Free Sloane Sisters by Anna Carey

Park on the East River.
    â€œI know!” Blythe cried excitedly, pushing back her bangs. “I look hot!” She winked at her reflection. Cate looked down at her tiny chest, which just barely filled out her padded A cups.
    â€œCan I start a room for you?” a voice asked.
    Cate turned to see a college-age girl in bright green stilettos, ten silver hoops hugging one ear.
    â€œActually…” Cate said, forcing a smile. The clothes slung over her arm suddenly felt like they weighed five hundred pounds. “I’m not in the mood to try anything on. I’ll just take these.”
    The girl nodded and turned to go. “By the way, that’s perfect on you,” she added, admiring Blythe’s sweater.
    â€œThanks,” Blythe said smugly. Then she looked over her shoulder at Cate and smiled.
    Â 
    Fifteen minutes and five Theory purchases later, Cate and Blythe pushed through Barneys revolving glass doors and stepped out onto Madison Avenue. Cate started to take off toward Sixty-first Street, two shopping bags swinging at her side. But Blythe didn’t move.
    â€œI have to run errands downtown,” she said. Her face was pink and expressionless.
    â€œWhat errands?” Cate pressed, resting a hand on the waist of her uniform skirt.
    â€œJust some stuff—I better hurry.” Blythe glanced at her bare orange wrist.
    â€œBlythe!” Cate yelled, as Blythe took off down the street, her Tory Burch flats thwacking against the sidewalk. “You don’t even wear a watch!”
    â€œSee you tomorrow!” Blythe called, not looking back. Cate’s legs felt like they were Krazy Glued to the sidewalk. Blythe was keeping secrets from her—she just knew it. Blythe, her so-called best friend, her second-in-command. How could she?
    She whipped out her iPhone and dialed Sophie’s number. Her call went straight to voice mail.
    â€œSophie, call me as soon as you get this, we need to talk,” Cate snapped, clutching the phone to her ear. Sophie always kept her phone on, even when she was playing with her Barbies.
    A red double-decker bus barreled past. On the roof, a girl wearing a foam Statue of Liberty crown stared down at Cate as though she were an exotic animal.
    She dialed Priya next. This is Priya, her voice mail cooed. Do your thing.
    Cate didn’t bother leaving a message. It was obvious what was going on. Blythe had made plans with Sophie and Priya and not invited her. Why else would they both have their phones off?
    So Stella had been right after all. Blythe wasn’t loyal. She’d just been studying Cate these past three years, making a huge folder labeled how TO OVERTHROW THE CHI BETA PHI PRESIDENT .

IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED, TRY, TRY AGAIN
    A ndie paced back and forth across her room, hugging a bright orange throw pillow to her chest like a life preserver. She hadn’t been so nervous since Ben Carter asked her to be his girlfriend last fall.
    She looked at the piece of paper on her desk one final time. She had bulleted out all her points and memorized them, like she had for her history report last year. Technically she was supposed to be helping Emma pick out centerpieces, but there was no reason she couldn’t bring up her modeling career while comparing peonies and roses.
    She would start by telling Emma how modeling was her destiny.
    If Emma said she was too young, she’d remind her that she herself had been thirteen when she shot her first Calvin Klein ad.
    If she said Andie was too petite, she’d argue that Kate Moss was five-foot six—short for a model!
    If she said the business was tough, she’d tell her her skin was thicker than a vintage Yves Saint Laurent alligator purse.
    She’d leave out the fact that she’d submitted photos of herself with her contact information to the Ford website and that they hadn’t called back. They probably never checked the site anyway.
    Then she would ask Emma