Bombshell

by Matthew Spataro

The soft strands of gold slide through her hand as if her fingers were grasping at sunbeams. She twists and moves her luscious locks into a quick braid, fixing her bouncy hair into something manageable as she turns in her seat towards her desk. With a quick flip of the finished hairstyle, the girl picks up the discarded phone on the edge of the mahogany.
“Lindsey,” she squeaks, phone pressed close to her face, “I need to know where we stand with our plans for tomorrow night. Call me back as soon as possible.” She clicks the end button, and stares at the screen of her pink mobile as the phone slowly fades to black. The picture of her friend Lindsey slowly disappears as her own face overtakes it.
Bright, blue eyes stare back at her, placed underneath brows pulled towards the center in consternation. Her bright white teeth are gnawing at her red lip as she places the phone back on her desk. One hand goes to drum glossy nails on the wood while the other becomes a grave for her head, succumbing to a dreadful case of a headache named Lindsey.
“Hey Cindee, you got a minute?”
Cindee cracks one eye open with a groan while craning her neck back to find her mother standing just outside the door. She waits there, hand curled around the knob, forgoing the polite knock.
“I’ve got a clock full of minutes mom,” Cindee replies, swiveling around, swinging one mauve colored boot over her smooth thigh, “what do you need?”
Her mother takes this as the guard lowering the gate as she fully enters, finding her place at the foot of Cindee’s fluffy bed.
“Well, as you know Cindee your father and I are heading out for the weekend tomorrow,” she starts, “and I want to make sure you’re… comfortable being home alone for such a long period of time-”
“Mom,” Cindee throws her head back, moaning, “I’m not a toddler anymore. I can survive two days with no adult supervision except my own.”
“It’s just,” Cindee’s mom’s voice gets watery, “this is your first time alone and… and I know you’ll be going away soon for college and sooner or later menopause will be knocking at my door and…” The waterworks slowly start, as Cindee stares on like a passerby in a car crash.
Cindee gets up from her seat, sashaying over to where her mother has decided to impersonate Niagara Falls and sits down next to her, smoothing out her skirt. She removes one of her mother’s freckled hands from her running mascara and takes it into both of her smooth ones.
“Mom,” she soothes, “I’m going to be alright. It’s only two days… you don’t need to worry about me while you’re away at your Conference. And as for college… well a bird’s got to fly sometime, right? And hey, at least you don’t have to pay for it.”
Her mother manages a chuckle as she wipes away the blackened tears. “You’re right,” she agrees, “I’m just being silly.” A pause. “What was that scholarship you got again?”
Cindee smiles and stands, drawing her mother up with her. “You don’t need to worry you’re pretty little head about that. What you need to do is make sure dad isn’t packing his golf clubs.”
Another small chuckle from her mother as Cindee starts to push her out of her room. “Don’t worry, I made sure of that,” she says, “Now we’re leaving first thing in the morning. And remember no parties, no alcohol, no boys-“
“No planning the world’s destruction-I get it mom.”
“Well as long as you understand,” the mom continues, “sweet dreams, Cindee!”
“Night mom.”
With a soft slam, the door closes on the mother as Cindee collapses on the white wood. But her sigh of relief is brief as her phone rings from the desk. She moves forward, reaching for her cellular device.
“Hello?” Cindee answers, “Lindsey! Finally, do you know how long I’ve been-what do you mean it was an emergency? A fashion emergency does not take priority over what we have at stake with this- oh… well… I can understand somewhat… Were you sure the top you purchased had a snag or were you just seeing things again? You so too overreact, or do you not recall the Angora sweater you returned because you were convinced the stitching was fraying when it obviously wasn’t-look, it doesn’t matter. Tiffany and Lauren have their ends set up, I need to know if you’re ready as well. You are? Good… yeah they leave tomorrow; don’t worry we’ll have enough time to get ready and show up to show off. Yes I have everything ready here, I’d be an idiot not to. Like wearing white after Labor Day, am I right? Anyway I need to get changed and go through my beauty regiment before I hit the pillows. I know, there’s always a price to pay for clear skin and no split ends. Kisses!”
