Alicia.
“Ma,” followed Dylan.
“Gawd!” finished Kristen.
“Now
this
is my idea of a secret room!” Massie’s arched eyebrows were raised, her amber eyes wide.
The girls split up instantly to explore.
“Is this a
real
Starbucks machine?” Claire stroked the shiny brass body of the massive espresso maker that was on the top tier of an elegant rolling tea service, to the right of the entrance. The glass shelf below was piled high with the company’s signature green-and-white cardboard to-go cups; pink, yellow, and blue packets of sweeteners; sugar cubes; and powdered milk for the steamer. She pushed the cart like a baby in a stroller, while following Massie to the monitor.
“I’m all over
this
.” Alicia was still by the entrance, standing in front of a chrome-and-mirrored vanity. The white marble counter space was covered in what had to be every color of nail polish, eyeliner (glitter and plain), gloss, and shadow ever made by Hard Candy. The rubber rings that came on the bottles of polish had been strung like popcorn and draped over the top of the mirror.
“Iss op-orn is ate,” Dylan said, chewing a mouthful of pop-corn she had taken from the movie-theater-size dispenser. “Ust the right amount of utter.”
“ESP, anyone?” Massie sat, kicked off her Tory Burch leopard-print flats, and then dipped her stairwell-dirty feet in a swirling-soapy-bubble-filled foot massager.
“You
have
to see these racks,” Kristen gasped, obviously shocked that such an incredible collection of designer clothes and shoes had been entrusted to them. “They have more than fifteen different Puma track jackets.” She slid the wood hangers across the shiny silver garment pole. “I’ve never seen this green limited-edition one with the peacock feathers, have you?”
“No,” they all gasped with a mix of shock and delight.
Claire bit her pinky nail.
Technically, she was just as excited as the others. But they had been gone for six minutes, and Mr. Myner was probably starting to wonder where they were. She bit down on her nail again. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow. The period is almost over, and none of us have any soil samples.”
Dylan lifted her head out of a picnic basket by the popcorn maker. “There’ll be one in your Jockeys any minute now if you don’t relax.”
Claire ignored the jab while the others cracked up. She put the Starbucks cart aside and began pacing.
“Kuh-laire, what would you rather?” Massie lifted a dripping foot out of the massager and crossed her legs. Bubbles slid off her YSL brick-red polish and landed on the floor with a splat. “A lecture from Mr. Myner about wandering off without permission, or to be renamed the Cheetah Girls because we’ll be the only ones at Skye’s eighth-grade party without HARTs?”
“But I already have a boy—”
“Um, last time I checked we were the Pretty Committee, nawt the Pretty
Claire
.”
“Sorry.” Claire apologized and meant it. “You’re right.”
“As usual.” Massie dipped her toes back in the swirling foot spa.
“Ehmagawd, you guys?” Dylan called, her head back in the basket. “I bet there’s more than fifty different types of seasoning in here. And they’re all for the popcorn.” She snapped off a stiff corner of one of the edible candy snack bags and popped it in her mouth. “And these are de-
lish
.” She lifted her emerald-green eyes to the ceiling and licked her lips while contemplating the bag’s flavor. “Butterscotch?”
“Massie, check out these iridescent eye shadows,” Alicia squealed in delight. “I heard Paris Hilton bought the entire collection.”
“We have all of next year for that.” Massie nodded toward the blank monitor. “Right now we’re on a HART hunt.”
“Point.” Alicia tore herself away from the vanity and made her way, along with Kristen and Dylan, toward the pink faux-fur seats. “Ew!” she mused, stepping over a slew of empty lip-gloss-stained Starbucks venti
“Ma,” followed Dylan.
“Gawd!” finished Kristen.
“Now
this
is my idea of a secret room!” Massie’s arched eyebrows were raised, her amber eyes wide.
The girls split up instantly to explore.
“Is this a
real
Starbucks machine?” Claire stroked the shiny brass body of the massive espresso maker that was on the top tier of an elegant rolling tea service, to the right of the entrance. The glass shelf below was piled high with the company’s signature green-and-white cardboard to-go cups; pink, yellow, and blue packets of sweeteners; sugar cubes; and powdered milk for the steamer. She pushed the cart like a baby in a stroller, while following Massie to the monitor.
“I’m all over
this
.” Alicia was still by the entrance, standing in front of a chrome-and-mirrored vanity. The white marble counter space was covered in what had to be every color of nail polish, eyeliner (glitter and plain), gloss, and shadow ever made by Hard Candy. The rubber rings that came on the bottles of polish had been strung like popcorn and draped over the top of the mirror.
“Iss op-orn is ate,” Dylan said, chewing a mouthful of pop-corn she had taken from the movie-theater-size dispenser. “Ust the right amount of utter.”
“ESP, anyone?” Massie sat, kicked off her Tory Burch leopard-print flats, and then dipped her stairwell-dirty feet in a swirling-soapy-bubble-filled foot massager.
“You
have
to see these racks,” Kristen gasped, obviously shocked that such an incredible collection of designer clothes and shoes had been entrusted to them. “They have more than fifteen different Puma track jackets.” She slid the wood hangers across the shiny silver garment pole. “I’ve never seen this green limited-edition one with the peacock feathers, have you?”
“No,” they all gasped with a mix of shock and delight.
Claire bit her pinky nail.
Technically, she was just as excited as the others. But they had been gone for six minutes, and Mr. Myner was probably starting to wonder where they were. She bit down on her nail again. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow. The period is almost over, and none of us have any soil samples.”
Dylan lifted her head out of a picnic basket by the popcorn maker. “There’ll be one in your Jockeys any minute now if you don’t relax.”
Claire ignored the jab while the others cracked up. She put the Starbucks cart aside and began pacing.
“Kuh-laire, what would you rather?” Massie lifted a dripping foot out of the massager and crossed her legs. Bubbles slid off her YSL brick-red polish and landed on the floor with a splat. “A lecture from Mr. Myner about wandering off without permission, or to be renamed the Cheetah Girls because we’ll be the only ones at Skye’s eighth-grade party without HARTs?”
“But I already have a boy—”
“Um, last time I checked we were the Pretty Committee, nawt the Pretty
Claire
.”
“Sorry.” Claire apologized and meant it. “You’re right.”
“As usual.” Massie dipped her toes back in the swirling foot spa.
“Ehmagawd, you guys?” Dylan called, her head back in the basket. “I bet there’s more than fifty different types of seasoning in here. And they’re all for the popcorn.” She snapped off a stiff corner of one of the edible candy snack bags and popped it in her mouth. “And these are de-
lish
.” She lifted her emerald-green eyes to the ceiling and licked her lips while contemplating the bag’s flavor. “Butterscotch?”
“Massie, check out these iridescent eye shadows,” Alicia squealed in delight. “I heard Paris Hilton bought the entire collection.”
“We have all of next year for that.” Massie nodded toward the blank monitor. “Right now we’re on a HART hunt.”
“Point.” Alicia tore herself away from the vanity and made her way, along with Kristen and Dylan, toward the pink faux-fur seats. “Ew!” she mused, stepping over a slew of empty lip-gloss-stained Starbucks venti
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