Birthday Vicious (3 page)

But tonight she couldn't wait to get out of this place. Sure, she was looking forward to the food arriving. A. A. kept telling herself that by the time she'd silently counted all the photos on the wall her burger would arrive and the worst part of the evening would be over. Because then she could eat, and once she had eaten, she could get out of here.

“Hey, do you want to try some of this soup?” Hunter's
voice broke her concentration. Ugh! Now she'd lost count.

“It's okay,” she said, giving him a quick grin. He probably thought she was acting weird, and that was too bad—it wasn't his fault. Hunter was her boyfriend, and he was a nice guy, even if he did have hair that looked like a bunch of uprooted carrots. Hunter knew she liked this place, which was why he'd suggested it. He was that kind of guy—thoughtful, in a low-key kind of way. They'd only been dating for a month, and he tried to hang out with her as much as their schedules allowed. He'd even come to watch her play soccer that afternoon once his crew practice was over (lacrosse season had ended).

Hunter, sitting on her right and scooping up another giant mouthful of clam chowder, wasn't the problem. The problem was on the other side of the table. Specifically, Tri Fitzpatrick—the boy who used to date Ashley Spencer.

The boy who used to be A. A.'s best friend, the guy who lived in a luxurious private apartment in the Fairmont Hotel, just like she did. The boy she'd kissed at a Seven Minutes in Heaven party, the boy who acted like he was totally into her. A. A. still didn't understand what had happened between her and Tri—one day they
were best friends, then suddenly it was as if they hardly knew each other at all. One day they were kissing, the next day he acted like it had never happened. A. A. just didn't get him.

And there was something else she didn't get. It had been only a couple of weeks since Ashley had broken up with him after the
Preteen Queen
party, and Tri had already found another girlfriend. Her name was Cecily, and he'd brought her along tonight. A double date—Tri's idea. Cecily was sitting there next to him in Buzz Burgers, holding his hand. At least Hunter had the sense to eat his soup and not paw at her like a lovesick puppy every few minutes.

That's what she liked about Hunter—he didn't push. They didn't have to make out every second to show the world they liked each other. Of course, they kissed—what couple didn't? But it was nothing like the kiss she'd experienced with Tri. Not that she was comparing. Kissing Hunter felt comfortable and safe. It didn't have the same dizzying energy as kissing Tri, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe Tri's kiss had been memorable merely because it was the only one they would ever share.

Forty-four, forty-five, forty-six . . . the waitress
took away Hunter's scraped-clean bread bowl. . . . Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine . . . was that their food? No, it was another table's. . . . Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two . . . God, what was Tri's disagreeable girlfriend jabbering about now?

“I wish I hadn't ordered a burger,” Cecily lamented, rubbing her flat-as-a-washboard stomach with the hand that Tri wasn't clinging to. Great—just what the world needed. Another girl talking about her teensy-weensy appetite, pretending to boys that she lived on a handful of almonds and a teaspoon of low-fat salad dressing. Cecily gestured with her head (she had the Jennifer Lawrence pixie) to the next table. “They just look
huge
.”

“That's the point,” A. A. said, knowing she sounded snippy, but she didn't care. They were at Buzz Burgers, get it? If she wanted to hang out with picky eaters, she'd rather be with Ashley and Lili anytime.

“Not everyone knows that.” Suddenly Tri was talking to her, after not directing a single word to her all evening. “But then I guess you know everything.”

A. A.'s mouth fell open. Whenever they saw each other these days, it felt like Tri was angry at
her
. What was up with that? He was the one who'd kissed her in the closet while he was still officially going out with Ashley.
He was the one who said he was planning to break up with Ashley, and then—the
very next day
—went round to Ashley's house to beg her forgiveness and tell her she was the only girl in the world. And now that Ashley had dumped him, he'd instantly pounced on a new girlfriend. He was a grade-A jerk.

“Here's our food,” Hunter said, sounding relieved, as the waitress swooped down on them with dinner plates as large as trays. At least he wouldn't force A. A. into another hideous double date. She stopped trying to think of a nasty response to Tri's rude comment and focused on the burger in front of her—a towering mass of meaty deliciousness in the middle of a sea of golden, crinkled fries.