Cindee hangs the phone up yet again, tossing it onto the desk before moving to plug it in. Making sure her social lifeline is secure, she heads into her joint bathroom to complete the nightly ritual she’s mastered over the years.
She flips the switch, and one after another the lights around her mirror flicker to life. Cindee moves to stand in front of the reflective surface, and pauses again at her reflection. She turns her head slightly from side to side, considering all angles, before finally moving forward with the removal process. She wipes away the make-up in an effortless amount of time, making a Picasso on the sanitary wipe she uses. Cindee always finds the irony in her process amusing: that no matter how long she spent putting on the Maybelline, fixing the wings in her tips, it was all undone in a matter of seconds.
But soon enough she was already applying the moisturizer, muscles too far gone in their memory to alert her brain that she’s moved on. After that, she washes her hands and gives herself one more cursory glance in the mirror.
When everything seems right, she moves away from the mirror and turns off the lights. Cindee heads towards her closet, kicking her boots off in the process. She flings open the door, picks her cutest pajamas, and swiftly changes in the middle of her room. There’s a slight breeze from her open window, but the soft cotton of her bedclothes quickly corrects it.
Finally finished, she hits the lights, falls into bed, and soon enough drifts off into slumber.
Yet the sweet, unforgiving sun drags Cindee out of the glorious realm of unconsciousness way too early, and it takes around two cups of coffee and a fresh stack of pancakes before she’s able to function enough to wish her mother and father farewell.
“Remember to feed the cat and do your homework,” her father reminds her while leaving the house, “and under any circumstances there will be no boys!”
“But what if the house is on fire and I need a fireman to come and rescue me?” Cindee rolls her eyes at her father’s denial of the male population.
“You’ll be happy when the firewoman comes to carry you out,” he fires back just as he exits out the door and towards the running car, with her mother at the wheel.
“I love you, too, dad!” Cindee waves from the door as both her mother and father return the gesture, pulling out of the driveway and into the open road.
Cindee continues to move her hand back and forth until her parents’ car is out of sight. She slumps forward in relief just as another car pulls up in front of her house and three very familiar faces step out of the car.
The leader of the group is a tall, dark skinned girl, with her dreadlocks pinned to the top of her hair in a bun-like shape, followed by two other girls. The one on the left is a shorter, Asian girl with an asymmetric bob. Next to her is a slightly taller brunette with beautiful tan skin. Each treat the walk up to Cindee’s house as if it were a catwalk, moving to the beat they hear in their heads. All three carry bags in hand, stuffed to the brim with clothes and other accessories.
“Hey girl!” the lead girl calls out, hands up as she dangles her bags by her fingers.
“Lauren!” Cindee yells in a mirrored pose before running from the entryway. She grabs Lauren around the waist to the sound of shrieks and laughter.
“Nice to know how valued we are, right Tiffany?” the girl on the right says to the other.
“Like gold after the introduction of platinum,” Tiffany responds.
“Ugh,” Cindee lets go of Lauren and turns to the other two, “you know I love you girls too, so stop being bitches about it.”
The two exchange looks. “Well, if that’s how we’re going to be treated,” Lindsey scoffs, “we might as well just leave.”
“Girls!” Cindee gasps.
“No, no,” Tiffany tells her, “you obviously don’t need us. We hope you enjoy your time with… Lauren.” The duo walks away for at least five steps before breaking down into cackles. Lauren and Cindee join in, but are surprised as the deserters about face and rush them into a chokehold of a group hug.
“Now I love reunions as much as the next gal,” Lauren wheezes, “but seeing as how we saw each other yesterday, and we’re in public, I suggest we go inside.”
“Always so logical,” Tiffany says, but lets go regardless, walking inside while the other girls regain their breath. They follow after a couple of seconds.
“As much as I love you girls,” Cindee starts, flopping onto her couch, “is there a reason you’ve arrived before I even had my shower?”
“I’m sorry,” Lauren says, “I thought it was you who said: ‘you can never be too early when it comes to beauty’.”
