The Clique_ Charmed And Dangerous_ The Clique Prequel Part 13

MERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYBACKSTAGE HALLWAYFriday, December 31st11:33 P.M. P.M.

The swerving motion of the wheelchair was slightly nauseating. Or was the shame that came from being pushed pushed by Mrs. Fossier through a crowd making Alicia's stomach churn? Maybe it was her throbbing ankle? b.l.o.o.d.y knee? Destroyed reputation? Stolen Marc Jacobs bag? Or the fact that Skye Hamilton had clogged her voice mail with a barrage of by Mrs. Fossier through a crowd making Alicia's stomach churn? Maybe it was her throbbing ankle? b.l.o.o.d.y knee? Destroyed reputation? Stolen Marc Jacobs bag? Or the fact that Skye Hamilton had clogged her voice mail with a barrage of I have never met anyone more pathetic than you in all my life I have never met anyone more pathetic than you in all my life messages? messages?

"Hurry!" Alicia whined. The world had seen her wipe out. Did they need to see her puke, too?

"We're almost in our dressing room," Mrs. Fossier cooed, trying to sound compa.s.sionate. But it was obvious from her jerky driving that she was upset Alicia had taken down the troupe too.

Mrs. Fossier hit the brakes in front of room C. Brooke and Andrea had gone home. Once Alicia was inside, she could break down in peace. Hot tears stung her brown eyes as the dance teacher jiggled the doork.n.o.b. It was locked. She tried it again, this time with more force. Her body odor, a mix of baby powder and canned peaches, was doing nothing for Alicia's delicate condition.

"Coming!" called a phlegm-filled male voice from inside. A second later, the door clicked open. "Can I help you?" He coughed.

An elderly man wearing a tall chef's hat and a white ap.r.o.n that said HERSHEL'S BAKERY HERSHEL'S BAKERY across the chest smiled pleasantly. across the chest smiled pleasantly.

"I think you're in our dressing room," Mrs. Fossier said slowly and clearly, in case the mix-up was dementia-related.

He glanced at the big letter C C on the outside of the door. "Nope, this is the one." on the outside of the door. "Nope, this is the one."

Mrs. Fossier folded her arms across her flat chest. "And you are?"

"Hershel Blum." He smiled proudly. "This year's record holder for Biggest Peach Scone. Came in at sixty-one pounds."

"Are you on on the show?" Mrs. Fossier snapped. "Or catering it?" the show?" Mrs. Fossier snapped. "Or catering it?"

"On it." He put his hands on his hips like a satisfied superhero. "Right after the Orlando girl gets her kiss." He shook his head. "She seems a little young to be kissing though, don'tcha think?"

Entertainers hurried by, amped on the adrenaline rush that comes after a live performance. Alicia lowered her gaze, unable to relate. Dogs had replaced her act, and her dressing room had been given to a giant-pastry maker. This captain's s.h.i.+p had sailed. "Let's just go." She sniffed.

"Good idea." Mrs. Fossier kicked the brake release and hurried away from the dressing room like a ticked-off driver who'd just lost a parking spot.

She pulled up beside the performers' food table next to a plate of a.s.sorted cheese and a vine of picked-over red grapes. Popping a cheddar cube into her mouth, Mrs. Fossier began to chew-talk.

"I remember a girl..." She leaned against the corner of the table, her tongue sweeping the orange cheese bits off her front teeth. "A real dance talent. A starrrrrr." She reached for another cube. "One night, during an opening night performance of Swan Lake Swan Lake, she insisted on wearing her new toe shoes. They hadn't been properly worked in and-"

Alicia looked away. The only thing more depressing than wiping out on TV during a once-in-a-lifetime dance performance was listening to a cheese-gobbling grown-up try to make her feel okay about it.

Two cute boys Alicia's age hurried by tugging a pack of dogs toward the backstage exit. Forgetting for a second that she was tear-soaked, swollen, and confined to a wheelchair, Alicia flirt-smiled at them.

"I think she's falling falling for you," said the s.h.a.ggy blond. for you," said the s.h.a.ggy blond.

His handsome friend cracked up and the blond wiggled his b.u.t.t with glee.

Alicia felt that sick feeling come back with the force of a fire hydrant.

Mrs. Fossier was still yapping about some dancer who found real joy in teaching, not performing. She was still chewing. And still smelling like powder and peaches.

Was this really happening?

The world began to swirl. Pa.s.sing people blurred. Alicia began shaking. Her ears rang and her mouth filled with saliva. A deep-throated burp burst out of her mouth and next thing she knew, her insides turned inside out. All over Mrs. Fossier's Danskin.

"Ahhhhhhh!" The teacher jumped back, slamming into the food table.

