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“Turn it down,” she yelled to Danny as she stormed through the living room. “I’m going to bed!”
“I can’t hear you,” he shot over one shoulder.
She mounted the stairs, her steps pounding hard enough to skew the picture frames.
What exactly was his type, anyway? Bride of freaking Frankenstein?
4
Entitled
Isobel checked her cell for missed calls first thing the next morning.
None.
Texts? None.
Apparently, the usual crew antics had all transpired without her and, perhaps worse, they had all gone on without a single “Hey, where are you?” or “How come you didn’t show?”
Nope. No Brad, no Mark. Not a single call from her squad—no Nikki, Alyssa, or even Stevie, who was usually the peacekeeper in their group.
Haters. All of them.
She set her phone aside, deciding to forget about the diss, but after taking a shower and a downing a granola bar, she gave in to the itch to call someone. Still not ready to talk to Brad, she dialed Nikki instead.
Nikki’s familiar ringer buzzed in Isobel’s right ear, a bad pop song about some player sweating some chick. Isobel sat back against her headboard, listening as she stretched out. The song went on, and she rolled onto her stomach, facing her pillow. She grabbed the Magic 8 Ball off the bottom cubby-hole. Shaking it, she peered into the black circular window.
Will Nikki answer her phone?
The little triangle bobbed to the surface through the murk, bearing one of its cryptic one-size-fits-all messages. “Ask again later,” it read. Isobel snorted. She was just about to hang up when the song stopped mid-chorus and Nikki’s voice broke through, chipper and bright.
“Izzy!”
Isobel sat up, letting the Magic 8 Ball roll aside. “You’re such a snitch. Did you know that?”
“Hey, where were you last night?” Nikki asked, her voice staying breezy. “Stevie finally beat Mark’s score on Fighter Borg X.”
“Nikki, I told you not to say anything about yesterday. Brad totally freaked out, and we had a fight.”
Quiet fizz filtered through from the other side and Isobel waited, picturing Nikki in deep thought mode. No doubt she was using the dead air time to Photoshop, airbrush, and gloss-coat a good response.
“No,” she said at last, “you told me not to tell Brad. And I didn’t.”
“So you did the next best thing and told Mark. Why?”
“Why not? What is with you, anyway? Brad said that all he did was talk to the guy and that you were the one who freaked out.”
“Nikki, no one would have freaked out in the first place if you hadn’t said anything!”
“Whatever,” Nikki said. “Listen, we’re going out for Chinese at Double Trouble. Brad’s coming too.” Nikki’s voice adopted gooey sweetness as she said, “I’m sure if you caaaaalllled him, he’d swing by and pick you uuuuppp.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I have to . . . I have a dentist appointment.” The lie was out before she could stop it.
“Eeww. Bummer,” said Nikki after a beat, though Isobel could hear in her voice that she didn’t buy it. No, Nikki knew her better than that, and Isobel knew that they both knew that it all boiled down to her keeping the holdout on Brad.
