Glitter Girl

by Toni Runkle

  She ran back into the kitchen, book in hand, smiling broadly. “Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad!” she said.

  “Is that what I think it is?” said her father, peering into the webcam.

  “It sure is!” said Kat cheerily.

  “Well, hold it up to the screen so I can see it.”

  As best they could, the family paged through the scrapbook, recalling all the events of the previous twelve months. There was the picture of Kat on one of her first days of school last year, when she was just getting to know the other kids at Willkie. (Paul had been in Kuala Lumpur then.) And there was Kat and her cousin Sophie standing outside the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota, on a shopping junket last fall. (Paul was in Dallas for that one.)

  And another picture of Kat around Christmastime, when Paul was flying back from Shanghai. She was building a snowman outside the house with Jules. (“Snow citizen” is what Jules preferred to call it.) And was that Kyle all bundled up in the background with the snowblower? Even in that down jacket, he did look kind of hot back then too, come to think of it.

  “Wow, Kat, this has got to be your best one yet!” Paul said.

  “Well, remember it was Mom’s idea. She started this whole tradition,” Kat said, giving her mom a peck on the cheek. Kat had noticed her mom had turned quiet as she and her dad were looking through the scrapbook.

  “Awww heck,” said her dad, “what am I doing here? Kat’s not the only one with a present. I’ve got something very special for my lovely wife.” Kat watched as her dad disappeared for a moment, and then he returned with…a pad and pen? Kat looked at her mother and noticed the fleeting look of disappointment in her eyes. He hadn’t actually shopped for a present at all.

  Here we go again, thought Kat.

  “I’m writing down a number,” Paul said smiling. “And Trudy, I’m going to be very disappointed if I get home and you and your girlfriends haven’t gone out to the spa and completely pampered yourselves and spent every last cent of it.” He held up the piece of paper to the webcam. Kat had to look at the number twice. Then she turned and looked at her mom, whose eyes went from disappointed to lighting up like two searchlights cutting through a foggy morning.

  And there it is, the buy-off. Gross.

  “You’re kidding, right?” said Trudy. “It’s so, so extravagant!”

  “Nothing less than you deserve,” said Paul, smiling. “You just call Wendy and the other girls and have some fun. Happy anniversary, honey.”

  Kat’s mom let loose such a high-pitched squeal of delight that Kat was sure owls from miles around would be swooping at their home any second now, looking for the wounded pack of field mice that had emitted such a sound.

  There was a little more chitchat (very little, he had to get to an important meeting) where Kat dutifully said, “Yes, Daddy,” a few times when he pestered her about her grades. Then they said their good-byes.

  • • •

  She turned to her mom, who was already on her cell phone checking her calendar for an available date for her spa day. It irritated Kat. She contemplated telling her mom she shouldn’t let her dad back out on her like that. It was their anniversary, for Pete’s sake! But she knew her mom would give her “the speech”—the one about how hard her dad worked to give them this nice life and how there were kids who would be twice as happy with half as much. Besides, if her husband wanted to do something nice for her, who was a fourteen-year-old girl to tell her mother anything different anyway? Or words to that effect.

  Instead Kat simply said, “Happy anniversary, Mom. I love you.” Her mom gave her a quick smile but didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She was on the phone with the spa, booking her anniversary gift.

  • • •

  Later, back in her room, Kat pushed the incident out of her mind, the same way she pushed the discarded clothes off her desk, and grabbed her own laptop. She had homework to do. Something about those triangles, she supposed. But she figured that could wait. Instead, she logged on to the Internet to check her IMs and email. A girl needs to have her priorities straight.

  Let’s see. A link to some online petition from Jules. Whatever. An embedded video of the cutest little puppies chasing a balloon around somebody’s backyard. Watch that later. A couple of comments at her blog site thanking her for her article picking the cutest tops for fall. My pleasure. An email from something called Glitter Girl declaring, “You’re a winner!” Probably spam. Finally, there was a pile of various other emails from friends who hadn’t convinced their parents to give them unlimited texting yet. Ho-hum.

