ten

“DON’T PARK THERE—that’s way too far away. Walking in the heat will wilt my hair.”

Molly swerved away from the offending parking spot.

“Okay,” she said. “How about that one, right up front.”

“Ew, no, that’s way too close.”

Molly slammed on the brakes and exhaled.

“Perhaps you should just point to where you think I should park,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Like I care.”

As Brooke flipped down the mirror and rechecked her lip gloss, Molly resisted the urge to speed up and then slam on the brakes, and instead pulled into a spot a few feet closer than the first one Brooke rejected.

“Interesting choice,” Brooke said. “That is, if you enjoy hiking.”

The whole drive to school had been like this. Molly had learned to drive on Laurel’s peeling Oldsmobile, which had the gearshift attached to the steering wheel and velour bench seating in both rows, and wouldn’t play FM radio unless you turned the lights on and off three times. By contrast, this car ran so smoothly, Molly thought she could probably stop steering altogether and it’d still get her to school safely. But she couldn’t enjoy driving it because every time one of her hands so much as drifted past ten and two, Brooke shrieked that they were going to die.

Brooke slid out of the car and slammed her door so hard the whole Lexus shuddered. She stormed away without a word, furiously yanking down the hem of her Tory Burch minidress as she went. Colby-Randall Preparatory School technically did have a dress code—somewhere in its four-page section of the student handbook, Molly had read that skirts shouldn’t be higher than three inches above the knee—but obviously Brooke felt that it, like rules of social interaction, were just piddling suggestions.

So this is how it’s going to be. Molly suspected as much when Brooke killed all the lights in the room and went to bed while Molly was still trying to unpack, but she still couldn’t quite believe it. The one person who could’ve been her life raft was ditching her. Again.

Molly launched herself into the warm Los Angeles morning air and stared up at the grand, ivy-covered stone mansion that loomed before her. Colby-Randall’s website had explained that the school—a luxe old estate hidden almost below street level at the foot of the Hollywood Hills—started as one house donated by an old studio exec, and then annexed a bunch of surrounding properties to give itself a vast wooded campus. And it was impressive. It looked more like an Ivy League college than a high school. Or, at least, more like what Molly imagined an Ivy League campus looked like, since she’d never seen one of those, either.

Molly willed her feet to move, but they didn’t. She’d never been the new kid in school. In fact, they’d never even had a new student in her class in Indiana. People moved away, like when her friend Karen’s dad got transferred to Chicago when they were in third grade, but no one ever seemed to move to West Cairo. She had no idea how to handle being the newbie, other than climbing back into the car and driving home to Indiana. Or into the Pacific.

“Don’t just stand there—you’re gonna be late.”

Molly started, and turned. The tiny girl who’d spoken—she couldn’t have been more than five feet—appraised Molly quickly and then pulled her green bob into a nub of a ponytail. “Gutsy call on the backpack,” she said as she walked past.

Molly glanced down at her Jansport and wondered what was so courageous about it. Books needed to be carried. But then she looked up at the fracas bubbling around the main building’s arched double doors. Students were yelping and throwing themselves into one another’s arms, screaming high-pitched greetings as if half of them hadn’t just seen one another Saturday night at Brooke’s house. Some of the girls were wearing tiny miniskirts paired with unseasonably furry boots, others sported designer jeans so tight they could’ve been painted on, and one familiar-looking raven-haired girl had the straps of her sandals wound up around the legs of her denim. They looked like the pages of Us Weekly come to life, and not a single one of them had a dingy old pack slung over her tiny shoulders; instead, they carried massive purses with shiny, elaborate buckles, or satchels stamped with the Louis Vuitton logo, which Molly doubted had been purchased out of the trunk of some dude’s car. Even the green-haired girl, Molly recalled, had been carrying something made of leather.

As Molly made her way toward them, she noticed several people in her peripheral vision—and a few directly in her line of sight—elbowing each other and pointing. People stopped talking and stared, brows furrowed, like they were at the zoo and Molly was an exotic animal they’d never heard of before. Behold, Los Angelenos, the world’s only Skittish Hoosier in captivity. It was like a really bad sequel to Saturday night.

Forget all that. You can do this.

Molly forged ahead through the double doors. Inside, Colby-Randall was breathtaking, with gleaming wood floors, lead-paned windows, and an elaborately carved ceiling. The overall effect was somewhat negated by the standard-issue metal lockers lining the walls and the smell of Lysol and pencil shavings that was apparently universal to every high school in the world, but Molly could still tell that she’d stayed in hotels that weren’t this fancy. They were actually piping in classical music over the PA system.

Not that you could really hear it over the din. Molly pushed her way through the crush until she found her designated locker. Leaning against it was a chiseled Adonis-type with his arm slung carelessly around the shoulders of a pretty but pointy-faced girl.