“That wasn’t me,” Cindee yawns, throwing her head back as a hand goes to cover her eyes, “that was my evil twin, Amanda. She’s wanted revenge ever since I stole her pink mini-skirt.”
Again the gaggle of goddesses breaks out into giggles before sobering up.
“I take it all we need for tonight are in those bags?” Cindee raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her gang.
“All accounted for captain!” Tiffany mock salutes from her perch on the armchair.
“Then get everything set up while I freshen up,” Cindee yells as she leaves the room, trusting the others to have everything ready by the time she finishes in the bathroom.
Knowing that she has guests waiting for her, Cindee doesn’t dawdle like she usually does in the shower. She makes quick work of her hair and lathers her body so that in no time she’s drying off and wrapped in one of her fuzzy, pink bathrobes, slipping into bunny slippers, and back in her room. She gathers her own materials before making her way towards the lounge, where she sees the chaos her friends have left it in. Every available surface is covered, and it doesn’t even look like the girls were done.
“When I said bring the supplies I didn’t mean your entire closet!” Cindee says from the archway. Each girl turns to give her a sheepish look, but she dismisses it with a roll of her eyes and tries to find a place to put her stuff.
“We had to prepare for every possibility!” Tiffany tries to defend, but even she doesn’t believe her excuse.
“It’s a house party, Tiff, not mortal combat,” Cindee responds flatly.
“Remind me again whose house we’re hitting up,” Lauren says as she undoes the tie holding her bun in place leaving her dreads to cascade down.
“Only the richest senior in our class, Biff Sawyer,” Lindsey explains as she sifts through satin tops, “he always throws the best end of the year parties. And since his parents are in the Bahamas this week…”
“It’s going to be epic,” Cindee finishes as she plugs her hairdryer in the nearest, available plug.
“But how rich is this boy?” Lauren asks.
“Enough that he got into Harvard as a D-list student,” Tiffany scoffs while brushing her hair, “even though I’ve spent countless hours volunteering, and putting actual work into my-“
“Easy girl, easy,” Cindee tries to calm her down, “you know what happened the last time you got angry while dealing with hair maintenance.”
Tiffany takes a second to stop and think, cringing at that horrible month in sophomore year. “I was not made to wear hats,” she shivers, putting the brush down as she cools off.
“And we have to look our best tonight,” Cindee starts, “because tonight’s party will not only be our last, but our biggest. We have a lot riding on this entire party going off without a hitch.”
“Girl, have we ever let you down before,” Lauren comes by to rub Cindee’s shoulders in a sign of solidarity, “We know why this night is so important. Remember, you aren’t the only one depending on this party.”
Cindee takes a breath. “I know,” she sighs, “I’m sorry girls. I’m just nervous.”
Lindsey juts out a hip and crosses her arm, giving Cindee a disbelieving look. “Why should you?” she scoffs, “this isn’t our first time in the big leagues. It’s more like… our last hurrah before college.”
“Yeah,” Tiffany agrees, joining Lauren on the other side of Cindee, “like it says in that song, it’s the final countdown.”
“And nothing is gonna stop us,” Lauren agrees.
Cindee wipes at her eyes, tears having sprung from her ducts at the strong display of friendship she has been so lucky to be a part of for so long. These girls have been with her through the good and the bad. From the early days of middle school to when her longtime boyfriend Mike moved to France, and they promised to keep it long-distance, but later saw him and his “friend” Jacques canoodling in Cannes on Instagram. These three have been her foundation for so long, she doesn’t know how she could ever survive without them. It’s a good thing they each got into their dream college together.
“Girls,” she chokes out, “I need a hug.”
The others comply, piling in with a good grip that, even from an outsider’s perspective, is full of love and friendship and sisterhood.
“Now I hate to bust up this moment,” Tiffany says, “but I don’t have waterproof mascara on and I am three seconds from crying. It took too long to reach this level of wingtip perfection so we better stop.”
And with that the heavy moment dissolves into something lighter as the reverent silence is filled with hearty laughter.