  As Kat logged on to her own blog site, girlstylepatrol.com, and thought about what to write for today’s entry, she peered out the window across the cul-de-sac to Jules’s house. Jules was sitting on the front steps reading a book (sonnets for Ms. Donovan, Kat assumed) while her mom sat one step above her and braided Jules’s hair. Her mom was a busy lawyer for a nonprofit law firm downtown that helped low-income people with legal problems, but somehow she always managed to be home in time for dinner.

  In the driveway, Kyle and his dad were engaged in a game of “Horse” or “Pig” or whatever you call that game when you have to make the shot that the guy before you just made. Jules’s dad wasn’t a great player, but Jules and her mom would clap loudly when he managed to get it in the basket. Mr. Finch played along by bowing extravagantly every time he made a shot and passing out high fives all around to his adoring fans on the stoop.

  Kat smiled wistfully. It looked nice. It looked like a family.

  Kat sighed for a moment, then turned away and started to type. And with every keystroke, her blues began slowly fading and turning into the loveliest shade of pink!

  Tonight’s topic: Let us all now praise fabulous accessories!

  Chapter 5

  Some are Born Great (Others Watch Greatness Drive Up in a Really Cool Pink Convertible)

  Bounce. Dip. Bounce. Steal a glance. Swish. Bounce. Paint. Bounce. Dip. Bounce. Steal a glance. Swish. Bounce. Paint.

  Kat was really enjoying this. So much, in fact, that it made her wonder if she hadn’t gone a little loopy. Sitting there on her front porch on this Saturday afternoon, secretly stealing glances at Kyle across the street shooting hoops while painting her toenails a fabulous shade of pink—“Aphrodite’s Pink Nightie” it was called.

  The bounce of the basketball. The dip of the nail polish. A second bounce. A stolen glance as Swish! the ball made it through the hoop, followed by another bounce as Kyle retrieved it and she ran the polish over a toenail. It was Zen almost, the rhythm of it all, and she was enjoying every second of it. Until—

  “We’ve been sitting on your porch for an hour. Can we please go do something?” moaned Jules dramatically as she bent backward as far as she could over the banister of Kat’s front porch to the point where she was looking upside down at Kat. Clearly, Jules wasn’t finding this experience nearly as Zen as Kat.

  “I am doing something. I’m doing my nails,” Kat replied as she ran the tiny brush over her big toe.

  “Please. Since when do you do your nails? You’ve always had them done. You’re just using this as an excuse to watch Kyle.”

  Even as Kat started to deny it, she accidentally painted the knuckle of her big toe because her eyes had been on Kyle’s shirtless torso instead of on her feet.

  She looked up at Jules, who was giving her a smug smile—although upside down it looked like a freaky sort of frown. Kat continued doing exactly what she was doing.

  “Fine. Then I’ll take matters into my own hands. Kyle!” yelled Jules as she righted herself. “Will you pleeeease put on a shirt so Kat will stop—”

  Mortified, Kat jumped up, completely forgetting her wet toes, and clamped her hand over Jules’s mouth.

  “Don’t you dare!” she hissed and begged at the same time. Jules, whose voice was muffled, laughed as she wriggled to get out from
Kat’s stronghold. But there are few things stronger than a fourteen-year-old girl who absolutely does not want her crush revealed.

  Just then the Connors’s black Range Rover pulled into the driveway. Out of the car bounced Trudy, looking positively pink and glowing from a day at the most elegant spa in town—the kind of place where they have sliced cucumbers on ice for your eyes! And all the free bananas you can eat.

  “That was absolutely sublime!” she exclaimed to what seemed to be the whole neighborhood.

  I guess she liked her anniversary present, thought Kat.

  Kat let go of Jules and they watched as Trudy’s group of “ladies who lunch” also stepped out of the car. There were two of them and, in addition to looking like clones of Trudy, they also sported the same pampered, refreshed, and glowing look. It struck Kat by the way they followed her mother and hung on her every word that they were a lot like Zoe and Darcy. In fact, Kat got the weird sense of seeing her future in this trio, and frankly, it creeped her out.

