head of this planning committee. Brie will be reporting back to me, so it’s not as if I’m completely abandoning you.” She stood up. “Brie, is there anything you want to say before I go?”
Brie tapped Mr. Kemp’s desk. “Um,” she said, flushing and rubbing at the left lens of her bifocals.
“Well, that was compelling,” Anna seethed.
“I’ve worked for Brooke for almost two years, so I know her vision,” Brie began. “And I plan to execute the duties she set out for me to the best of my abilities. I’m sure we’ll all work together to make this the best Spring Carnival yet.”
“Obviously,” Brooke said, pulling her glossy leather Louis Vuitton satchel out from under Mr. Kemp’s desk. “My name
is
still on this thing.” Suddenly she spotted Max still standing in the doorway. “Oh, Maxine,” she said loudly. “A word, please, in the hallway.”
Max backed out of the door frame. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Brooke held up a finger. “Maxine, we need to talk about your raging attitude problems,” she said loudly, aiming her mouth at the open door. To Max, she whispered, “Nothing. The audition requests are pouring in, so we need to get out of here. But we can’t look too chummy.”
“I—”
“Play along,” Brooke urged her.
Max considered this. Maybe it would be therapeutic.
“I don’t care what you say, Brooke. I am bored with your pointless carnival,” she practically shouted. That
did
feel good. In a lower voice Max added, “My mother told me I had to come. She’ll totally check in.”
“That’s why I have a plan,” Brooke said, shaking her head. “You have
so much
to learn from me.” Then Brooke raised her voice. “No wonder you never have a date,” she all but yelled. “You’re married to your own smug sense of superiority. I am taking you straight to your mother’s office.”
Max let out a melodramatically fatigued breath. “Fine,” she boomed.
Brooke nodded briskly. “Your delivery needs work, but that should do it,” she whispered, grabbing Max’s arm and trotting off toward the main office. Max watched as Brooke stuck her head inside.
“Is she—Oh, hi, Headmistress McCormack,” she heard Brooke say. “Groovy cardigan. I just wanted to let you know that Max and I are heading off campus to price some things for the carnival. Awesome! Thanks.”
Brooke turned back to Max, looking self-satisfied. “See?” she whispered. “All taken care of. Now give me a ride home—we need to figure out how to run with my raging success.”
Max felt a little buzzing in her head. It was either the fatigue or she was completely stoked. Possibly both. “Let’s go kick some ass,” she said.
nine
“JUST ONE MORE TIME.”
“No, I haven’t even had any caffeine yet,” Max grunted, heaving her banged-up tan satchel onto the security table and walking through the metal detector.
“Pleeeeease?” Brooke wheedled from the other side of security.
A uniformed Warner Bros. guard rummaged through Max’s bag, pulling out her Blistex, a torn spiral notebook, a half-eaten Luna Bar, a pair of sunglasses missing one lens, and three socks. He cocked an eyebrow.
Yeah, buddy? You should see my room.
“I promise this is the last time,” Brooke said.
“That’s because your audition is in, like, five minutes,” Max pointed out, as the guard dumped everything backinto her bag and handed it over with a curt nod. Max thanked him and shuffled onto the lot, rubbing her eyes. Apparently, in Brooke’s dictionary of made-up words,
blogographer
also meant
lackey
. On this particular Saturday, she’d dragged Max out of bed at seven in the morning for a day of auditions—“I don’t want you to miss any of the action!”—and in the last week alone Max had spent every waking hour forced to rehearse as a psychic, a detective, an evil twin (sort of fun), a good twin (completely
un
fun), and the main detective from
Bones
. At first Max amused herself by deploying a
Brie tapped Mr. Kemp’s desk. “Um,” she said, flushing and rubbing at the left lens of her bifocals.
“Well, that was compelling,” Anna seethed.
“I’ve worked for Brooke for almost two years, so I know her vision,” Brie began. “And I plan to execute the duties she set out for me to the best of my abilities. I’m sure we’ll all work together to make this the best Spring Carnival yet.”
“Obviously,” Brooke said, pulling her glossy leather Louis Vuitton satchel out from under Mr. Kemp’s desk. “My name
is
still on this thing.” Suddenly she spotted Max still standing in the doorway. “Oh, Maxine,” she said loudly. “A word, please, in the hallway.”
Max backed out of the door frame. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Brooke held up a finger. “Maxine, we need to talk about your raging attitude problems,” she said loudly, aiming her mouth at the open door. To Max, she whispered, “Nothing. The audition requests are pouring in, so we need to get out of here. But we can’t look too chummy.”
“I—”
“Play along,” Brooke urged her.
Max considered this. Maybe it would be therapeutic.
“I don’t care what you say, Brooke. I am bored with your pointless carnival,” she practically shouted. That
did
feel good. In a lower voice Max added, “My mother told me I had to come. She’ll totally check in.”
“That’s why I have a plan,” Brooke said, shaking her head. “You have
so much
to learn from me.” Then Brooke raised her voice. “No wonder you never have a date,” she all but yelled. “You’re married to your own smug sense of superiority. I am taking you straight to your mother’s office.”
Max let out a melodramatically fatigued breath. “Fine,” she boomed.
Brooke nodded briskly. “Your delivery needs work, but that should do it,” she whispered, grabbing Max’s arm and trotting off toward the main office. Max watched as Brooke stuck her head inside.
“Is she—Oh, hi, Headmistress McCormack,” she heard Brooke say. “Groovy cardigan. I just wanted to let you know that Max and I are heading off campus to price some things for the carnival. Awesome! Thanks.”
Brooke turned back to Max, looking self-satisfied. “See?” she whispered. “All taken care of. Now give me a ride home—we need to figure out how to run with my raging success.”
Max felt a little buzzing in her head. It was either the fatigue or she was completely stoked. Possibly both. “Let’s go kick some ass,” she said.
nine
“JUST ONE MORE TIME.”
“No, I haven’t even had any caffeine yet,” Max grunted, heaving her banged-up tan satchel onto the security table and walking through the metal detector.
“Pleeeeease?” Brooke wheedled from the other side of security.
A uniformed Warner Bros. guard rummaged through Max’s bag, pulling out her Blistex, a torn spiral notebook, a half-eaten Luna Bar, a pair of sunglasses missing one lens, and three socks. He cocked an eyebrow.
Yeah, buddy? You should see my room.
“I promise this is the last time,” Brooke said.
“That’s because your audition is in, like, five minutes,” Max pointed out, as the guard dumped everything backinto her bag and handed it over with a curt nod. Max thanked him and shuffled onto the lot, rubbing her eyes. Apparently, in Brooke’s dictionary of made-up words,
blogographer
also meant
lackey
. On this particular Saturday, she’d dragged Max out of bed at seven in the morning for a day of auditions—“I don’t want you to miss any of the action!”—and in the last week alone Max had spent every waking hour forced to rehearse as a psychic, a detective, an evil twin (sort of fun), a good twin (completely
un
fun), and the main detective from
Bones
. At first Max amused herself by deploying a
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