Sorority Girls With Guns (35 page)

She shakes her head miserably, glaring at the ground. “But that didn't work either. Ms. Haines doesn't care about the scandal – she actually told me it made you
more interesting
to the viewers. In fact, she really just wanted to give
you
your own show.”

“
She did?”

Tiffany nods, tears making muddy mascara tracks down her face. “After everything I did, it only made her want to give
you
your own show! So I told her that you came up with this project as something we could do together, as friends – that's  why we entered the Green Day contest together. I told her I came up with the idea, and you couldn't do the show without me. I figured I could convince you to go along with it if I told you Ms.Haines wanted both of us – you'd do anything to get your own show, even put up with me. But now...” She shakes her cell phone as if trying to get rid of the incriminating email. “Now you're never going to do that, are you? So the only thing I have left is whatever attention I can get for outing you. It may not last long or get me my own show, but it's all I've got. Maybe I can get fifty-thousand hits on twenty vids on my own GluedToYou channel out of it – I'll use your story to give myself credentials as an investigative journalist, then I'll start digging into other people's lives.”

I shake my head. “Tiffany, I never took you for such a self-serving, vindictive person. You're so much more like me than I thought.”

She glares at me. “I wasn't like this before. But being cut off by my parents for the hundredth time was so frustrating. And finding out that Charlie didn't care enough to help me out really hurt, too. It was like everyone who claimed to care about me only cared about themselves. So yeah, that made me kind of self-serving.”

I frown. “You know Charlie's parents cut him off too, right? And that's why he couldn't help you out? It wasn't because he didn't care – he just didn't have the money.”

She blinks through a haze of mascara and misery. “What? That's why he wouldn't help?”

I nod. “Yeah, I overheard him talking about it the day of the party where you guys had that big fight.”

“
Why didn't you tell me?”

I sigh. “Because he obviously didn't want you to know. And I get what that's like, Tif – I never wanted anyone to know about
my
lack of money. And let me tell you, it really hurts when someone reveals the thing you're most ashamed of. Yes, I said it, I'm ashamed of my lack of money. And I will
not
apologize for that. I will not embrace being poor. It's caused me nothing but pain in my life, and I will
not
own it, or love that aspect of myself, or any of that happy crappy, okay? And while I may be a self-serving bitch, I don't screw over innocent people who don't deserve it, and that's why I didn't repeat Charlie's secret.”

Tiffany wipes at her face. “I'm sorry, Shade. I really am. I had no idea how much this would hurt you.”

“
You can still help me fix it,” I say. “Just admit you lied. Say you know I'm rich because you were at the Mercedes dealership the day I drove my car off the lot.”

“
How
did
you get that car anyway? Did you screw what's-his-face whose dad owns the lot?”

“
No,” I snap. “I did his homework and wrote his papers and helped him study, like I did for you for free, because we
used
to be friends.”

She stares down at her Tory Burch sandals, one of which is a size bigger (that's why they were so cheap at the outlet). “I wish I could help, Shade. But this is my only chance at financial freedom, at being able to run my own life, instead of letting other people run it. You understand, right?”

“
Sure,” I say, calmly pulling my phone from my pocket, pulling up an email draft and pressing send. “And you understand that if you don't help me, I'll be going public with
that
. But hey, I'm sure the publicity will make you more interesting. Well, until you get arrested.”

Tiffany pulls out her phone and opens the vid I sent her. She watches, her mouth forming an “O” in horror at what I've done: I took the Biff Blackmail video and edited out the parts with me, then blurred Biff's face. Then I edited in the part where Tiffany told Biff he needed to hand over his stuff or get used to embarrassment.

“
That vid goes viral if you don't help me,” I say. I feel bad for Tiffany, but she obviously doesn't consider me that good of a friend if she's willing to throw me under the bus.

And the waterworks start again. “Please, Shade, this is all I have. You'll survive this scandal! And after we sign that contract, you'll be rich for real. It won't matter!”

I dig my fingernails into my palm. “You don't know that, Tiff. I have bad luck. Everything goes wrong for me. Everything I touch turns to shit. Half of those GluedToYou shows last less than a year, and five percent of advertising on twenty  vids with fifty-k viewers is not that much. And even if it is a success, people will still know that I was poor. That changes how people look at you, permanently.”

“
But you have the ability to make money, to get rich for yourself!” Tiffany screams. “You're not stupid!”

Now this is perplexing. I always thought Tiff was dumb as a box of rocks, but I never knew she thought that. “Tiffany...why do you think that? I mean, you got into college, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “You said yourself the only entrance exam to college is the ability to sign your name on a check.” She swipes at her face again, making arches in her makeup. The color of her fake bake almost makes them look like golden arches. “You think I don't hear people talking? You think I don't know that my father made a big donation to the school alumni association the year before I applied to colleges? You know I applied to ten schools, and the one he donated a crapload of money to is the only one I got into? You think I haven't asked everyone else what they got on the ACT? I haven't met anyone who got in with less than a 21.”

“
Has this been bothering you for a long time?”

She shrugs. “At first, I shrugged it off. I told myself it didn't matter. But every time I got a C, my parents threatened to cut me off. And then the school forced me to take that math class, even though it doesn't have a fucking thing to do with PR.”

“
Yeah, no shit.”

