Populazzi - By Elise Allen Page 0,90

down or perked straight up depending on his mood. This was Riley, Trista's dog, and at the moment he was lying on his back, begging with his front paws for me to go back to scratching his belly. Of course I obliged.

My grounding had been lifted yesterday, and today was our day of celebration. I had already done a little celebrating last night: I'd used my freshly returned credit card to buy the laundry list of clothing and accessories Trista had been e-mailing me. I was smart about it, though. I had my mom come check out all the links first. Given Trista's impeccable taste, Mom loved everything. She was especially impressed by Trista's responsibility in suggesting lower-cost alternatives to each item. She gave her explicit approval of every purchase and had even been inspired to do some shopping for herself.

Today the guys had an away game, and Gemma had gone off for several weeks to play in some tournaments. That left Trista, Ree-Ree, Kristie, and me. We caravanned to Trista's house, but I had to call Claudia, so I put her on speakerphone and kept the cell in my lap so Kristie wouldn't look through her rearview mirror and wonder if I was hiding a secret cache of other friends.

I was especially thrilled to have Claudia on the line when we passed through an automatic gate and pulled into Trista's driveway—or more accurately, Private Road.

"Uh, Claude? The street is named Trista Way."

"Of course it is!" Claudia gushed. "Is it a shallow road? Is it beautifully paved in gold but rotting away underneath? Is it lined with street signs telling you what to do?"

"Okay ... I see goats."

"Goats?"

"Goats. There is a pen of actual goats to my right."

"Do you think they eat the goats?"

"I do not see Trista eating goat."

"What would you do if she served you goat? She's Supreme Populazzi. You'd have to eat it."

"Ugh!" I made a formal declaration that when and if the time ever came that I was Supreme Populazzi, I would never make anyone eat goat.

"Hey, Claudia," I said as I neared the end of Trista Way, "remember how I told you Nate's was pretty much the biggest house I'd ever seen?"

"You take it back?"

"I take it back."

It honestly seemed silly to refer to Trista's house as a "house." It was more like three or four houses pushed together, all united by a network of columns and massive turrets. Seriously, turrets. If we were living in another century, I'm fairly certain the place would have qualified as a castle.

Of course it had its own parking lot. As I pulled in behind the other girls, I hung up, swearing to call Claudia back the second I left. I walked toward the three-story archway hooding the entrance and wondered if Trista's room was in a turret. Had it been me, I totally would have chosen a turret room.

"Cara!" Trista called. "This way! My house is over here."

"Your..." I jogged to catch up with her, Ree-Ree, and Kristie as they walked down a cobbled path. "I'm sorry, did you say your house?"

"Present for my sixteenth birthday. I got to move into the guesthouse."

The guesthouse was down a long hill from the main house, and the pool sat between the two buildings. Trista's place was a perfect miniature of the main house, complete with mini columns and an arched entranceway. No turrets, though. The grand tour took all of five seconds and included two rooms: The Hang and The Hole.

The Hang was Trista's bedroom/hangout room. It was carpeted in plush blue shag and housed her queen-size bed, covered with layers of brown and blue patterned comforters and pillows, one small worktable and a chair, plus several brown and blue beanbags and oversize pillows. The wall opposite the bed held a wide shelving unit filled with books and keepsakes, all surrounding a large wall-mounted flat-screen TV. A small but beautiful bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower/ tub branched off The Hang. When I fantasized about my ideal dorm room at Northwestern, I dreamed it would be exactly like The Hang.

The Hole was technically a kitchen, but as Trista explained, her parents hadn't bothered renovating it for her, since they knew she couldn't cook. They also hoped she'd go to the main house and sit with them for meals. Everything in The Hole was stark white, which showed off every smear and stain, both new and ancient. You had to enter The Hole single file; it couldn't hold more than

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