The Clique_ Charmed And Dangerous_ The Clique Prequel Part 9

It was finally time to enjoy the ride.

MERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYTHE STAGEFriday, December 31st9:15 P.M. P.M.

Alicia took the raucous applause for the Canine Chorus as a good sign. If people went this wild for three mutts who barked what sounded more like "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" than like "Auld Lang Syne," surely they would go mad for BADSS. And if they they didn't, didn't, someone someone would. Maybe a talent agent in L.A.? A pop star looking for a video honey? A Broadway director out to cast the next Maria in would. Maybe a talent agent in L.A.? A pop star looking for a video honey? A Broadway director out to cast the next Maria in West Side Story West Side Story? Millions of people were watching. At least a hundred of them could make Alicia's dreams come true.

Brooke and Alicia held hands in the wings, anxiously bobbing up and down on the b.a.l.l.s of their Capezios.

"Forty-five seconds," said a male stage manager with bigger b.o.o.bs than Alicia.

"Poor guy," Brooke mumbled, eyeing his chest.

"I know how he feels." Alicia glanced down at her bulging vest, where the glitter was starting to flake. She had deliberately worn a bra one size too small to be sure Thing One and Thing Two didn't try to jump out and steal the show.

"At least you have have b.o.o.bs." Poppy unb.u.t.toned her vest to the belly b.u.t.ton. "I'm so well proportioned it's boring." b.o.o.bs." Poppy unb.u.t.toned her vest to the belly b.u.t.ton. "I'm so well proportioned it's boring."

Alicia and Brooke rolled their eyes but held their tongues. Poppy had learned the routine in fifteen minutes and saved their act. If it weren't for her well-proportioned body they'd still be listening to the mutts.

The houselights dimmed. Merri-Lee spoke into the mic.

"Up next we have some local talent...."

This was it!

"Ahhhhhh." Alicia and Brooke squeezed each other's hands numb. Brooke squeezed because she was nervous. Alicia squeezed because she was on the verge of greatness. With Skye and her studio-owning, daughter-favoring parents two time zones away, Alicia would finally get the attention she deserved-and introduce Mrs. Fossier, and the world, to the real real captain. captain.

From the front row, Nadia Rivera flashed an encouraging thumbs-up to her daughter and dabbed her almond-shaped eyes with a handkerchief. Len put his arm around her and squeezed proudly. Alicia wanted to smile back at her parents with love, but all she could do was lift her hand in heartless acknowledgment. It was their fault her hairy calves were sweating in her leg warmers. And if that sweat was responsible for distracting her from her performance...

She blinked back the thought. Anything less than perfect was not an option.

"I am proud to introduce BADSS!" Merri-Lee gushed.

The audience applauded. The cameras turned to face them. Alicia's stomach dipped. Her ears rang. Her legs sparked with electricity. It was time for her mind to take five and let her body take over.

Shakira's "Ojos Asi" blasted through the speakers, and the girls flick-kicked onto the stage. From there, they exploded with raw energy and refined talent. Poppy was punching every move in ways that And-rrhea never could. And the audience was going crazy. They whooped, clapped, and whistled. Cameras started flas.h.i.+ng. The audience was dancing along. Alicia's mother began chanting her name and soon the entire party was chanting, "Alicia! Alicia! Alicia!" Their support and approval filled her with something lighter than air.

She danced with the grace of a swan and the strength of a bull. With every layout, twist, and triplet, Alicia grew confident-no, certain!-that her future as a captain-slash-superstar would be cemented in- What the...?

Her Capezio came down on what felt like a pebble; a slippery pebble that took her left foot for a skate while her right foot remained planted firmly in second position. Pulled in opposite directions, her legs felt like the rope in a ruthless game of tug-of-war. The next moment, Alicia was on her b.u.t.t in a half split, struggling to breathe.

Brooke rushed to her side.

The camera lights dimmed.

The Shakira track stopped playing.

Merri-Lee decided to "check in" with the party in Orlando.

Alicia's ankle throbbed.

Her head spun.

Her heart was broken.

And Poppy had made off with her Marc Jacobs bag.

WESTCHESTER COUNTY AIRPORTMERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYTHE PARKING LOTFriday, December 31st10:17 P.M. P.M.

"You better be quick," Ali called from inside the limo.