“You’re right,” Cindee agrees, “we can save the emotions for graduation day, for now we only have one mission: to gear up.”
The girls nod and break, each going to their corners like fighters in the ring, to prepare for the night ahead.
Before her hair could get frizzier, Cindee grabs a brush and the hair dryer and goes to town, smoothing out the unintended crimps and curls nature gave her. She’s been blessed with manageable, bouncy hair; it’s why she was crowned “Best Hair” instead of the superlative she really wanted. But, she’s never been one to turn down a compliment.
Lindsey is sifting through the different clothes each girl brought; comparing colors with fabric, skin tone, and other factors no one but Lindsey would think to consider. It doesn’t matter which clothes belong to which girl at this point, they’ve known each other for so long they’ve long since given up thinking of their clothes as “their clothes”. Like that special pair of traveling jeans, their wardrobes rotate on a fluctuating schedule.
Tiffany is going through make-up, seeing which brands are the best for this party. Every so often she yells across the room at Lindsey to consult on the colors, so as not to clash with the outfits. But in the end she’s ready to help the others put on their best faces for the night.
Finally, Lauren is testing out the accessories. Seeing which purses will be able to hold the most but still small enough to not get in the way. Which shoes will be the easiest to walk and dance in so as to not cause unfortunate blisters. She’s always been happy to callus so others may not suffer.
“Tiffany,” Cindee calls from her area, “remember to set aside my special lipstick for the night. I’m gonna need it for later!”
“Already on the edge of the coffee table, dear,” Tiffany calls as she wipes a weird magenta stain from her lips, “Lindsey, remember to make sure my outfit is comfortable enough to move in. You know how much I love to dance!”
“Is jersey comfortable enough for you?” Lindsey asks under a pile of taffeta, waiting for the ‘yes’ from Tiffany before continuing, “Lauren, will my bag be big enough to fit the-“
“I already made sure of it,” Lauren cuts her off, moving towards Lindsey to drop the bag on her. It’s a cute, pink bag that isn’t too big to be a problem, but just enough to fit the essentials.
“Adorable!” Lindsey calls out, the bag in her hands, “And you knew what color scheme I was going for tonight you gorgeous butterfly!”
Lauren rolls her eyes in amusement: “I try.”
It goes on like that for a while, the girls taking hours to get ready. Because no matter how early they may start, getting to perfection requires hard work and persistent dedication. But when they finally decide on their costumes for the night, each one of them brings one word to mind: glamourous.
Cindee’s hair is slicked back straight. She rocks a sky blue romper with a skinny white belt around her waist. She’s put on grey, smoky eye shadow and forwent lipstick until the time is right. She looks to Tiffany as the girl hands the special tube over, hiding it inside her gold clutch bag that matches her gold heels.
Lauren has styled her locks to look as if she has a Mohawk. Her eye shadow is a nice mixture of gold and purple, and her lips are bathed in a glossy indigo. She wears a shiny, light gold jacket over a black top and a patterned skirt of purple, white, and black. She finishes the ensemble with black gladiator heels and a purple bag.
Tiffany has taken asymmetry to another level, as she has pinned all of her short, raven hair to one side. She is decked out in bright neon colors of green and yellow, with bright makeup that helps her stand out, alongside the winged eyeliner. She has gold bangles up and down her arm, and wears white kicks so dancing will be a breeze.
Finally, Lindsey has decided on keeping her hair in a tight side-bun for the night. She has chosen minimal make-up, just light blush on her cheeks and pink lip-gloss. She’s in a pink crop top, and black shorts. Her bag is over her shoulders, and black close-toed heels are on her feet.
The girls appraise each other for their looks, tossing out meaningful compliments left and right.
“Look at the clock!” Lindsey points out in the middle of their compli-fest, “We have just enough time to arrive there fashionably late!”
“Then let’s get in the car, girls,” Lauren jingles her keys as the rest of the girls file out.