“Hi,” Molly said gingerly. “I’m so sorry—I think that’s my locker.”

“No problem,” the guy said, rolling off it calmly. But the girl shot Molly a dirty look, then gave her the once-over.

“Is that from the Gap?” she asked.

Molly looked down at her dress—a basic, deliberately inoffensive dark gray jersey sundress—and nodded. The girl stuck her nose so far in the air that Molly could spot-check her sinuses.

“Ew,” she said, and grabbed the boy’s arm as if she was suddenly afraid this meant Molly was liable to jack her wallet. “Jake, let’s go. It’s so dingy over here.”

They ambled off as the bell rang. Molly took a deep breath and struggled to open her locker. This was going to be a long day.

Brooke sauntered into homeroom and drank in the chalky-smelling, white-walled classroom with proprietary satisfaction. Brooke wasn’t crazy about lessons, but school was her domain. Students who’d been gossiping wildly in their chairs, trading stories with people in every direction, either stopped to wave or burbled enthusiastically upon seeing Brooke in their presence. A handful cowered and pretended to be fascinated with their binders. Just the way the Lord intended. Some people had It, and some didn’t. Brooke knew which one she was, and it righted her ship significantly to see that despite recent events at home, everyone who counted still knew, too.

She dropped into her seat and surveyed the group, half of which was staring in open curiosity. Brooke was used to this treatment, even if this year she knew there was another reason for the analysis.

“God, Jen, I’m so exhausted,” she announced loudly. “You Know Who snores like a farmhand.”

Jennifer turned full around, without letting go of her boyfriend’s enormous hand. “She looks like one, too,” she said. “I just saw her in the hall.”

“Is that who that was?” Jake said. “She seems nice.”

“Oh, Jake, you’re so naive.” Jennifer withdrew her hand long enough to smack him on his shoulder.

“Settle down, everyone.”

Brooke looked up at the front of the class and groaned.

“Perkins?” she whispered. “No way. She wears Crocs. I can’t start my day with Crocs.”

“And speaking of horrors…” Jennifer nudged her.

Brooke looked up to see Molly walk in and hand Ms. Perkins a piece of paper.

“Class, this is Molly Dix, she just moved here from Indiana, please be nice to her, take out your schedules, come to me with questions, and Mavis Moore, if you don’t spit out that gum right now I’m going to make you chew the whole pack at once,” Ms. Perkins said, putting her feet up on her desk and pulling out a copy of Eat, Pray, Love.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Molly scanned the rows for an empty desk.

“If you’re looking for Hay Baling 101, it’s on the East Lawn,” Brooke said loudly.

“Is that an actual class here?” Jake furrowed his brow.

Jennifer patted him on the back as if to say, “Isn’t he adorable?”

“Pipe down, Ms. Berlin,” said Ms. Perkins from behind the book. “I’ll have you know, California is the nation’s foremost agricultural state and Indiana isn’t even in the top five.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Molly said gamely, sliding into a front-row seat.

A couple of kids giggled. Brooke raised an eyebrow and most of them clammed up; a few others ignored her and gazed at Molly with mild interest. And a girl she recognized as one of Shelby Kendall’s known associates appeared to be texting someone.

The TV set flicked on, showing Headmistress McCormack sitting at the campus news station’s anchor desk, as she did every year on the first day of school.

“Good morning, Colby-Randall, and welcome to the start of what I’m sure will be another excellent and rewarding school year. Football tryouts are after school tomorrow and Wednesday….”

Jake pumped his fist and high-fived Magnus Mitchell.

“Bring the thunder, QB!” Magnus crowed.

“Boo-ya!” Jake shouted, and they stood up to chest-bump as Jennifer applauded with starry eyes. Brooke wanted to gag. Jocks were so two years ago.

“… So please report it if you see anyone handling food without a hairnet,” droned Headmistress McCormack. “And rehearsals for My Fair Lady begin Friday in the brand-new Brick Berlin Theater for Serious Emotional Artistry. Casting took place last May, but any new or returning students who wish to audition for walk-on roles should contact Brooke Berlin via the Drama Club mailbox.”

“I’ll be your Drama Club mailbox,” Magnus said huskily, waggling his tongue at Brooke as if this was supposed to entice her to put it in her mouth.

“Gross, Magnus,” Jennifer frowned.

Next, Shelby’s face filled the screen of the CR-One broadcast, pretty as ever and in newscaster mode. Brooke’s reaction was so visceral she almost gagged.

“I’d be her mailbox, too,” Magnus muttered under his breath.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brooke recovered. “Actual mailboxes are so passé. Like Shelby’s original nose.”