"I will, I promise." Kristen slammed the door, exhaling a puff of air.

"Hurry!" Ali called one last time.

Kristen raced to the entrance, paying little mind to the s.h.i.+vering crowd of onlookers behind the gates, the giant purse at the top of a pole, or the red carpet-which was now littered with cigarette b.u.t.ts, silver gum wrappers, and empty water bottles. She was on a mission. And, as with everything she set her mind to, Kristen was determined to succeed.

Clutching the gold dollar-sign charm in her palm, she hurried past the snaking line of wannabe guests outside the door and marched straight to the front.

"Hi." She smiled brightly at the large gatekeeper in the white suit and matching fur hat. Cold wind blew against her sensitive Whitestripped teeth, sending a shock of pain that resonated all the way down to her frozen flip-flopped feet.

"Back o' the line!" shouted some grumpy man in a leather trench coat.

"Yeah!" shouted a woman in Lucite platforms and a tacky pink puffy coat. "Who do you think you are? One of those Olsen twins?"

"Where's your ticket?"

"You on the list?"

"Go home to Mommy!"

Others quickly joined in, cursing her out and wis.h.i.+ng her harm for cutting the line.

Kristen finally turned to face her detractors. "I have this this, okay?" She pinch-held the charm over her head, proving she had something more valuable than a ticket or a name on a list.

She turned back to the man in the white suit. "I'd like to get in now, please."

"So would they," he grumbled, chin-pointing at the angry mob behind her.

Kristen smiled politely. "I don't want to see the show, I just have to give something to my friend," she said, loving the way friend friend sounded. sounded.

"So do they." He chin-pointed again.

"No, but I really do. I'll just be a minute. Here..." Kristen searched her body for collateral. A watch, a tennis bracelet, diamond earrings. But she had nothing. Ironically, the only thing she had of value was the gold dollar sign. And she was there to give it back.

Tears began to fill Kristen's eyes. Tears she didn't even know she had. Yet there they were, in a state of permanent readiness. Destined to fall whenever she thought about things she couldn't afford-things that came so easily to everyone else.

"You just come from the gym?" the human marshmallow asked, like she would ever wear Juicy to the gym.

You just come from a marshmallow factory? she wanted to shout back. But a cl.u.s.ter of five hip hip-hoppers surrounded him and shut her out. The three guys were covered in Sean John logos and varying shades of Kangol hats. The two girls wore knee-high lace-up boots, their dresses covered by fur coats. While they gave their names to the Marshmallow, Red Kangol paced back and forth, talking on his cell and begging some girl in Queens to get her booty to Westchester. she wanted to shout back. But a cl.u.s.ter of five hip hip-hoppers surrounded him and shut her out. The three guys were covered in Sean John logos and varying shades of Kangol hats. The two girls wore knee-high lace-up boots, their dresses covered by fur coats. While they gave their names to the Marshmallow, Red Kangol paced back and forth, talking on his cell and begging some girl in Queens to get her booty to Westchester.

"Take one of the label's choppers if you need to, baby. We're at the airport. The pilot can land right at the front door." He gestured toward the private planes parked in the distance, as if she could see them.

Kristen's eyes welled up again. She didn't even have a bike.

"Your name is on the list," Red Kangol insisted. He tilted his neck, gripped the cell with the side of his head, and rubbed his hands together for warmth. "It's so cold here without you, baby." He listened to her response while eyeing a gaggle of blondes in minidresses as they searched for the back of the line. "Nah, I understand. Happy New Year, Boo. I love you too."

He dropped his phone in the deep side pocket of his jeans.

"Lemme guess," Green Kangol mumbled. "Rihanna's not coming."

Marshmallow handed them their VIP stickers, then unhooked the red velvet stanchion. The five-pack sauntered inside, avoiding eye contact with the losers still stuck on line.

This set the mob off all over again.

"I've been standing here since Thanksgiving!"

"I can't feel my feet!"

"What makes them them so special?" so special?"

"A recording contract!" Marshmallow shouted back.

Suddenly, Kristen sensed a billion tiny inchworms crawling up her arms. It was a familiar feeling-slightly ticklish, slightly irritating-one she got whenever she had a risky idea.

"Can I go in now?" Kristen smiled again. "My name is Rihanna."