The girls pile in, the night air cool enough for the top to be pulled down. Tiffany and Lindsey hop into the back while Cindee claims the passenger seat. Lauren is the last to enter, twisting the keys into the ignition and bringing the car to life. Whilst leaving the house, Cindee twists the knob on the radio. The girls relax to the jams of today, singing loudly to the artists of now.
In no time at all they make it to the palatial dwelling of the Sawyers. It’s easily three levels and looks like it has enough space to fit at least twenty families. Yet for all the space it has, people have already expanded from the house and claimed the lawn as party territory. The girls arrive just as the party has reached critical mass.
Perfect.
Each teen looks at the other in silent agreement, that once they leave this car, they will not return until they have done what they have set out to do. They open the doors and climb out, grouping together before making their entrance.
Linking arms, the squad rolls out in practiced confidence. Each girl knows she’s attractive, and lets everyone else in on this inarguable fact. Like Moses at the Dead Sea, the crowd parts as if unable to fight such an omnipotent power that is theirs to wield. It only takes a couple of seconds to make it to the door, but time slows for the popular. Their impact on the crowd outside is similar to dropping a bomb, and those on the lawn are left in the atomic dust.
But if outside were just scouts, the inside were the base camp: people were everywhere; even on things not normally accepted as standing space.
Cindee only moves her head the slightest to the right, to nod at Tiffany in the smallest of motions. But Tiffany didn’t miss the signal, and proceeds to start what they came here to do.
“Alright boys and girls, who is here to party!” Tiffany breaks away and shouts, moving towards the sound system, “this is MC Tiff-a-ny and it’s about to get twisted up in this business!”
The crowd cheers, as Tiffany has long been established as the party queen since that memorable Memorial Day bash the summer of freshman year. She was crowned after besting the previous ruler in his chosen battle: beer pong. Let’s just say from then on, wherever Tiffany went, the party followed.
The remaining three girls huddled for a second, silently communicating over the loud house music, before breaking. The squad fans out: Lindsey heads towards the kitchen, Lauren swiftly climbs the stairs, and Cindee slowly gets her footing, eyes scanning the crowd for her target.
She sees him, chatting up Brittnay, a red head from the cheerleading squad. She’s very cute, with her bright, green eyes, and freckles, but the flowery dress and footless tights do nothing for her body.
‘Such a shame,’ Cindee thinks, ‘it really is a nice body.’
Cindee grabs an empty cup from the coffee table and stumbles her way over to the two.
“Whoops,” she giggles, knocking into Brittnay’s arm and sending her drink flying onto her dress, “I’m sorry. I must be a little tipsy!”
If looks could kill, this party would be reminiscent of Jay Gatsby’s.
But instead of starting a World Star Hip-Hop goldmine, Brittnay gives Cindee an acidic smile. “No worries,” she lies through her teeth, “I just need to… dry off.” She looks towards the guy she was chatting up, “If you’ll excuse me…” She tries to walk politely off, but even in the dim lighting anyone can tell she’s fuming.
Cindee turns to the guy Brittnay left. “I really should stop drinking…” she trails off.
“Biff,” Biff holds a hand out, “Biff Sawyer.” He’s decked out in a bright pink polo shirt and white tennis shorts. He’s on dry land, but is one of those people who think boat shoes are perfect for any occasion. His hair has been bleached blond, but obviously not by professionals.
“Wow, Biff,” Cindee says, shaking his hand, “you have a strong handshake.” She lets go and trails her fingers up his forearm: “I wonder if there’s more where that came from?”
Biff falls completely for the line, and flexes under her grasp. “Well, not to brag or anything,” he shrugs, “but I do go to the gym with my bros at least six times a week.”
“That’s a lot,” Cindee gasps, “I think? Man, the alcohol must be going straight to my head… where can I get some more?”
Biff grabs her arm without asking and proceeds to pull forward. “Here, let me show you,” he says, bringing them closer to the kitchen.
At least in the central party zone, there’s an organization to the chaos. In the kitchen, it’s as if a hurricane called alcoholism has swept through the land, leaving liquor bottles for as far as the eye can see.
