The Bling Queen Read online

  “Got it good!” Toby says, hopping off his bed. He darts around his room from one corner to another, collecting items that, truth be told, I did not actually know were missing. I really have to do a better job of keeping him out of my room unsupervised.

  “Here you go.” Toby places a pile into my hands: my blue tie-dye kneesocks, my daisy-shaped sunglasses, my cat-face ring, a stuffed beanbag beagle from my pile of pillows, and three button pins with funny phrases on them.

  But no locket.

  “Are you absolutely positive this is everything?” I ask, as if I know he’s lying. “I’m pretty sure something else is still missing.”

  Toby’s eyes grow wide. “I promise,” he answers, with almost a whimper in his voice. “That is everything!”

  I slump my shoulders, disappointed. It’s not a great feeling to wish for your brother to be a thief, but it was a better alternative than what I face now.

  “Okay,” I say. “If you’re sure . . .”

  “I’m positive!” Toby tells me. “We made a deal, remember?”

  “I’ll give you five dollars after school, just like I promised,” I tell him. “This way, you don’t have to worry about losing it all day. Okay?”

  “Yes,” Toby says, flying out of his room and down the stairs. “Woooo, I get five whole dollars!”

  I glance around Toby’s room once more before I leave, hoping to see the locket sparkling in a corner. But instead the same dreaded feeling I had earlier this morning returns—the feeling that told me deep down that Toby was never the one who took my necklace in the first place. That would have been too simple, too predictable, something eight-year-old boys just do.

  Instead I now have to consider all of the other people in my life who I’m no longer sure I can trust, if I ever trusted them in the first place. Which is an even worse thing to think about than the lost locket itself, and Mimi’s face when she finds out it might be gone for good.

  Chapter 18

  I walk in the front door of school and almost run straight into Ms. Castleby, who is leaving the main office.

  “Oh good, just the person I wanted to see,” Ms. Castleby says to me. “Are you still up for going on a little shopping expedition for me? For your full rate, of course.”

  “Yes, I’d love to!” I say, and as hard as it is, I try to push my own worries aside and concentrate on my customer, which is what a good businessperson is supposed to do. “Did you decide on what you’re looking for?”

  “Not exactly,” Ms. Castleby says. “This is why I need you. My high school reunion is this Saturday, and I’m just looking for something to fancy up my outfit a little. I’m always drawn to the same type of stuff when I go shopping, so I could use a fresh set of eyes.”

  “No problem,” I say, walking with Ms. Castleby down the long center hallway toward the seventh-grade wing. “Describe your outfit to me, and I’ll find the perfect thing.” Ms. Castleby does, and I text myself all of the information, along with important details like whether or not her ears are pierced (they are), belt size (medium), and any strong likes or dislikes (she hates the color orange—I knew there was a reason I liked her).

  “Remind me of the cost again?” Ms. Castleby asks.

  “Ten dollars, plus the price of the item,” I say.

  “And you’re sure you’ll have time to do this? I know I’m not giving you much notice.”

  “Absolutely. I can go today after school,” I tell her. “I know for a fact that my brother will want to head into town anyway—the ice cream needs of eight-year-old boys and all.”

  Ms. Castleby laughs. “And sorry, I should’ve gotten it together so your payment would be in the mail already. Is it still okay if—”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s completely fine,” I say. “You can send it to me afterward, once you make sure you like what I choose, of course. I can always return it if you don’t.”

  “I’m sure I will, but I’ll owe you the ten no matter what,” Ms. Castleby says. “I’ll put it in the mail for you tomorrow, just so we don’t break any school policies!”

  “Sounds good,” I say. “Thanks for the support.”

  “You sound very official as a business owner,” Ms. Castleby says. “I’m impressed. See you in class.” She continues down the hall to her room while I twist my locker combination.

  “Well, was it Toby?” Bree’s voice reaches me before she does.

  “No, unfortunately,” I say. “So what do I do now?” I whisper this second part in case any of the potential suspects is eavesdropping on us.

  “Start with Deirdre,” Bree says. “You can at least ask her if she saw anyone take it.”

  “She’ll think I’m accusing her,” I say. “And she’s grumpy enough as it is. If she thinks I’m calling her a thief, she may never forgive me.”

  “Well, what did she bring to your house yesterday? Just her book bag?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I thought it was her gym bag and not her book bag, but I could be wrong.”

  “No, I think that’s right. And she always brings that bag to lunch, since she has gym in the afternoon. So we’ll look in there,” Bree suggests.

  “Without her knowing?”

  “Yes,” Bree says. “When she goes to buy her lunch, we’ll look.”

  “If she even agrees to sit with us,” I say. “She might ditch us for Rocco, if she’s still not speaking to me.”

  “I’ll try to make sure she doesn’t,” Bree tells me. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got your back.”

  “Okay,” I say. “But I feel weird about this.”

  “It’s a weird situation,” Bree agrees. “I mean, I’m ninety-five percent sure Deirdre wouldn’t do that, but she has been acting strange lately, so who knows? Maybe she’s changed.” I follow Bree into our homeroom, and we both take our seats. Deirdre gives Bree a small smile, but she doesn’t even look in my direction.