“So, what's it like at Miss Gamble's?” Cecily was trying to make polite conversation, carefully squeezing a pool of ketchup onto the side of her plate.

“It's cool.” A. A. shrugged, her mouth full. Cecily didn't even go to school: She and her sisters had private tutors, since they had to travel so often. Her parents owned swanky hotels and resorts around the globe, including one recently renovated hotel in San Francisco. That was how Tri had met her, at some hoteliers association get-together his parents had dragged him to. It
was a dynastic match, A. A. thought, taking another huge bite out of her burger.

“I hear you guys get to do lots of fun things there.” Cecily nibbled on a fry and gave A. A. a nervous smile. A. A. stared hard at her, trying to decide if she was being sarcastic or malicious in any way, but Cecily looked sincere. “Like the big party where you turned your school gym into a nightclub? It sounded so cool.”

“It's not really a gym,” A. A. told her. Miss Gamble's wouldn't have anything as tacky as a
gym
, but it wasn't Cecily's fault she didn't know that. All the girl knew about junior high was from TV and movies.

“I wish my parents would let me go there.” Cecily sighed. “It'd be so cool to meet other kids my age and have tons of friends.”

A. A. chewed a particularly juicy mouthful, feeling kind of bad for Cecily. She clearly had no idea that making friends at school was
way
more complicated than just showing up. She should ask Lauren Page. Lauren was rejected—make that
shunned
—for years until her father's website, YourTV.com, went through the roof and she walked into school with new clothes, new hair, and a new body. And even then the Ashleys snubbed her until she could deliver something they really wanted,
like spots in the Preteen Queen reality show.

She liked Lauren, even though it seemed like sometimes Lauren was trying too hard to get them to like her and should just chill out. Cecily obviously thought girls' schools were cozy and sweet. She wouldn't last five minutes at Miss Gamble's.

Tri snorted. “Ces, that place is like a shark pit. They'd eat you alive.”

A. A. glared at him. It was one thing for
her
to think that, but quite another for Tri Fitzpatrick to be badmouthing her school all over the Bay Area.

“That's because some Gregory Hall boys are too immature for Miss Gamble's girls,” she explained to Cecily, ripping her slice of pickle in two and wishing it was Tri's arm. “You know how it is. Some guys just can't handle strong women. They're too scared.”

“You'd be scared as well.” Tri was talking to Cecily but shooting A. A. the evil eye. “You should really steer clear of that place.”

“If you don't want those fries, I'll have them.” Hunter gestured at A. A.'s plate, his hand creeping over. He was totally oblivious to the conversation, his eyes focused on the game playing on a flat-screen television above the counter.

“You can have some of mine,” offered Cecily. “Usually I'd eat all of this, but my grandparents took me and my sisters out to Ruth's Chris for lunch and I really stuffed my face. Sorry to be such a killjoy. I hate it when girls pretend they don't eat.”

A. A. wasn't sure what was worse—Cecily being a dainty little namby-pamby, or Cecily being not that bad. Almost normal, in fact. If circumstances were different, A. A. might even like her.

“Last time Ces and I went out for dinner, we ordered these giant sundaes and had an eating contest,” Tri bragged. If he was talking to Hunter, he was wasting his time—Hunter was preoccupied shoveling forkloads of Cecily's fries onto his own plate. “And she totally won!”

“Tri's used to losing at things,” A. A. couldn't resist saying, gazing over at Cecily's innocent face rather than look at Tri's annoying one. “I've kicked his ass from here to Toronto in every video game known to man.”

“As if that's something to be proud of,” scoffed Tri. “Macho is real attractive on a chick. See what I was talking about, Ces? You should go home tonight and thank your parents for keeping you away from Miss Gamble's.”

“Actually, I think that's pretty cool she's so good at games,” Cecily began, her face flushing.

A chick?
Since when did Tri call her a “chick”? A. A. was furious. “You're embarrassing yourself,” she told Tri. “Why don't you pick on someone
your own size
?”

