â She locks eyes with Laurel. âDo you know anything about that?â
Laurel is so eager to please that
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