Lifted Read online

  I held my breath and waited for Mom to say No, homework always comes first. Or perhaps No, Poppy needs to help me unload some more boxes. And to be honest, at that point, I was only 50 percent sure I even wanted to go shopping with these girls. My cynical side wanted to know what they were up to. It wasn’t like they were desperate for a friend. What did somebody like me have that they wanted?

  Their smiles were so heartwarming, though. Was it possible they were just being nice? Could they genuinely like me, like Mary Jane had said at lunch?

  And wouldn’t that be interesting? Beauties and the Beast. The Princesses and the Pauper. A couple of Glindas and an Elphaba. Those kittens and the crow on that one YouTube video.

  “Do you want me to pick you up in a couple of hours, then?” Mom asked me.

  “I’ll be happy to bring her home,” Mary Jane assured her, lowering her oversized sunglasses from the crown of her head to her nose.

  I sent a quick telegraphic message to Mom: Please don’t mention you need a new pair of panty hose and invite yourself along.

  “I guess that will be all right,” she said.

  “Okay, see you later,” I said, still not sure I’d heard correctly. Had Mom just given me her blessing to go forth and shop? And on a school night?

  Whitney said, “Cool!”

  Mom had this cagey grin on her face, like she thought this was some elaborate prank, and any minute my real friends would jump out from behind the couch with video cameras, and Mary Jane and Whitney would strip off their designer duds and glossy wigs to reveal band T-shirts and stringy, ebony hair, and everybody would yell, “Ha ha. We got you, sucka!”

  I had to admit, I found myself wondering if—how—all of this was real too. “Okay, well, see you later,” I repeated, giving Mom a chance to come to her senses. But she just waved and closed the door behind us.

  The three of us piled into Mary Jane’s convertible. Whitney sprung the seat forward so I could fold myself into the backseat. “We hope you don’t mind us popping by without, you know, calling first,” Mary Jane said as we motored to the mall.

  “That’s okay. How’d you guys know where I lived, anyway?” I asked.

  Mary Jane twirled a strand of her blond hair. “One of the many benefits of living in a small town.”

  She parked so her precious little VW Bug straddled two of the closest parking slots, next to the handicap ones. Back home, that would be a blatant invitation for a good key-scratching.

  Who did these girls think they were? They came to my house unannounced to pick me up for a shopping trip I’d already said no to. They bewitched my mom with their charm, fancy clothes, and good looks, and ultimately they weaseled a blessing out of her. My gut told me I should be disgusted, turned off, or, at the very least, annoyed.

  Yet these small-town Southern girls intrigued me, and I wanted to know more about them.

  “Come on, Poppy. What are you waiting for?” Whitney called over her shoulder as they walked toward the mall’s main entrance.

  I brushed aside my qualms and hurried to catch up with them.

  The enormous, upscale mall stuck out like a manicured thumb in the dinky town of Pleasant Acres, Texas. Dodging the ambush of shoppers, I calculated how much cash I had on hand. Since I’d neglected to ask Mom for money and I hadn’t scored a job of any kind since arriving in Texas, I felt certain it fell in the category of “not enough,” and more likely “not nearly enough.” I mentally equipped myself for browsing only.

  Whitney and Mary Jane said hi to people they knew and some I suspected they didn’t. A bouffant-haired woman maneuvering a double-wide stroller stopped in front of us and said, “Well, lookie who it is! My favorite ex-babysitters!” One of her toddlers fussed with her lacy socks while the other snoozed soundly. The lady winked at me—her lashes comically fake-looking—and said, “They grew into such beautiful young ladies. I kept calling, but they’d already have plans with their boyfriends. Do you still go with that Andrew boy, Mary Jane?” Her wide-set eyes twinkled when Mary Jane nodded. “You two are adorable. And what about you, Whitney?”

  “Naw, I don’t babysit much anymore. I’m always too busy tending to my own little sisters.”

  The lady shook her head, and I swear not a single hair flittered out of place. “Well, your mom sure had it figured out, having your sisters so many years after you. She’s got herself a built-in babysitter.” She paused for a moment and made a scary deep-thought face. “Oh, mercy me, where are my manners?” She held out her hand to shake mine. “I’m Marissa Vanderbilt-Strokes.”

