Free The Red Blazer Girls by Michael D. Beil Page A

Oh, God. When did
she
meet him?” The way she says it freaks me out even more than I already am.
    “When we were in Perkatory. She comes in, and she is all flipping her hair and being her stunning self—well, you know how she is. And Raf was just as bad. I wanted to kill him. I don't want to think about it. So, about the dance Friday, at Aquinas? You
are
still going to that, aren't you?”
    “Um …”
    “Oh, come on, Rebecca. Margaret's not allowed to go, so if you don't go, it's just going to be me and Bridget. Pleeeez don't do that to me. You
have
to go.”
    Bridget O'Malley is a notoriously boy-crazy friend. We were really close in elementary school, but over the last couple of years, her top priority has definitely shifted from school to boys, and frankly, she's kind of scary to be around.
    “C'mon. Lots of people you know are going.”
    “Nobody that I really care about, though. Won't your mom let you go?”
    “Actually, she said I should go, but I still know she's really not happy about it.”
    “Yeah, well, my dad still thinks I'm ten years old. He
actually
asked me if I was going to wear my uniform—to the dance!”
    “Sophie, I was thinking I should offer to babysit so Mom can go out and see a movie or something. Her friend Alice called here a little while ago and said something about it, but I know Mom, and she'll say no so I can go to the dance instead.”
    “So? Go to the dance,” I say, completely glossing over the generous thing that my friend is offering to do.
    “But that's not fair. She needs the movie and the time with her friend a lot more than I need to go to a stupid dance.”
    Slowly—at the speed of your average slug—I start to understand and appreciate the sacrifice that Rebecca is willing to make.
    “Ohhhhhhh. Man, you are a good kid. You're
so nice
. Now I feel bad for pushing you. Hey, how about I come over and hang with you?”
    “Sophie St. Pierre, you have to go to that stupid dance.
Somebody
has to tell me what happens at these stupid things! And besides, what about stupid Rafael? Isn't he going?”
    Damn
. Yes, he is going, and yes, he'll be incredibly pissed if all three of us don't show, but I find myself saying out loud: “So? He'll get over it. I'm sure Leigh Ann will be there to fill in for me.”
    Oy. That last part hurts.
    “But my brother and sister will be here, and they'llwant to watch
Balto
for like the millionth time. And I don't even have a decent Internet connection anymore. We're back to dial-up.”
    “I don't care. My parents were gonna give me money for the dance, so I'll have enough for pizza. And I'll stop by my dad's restaurant after school tomorrow and pick up some desserts. They're awesome, I promise.”
    “You're serious.”
    “In fact, I will seriously call Margaret and tell her she's coming, too. We'll have a little party. She can bring her books with her if she wants, and maybe we can work on the skit for the Dickens banquet. Are you okay with this? I mean, I guess I kind of invited myself over.”
    “It's very cool,” Rebecca says. “Bring dessert. And, Soph?”
    “What?”
    “Thanks.”
    “Duh. You would do the same thing for me.”
    “Eh. Maybe.”
    “Maybe?”
    “Well, definitely not if Raf was waiting for
me
.”
    “Jerk.”
    “Loser.”
    “Just for that, you are
not
getting out of this Dickens thing.”
    “G'night, Soph.”

In which Wile E. Coyote and Balto fight
to the death. Well, not really, but wouldn't
that be cool?
    On Friday night, while everyone who is someone (at least at St. V's) is headed for the West Side and a night of dancing and who knows what else (will I
ever
know?), Margaret and I take the subway down to Canal Street and do a little shopping before heading over to Rebecca's apartment. You can find just about anything you need, and a lot of things no one in their right mind would ever want, on Canal Street. In its own way, it is a fabulous budget-shopping experience. Designer knockoff handbags? Check. Cute