Free Bratfest at Tiffany's by Lisi Harrison Page A

llama hair—something her bifocals should have pointed out before she left the house. “Trailers?!” Massie gasped, staring at the two long white metal rectangles. “Are you—”
    “This is awesome!” beamed Layne as she rocked back and forth excitedly in her new black MBT shoes. The revolutionary curved sole was said to improve posture and help burn calories, but knowing Layne, she’d bought them because they were ugly. “We’re like pioneers, starting a new society—”
    “Puh-lease, we’re more like the tortured cast of
Kid Nation
,” Massie interrupted. “This can’t be right!” Her sparkly bangles clanged in protest. This was supposed to be her year to shine. To realize her full alpha potential. Not to get pushed aside by a group of egotistical boys and then sent to rot in a steel casket. This kind of thing happened to
other
people. Ugly people. Not her!
    Just then, the gray sky started to mist, sending flecks of water that resembled beads of sweat onto the foreheads of all thirty-two overflow students (twenty-five girls, seven boys). But most of them didn’t seem to mind. They just stood there in a happy-go-lucky cluster facing their new classroom, graciously accepting the yellow-and-green Subway snack boxes that the incredibly short Mr. Hermann was handing out.
    Dylan quickly pulled a sea-blue-and-yellow Hawaiian-print sarong from her quilted Chanel bag and wrapped it around her long straight red hair. “If this rain makes me curl, I’m suing.”
    “I say we sue anyway,” Massie grumbled as she covered her head with an emerald green Swarovski crystal–covered army cap.
    “Maybe we can get our tuition money back.” Kristen zipped her short-sleeved Roxy Hearts hoodie.
    “At least it gets us away from the soccer boys,” Claire whispered.
    Massie expected Alicia to raise her finger and say, “Point,” but then remembered she wasn’t there. Which was a whole other issue.
    “So …” Ms. Dunkel rubbed her chalky hands together. “Why don’t we step inside and get started. Let’s have the seventh-graders in the Mobile Learning Vehicle to the left with Mr. Hermann, and the eighth-graders can follow me into the MLV on the right.”
    Massie glanced behind her to make sure no one was hiding in the bushes, waiting to snap her picture and post it on some loser Web site called FreakyOverflowPeople.com or something. But who was she kidding? There were no lush bushes to hide in. The only thing surrounding them was a fleet of economy-class cars that weren’t worthy of the front lot. Oh, and a few dry brown weeds that even the rain refused to touch.
    “Shall we?” Ms. Dunkel pivoted in her sensible fake-leather flats.
    For the first time in her alpha life, Massie refused to lead. What was the rush? Instead she followed Claire, who teetered up the metal mesh steps in the wood platform Miu Miu sandals Massie had forced her to wear. But now that they were in trailers, Keds seemed more appropriate.
    “Take a seat wherever you want,” Ms. Dunkel said, as if that were some big privilege.
    The LBRs raced to claim the rickety wood desks at the front of the room, while Massie and the NPC dropped their designer bags on four seats in the back corner by the wall. It was crucial that they stay as far away from the windows as possible. Even though they were scratched and marred with dust, people could still see inside if they really tried.
    Dylan swiveled around and rested her arm on Massie’s desk. “Smells like coffee breath in here.”
    Kristen stretched her feet out toward Dylan’s desk and rested her green Puma slides in the loose metal book basket under her seat. “I bet it’s infested with mold.” She lifted her white sweatshirt over her nose. “And mold is the number-one cause of asthma.”
    Claire bit into the organic chocolate fudge cookie that had come with their Subway lunches. “It’s so damp and chilly in here. We’re gonna freeze in the winter.”
    Massie tossed her unopened snack box on