  “Trudy. You must thank Paul from me. I have been so exfoliated I’m convinced they’ve unearthed the original skin I was born with…twenty-nine years ago!” joked Wendy, Trudy’s best friend since college who was at least forty years old.

  The trio laughed hard at Wendy’s little “age” joke. Too hard, judging by the looks on Kat’s and Jules’s faces. The girls clearly didn’t think it was all that funny. Not only because they’d heard that joke so many times before, but because twenty-nine still seemed old to them. Kind of ancient, in fact.

  Wendy and Johanna, Trudy’s other friend, waved their good-byes and went to their cars parked at the curb. Trudy waved back and then turned to the girls.

  “Hello, ladies. And how was your day?” Trudy asked merrily, casually tossing her keys into her purse. But before they could answer, Trudy went on.

  “We had the absolute best time at the Green Ivy Spa. We indulged in every treatment under the sun. Spared no expense. Or should I say, your father spared no expense. But now I’m exhausted. That deep-tissue massage—I feel positively like a wet noodle. I think I’m going to take a quick catnap before dinner. How does takeout from Kabuki sound? Order in thirty minutes. Wake me when the food gets here.”

  Trudy kissed Kat on the forehead and went inside, her Jimmy Choo sandals clacking across the porch and fading into the house.

  With Trudy and her friends gone, Kat suddenly realized how very quiet it was. Too quiet. She looked over at Jules’s driveway. There was no sign of Kyle anywhere. Sometime during the arrival of the whirling dervish that was her mother, he had given up his practice and gone inside. Bummer.

  Kat turned to Jules. “Want to stay for dinner?”

  “Sure. As long as there’s at least one dish that doesn’t include an animal sacrifice.”

  “I’ll get the menu.”

  • • •

  While Jules waited for Kat to return with her food options, she picked up the bottle of polish. She looked around to make sure no one was looking, slipped her left foot out of her Converse Hi-Top, and painted one toe. She wasn’t one to do her toenails. She thought it was frivolous and a lame attempt to get boys’ attention. In fact, she’d given Kat a whole big speech about how, if a boy liked her, he’d have to like her for who she was on the inside and not the color that was painted on her feet. But she had to admit, even if it was only to herself, it looked kind of cute. She quickly did the rest of the toes on her foot and stretched it out in front of her to better admire her handiwork.

  Just then, a pink Mercedes convertible pulled into her field of vision, right where she had been staring at her tootsies. Aphrodite Pink Nightie, in fact, thought Jules, noting the car was almost exactly the same shade of pink as what she had just painted on her toenails. Jules quickly stuck her foot back in her sneaker as the car door opened and she watched a super long, trim-calved leg in spiked heels make its appearance. Attached to this leg, which looked like it could have been featured in a fashion magazine, was a woman who looked like she had just stepped out of one.

  Wearing a black pencil skirt, a tight white sweater with pink marabou at the collar, and black sunglasses studded with rhinestones that matched her handbag was a tall woman in her twenties. She had sleek blond hair that seemed to move in one piece—like you see in those shampoo commercials—and perfect skin. In fact, everything about her looked perfect. She walked directly up to Jules, who was sitting on the step, and stood over her.

  “I’m looking for Katherine Connors,” said the woman. She slid her sunglasses down her nose to get a better look at Jules, revealing her piercing blue eyes.

  “You can’t be her.”

  Jules didn’t know what she meant by that comment or how she could possibly know she wasn’t Kat, but she immediately didn’t care for this woman.

  “I’m Kat Connors,” said Kat from behind the screen door. She stepped onto the porch with the Kabuki menu in her hand. The woman gave Kat a quick once-over. She apparently liked what she saw because she broke into a gleaming smile so white that there was something distinctly fake about it.

  “Ah, yes. Kat! I’m Chelsea Ambrose. So nice to finally meet you,” she said as she extended her hand.

  Kat looked confused. Was she supposed to know this woman?

  “I sent you an email a few days ago. I represent Glitter Girl products?”