  Mary Jane said, “This is our friend Poppy Browne. She’s new in town—from Colorado.”

  Marissa (or Mrs. Vanderbilt-Strokes or whatever) nodded. “Ah, yes. Aspen, Vail . . . what lovely country. Well, Poppy, if you’re ever between boyfriends and want to make a little shopping money, my dear husband and I sure could use a date night sometime.” She sighed and reached into her gaudy handbag and, like a magician reaching into his hat, produced a business card. Pointing at the line that read MARY KAY INDEPENDENT BEAUTY CONSULTANT with her crimson fingernail, she said, “And if you ever want to throw a party for your girlfriends, Poppy, I’ll give you a fabulous hostess discount.” She giggled. “It’s what I call a win-win, and what my customers call one doozy of a deal.” Thankfully, someone she deemed more important called her bling bling cell phone at that very moment, and we made a quick escape behind a kiosk peddling cartoon Bible-story DVDs.

  “And now you’ve met our local Mary Kay dynamo,” said Whitney, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry. Her bark is bigger than her bite.”

  “Don’t you mean her hair is bigger than her entire body?” I asked. Mary Jane and Whitney laughed, and a group of guys in long, baggy shorts totally rubbernecked as we passed. It stirred up a blend of excitement and queasiness in my belly. Man, these Southern boys were pretty damn hot.

  “They go to Freemont,” Mary Jane said, turning my head away from them. “You know, public school.”

  I nodded as if I understood, but why did it matter which high school they went to? Unless maybe theirs was one for juvenile delinquents or something.

  “And they’re definitely not GOV Club material,” Whitney added.

  Ah well, student government types never turned me on, anyhow. They acted all nice to me during elections and then forgot I even existed the remainder of the year.

  “So I know Mary Jane’s with Andrew, but what about you, Whitney? Do you have a boyfriend?” She had to. I mean, anyone could see the girl had it going on.

  Surprisingly, though, Whitney shook her head and said, “Not really. I mean, I’ve been on group dates and suffered through my share of fix-ups, but—”

  “Not that there’s a shortage of wannabe boyfriends. Those who admire her from a distance might believe that Whitney’s entirely too persnickety,” said Mary Jane. “But it’s the opinion of her favorite and most illustrious friend that she’s just too big of a wuss. Bless her heart.”

  Whitney laughed and held up her palms. “Whatever, girl. You just try and convince yourself that’s what’s up so we don’t talk about the real issue, which is the severe shortage of decent dudes in this town.”

  Mary Jane grabbed my elbow and dragged me along. “Don’t listen to her, Poppy. I’m starting to believe she has it in for all humans of the three-legged variety, and someday she’ll be a shriveled-up old woman rocking in a squeaky rocking chair with only her cats to keep her company.” With her free hand, Mary Jane clenched her heart like it was the saddest scene imaginable. Meanwhile, Whitney made a hissing noise and flexed her fingers like claws. I couldn’t help laughing at them.

  As we passed the Claire’s window, a pair of intricate Middle Eastern–inspired earrings called my name. I paused to get a closer look, loving what I saw: an assortment of light blue and green teardrop crystals dripping from metal loops and twists. And since my Claire’s Club card had enough punched holes to get a free item, they were well within my budget.

  “Hey,
y’all. Looks like Bridgette Josephs has a new after-school job,” Whitney said. Bridgette was in the back of the store, stocking one of the hair accessory displays. I was having such a great time with Mary Jane and Whitney, I’d forgotten about meeting Bridgette at the library in a couple of hours. I didn’t really feel like doing the library thing anymore. “She used to work at Pebble Street Junction.”

  “Never heard of it,” I said.

  “It was this really cool boutique in Old Town, but I heard it went out of business. It’s where my watch came from,” Mary Jane said, holding up her wrist to show the flashy pink watch.

  “And this dress,” added Whitney. “We made quite a haul there.”

  “Yes indeed,” said Mary Jane, turning toward the window. Bridgette crouched to straighten some barrettes on the bottom row. “Her crack is showing, bless her heart.”

  “I’ve seen more dimples on a ripe avocado,” Whitney whispered, sending Mary Jane into a fit of giggles. It wasn’t really funny, so I was surprised when my lips curved into a smile. Bridgette glanced up at the window for just a second. Did she see us?

