shopping today. I really am sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” Charlotte said quietly. “It’s okay. We’ll shop next week.” She held her breath, hoping that Georgia would come clean with who was on the other line, and why she’d broken her plans as suddenly as she’d made them.
“Cool,” Georgia said.
There was another click, then silence.
Charlotte stood and began pacing her bedroom. She was half-tempted to get extremely pissed off, call right back, and give Georgia a piece of her mind…But then she thought better of it. Maybe she should take the Zen, calm, Dr. Gilmore approach, to give Georgia time to express her side of the situation. Still, why not get pissed? Georgia had pretty much hung up on her. In the seventeen years they’d been friends—well, at least since they’d been old enough to talk on the phone—Georgia had only hung up on her one other time, and that was by accident.
Charlotte immediately dialed Brooke.
“Hello?” Mr. Farnsworth answered.
“Oh, hi!” Charlotte hadn’t expected him. But the snooty Mr. F never intimidated her. “I thought I called Brooke’s cell phone. Did I dial your home number by mistake?”
He gave a grunt that, from a more pleasant person, might have been a chuckle. “No, Charlotte. You dialed Brooke’s cellular phone. It was sitting on the kitchen counter, so I picked it up.” He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Brooke, dear? It’s Charlotte. In the future, can you please inform your friends that nine-twenty on a Sunday is a little early to be calling?”
Charlotte groaned inwardly. Brooke’s dad took supreme pleasure in acting like a royal tightass.
“What’s wrong, C?” Brooke answered, her mouth full.
“Sorry to call so early,” Charlotte mumbled.
“Oh, please. Don’t pull that with me.”
Charlotte sprawled across the bed beside Stella. “I called Georgia and she was really bizarre.”
Brooke laughed. The sound was short and brittle, without any humor. “Shocker.”
“Then I think she got another call from Valerie Packwood.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Valerie called to gossip about how hot Marcus is—”
She stopped herself. That was a dumb thing to say. She didn’t want to add to Brooke’s woes. But on the other hand, Brooke didn’t even really know Marcus. Maybe she shouldn’t be interested in him. True, he was hotter than anyone who’d ever passed through the Silver Oaks gates since like 1922, but that was no reason to lose all perspective.
“Well, I for one intend to do something about this,” Brooke stated.
“You do?”
“Hell, yeah. But don’t worry. Nothing too bad. I’m Snow White, remember? I’m pure and innocent.”
“Brooke, you’re freaking me out,” Charlotte said, halfkidding.
“Come on,” Brooke groaned. “Listen, what does Valerie what’s-her-face have that I don’t have? So she’s stunningly gorgeous. So she just moved from Manhattan, so she has that mystique and glamour and all that crap. But she does have a strike against her: She’s friends with Robby Miller.”
It was a punch line. Obviously. Brooke was waiting for Charlotte to laugh. You couldn’t mention Robby Miller and not laugh. But even as Charlotte tried to muster a chuckle, the sound died in her throat. “You know what’s weird, B?” she confessed. “Last night, I asked Robby Miller if he knew Valerie—you know, because Ethan said that her family was friends with his family—and he said that he’d never even met her.”
Brooke didn’t answer.
“B? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, C. I heard you. I’m just figuring out how to incorporate that juicy little tidbit into my master plan.”
Click.
Before Charlotte could inquire about the exact nature of this master plan, her other best friend had hung up on her, as well.
Charlotte tossed the phone aside. It bounced on the mattress, landing between Stella and a stuffed penguin.
Two hang-ups in one morning: not the cheeriest
“Stop apologizing,” Charlotte said quietly. “It’s okay. We’ll shop next week.” She held her breath, hoping that Georgia would come clean with who was on the other line, and why she’d broken her plans as suddenly as she’d made them.
“Cool,” Georgia said.
There was another click, then silence.
Charlotte stood and began pacing her bedroom. She was half-tempted to get extremely pissed off, call right back, and give Georgia a piece of her mind…But then she thought better of it. Maybe she should take the Zen, calm, Dr. Gilmore approach, to give Georgia time to express her side of the situation. Still, why not get pissed? Georgia had pretty much hung up on her. In the seventeen years they’d been friends—well, at least since they’d been old enough to talk on the phone—Georgia had only hung up on her one other time, and that was by accident.
Charlotte immediately dialed Brooke.
“Hello?” Mr. Farnsworth answered.
“Oh, hi!” Charlotte hadn’t expected him. But the snooty Mr. F never intimidated her. “I thought I called Brooke’s cell phone. Did I dial your home number by mistake?”
He gave a grunt that, from a more pleasant person, might have been a chuckle. “No, Charlotte. You dialed Brooke’s cellular phone. It was sitting on the kitchen counter, so I picked it up.” He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Brooke, dear? It’s Charlotte. In the future, can you please inform your friends that nine-twenty on a Sunday is a little early to be calling?”
Charlotte groaned inwardly. Brooke’s dad took supreme pleasure in acting like a royal tightass.
“What’s wrong, C?” Brooke answered, her mouth full.
“Sorry to call so early,” Charlotte mumbled.
“Oh, please. Don’t pull that with me.”
Charlotte sprawled across the bed beside Stella. “I called Georgia and she was really bizarre.”
Brooke laughed. The sound was short and brittle, without any humor. “Shocker.”
“Then I think she got another call from Valerie Packwood.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Valerie called to gossip about how hot Marcus is—”
She stopped herself. That was a dumb thing to say. She didn’t want to add to Brooke’s woes. But on the other hand, Brooke didn’t even really know Marcus. Maybe she shouldn’t be interested in him. True, he was hotter than anyone who’d ever passed through the Silver Oaks gates since like 1922, but that was no reason to lose all perspective.
“Well, I for one intend to do something about this,” Brooke stated.
“You do?”
“Hell, yeah. But don’t worry. Nothing too bad. I’m Snow White, remember? I’m pure and innocent.”
“Brooke, you’re freaking me out,” Charlotte said, halfkidding.
“Come on,” Brooke groaned. “Listen, what does Valerie what’s-her-face have that I don’t have? So she’s stunningly gorgeous. So she just moved from Manhattan, so she has that mystique and glamour and all that crap. But she does have a strike against her: She’s friends with Robby Miller.”
It was a punch line. Obviously. Brooke was waiting for Charlotte to laugh. You couldn’t mention Robby Miller and not laugh. But even as Charlotte tried to muster a chuckle, the sound died in her throat. “You know what’s weird, B?” she confessed. “Last night, I asked Robby Miller if he knew Valerie—you know, because Ethan said that her family was friends with his family—and he said that he’d never even met her.”
Brooke didn’t answer.
“B? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, C. I heard you. I’m just figuring out how to incorporate that juicy little tidbit into my master plan.”
Click.
Before Charlotte could inquire about the exact nature of this master plan, her other best friend had hung up on her, as well.
Charlotte tossed the phone aside. It bounced on the mattress, landing between Stella and a stuffed penguin.
Two hang-ups in one morning: not the cheeriest
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