Lindsey stands at the corner, chatting up two guys with a drink in her hand and her purse at her waist. She gives Cindee a look, to which Cindee replies with a wink. Biff brings her towards a punch bowl filled to the brim with a mixture of drinks she assumes can make anyone fail a Breathalyzer test just by staring.
“Let me just take your cup…” Biff says, reaching for her empty drink. Cindee nods, taking her hand and pushing some hair behind her ear. Lindsey sees the motion, and turns to her admirers.
“You know what would make me reeeaaaalllllyyy happy right now?” she asks them, and judging by their desperate looks they would happily do anything for her, “A nice drink. I’d be very grateful for whoever can quench my thirst…”
It doesn’t even matter that she hasn’t touched her drink all night; the dogs take the bone and scamper off to comply. The unfortunate victim in their meandering: Biff.
While fighting to see who gets to be the one to bring Lindsey her drink, the bigger of the two oafs knocks the smaller into the table where the vibrations are just enough to shake the bowl. This, in turn, creates ripples that turn into waves, turning the surrounding area into a splash zone. Biff’s shirt, though bright, cannot hide the yeast stains. And from the grit of his teeth, he isn’t chill with that.
“What’s your problem, man!” Biff shouts at the smaller guy, pushing him right back into the original cause of the situation. Tensions were quickly heating up, phones out and ready to record. People knew that fists were ready to fly.
“Guyysshh,” Cindee slurs, “don’t ruin a good party by fighting.” She turns to Biff and gets all up in his personal space. “Besides,” she whispers, “I know something better we can do with our time…”
Biff gulps, but gives the pair one final withering look before once again taking Cindee by the arm and leading her towards the stairs. Like a bullet Biff is propelled forward by uncontrolled teenage lust, that if Cindee weren’t used to climbing stairs in heels she would have tripped at least halfway there.
“We’ll go to my room,” Biff says without turning, “I’ve made sure to keep a healthy supply that will satisfy any girl’s cravings…”
Cindee giggles loudly at his corny joke, but her eyes betray her practiced front as they roll themselves into oblivion.
They reach the last door on the right. Biff goes to turn the knob, but finds it cannot budge. He smiles apologetically as he tries a couple more times, growing more agitated by second. He pounds on the door in anger, but the only reply he gets is moans. Sexual moans.
“What the fuck?!?” Biff yells, “What whore is using my room to get a quick lay!”
He’s drawing another crowd of curious onlookers, and again Cindee steps in to calm him down.
“Hey big guy,” she traces his bicep, focusing on her fingers dancing along the curves, “there must be someplace else we can have some fun. I’m not picky… really. I just… have a need-“
“My parent’s room!” he chokes out, eyes dilating at the sudden onset arousal Cindee was able to produce in him. “No-no one’s allowed in there. There’s a lock… but I have the key.”
Cindee smiles and leans in to kiss his cheek. She pulls away with a whisper: “Then insert the key so you can unlock a night that will rock. your. world…”
That’s all the motivation Biff needs before he’s rummaging through his pockets for the key to the door at the entrance of the stairs. He’s fumbling at the lock, too concerned with the pressure in his pants then where to stick his key. After many unsuccessful tries, he finally gets it in and the door unsatisfyingly opens.
The room is tasteful, minimalistic with its approach but a grand king sized bed takes up most of the center. Cindee steps into the quiet room and looks around. She finds a mirror fixed to a drawer, and proceeds to move closer.
“Come on baby,” Biff purrs, “the best part of the room is what brought ya here.”
Cindee forces a giggle. “Just give me a minute to get ready,” she squeaks, “you should to, while you’re waiting.”
Biff doesn’t need to be told twice as he starts to “prepare”. Cindee, however, opens her clutch to take out the lipstick she put away earlier. Now was the time to use it, as she gently coats her lips with the blood red stain, smacking them twice to check for perfection.
“I’m ready-“ she abruptly stops, wide-eyeing the set-up Biff managed to produce in ten seconds. He’s stripped down to his boxers, and has already pulled the covers down from their fixed position.
