The Anti-Prom - By Abby McDonald Page 0,15
at Bliss.
“Kaitlin’s mom is really into health food.” She shrugs. “The house is like, a sugar-free zone.”
“Lucky us.”
Suddenly, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. “Quick!” I hiss, scooping Avery into my arms again. I pull her behind the door and crouch there. “Keep quiet, and I’ll give you another Twinkie,” I whisper, listening as the steps come closer. Avery’s eyes widen, and she nods, mouth smeared with crumbs.
“Bliss, how are you doing?”
“Great, Mrs. C.!” From my huddled corner, I can see Bliss give another innocent smile. “I’m just trying to find the right one. See, it can’t be dark, because then it would show through the dress, and it can’t have straps, or lace, because that would totally screw up the line of the bust, and —”
“That’s fine, hon.” Mrs. Carter cuts off her inane chatter. She pauses. “Where’s your friend?”
“Oh, she’s just in the bathroom!”
“OK. You girls make sure to keep it down. Little Avery is fast asleep.”
“Of course.”
The door closes, and I sigh with relief, handing Avery the other snack cake. God bless refined sugar products.
“I can’t stall her forever.” Bliss closes the door again and helps me up.
“I know.” I nod grimly. Who knew Kaitlin would be so smart? “So what do you want to do?”
Bliss shrugs helplessly.
“Great.” I sigh. “You know, this was easier for Harriet the Spy. They all just kept journals with their darkest secrets. Nice, solid things with padlocks and keep out scrawled across the front.”
“Like Kaitlin’s special secret book?”
We look around. Avery has finished the Twinkie in record speed and is licking off her fingers.
Bliss brightens. “Kaitlin has a secret book?”
Avery nods.
“Well?” I prompt. “Where is it?”
“I want another present.”
I give Bliss a look. “That was my last one,” I whisper.
“So what do we do?”
What I always do. When in doubt, bribe.
“Avery, hon. I don’t have another Twinkie”— she opens her mouth to complain, but I quickly cut her off — “but I do have money. Well, Bliss does. Which means you can buy your own Twinkies. As many as you want!”
She pauses, furrowing her evil, demonic brow. “How much?”
“Five dollars!” I announce. Avery shakes her head. “Ten?” She shakes it again. Man, kids these days. I had to save for weeks for the latest Harry Potter when I was her age. “Twenty dollars?” I try, impatient. At least it’s not my money. “That would buy you . . . twenty whole Twinkies.”
Avery’s eyes widen at the thought of all that pure, unadulterated sugar. “Yes.” She nods. “Twenty.”
I turn to Bliss. “You heard the kid.”
“You’re bribing a ten-year-old?” She looks shocked.
I roll my eyes. “Do you want the book or not?”
Reluctantly, she pulls a twenty from her bodice. And there I was thinking there was nothing but double-sided tape behind that dress.
Avery reaches for the money, but I dangle it just out of reach. “Not until you show us where it’s hidden.”
She heads straight for the closet.
“I thought you checked there.” Bliss gives me a scathing look.
“I did,” I snap back as Avery expertly clambers up the shelves and reaches into a pile of jeans. She pulls out a blue journal: leather-bound and surprisingly tasteful for the girl who dressed as a burlesque dancer for our last school fund-raiser. Our daytime school fund-raiser.
“My present!” Avery demands. I hand her the twenty; Bliss snatches the diary.
“You can’t tell anyone you saw us,” I say. “You’ll get in trouble for not being in bed.”
She nods and then scampers away — no doubt back to her lair of doom.
“We did it!” Bliss bounces up and down with joy, but I know better than to celebrate too soon. I quickly pluck a beige strapless bra from the pile and shut the wardrobe.
“Come on. We should bail, before Meg has a breakdown and walks home.”
We hurry downstairs. Mrs. Carter is in the living room, watching some Real Housewives episode on the big-screen TV, so Bliss calls through. “Thanks, Mrs. C., we’re just leaving now!”
“Hang on, girls, I just want to —”
We don’t wait. Bursting out the front door, we race across the lawn. The sprinklers switch on, and Bliss cries out as the cold water hits her skin. I ignore her shrieks, dragging her through the jets and down the street. I’m full of familiar adrenaline, that breathless excitement of making it out, free. From the gleeful expression on Bliss’s face, she’s buzzing too.
Meg’s car is still loitering on the corner, thank God. I throw open the front door and pile in. “Go, go!”
“What?” Meg stares