“I’d like to put out a call for any students willing to participate in a CR-One exclusive on neglected children,” Shelby was saying. “If you’re having a hard time with your parent, or you just met him, or he leaves you at home with a vacuous sibling with whom you have nothing in common, we want to know about it. But more important”—and here, Shelby leaned toward the camera, the better to give the student body a closer look at her poreless, peerless, very expensive face—“we want to help.”

The bell tolled, marking the mad dash to first period. Brooke swept her satchel over her shoulder so hard it thwacked Jennifer in the shoulder. Seeing Shelby reminded her what a stressful semester this was shaping up to be. My Fair Lady was Brooke’s best chance to make Brick sit up and take notice, but it was also a lot of work. She barely had time for one nemesis, much less two. It was clear that despite their father’s idiotic attachment to making this work, Molly still had to go. Immediately.

Molly barreled through a door and stopped dead when she realized she’d not only landed in a supply closet but that the couple who’d been at her locker that morning was making out in it.

“Dude! Don’t they knock in Indiana?” spat the girl.

“God, sorry,” Molly sputtered, spinning around and swiping at the door handle to try to get out.

Juggling a lunch tray and the crumpled map in her fist, Molly tried to figure out where she’d gone wrong. It had been like this all day, from when she’d shown up in the chem wing when she was supposed to be at PE, to stumbling into the TV station’s offices when she was due in math. She should have gone to New Student Orientation. Brooke had sworn it was unnecessary and promised that she would make sure Molly was sufficiently oriented, but that was before she started acting like Molly was contagious.

Correcting her course, Molly found the ladies’ room. Two toilets flushed in unison.

“I mean, did you see how red she got?” giggled a voice from behind one stall door. “I thought she was going to have a coronary. Who’d confuse Willis Hall with the gym, anyway?”

“Clearly, they don’t value literacy back where she comes from,” the other snarked.

Molly scurried down to the handicapped stall and locked the door behind her before anyone noticed she was there. She dumped her stuff on the floor, closed the toilet lid, and sat down to eat her lunch. She’d seen Lindsay Lohan’s character do this in Mean Girls. It seemed tragic at the time, but today Molly understood that it was wise (well, if she didn’t think about how unsanitary it was). Overhearing nasty comments was one thing; having to endure them while the naysayers watched her eat a cheeseburger and wondered loudly whether it was one of her own cows was another story.

It would have been worse if she hadn’t had her phone. Her lunch break luckily lined up with the end of the day back at Mellencamp, so as soon as the door banged behind those two girls, Molly grabbed her cell and dialed.

“How’s it going?” Charmaine asked when she picked up the call.

Molly groaned, bent down to check the stalls for any signs of life, and then sighed. “I’ve never seen so many blondes,” she said. “And everyone just looks through me. It’s so weird.”

Charmaine made sympathetic noises. “I wish I were there.”

“Me, too. Do you think it’s possible that Brick Berlin is also your father?”

“That would explain my movie-star charisma,” Charmaine said. “I’m sorry everyone is still being so unfriendly. I thought Californians were supposed to be really nice.”

“Right?” Molly peeled off a piece of her burger and popped it in her mouth. “They shouldn’t have time to be mean. They should be out surfing.”

“You might have to reach out to them,” Charmaine suggested.

Molly had imagined Laurel chirping something similar, but when she’d glanced out at the open-air cafeteria where most upperclassmen ate lunch, she simply couldn’t make herself do it. Everyone—especially Brooke, at her central table—seemed to be having a blast. Whenever she pictured walking out there, she knew the noise would stop, each group would hold its breath until she passed it by, and whichever one she picked would inevitably tell her there was no room, as when she’d sat down in math and was told every empty seat was reserved.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Molly finally said. “You haven’t seen these people. They’re like mini Brookes.”

“All of them?”

“Most of them. The rest seem to flock to this black-haired girl who runs the TV station and is class president or something, but she keeps staring at me like she’s waiting for me to apologize to her. I have no idea why.”

“Well, maybe you should apologize,” Charmaine said. “Just to make conversation. Look, I have to run—my mom needs me to babysit Eric—but remember that you’re awesome. You might just need to start going up to people and beating them over the head with your awesomeness, that’s all.”

“You might be biased,” Molly said. “But I promise I’ll get on that as soon as I’m done befriending the fixtures in the bathroom.”

“Call me later, okay?”

Molly recognized Charmaine’s concerned tone. It was last employed the day of Laurel’s funeral, when Molly had insisted on going to Chick-fil-A on the way to the cemetery.

I have to get a grip. Things aren’t that bad. I just need a better attitude.

Laurel had been fond of telling Molly, whenever she was complaining about something, that all things came to an end eventually. Molly repeated that mantra to herself the rest of the day until finally it came true and the last bell rang. She was proud of keeping her composure, but she couldn’t pretend that her first day had gone well. For a student body of no doubt wealthy and well-traveled kids, her classmates seemed remarkably horrified by proof that there was human life outside the Los Angeles metro area. She felt completely isolated. And she dreaded doing it all over again tomorrow.