“I am too,” he smirks, trying to give his best seduction face. Cindee gives him a ‘C’ for effort. But then again she’s always been too kind. She leaves her clutch on the boudoir and slowly struts her way towards the bed.
“Just so you know,” he whispers, “this isn’t my first time.”
Cindee looks him over once more: “I can tell.”
She puts a knee on the bed when suddenly she’s being smothered by 190 pounds of Axe Body Spray. He’s attacking her neck like cats when it’s time to clean.
“This feels good, doesn’t it babe,” he moans between licks.
“Oh, so good,” Cindee fakes, “come here so I can give you a taste.”
He moves up her neck, leaving a trail of saliva that can make a snail jealous, before finally reaching her mouth. He’s lost in her lips, so when she pulls away he’s adrift in a haze of arousal, fluttering his lids at this heady sensation.
He licks his lips. “Mmm, what kind of lipstick is that?” he asks sluggishly, “Tastes sweet.”
Cindee lets out a breathy chuckle. “I made it myself,” she whispers, moving towards his ear.
“R-really?” he yelps, reacting towards her wandering mouth and his nibbled ear, “W-what do you call it?”
She releases his ear and gets really close. “It’s called,” she breathes, “Sweet Dreams, Sucker.”
Biff is confused, but slowly he realizes that the fluttering of his eyelids isn’t from horniness, but from his inevitably fast spiral into unconsciousness. He tries to get up, to stop the process, but he is too late. He has sipped from the ambrosia of the gods and has been punished for his ignorance. Biff ends up facedown, on top of Cindee.
“Get off, perv,” Cindee pushes, ejecting Biff from the bed. He lands on his ass, but stays asleep. She dusts herself off before heading towards the door. Cindee opens it a crack before Lindsey forces it open, then quickly shut again.
“Thank God!” Lindsey gasps out, “I was drowning in testosterone out there. Do you know how hard it is to lose two idiots who don’t understand basic conversational cues? Luckily I was able to foist them onto Brittnay as an apology for earlier.”
“Never mind that, Linds,” Cindee grabs her clutch, “let’s get this over with. We don’t have much time. Let’s just get what we came for and leave.”
The girls move around the room, looking for their prize. Just when it seems they might be running out of time, Lindsey makes a sound of success from within the closet.
“You found it?” Cindee asks, getting up from where she was looking underneath the bed.
“I sure did!” she pokes her head out, motioning for Cindee to join her. She flicks her wrist like Vanna taught her and motions towards the wall safe.
“Like staying at a hotel,” Cindee shakes her head with a smirk, but kneels closer, “Are you sure the combination will work?”
“Please, my family and the Sawyer’s share a maid, and luckily,” Lindsey smiles, “we give her a Christmas bonus.”
Cindee returns her enthusiasm, grin for grin, as she plugs in the numbers she memorized earlier. With a soft, electric purr, the light switches from red to green and the safe door cracks open. Cindee carefully opens the door and pulls out a satin box.
Inside the box is one of the most expensive necklaces both girls have ever laid eyes on. They give each other a knowing look before Lindsey opens her bag, producing a plastic baggie with a similar looking necklace inside.
“Are you sure that’s exactly the same as our prize?” Cindee asks.
Lindsey scoffs at her uneasiness. “Please, not only have I gotten to know that string of rocks personally, every year at the Country Club’s annual “charity” lunch-in, I studied pictures of it for two weeks while crafting this Mona Lisa of forgeries. It’ll work.”
“That’s all I need to hear,” Cindee says before taking the necklace out of the box, and switching it for the fake. They quickly return the box to where it once was, closing the door, and exiting the closet. Lindsey is stuffing the baggie into her bag and heading towards the door, until she notices her friend isn’t following.
“Cindee!” she whisper shouts, “We have to leave!”
“I know,” Cindee says, “But he said something about Lauren, I can’t just leave him here without punishment.”
“Whatever he said can’t be that bad,” Lindsey tries to convince her friend out the door.
“He called her a whore.”
“Burn him.”
Cindee gives her a stare. “I already have an idea. You go get Lauren and I’ll meet you guys soon, I promise.”
