Free Bratfest at Tiffany's by Lisi Harrison Page B

Claire’s desk. “Puh-lease. Are we in a coma?”
    “No, why?” Claire tugged the short sleeves on her blue-and-green striped American Eagle polo, as if that might actually warm her up.
    “Then what makes you think we’re gonna take this lying down?”
    The NPC cracked up.
    “Attention back there.” Ms. Dunkel pushed her bifocals on top of her wiry cone head as if they were Dior.
    The girls rolled their eyes, then faced forward.
    “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, there are no lockers in here. So for now, while Principal Burns and Dean Don are problem solving, I encourage you to store your books and other personal belongings in wheelie suitcases.”
    Massie gasped. She loved her Louis, but
come awn!
    “The good news is all of our classes will take place in here so you won’t have to drag them around all day.” She pressed her hands together in thanks and glanced toward the heavens.
    “That’s
good
news?” Massie mumbled. “We’re like inmates.”
    “Inmates,” burped Dylan.
    The NPC cracked up.
    Claire raised her hand.
    “Yes, um—”
    “Claire. Claire Lyons.”
    “Yes, Claire.” Ms. Dunkel squeezed her eyes shut, sealing the word into her cone brain.
    “Does this mean all of the classes we were taking before are over?”
    “That’s right. I will be teaching you everything.”
    “Even
Health
?”
    “Everything.”
    Claire sighed with relief.
    “But fear not.” Ms. Dunkel wheeled a portable blackboard away from the window, centering it for all to see. “I am fully qualified. Feel free to log on to my Web site and check my credentials. It’s www …” She paused, then ran her fingers along the dusty wood slats below the board. “Hmmmm, no chalk. I’ll be right back.” She wiped her hands on her brown poly-blend skirt, leaving two white patches on the sides of her thighs.
    “Poor Alicia,” Massie sighed once she heard Ms. Dunkel’s flats against the metal stairs—a delicate tap that some-how managed to shake the entire trailer. “She’s missing all the fun.” Pausing to see if anyone would take the bait, she spritzed her desk area with Chanel No. 19. But no one dared say a word. They were ah-bviously waiting for her reaction first. “So, do you think she did it on purpose?”
    Dylan and Kristen exchanged side-glances.
    “Do
you
?” Dylan finger-combed her hair.
    Massie shrugged. “It
is
a little strange that she didn’t try to come after us or switch into overflow.”
    The girls nodded in agreement as the trailer shook once again.
    Ms. Dunkel returned, holding a fresh white stick of chalk above her head. “Mission accomplished,” she panted, then turned to write her Web address on the board.
    Massie scanned the classroom. “Who are all these new LBRs in our grade?” She whispered in Dylan’s ear.
    Dylan’s shoulders shook with laughter. “They’re not
new
. They were all in our grade last year.”
    “All of them?”
    “Yes,” Dylan whisper-giggled.
    “I’ve never noticed them before in my life.” Massie pulled a purple grape-scented pen from her turquoise Pucci pencil case and ripped a sheet of paper from her Claire Fontaine notebook. While Ms. Dunkel blathered on about her years of experience in the Midwest, Massie created nicknames for the LBRs in her class. Learning their real names was pointless.
    She skipped over Layne and her two alt.com friends Meena and Heather, whom she had the displeasure of knowing thanks to Claire, and started with the girl behind them, fourth desk from the front, window side.
DESCRIPTION
NICKNAME
No upper lip, wide-set black eyes, gray sweat suit. Looks like a shark.  
Great White
Overly rosy complexion covered in millions of tiny bumps
Braille Bait
Wild, frizzy, shoulder-length hair
Loofah
Super-dry hands, perma-curled into fists
Monkey paws
Light fuzzy sideburns
Blond Lincoln
Carries books in plastic CVS bags
Bag Hag
chunky goth girl who wears too much MAC makeup
Big MAC
Black-haired guy with cute-potential but has yellow