"I'm so sorry," Alicia sobbed, tasting bitterness. Her worst nightmare had been realized. She was more pathetic than a washed-up dancer. She was a washed-up dancer in a wheelchair with puke chunks in her lip gloss.

"I'm absolutely covered." Mrs. Fossier splayed her arms and legs like a starfish and waddled to the bathroom like someone who'd just peed her pants.

"There you are!" Len Rivera hurried toward his daughter, his warm brown eyes gleaming with pride.

"Dad, what took you so long?" Alicia sobbed, cleaning herself off with a black-and-gold Merri-Lee napkin. A mix of relief and shame overcame her. "Where's Mom?"

Len leaned down and put an arm around his daughter. He pulled her into his Hugo Boss suit. "They would only let one of us back here." He loosened his navy-and-lavender-striped tie. "And even that that took a lot of convincing." He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips, implying that the convincing hadn't come cheap. "Are you okay?" took a lot of convincing." He rubbed his thumb against his fingertips, implying that the convincing hadn't come cheap. "Are you okay?"

"No." Alicia sobbed harder. "I feel like such a loser."

He lifted her gently out of the chair and pulled her close. She buried her face in her father's lapel and inhaled his spicy scent. As always, he put his hand on her back and tapped like he was burping a baby. In Alicia's head, the rhythmic beats always seemed to say, You're gonna be fine... you're gonna be fine... you're gonna be fine... you're gonna be fine.... You're gonna be fine... you're gonna be fine... you're gonna be fine... you're gonna be fine....

She lifted her head and breathed deeply. The fresh air helped her throbbing head.

Just then, a man wearing a Merri-Lee Marvil Staff hoodie breezed by and grabbed the wheelchair.

"What are you doing?" Alicia called, hating the desperate sound of her voice.

"I need wheels to move that giant scone to the set," he explained with the urgency of an EMT. "It weighs a ton!"

Alicia opened her mouth to protest but Len pressed a finger against her lips. "Let it go." He took a photo of the man with his free hand. "This will only help our case." He winked a dark brown eye.

"What case case?" Alicia asked, scooting onto the edge of the table.

Len dangled a Ziploc baggie under his daughter's pouting lip. Inside was a tiny gold shoe, no bigger than a fingernail.

"Thanks." Alicia tried to seem pleased with the cute(ish) get-well gift. But it was pointless. This pain pain would haunt her long after her ankle healed. And no amount of gold would stop it. would haunt her long after her ankle healed. And no amount of gold would stop it.

"It's evidence evidence, my darling." Len gave her the bag. "This is what you slipped on. I intend to send it out for DNA testing, find out who the owner is, and sue them for dance sabotage."

Alicia threw her arms around her father's neck. "Thanks, Daddy." She beamed, finally feeling rescued. "After we win the lawsuit, the papers and news channels will do a story on the scandal. My name will be cleared!" She leaned forward and hugged her father again. Was there anything he couldn't fix?

"Wait..." She released him. "Why would anyone want to sabotage me me?"

"'Scuse me," called a brunette, sauntering toward them like an actress playing a supermodel. Her black-and-silver dress was Agnes B.'s latest and the perfect choice for a New Year's party. But what promoted her outfit from a "fas.h.i.+on do" to a "fas.h.i.+on debut" were her black (cashmere?) kneesocks with the gold initial pins fastened to the side. Were they doing that in j.a.pan? Whoever this M. B. was, she had the kind of style that made regular girls try harder.

"Are you the one who fell?" M. B. asked, stopping at the table. The stranger's amber eyes held Alicia's with what felt like horizontal gravity.

Alicia lowered her gaze. Was this her new ident.i.ty? "The girl who fell"?

Len held Alicia back with his arm, like a driver making a sudden stop. "Let me do the talking," he advised.

"Are you a witness?"

"Who isn't?" The girl half smiled. "Everyone saw it. It's probably all over the Internet by now."

"Great," Alicia groaned.

"No, I mean did you see who threw this this?" Len presented the bag of evidence. "On the stage?"

"My charm charm!" The girl reached for it.

Len pulled the bag away.

"Not so fast," he boomed like a TV detective.

"What are you doing doing?" she screeched. "It's mine!"

"Did you you throw it?" he asked, this time more forcefully. throw it?" he asked, this time more forcefully.

"Lennnn," Alicia whined. "Stop," she mouthed. It was one thing for her dad to cross-examine crooks in a courtroom. But a "fas.h.i.+on debut" in Agnes B. and cashmere kneesocks? That That was criminal. Embarra.s.sed, Alicia turned to her swelling ankle. Maybe if she iced long enough her brain would go numb and she could strike this horrifying day from the record. was criminal. Embarra.s.sed, Alicia turned to her swelling ankle. Maybe if she iced long enough her brain would go numb and she could strike this horrifying day from the record.