Lindsey gives Cindee a look like she doesn’t like leaving her alone, but does so anyway. Just as she leaves, she can see Cindee give the prone, defenseless body of Biff’s a wicked smile with an evil glint in her eyes. She already knows that Biff is going to be a dead man: socially, that is.
Lindsey clings tight to the bag as she weaves through the bodies crowding the hallway. She makes it to Biff’s room and knocks in a coded way. It only takes a beat before Lauren opens the door, looking bored at having to wait so long. No one is there with her.
“You get it?” she asks, looking for Cindee.
“Yeah, we got it,” Lindsey motions to the bag in her hands, “Cindee is just tying up some loose ends.”
“What this one say?” Lauren cocks a brow at the unsurprising antics of her friend.
“Called you a whore,” Lindsey replies with a shrug.
“I hope she burns him,” Lauren spits out.
Lindsey smiles. “That’s what I said!” she exclaims, “But hey, look at it this way. You were convincing enough to fool him into thinking you were getting it on!”
“Yeah, but he’s probably the type to think all the orgasms he’s caused were real,” Lauren smirks. The girls share a laugh just as Cindee makes her way to them.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Later,” Lauren tells her, “right now we need to find Tiffany.”
The trio hears a crash and the resounding sound of a crowd, and know just where to look. They hurry down the stairs just in time to see Tiffany on the table in the dining room, addressing her subjects.
“To commemorate this holy bash,” she shouts, “I will allow you peasants the pleasure of feeling my skin upon yours!”
With that, she jumps into the crowd, letting herself be carried into the sea of strangers. She’s having a blast, shouting with glee, when she feels three familiar sets of hands grab her and carry her away from her adoring fans. With no warning, the hands let go, leaving Tiffany to fall onto her ass. She stares up into the disgruntled looks of her friends.
“What did we say about drinking, Tiffany?” Cindee asks, arms crossed in front of her.
Tiffany, for her part, looks sheepishly away as the one arm that isn’t supporting her weight is scratching behind her head. “I only had a sip,” she admits.
“Chugging an entire bottle of vodka does not a sip make, Tiffany,” Lindsey says.
“It wasn’t vodka,” Tiffany defends, “it was tequila.”
Each girl hangs her head in exhaustion for a moment, before carrying forward with the conversation.
“Did you get the party riled up enough, Tiff?” Cindee leans forward, getting on eye level with her friend.
“Don’t worry,” Tiffany tries to stand, only to lean on the proffered hands of her sisters at arms, “I had them setting off fireworks for fifteen minutes straight. The cops will be here any minute.”
“Then that’s our cue to leave,” Lindsey says, motioning Tiffany threw the thrashing bodies of the partygoers as the retrace their steps towards Lauren’s car. Cindee leads the pack as the other two girls support Tiffany’s weight. They carefully lay her in the car, but while Lindsey follows her in, Lauren heads to the driver’s seat. The quartet kicks it into gear and drive away from the party.
It’s when their safely on the road again that the victorious silence is broken.
“So what of our college tuition are we paying with this haul?” Lindsey asks as she fixes the parts of her make-up that were smudged from the heat.
“Oh, we finished paying for our tuition parties ago,” Cindee admits to the questioning looks of her friends, “This is so we can buy this really sweet house I saw a couple of roads down from campus.”
“No dorming?” Lauren asks with a smile.
“No dorming.” Cindee confirms.
The rest of the drive home is filled with the sound of successful laughter, as the girls drive back to where they began, and away from the sirens permeating the suburban air. Teenagers left and right were being carted away, but the real treat was when the police busted down the door to Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer’s room.
On the bed was Biff Sawyer, passed out, with a combination of ingredients that, when mixed together, resemble the unfortunate aftereffects of digestion. This mixture was spread all over his parents’ bed, and written on the mirror in lipstick:
“Oops… I did it again.”
But it’s no matter if the cops keep this part of the report private, because Cindee’s already anonymously texted the entire senior class the picture that killed Biff Sawyer’s social status.
Because no fuckboy is safe when he messes with a bombshell.