Molly deliberately lingered at her locker, calling Danny and leaving him a message when he didn’t answer, then shuffling out to her car once the parking lot and the halls were as devoid as possible of people who wanted to stare and heckle. She had to wait for Brooke to finish some Drama Club something-or-other. Brick, who had eaten breakfast with them—aka four giant multivitamins washed down with a smoothie—greeted this scheduling problem with typical enthusiasm, waxing poetic about all the muscle-building extracurriculars Molly could explore in her free time. But there was no way Molly was going to spend an extra minute inside that school. She just wanted to turn up her iPod and sit in the Lexus, which had such aggressively tinted windows that it was the one place she could be sure absolutely no one was eyeballing her.

She dug around in her backpack for her car keys, but her hand couldn’t find them.

Of course. So close, yet so far. Molly plopped her bag down on top of the Lexus and started taking things out of it with increasing hysteria—her cell phone, her notebook, her history textbook—until it was empty. Completely empty. No keys.

Molly glared at the contents of her bag, now splayed across the hood of her car and on the dark asphalt, and burst into tears.

“Looking for these?”

Molly jumped and met the eyes of a tall, dark-haired boy wearing a T-shirt that read PANTS, and holding out the Lexus key chain.

“Oh, my God, thank you,” she said, trying to hide the fact that she was wiping tears off her cheeks. “Where did you find those?”

“I saw them drop out of your bag when you slammed your locker, but I was too far away,” the boy said, handing them to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t run after you, but you know. I run ugly.” He grinned. “Plus I figured you weren’t going to get too far without them.”

Molly tried to laugh, but because of her crying jag it turned into an awkward hiccup.

“Rough day?” the boy asked, peering at her. “You’re new here, right?”

“I must look so dumb out here, crying all over my car.” Molly groaned.

“Nah, everyone cries their first day at Colby-Randall,” he said, leaning against the SUV. “Take me, for example. Ninety pounds. Five feet tall. Braces. My mom? The new headmistress. It was horrible. Some senior actually tried to stuff me in my locker.”

“Seriously?”

The boy nodded. “It gets worse. My mom caught him and gave him detention for three weeks. I think I would have preferred being stuffed in the locker.”

“I didn’t even know that happened outside of eighties movies,” Molly said.

“I think all those movies were based on these people’s parents.”

Molly rubbed her watery eyes. “This place is so different from Indiana.”

“Oh,” he said, recognition washing over his face.

Molly nodded. “Yeah. I’m that girl.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like a douche,” he said. “I just… We’ve moved around a lot, but nothing like what you must be going through. My locker story seems kinda weak now.”

“No, no, I thought it was very moving. Two thumbs up,” Molly said.

“Next time I’m going to work in a natural disaster,” he said. “And maybe a wedgie. Unless you think that’d kill the sex appeal.”

“I’d normally say leave it out, but you just reminded me that a wedgie is the one bad thing that hasn’t happened to me today.” Molly grinned. “I always figured high school BS would be basically the same from place to place, but this”—she waved an arm at the massive mansion that marked the front of campus—“this is another galaxy.”

“It’s not all bad. Some of the kids here are cool, I promise. You just have to work a little harder to find them.” He stuck out his hand. “Teddy McCormack.”

“I’m Molly,” she said, feeling a smile spread across her face. “And this is the longest conversation I’ve had all day.”

“Well, it’s a lost art,” Teddy said. “I’m just proud of us for getting through the whole thing without trying to sell the other person a screenplay. It’s so rare these days.”

“Thanks again for my keys,” she said. “Brooke would have been furious.”

Teddy’s mouth curled sympathetically. “Hang in there. I’m pretty sure her bark is worse than her bite.”

“I’ll let you know if she ever stops biting long enough to bark at me,” Molly said. Then she caught herself. “Ugh, I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I’m sure this whole thing has been as weird for her as it has been for me.”

Teddy looked impressed. “That’s pretty magnanimous. And don’t worry, it wasn’t rude. Anyone can see Brooke is a tough nut. My sister Max is a junior, too, and she’s… not a fan.”

“Not a fan of what?” asked Brooke, stomping into view from behind a Range Rover.

“Thai food,” Teddy said smoothly. “Too many bean sprouts. Anyway, it’s been nice meeting you, Indiana. Brooke, a pleasure as always.”

“I’m sure,” Brooke said as he walked away, but she sounded unsure as to whether or not she was supposed to take offense.

Molly bent over to repack her purse and let fly a small smile. For the first time in days, weeks even, she felt almost human.

“Hurry up, Jeeves,” Brooke crabbed. “Take me home now. I need some kombucha.”

Almost.