Instead of checking the list, Marshmallow eyeballed her. It was that doubtful squint her overprotective mother had perfected years ago. Regardless of the situation, it always asked the same question: Are you lying to me? Are you lying to me?

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Kristen asked, feeling herself blush. "Check the list. You'll see. I'm there." Why are you looking at me like that?" Kristen asked, feeling herself blush. "Check the list. You'll see. I'm there."

"Last name?" Marshmallow asked, haphazardly flipping through the pages on his clipboard.

Kristen's mouth dried. Her heart beat double time. The inchworms ran for their lives. Now what? Now what? She stood on her frostbitten but beautifully pedicured toes and peeked at his pages. She stood on her frostbitten but beautifully pedicured toes and peeked at his pages.

He pulled the clipboard back.

"Oh, come on," she pleaded. "I'm on there. Check Rihanna Rihanna."

"No last name?"

"Ummm..."

Out of sheer desperation, Kristen released the dollar sign to the ground. It landed with a plink. "Oh no, my charm!" she gasped, before lightly stepping on it with her flip-flop. In a show of extreme panic she dropped to the frigid pavement. Through a veil of forced tears she whimpered, "Just check under R R, okay?" She searched the ground in a frenzy of don't mess with me don't mess with me emotions. emotions.

Marshmallow, obviously too masculine to deal with a sobbing girl, flipped to the R's. "All right," he nose-sighed. "Here it is. Rihanna. No last name."

"Found it!" Kristen declared, holding up the charm.

Marshmallow handed her a VIP sticker with her new name on it and opened the door.

"Happy New Year, Rihanna," he grumbled.

"You too, M-" Kristen caught herself. "Mister." She hurried inside where it was warm.

Merri-Lee's New Year's Yves New Year's Yves party looked different in real life than it did on TV. Less friendly. More chaotic. Completely overwhelming. Colored lights bounced from one hair-sprayed blowout to the next. Music pulsated. Tall people were everywhere. And no one was wearing Juicy. party looked different in real life than it did on TV. Less friendly. More chaotic. Completely overwhelming. Colored lights bounced from one hair-sprayed blowout to the next. Music pulsated. Tall people were everywhere. And no one was wearing Juicy.

Kristen hovered by the exit, shaking, like a terrified little flower girl about to walk the aisle at St. Patrick's Cathedral. What was she thinking? Was she really going in there alone? Where were the girls her age? Her legs stiffened. Her stomach locked. She panted nervously. Hovering next to the old people, who were hovering next to the circular bar, Kristen remained a safe distance from the raucous dance floor. How was she ever going to find Ma.s.sie in this madhouse?

In an attempt to look like she belonged, Kristen helped herself to a grilled prawn off a pa.s.sing waitress's tray. Pigs in a blanket would have made her happier, or maybe one of those mini microwavable egg rolls. But she was trying to look rich, and shrimp c.o.c.ktail was always the most expensive appetizer on the menu.

And then, the four girls she'd seen on TV scurried by in their matching plaid dresses.

"'Scuse me?" Kristen called before she had any idea what to say.

They stopped. The one with the curly b.u.t.terscotch blond bob was the first to turn.

"Yuss," she snarled.

"Ummm." Kristen took a step back, hating her mouth for writing a check her brain couldn't cash. "Uhhh..." She thought about coming right out and asking if they knew Ma.s.sie but decided against it. They were probably famous. Better to see if they were friendly first. "How much longer until midnight?"

Curly hair checked the screen on her cell phone. "One hour and thirteen minutes." She took a step closer. "Don't worry"-she read the name on Kristen's VIP sticker-"Rihanna, that's plenty of time to change out of those sweats and into-Stawp!"

"What?" the other girls asked.

"Did you see her name?" Curly waved her hands like a baby chick trying to fly.

The girls leaned into Kristen's chest.

"Her name is Reee-ahnna!" Curly announced. "She's an Ahnna!"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!" They all began shaking their hands and hopping around.

"I'm Ahnna." Curly opened her arms and pulled Kristen in for a sweaty hug. She smelled a little like French onion dip.

"Stawp!" Red Gla.s.ses extended her hand. "I'm Shauna."

"Lana." A girl with a beauty mark above her lip smile-waved.

"Brianna," said the one with black bangs.

Three babysitter-age girls dressed like college girls giggled as they walked by.