  And if she won’t look at me now, what is she going to do if she finds out that I think she may have stolen my locket?

  Deirdre throws her gym bag down onto the bench next to me at our regular cafeteria table, but she walks away to get in line without saying one word. She has avoided me all morning, though I haven’t gone out of my way to talk to her either, so I guess we’re even. I keep my eyes on her until I see her join the end of the line, which thankfully seems to be moving pretty slowly today, and then I look at Bree.

  “Now?” I ask.

  “Now,” Bree agrees.

  I unzip Deirdre’s bag and pull all the larger contents out onto the table in one swift motion. Deirdre’s gym bag is more packed than most because she keeps a lot of her gymnastics gear in it also. I dig through the bottom of the bag as Bree rifles through the things on the table. I feel metal against my fingertips and clasp my hand around the object. I yank it from the bag and hold it out in front of me, triumphant.

  Her house key.

  “Ugh,” I say, placing the key on the table and diving back into the bag. My hand reaches around another item, and I pull it out—Deirdre’s wallet. Could she have hidden the locket in the wallet? I unsnap it and peer inside each of the slots, and then I shuffle through the coins in the change purse.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Goose bumps appear instantly on the back of my neck. I don’t need to look up to know who’s speaking—I’d recognize Deirdre’s voice anywhere. I glance over at Bree before facing Deirdre, and Bree’s face is red with guilty shock, which I assume is how mine must look too.

  “You’re stealing money from me?” Deirdre yells. “Is this what it’s come to? How did you even know I forgot to bring my wallet up with me?”

  I think about lying. I think about going with the second half of Deirdre’s story, and saying that I was trying to pull money out of her wallet to bring to her in line, because I knew she had forgotten it. Would that be better or worse than the truth?

  “Did you take Tess’s locket?” Bree asks before I can decide. “Yesterday, at her
house, did you take it off her desk?”

  “I don’t even know what to say to that,” Deirdre replies, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you think I would take anything from either of you, ever.”

  “Well, you were mad when you left,” I remind her. “So I just wondered . . . I didn’t think you took it. I really didn’t. But I wanted to make sure before I accused anyone else.”

  “So you accuse your best friend before you accuse, say, Kayte Reynolds?” Deirdre snaps.

  “You haven’t exactly been acting like yourself lately,” I tell her quietly. “Just saying.”

  Deirdre glares at me—not even a glirk, but a full-on glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. You’re just being kind of weird,” I tell her. “Like you’re hiding something all the time. And look, I think Rocco is a great guy, so if you really do like him or whatever—”

  “How many times do I have to tell you two? I do not like Rocco,” Deirdre says matter-of-factly. “I don’t understand why you keep bringing him up.”

  “Because ever since we found out you two were friends, or whatever you are, you’ve just been . . . different,” Bree explains.

  Deirdre sits down on the bench and begins placing all of her things back in her gym bag. “Rocco’s not just my friend,” she finally tells us.

  “I knew it!” Bree calls out proudly. “You like him!”

  “I don’t like him,” Deirdre says. “I like him as a friend, absolutely, but I don’t like him as a boyfriend.”

  “So then what is he?” I ask. “If he’s not just your friend.”

  Deirdre sighs before answering. “He’s my tutor,” she confesses. “He’s been helping me with my schoolwork. My parents made me agree to it—they said if my grades didn’t improve, I was going to have to cut back on my gymnastics hours, or quit altogether. It was either that or let Rocco tutor me.”

  Bree and I sit in silence for a second before I respond, “That’s what the big secret about Rocco was? That he’s your tutor?”

  “It’s embarrassing!” Deirdre cries. “First of all, the fact that I need a tutor, and second of all, that someone in our own grade is doing it.” She pauses. “I didn’t want you to make fun of me.”

  “We wouldn’t have made fun of you,” Bree assures her.

  “Oh please,” Deirdre begins. “Making fun of each other is kind of our thing. And usually I love it. That’s what makes our friendship ours—the way we talk to one another, and can tease each other in a fun way. But I just didn’t want to talk about the tutor thing. And I really didn’t want other people finding out—people like Kayte Reynolds, for instance.”

  “So is Rocco your friend?” I ask. “Or is he just your tutor?”

  “No, he’s becoming my actual friend,” Deirdre says. “He’s a really great guy, and he completely gets why I don’t want other people to know he’s helping me. We actually kind of have fun together now, even when we’re doing, like, our pre-algebra homework.”

  “So maybe you do like him,” Bree persists.

  “Maybe I will, someday,” Deirdre answers honestly. “But not today.”

  “Fine,” Bree says. “So no more secrets between us?”

  “Um, until you two stop rifling through my belongings, looking for evidence against me, I’d say there are still some secrets,” Deirdre says.

  “That was my fault,” I tell her. “This lost locket thing has made me crazy. I’m sorry. Really. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that Kayte might come last night, and I’m sorry we made you feel bad about Rocco.”

  “Thank you,” Deirdre says. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. I should have trusted you about the tutoring thing.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Bree begins, “for everything we’re all apologizing for. I just want us to still be friends.”