  “I’m going to get a pair of earrings real fast,” I said.

  “In there?” Whitney’s eyebrows arched, her eyes widening.

  “Yeah. Um, how about I just meet up with you?” It would be easier to get out of my little library date with Bridgette without the others in tow.

  Whitney shrugged and Mary Jane said, “Sure, okay. We’ll be at Hamilton’s.”

  I wandered into the brightly lit store and took the earrings off the rack. Turning to the mirrored wall, I held one up to my ear to see how they fared. They were definitely me, and they’d look perfect with the tank top I was making.

  Bridgette appeared behind me. “Hi, Poppy. Fancy meeting you here,” she said to my reflection.

  “Yeah. Hey, I’m glad I ran into you.” I spun around to face her. She wore a rubber WWJD? bracelet, and I realized I didn’t have mine. Had I left it on the table at lunchtime? I felt bad for losing it already, but at least now I wouldn’t feel obligated to wear it. “Would you mind terribly if I took a rain check on our library date?”

  Bridgette frowned. “Why?”

  “Well, call me a nerd, but I already finished my Hamlet essay.” A little white lie, but I could always write it when I got home.

  “So you’re not ditching me to hang with Whitney and Mary Jane?”

  Totally caught off guard, I did my best to appear blasé. “I don’t really know what I’m doing later,” I deadpanned, “but it seems a little ridiculous to go to the library when I don’t have anything to work on, don’t you think? It’s not like we can talk or even eat anything in a library.”

  “Guess so.” She stared at her shiny flats. “Sorry, I just, well—”

  “I’ll see you at school tomorrow. And we’re still on for lunch, right?” I asked.

  Instead of giving me a smile like I’d hoped, she frowned even deeper. Her hazel eyes darkened to a muddy, grayish hue. The girl looked downright scary. “Be careful.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “They’re not what they seem.”

  Scratching my shoulder, I looked around for a possible clue. A couple of teenyboppers and a grandmotherly lady waited at the cash register with their little plastic shopping baskets. They all appeared normal enough. “Sorry, Bridgette. I’m totally lost here.”

  “Mary Jane Portman and Whitney Nickels. They pretend to be good Christian girls, and everyone around here believes they are. But they’re not.”

  I laughed. I wasn’t sure why; it was just my knee-jerk reaction to Bridgette’s bizarre warning. She was kidding around, right?

  “So, you’re saying they broke one of the Ten Commandments or something?” I asked jokingly.

  Bridgette’s eyes shifted side to side and she lowered her voice. “I’m just trying to help you.” Her voice sounded so small and distant.

  I’d sensed the tension between Mary Jane’s gang and Bridgette back in the lunchroom, but now I wondered if there was something more than the everyday Popular Kids versus Choir Kids rivalry going on.

  “Miss? Excuse me, we’d like some help over here,” the grandma said. “We’re ready to check out.”

  “Okay, well, looks like I’d better let you get back to work. See you tomorrow, Bridgette,” I said, snagging the opportunity to escape.

  I hiked across the mall and then evaded the perfume-sample ladies in Hamilton’s. After a quick scan of the purses on the clearance shelves, I headed up the escalator, where I found Mary Jane and Whitney flipping through racks of designer denim.

  “Hey, Poppy!” Whitney said. “Oh, those earrings are cute.”

  Shit. Sure enough, I still held the earrings. I’d been in such a hurry to get away from Bridgette, I hadn’t paid for them.

  Then again, I’d planned to use my Claire’s Club card, so they would’ve been free anyhow. I’d just make a point to throw away the card, and same difference. Besides, they only cost eight bucks. No big deal.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Speaking of cute, check these out.” I pulled out a pair of jeans, glimpsed the price tag—$196—and backed away slowly.

  An elegant saleswoman in gold-rimmed glasses and three-inch heels click-clacked toward me. “We just got these in,” she trilled, pulling out the pair I’d been admiring and holding them up for us all to see. “True Religion’s flap pocket denim. And this Lonestar wash is really popular, especially with Texas girls.” She handed me the jeans. “If I may be so bold, I think they’d look stunning on you.”

  “She’s right,” agreed Mary Jane. “You should totally try them on, Poppy.”