Now it was Tri's turn to go red. He was pretty sensitive these days about being the shortest seventh grader at Gregory Hall.

“I can't believe you guys are letting all this great food go to waste,” said Hunter, greedily eying A. A.'s plate again. “I thought you were hungry.”

“I've lost my appetite.” A. A. pushed her plate away.

“Alert the media,” mumbled Tri, sullenly picking up the soggy remains of a bun and pushing it into his mouth. A. A. was furious with him. How dare he be so rude to her in front of Cecily? And in front of her own boyfriend? Tri should know better than to mess with someone twice his height and triple his intelligence. If this was the way he wanted to play it, then okay.

Tri wanted war? A. A. would give him war.

THE SLEEK TESLA CONTINENTAL PURRED
up to the main gates of Miss Gamble's and slid into one of the spaces reserved for dropping off and picking up pupils—all of the spaces empty now, because it was eleven on a Monday morning and school had been in session for a couple of hours. Lauren Page, in the Tesla's backseat, leaned forward for a last-minute check of her hair and lip gloss in the console mirror.

She'd just been to the dentist, and she had to make sure there was no trace of anything powdery or sticky around her mouth. Last year she wouldn't have thought twice about this: She'd have been rubbing her sore jaw, or obsessing over being late for class. But that was then, and this was now.

Once upon a time, Lauren had dreaded Monday mornings. She used to dread walking up to the main gates of Miss Gamble's, because that meant walking past the Ashleys. Every morning they'd be posed on a stone bench by the playground like vengeful Greek goddesses, scrutinizing every girl as she arrived, making snide comments about the way they wore their school uniform or their hair.

Before this semester, Lauren came to school on the bus, not in a Bentley. Her heart would thud as she got off one stop early—so none of the other girls would see her taking public transportation. When she approached the school, she would put her head down and scurry by as quickly as she could, wishing she were invisible.

And usually she
was
invisible to the Ashleys; they were far more concerned with wannabes and potential style rivals than hopeless cases. Because that was exactly what Lauren used to be—a hopeless case. Frizzy hair, bad skin, thick glasses, baby fat, no makeup, secondhand clothes. Someone no one paid attention to, whose name was only mentioned at school prize-giving, when she snagged all the awards.

Then, last summer, Lauren's computer-nerd father hit the Silicon Valley gold mine. She got tanned, toned,
and terrific, and everything changed. She made it her goal to join the most exclusive clique in school: the Ashleys. There'd been some speed bumps along the way—winning over the trio of baby barracudas wasn't easy. But for now, she was IN. She was one of them.

It was all part of her secret master plan: to bring the Ashleys down. To destroy them once and for all. Lauren had weathered years of ridicule and misery at their snotty hands. In kindergarten, Ashley Spencer had said in front of the whole class, “Everyone is invited to my birthday party except for Lauren Page!” while in fourth grade, Lili had made up the nickname “Loron” (a clever combo of “Lauren” and “moron,” and a name that stuck for years) just to amuse Ashley, and last year, A. A. had picked her last once again for a volleyball tournament during PE. Lauren vowed she would have her revenge one day.

Becoming an Ashley was just the first step. Because as every good spy knows, corruption always starts from within.

Luckily, that silly Tumblr, AshleyRank, had started her work for her. The key to power, as Lauren was learning this semester in honors history, was divide and conquer. When the now-defunct blog started toying with the Ashleys, shooting Lauren into the upper echelons
and demoting Queen Bee Ashley Spencer to number four, fault lines had appeared in the heretofore solid coalition of cool.

Okay, so maybe up-close and personal, the Ashleys weren't as evil as Lauren had originally believed them to be. They were almost sweet. A. A. gave big, friendly smiles and made her feel like one of the gang. Lili had included her in the dance squad at the Gregory Hall lacrosse game. Ashley had even helped her shop for clothes before the big “Seven” party. They weren't
all
bad. And now that she was an Ashley herself, did she really want to give all this up?

*  *  *

“Here we are—better late than never,” Dex said, grinning at Lauren in the rearview mirror. “Are you gonna sit there all day gazing at yourself? Some of us have things to do.”