“
I've taken it three times, and I can't pass!” she wails.

“
Is it Finite?” I rub at my temples. “I flunked that thing the first time I took it, Tiff. The second time, I was never so thrilled to get a D, because it meant I never had to take it again!”

“
But at least you passed the second time!”

“
Is that what this is all about?” I ask. “You don't think you can pass Finite, so your parents are going to cut you off? And now you're panicking?”

“
That, and thinking Charlie didn't care, and just generally being tired of the whole school thinking I'm stupid. I meant what I said, Shade - you are smart and talented and you
will
get rich and famous sooner or later. You can still be rich and famous if this story comes out. I can't! My options are limited! Don't do this to me!”

“
Tiffany, I just told you how to pass Finite,” I say, trying to make myself be patient. As sad as I feel for Tiffany right now, I can't get over the fact that she thinks her options are more limited than
mine
. “And you're
not
stupid. A stupid person wouldn't have figured out my secret. Hundreds of stupid people at that school didn't. You and Richard were the only ones, and he didn't figure it out until he realized I was too much of a Feebay expert to have just started selling seriously.”

“
Really?” The waterworks start to dry up. “I figured it out before Richard?”

“
Tiff, there's a way we can both come out of this okay,” I continue. “Do what I want. Refute your own story. We can still do the show together. You can go back to school and pass Finite with a D. I got a 61 percent, and that was with ten points of extra credit for perfect attendance,” I explain. “Seriously, the next time you take it, get in Professor Wells' section. She gives a full ten points extra credit just for showing up and trying to work through the homework, whether you get it right a lot. Squint at the screen, scribble some notes, and she'll let you pass with a D.”

“
Really?” The waterworks slow to a trickle. The golden arches of makeup are hardening.

“
Tell you what, I'll say I was in on the deception,” I continue. “We did it to get publicity for the show. We came up with this idea together, and that's the end of it.”

“
You won't tell anyone that the whole thing was your idea? That I didn't come up with anything for the Green Day project?”

I shake my head. “No. I won't tell anyone. We'll both make money off this show, and we can both be financially independent. All you have to do is help me hide what embarrasses
me
. Can you do that?”

Tiffany nods. “Okay. I'll help you lie. But what about your parents, and your friends back home?”

“
My parents don't watch much reality internet T.V. I doubt they know. And if they
do
hear about it, they'll call and ask me. And I don't think they want the whole world to know that I grew up in a house with doorknob-less doors and taped up windows and a bunch of other shit they didn't have money to fix.” I smile. “And as for my old friends, I think they can be bribed with my first paycheck. The bet
is
over, after all.”

Tiffany nods. “I'm really sorry, Shade. I never wanted to screw you over. I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't desperate.”

“
Yeah, I know,” I say. “We all do shit we regret when we're desperate. I'm just glad we found another way out of this, okay?”

“
Okay. Well, I need to fix my makeup before we go back in. Everyone's going to wonder what happened to us.”

I shrug. “I'll think of a lie before the elevator hits the second floor.”

                                                                                     
***

We're just getting out of the elevator when my phone rings. I look at the caller ID and don't recognize the number.

“
That could be Ms. Haines,” Tiffanys says, looking away from her compact long enough to see the number. “Yeah, that's it. You better answer before she decides you're a flake!”

“
You're right. That's your job.” But I answer anyway. “Hello, Shade Stevenson speaking.”

“
Shade? This is Stephanie Haines from GluedToYou. Did Tiffany tell you about our conversation earlier?”

“
Yes, and I'm very happy to hear that you're interested in...us.” I put it on speaker so Tiffany can hear, too.

“
Oh, yes, and I'm especially interested in
you
,” Stephanie says. She has one of those southern drawls that never quite leave no matter how long a person lives in California. “Your story is so exciting. In the last eight hours, we've had so much buzz about the fake rich girl! Your vids are gaining hundreds of viewers every hour and we expect that trend to continue!”

“
Um...thanks,” I say. “But, uh, that story about my being poor...that wasn't true. Some old friends were just trying to make some money by making up a story about me. In fact, Tiffany and I are going to post a vid  refuting it. “

“
Oh, no!” Stephanie sounds panicked. “No, no, please don't do that. It would jeopardize your deal with the site.”

“
I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“
Our metrics show that viewers are most interested in you because of your faux-riche story. They want to know how you did it, mostly so they can do the same. The vast majority of your viewers are 18-34 year olds who make less than $30,000 a year, Shade. They don't want to hear that you're
really
rich – they want tips on how to live like
they're
really rich from someone of a similar financial background. If you refute that story, it'll make you less appealing to viewers. And then we might have to rethink the show with you. Do you understand?”

“
Yes,” I say. “I understand perfectly.” I understand that it is the prerogative of the rich to make the not-rich jump through hoops for money. Reading that one loud and clear.

“
I'm overnighting you some contracts to read, sign and return,” Stephanie continues. “Please have your lawyer contact us if you have any questions. The sooner you can get those signed, the better.”

I thank her for her confidence in us and hang up.

Tiffany stares at me. “What are you going to do?”

I shove my phone in my purse, because otherwise I'm afraid I'll squeeze it so hard that it breaks. “I guess I get to make a choice,” I say. “Between really having money and living like I have money.”

  “
Isn't it the same thing either way?”