  I had only two pairs of jeans in my closet. Not that I didn’t like jeans—it was more like they didn’t like me. Something about the combination of long legs (for my five-feet-three-inches height), a short waist, and curvy hips.

  “Well, all right. Can’t hurt.”

  “Splendid,” the saleswoman said. “I’ll hold them for you, and as soon as a dressing room opens up, I’ll let you know.”

  “So, did you talk to Bridgette?” Mary Jane examined a pair of boyfriend jeans for a second and then wrinkled her nose and replaced them on the rack.

  “A little,” I said.

  Mary Jane turned to face me, playing with a strand of her wavy blond hair. “Just wondering if she . . . said anything about us?”

  I swallowed and flicked through the denim. What was I supposed to say? That Bridgette was on a mission to save me from their atrociously sinful lifestyles? I didn’t think so.

  Besides, Mary Jane and Whitney appeared to be having a grand ol’ time. If I told them everything Bridgette had said, it would only upset them. Or worse, it would explode into a full-blown Bridgette bitch fest. I didn’t want that.

  But I had to admit that Bridgette’s warning—as ridiculous as it sounded—had sparked my curiosity. What had Mary Jane and Whitney done that Bridgette believed was so horrible? Skip church last Sunday? Add a secular track to their iPods? I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Whitney asked, slinging a jean jacket over her arm.

  “Well, Bridgette said you’re not what you seem,” I admitted. “So now that I know you’re both vampires, we can all move on.” The two girls exchanged looks and then cracked up.

  A dressing room opened up, and the saleswoman flagged me down. While Mary Jane and Whitney chitchatted outside the door (Whitney said something about not being allowed to read the Twilight Saga until she turned eighteen, which floored me), I took a deep breath and tugged on the True Religion jeans.

  The denim looked like it was ironed and starched—yet it felt soft and supple against my skin. Like magic, the jeans tucked and molded and elongated, and I hardly recognized my own body. Best of all, they were comfy enough for everyday.

  However. These babies cost almost two hundred dollars, I reminded myself. And even if I put them on my Christmas list, I could hear Mom say, “I’m happy to bu
y you a pair of Levi’s. If you still want designer jeans when you’ve graduated from college and have a lucrative career, you can buy them for yourself. And a pair for me, while you’re at it.”

  After doing a final twirl in the three-way mirror, I stripped. Then I wriggled into my $14.99 skirt and swung open the door.

  “Hey! You’re supposed to come out and model,” Whitney said with a pout. “Didn’t they fit?”

  “Actually, they looked great,” I said. “I love them. I just can’t afford them.” With that, I surrendered the jeans to the saleswoman.

  “Would you like me to put these on layaway, dear?” the saleswoman asked. “It’s an option not many folks are aware of.”

  I hesitated for a minute. “No, that’s okay.” The saleswoman straightened her glasses, then hung the jeans back up for someone else to take home, lucky gal.

  I’d never been with people as into shopping as these girls. My friends back in Boulder might’ve hit up Hot Topic or one of the consignment shops on Pearl Street, but then they’d get thirsty or whatever and head to a coffee shop. Conversely, Mary Jane and Whitney scoured Hamilton’s, sampling eye shadows, slipping on shoes, flicking through the bra racks. My amazement gradually spiraled into boredom, and I realized we’d been there for over two hours. All I needed was a frantic phone call from Mom, demanding to know why I wasn’t already home and knee-deep in homework.

  “You guys about done?” I asked.

  “Oh, how funny. You read our minds. We were just fixin’ to leave anyway,” said Whitney.

  “You’re not buying anything?” I asked, dumbfounded. How could they spend so much time in one store, singing the praises of so many garments, and end up without a single shopping bag? I hadn’t even planned on getting anything, and I bought some earrings. Well, took the earrings. Whatever.

  “Shopping isn’t only about buying things, Poppy,” said Mary Jane. Oh, God. She wasn’t going to launch into a cheesy “it’s about bonding over a rack of designer jeans” speech, was she?

  Thankfully, the perfume-sample lady interrupted. I succumbed to her and let her squirt my wrists. I sniffed, nodding as the citrus-floral scent filled my nostrils. It wasn’t the unisex stuff I typically used, but I thought I could probably get used to it. When the lady offered me a sample vial, I thanked her and pocketed it.