"Answer, please!" Len insisted, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced in front of a sweating cheese and cracker spread.

"Um, sir," M. B. managed, with a wicked half-smile. "Do you play for Metallica?"

Len knit his thick black brows in confusion. "No."

M. B. paused while three blue bald men hurried by.

"So you're not in Metallica?" she repeated.

Where was she going with this?

"No." Len popped a red grape in his mouth and chewed.

M. B. put her hands on her narrow hips, then c.o.c.ked her head slightly right. "Then why are you meddling?"

Alicia burst out laughing. Then M. B. did too, obviously pleased (or was it shocked?) by Alicia's reaction.

"There she is!" said a familiar-looking redhead in a pair of Juicys. It was Dylan Marvil and the blond soccer-jock from school. Together? They were all in the fourth grade at Octavian Country Day but never hung out. Dylan was part of the sn.o.bby kids-of-celebs clique, which never gave the time of day to dancers with regular parents. And the blond jock was, well... a jock.

"You again!" M. B. scanned Dylan's sweats. "Thank Gawd." She sighed, tapping her chest with relief. "Those are much more flattering."

Dylan smiled. Her hair was half-straight and half-curly. A trend, Alicia prayed, that would die before the New Year. "Thanks."

"For what?" asked M. B.

"You're the only one who told me the truth about those pants," Dylan explained, then smiled at Alicia. "You're lucky to have a friend like her."

"Oh, she's not my friend," Alicia corrected. "We just met."

"Hey." The blonde waved. Did she realize her leather pants were ripped? Did she realize her leather pants were ripped? "I'm Kristen. I just wanted to give this back to-" "I'm Kristen. I just wanted to give this back to-"

"Ma.s.sie." She smiled. "Ma.s.sie Block."

"I have one too." Dylan placed a tiny gold pig in Ma.s.sie's palm.

"Ehmagawd, yay!" Ma.s.sie slid the charms onto the chain, then smiled at the girls. "I've been looking for these all night!"

Alicia, longing to be part of their circle, yanked the Ziploc out of her father's hand and handed it to Ma.s.sie. "Here ya go."

"Thank you!" Ma.s.sie opened her arms, welcoming Alicia into the fold. It smelled like Chanel No. 19. Ma.s.sie opened her arms, welcoming Alicia into the fold. It smelled like Chanel No. 19.

Energy pa.s.sed through them, like electric thread stringing needles, binding them together and pulling them close.

Did they feel it too?

"Two minutes until midnight!" called a stage manager.

"Happy New Year!" Dylan burped.

The girls burst out laughing.

"Hey, wanna go watch the clutch drop?" Ma.s.sie tucked her bracelet in the pocket of her dress.

"Yeah!" Kristen clapped.

"We can hang with my mom," Dylan offered. "She'll be at the very top. It's the best view."

Alicia looked at her father, silently asking if she could go. He wink-nodded yes.

The girls helped Alicia off the table and encouraged her to lean on them for support.

With their help, she limp-hopped into the party, no longer feeling like the girl who fell. But rather, the one who got back up again.

MERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYSKY PLATFORMFriday, December 31st11:58 P.M. P.M.

Thanks to Dylan-who told her sisters they looked bloated and should stay away from the cameras-s.p.a.ce opened up on the hydraulic platform. It was tight, but Merri-Lee, her two-man crew, and the four girls were all smiles as they rose above the awestruck crowd and through the hole in the roof. They stopped beside the gold-and-black-beaded YSL clutch, surrounded by stars and the navy night sky.

Frigid wind blew their hair wild, yet no one seemed to mind.

"Where are your coats?" Merri-Lee asked, pinch-closing the top of her white fur bomber jacket.

The girls exchanged a why would we ever, in a billion years, wear coats on TV? why would we ever, in a billion years, wear coats on TV? look, and Ma.s.sie knew she had found her soul mates. Unlike the Ahnnabees, who entered a black-tie party dressed like bubble-wrapped Easter eggs, these girls had style. look, and Ma.s.sie knew she had found her soul mates. Unlike the Ahnnabees, who entered a black-tie party dressed like bubble-wrapped Easter eggs, these girls had style.

"Whaddaya mean, the Orlando girl is gone gone?" Merri-Lee turned away, pressing a finger against her earpiece. "She's supposed to kiss ThRob in less than a minute!" She looked at her crew and rolled her green eyes. "Her parents took took her?... Did you get it on camera?... Great!... Then roll her?... Did you get it on camera?... Great!... Then roll that that at midnight!" at midnight!"

Ma.s.sie giggled at the thought of some poor girl's parents dragging her away from the biggest opportunity of her life. "What an LBR," she muttered.