Free Almost Famous, a Talent Novel by Zoey Dean Page B

END all right.” She dropped her phone on the picnic table. The video was making her ache all over.
    “So everyone at BAMS knows I peed my pants!” Coco spoke softly, staring at the phone like it was a dead body.
    “And that I make out with fro-yo!” Becks said, her hands pressed against her eyes as if to keep them closed. “Austin must have seen it and canceled our date!”
    “That’s why Haylie asked if I should be drinking water . . .” Coco mumbled.
    “And they all think we hate them,” Emily said sadly, pointing out the far bigger problem. She pushed her cinnamon brown bangs behind her ear.
    “I feel so violated,” Mac said. Her sleepover—a private moment just for the Inner Circle—had been judged by the entire school. It was Mac’s worst nightmare times the BAMS population (352). She revised her thoughts on Internet safety. Rule number one: Always log off.
    “We’re destroyed,” Coco said flatly.
    Hearing Coco say that, Mac felt a huge weight on her shoulders, knowing that she had caused this problem for everyone. After all, it had been her idea to prank Ruby. It was her fault for not logging off her own stupid computer. It was her big mouth that had made them all look like conceited snobs. Mac had to fix this.
    Just then, Ruby hobbled over to Le Table on her shiny titanium crutches, wearing white Ralph Lauren trousers and a silky white Nanette Lepore top. Dressed in all white with her crutches, she looked like a mad scientist with metallic arms. She was flanked by her Rubybots: Ellie, Haylie, and Kimmie, whose looks had all evidently been hijacked by the same stylist, given their new uniform of jeans, flowy tunics, flip-flops, and Orange County tans. Ruby stopped a hobble away from the girls and smiled an evil grin.
    “Are you girls okay?” she asked, faking innocence. She smiled slyly over at the Rubybots, who smiled back obediently, as if on cue.
    “Oh, I wonder, Little Miss Filmmaker,” Mac hissed. “Sofia Coppola better watch out.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ruby cooed. She shot yet another sly smile over at the Rubybots, who smiled back.
    “Save it for the DVD,” Mac snapped angrily. If she stayed angry, then at least she wouldn’t cry. “Everyone knows you leaked that video.”
    Ruby tapped her chin with her index finger, pretending to think. “Oh, the link I sent you that I found online? I did see it. It was so . . . interesting.” She shrugged, as if she were bored of talking about it. “Here’s a prezzie for you,” Ruby said, handing Mac one of the yellow Lance Armstrong bracelets that everyone at BAMS was wearing. “In case you need more stuff with your name on it,” Ruby laughed. Then she hobbled off, her entourage triumphantly trailing after her.
    Mac looked down at the bracelet, wondering what in the world Ruby was up to. Then she realized instead of LIVESTRONG, the bracelet had been custom-made to say FARTSTRONG. She dropped it like it was a trans fat.
    Mac shuddered, wondering how many people had been wearing this atrocity, making fun of her all day. She hadn’t even noticed. Missing the obvious was the worst feeling of all. She looked around the quad and realized BAMS students were checking out La Table like drivers checking out an accident on the 405 Freeway. Mac looked up and took in the scene: She spotted the baseball boys. The fake-goth twins. Even Hunter and Lukas (oh no!). It seemed like everyone was wearing a yellow bracelet. And suddenly La Table—at the center of it all—seemed like the worst place to be. Mac inhaled very slowly, knowing that these people probably hated her for her cruel remarks. Mac would have hated herself too.
    Coco was staring at the ground and hugging herself, and Emily was rapidly twirling a lock of hair around her index finger while her right leg bounced nervously. Becks was standing on one leg taking deep breaths that sounded like borderline sobbing.
    From the table, Mac’s phone buzzed, breaking the eerie