  Kat vaguely remembered the email she had clicked past, thinking it was some kind of spam.

  “Oh yeah. I saw that. But I didn’t think it was anything important.”

  “Not important? Oh no, honey. On the contrary. It may be the most important thing ever to happen in your life. You see, you’ve been chosen!”

  • • •

  Trudy had not been happy to be awakened early from her catnap. But her mood quickly changed when she learned why Kat had prematurely lifted the blackout mask from her eyes. She’d gone from cranky to giddy in about thirty seconds flat. And now, at this very moment, she was flitting around the center island in their kitchen arranging cut crystal glasses and a matching pitcher filled with iced tea on a silver tray for their guest.

  Chelsea was perched on the edge of the huge overstuffed sofa in the family room, maintaining her picture-perfect posture. Kat sat directly across from her. Jules sat in the corner, cross-legged on a raised hearth by the fireplace, an observer to the scene that was unfolding.

  “My Kat? Chosen out of how many girls?” asked Trudy as she set down the tray and began pouring a glass for Chelsea.

  “Thousands. Tens of thousands, actually,” said Chelsea, taking the tiniest sip before putting the glass down on the table. She didn’t touch the petite scone that Trudy had put on a plate next to her glass.

  “You see, as part of the marketing of our new Glitter Girl line of products, we’ve picked fifty Alpha Girls, one from each state…”

  “Alpha Girl? What’s an Alpha Girl?” asked Kat.

  “Well,” began Chelsea, “they—you—are the trendsetters. Alpha Girls are girls who are ahead of the curve when it comes to what’s hot. Girls who the other girls look to for guidance on fashion, music…well, almost anything that matters to girls at this age.”

  “Global warming?” asked Jules in her most innocent-sounding voice.

  Chelsea turned, looking surprised that Jules had spoken. Surprised that she was even there, in fact.

  “Things that matter to normal girls,” amended Chelsea, giving Jules a look that would have melted the polar ice caps.

  Kat shot Jules a look of her own that told her to cool it.

  “Well, that is definitely my Kat. She has always had a flair for fashion. She gets that from me, you know,” said Trudy.

  “Well, that’s certainly obvious,” said Chelsea in her most flattering tone. Trudy ate it up.

  “What do I have to do, you know, to be an Alpha Girl?” asked Kat.

  “You don’t have to do an
ything. Just be yourself. Of course as part of being chosen, you get to throw a fabulous slumber party for a handful of girls of your choosing—with a little input from me, naturally. And you and the girls you select will get the first chance at a whole new line of Glitter Girl products that feature all the latest trends in fashion, electronics, and makeup. And all of it is yours to keep!”

  “To keep?” squealed Kat. “And all I have to do is have the slumber party?”

  “Certainly we would hope you take the items to school. Show them to the other kids. It’s a form of advertising. Also, you would write about the items on your blog.”

  “If she wanted to,” clarified Jules.

  “Of course. That’s goes without saying,” said Chelsea. This girl was getting on her nerves.

  “Well, if I really liked something, I suppose I could,” said Kat. Her blog was like her diary. And she never, ever expressed anything but her true feelings in it.

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll adore our line. Oh, and did I mention that one of the fifty girls, the one girl we decide best embodies the spirit of Glitter Girl, will be chosen to be the Face of Glitter Girl for the kickoff ad campaign? We’re talking print ads. TV commercials. Even having your face on some of the packaging.”

  Now it was Trudy who squealed. So loudly, in fact, that it made everyone wince. Trudy grabbed Kat and began bouncing up and down in excitement.

  “Oh Kat! Imagine that. Your face on the packaging. Like those movie stars all over the cosmetic section of the drugstore! I’m so proud of you. I knew you were always a leader like me! I knew you had it in you to be an Alpha Girl!”

  Kat couldn’t deny it. She was pretty darned excited too. Getting chosen out of thousands of girls. That a big company in Los Angeles cared enough about her opinions to come all the way to Carmel to talk to her. That had to be an honor, right? And all that free, cool stuff. She could help decide what would become popular or not. She started jumping up and down with her mom.