  “We are friends, always,” Deirdre says. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I agree. “Now go get your lunch.” I hand over her wallet. “Because I could really use a friend right now.”

  “About what?” Deirdre asks.

  “Locket Gate,” Bree says. “We need a plan of attack. And you’re the best schemer of any of us, so you can figure out next steps.”

  “You got it,” Deirdre says. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t forget the ketchup!” Bree calls after her, pointing to her bagged lunch. Deirdre gives us a thumbs-up as she joins the end of the line, and I lean back against the wall of the cafeteria, suddenly exhausted.

  “Do you think she’s back to her old self?” I ask Bree.

  “Back and better than ever,” Bree says, biting into her sandwich. I can only hope that she’s right, and that just like Deirdre, my locket will soon be back and better than ever too.

  Chapter 19

  Deirdre insists that the only way to proceed is to confront Kayte head-on about whether or not she stole the locket. I had scanned her up and down when we were in Dimmer Switch’s class this morning, but since she never wears any accessories anyway, it wasn’t hard to tell that she didn’t have it on.

  But the fact that she isn’t wearing it doesn’t necessarily mean that she didn’t take it. In fact, it would be pretty dumb to wear something you stole. And since we don’t have any surefire way to search through Kayte’s book bag—or, even better, through her entire house—without her knowledge, Deirdre is on a mission. It’s as if our best-friend squabble has made her resolve to take “being on my side” to a new extreme.

  The minute the last bell rings at the end of the day, the three of us head off to stand in front of Kayte’s locker, and wait. She soon appears in her multi-patterned shirt that looks a bit like a quilt, paired with very tight black jeans and knee-high boots. She tosses her straight blond locks over her shoulder when she sees us, as if she knows she’s preparing for battle.

  “Look what the fashion police dragged in,” she begins. “Decorate any sixth graders today, Maven?”

  “Cut the nonsense, Reynolds,” Deirdre says, a blaze in her eyes. “You know why we’re here.”

  Kayte looks at us blankly. “Sorry, I don’t have a PhD in irrationality.” I raise my eyebrow and glance at Bree, who looks just as confused as I do.

  “Give it back,” Deirdre says. “Give it back, or we’ll make sure that you do.”

  “I have nothing to return to the likes of you,” Kayte says, trying to push past us to her locker.

  “Kayte, please.” I try a new tactic. “That locket is really important to me. It’s a family heirloom. If you have it, just hand it over, no questions asked. Please.” Kayte turns her back on Bree and Deirdre and stares only at me.

  “That big honking thing you’ve been wearing around your neck all week?” she asks. “Yeah, guess what? The 1800s called—they want their baubles back.”

  “Kayte,” I plead. “I’m begging you.”

  “I don’t have your locket, Maven,” Kayte says. “I mean, really. I know we’re not exactly best friends anymore, but accusing me of being a thief? That’s low. Even for you three.”

  “You’re a liar, though,” Deirdre pipes up again. “We established that in fifth grade, didn’t we? You lie. So you’re probably lying now.”

  “I’m not lying!” Kayte yells, with much more passion in her voice than I’ve heard from her since, well, fifth grade. “Maybe if you three actually listened to anyone but each other for once, you’d know that.”

  “You never even apologized, by the way,” Deirdre continues. “For the record, you never did. After all these years, you never once said ‘I’m sorry’ for the lies you told about me. That’s what friends do—they apologize when they do something wrong. And you wonder why we’re not friends with you anymore.”

  “Oh please,” Kayte says. “You’re the one who turned these two against me, just because you wanted to.” She points to Bree and me, focusing her attention on Deirdre. “You blew everything way out of proportion.”

  “You told everyone that I peed myself on the playgrou
nd!” Deirdre shrieks, I’m sure much more loudly than she meant to.

  “You did pee yourself!” Kayte protests. “What’s the big deal?”

  “It was in kindergarten!” Deirdre exclaims. “You made it seem like it had just happened. It was humiliating!”

  “It could have been funny,” Kayte says. “But you had to make such a big deal out of it, and then it was just—poof. You were all gone.” Bree’s and my eyes dart back and forth between them, as if we’re watching a Ping-Pong match. I remember this big fight—the one that made Kayte (then just Kate) our enemy instead of our friend. But I never knew all of the details. Deirdre never spoke of it again, and Kayte— Well, what she did was wrong. She didn’t need to embarrass Deirdre like that. But was it really such a huge deal? Was it a big enough problem for us all to despise one another for these past two years?

  After all, we used to be the Fabulous Foursome. That’s what we called ourselves all through fourth grade. It was the four of us, always.

  Until it wasn’t.

  “Kayte.” Her name is out of my mouth before I can think better of what I’m going to say. “I’m sorry.” Kayte stands still in front of her locker, her hand poised and ready to twist her combination, but she keeps it there without moving. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I’m sorry this got so out of hand.” Kayte turns around then and faces us all one by one. She is quiet for so long that I’m almost afraid she is going to do something drastic. Like slap us.

  “Thank you,” she finally says, and I shoot a quick glance to Deirdre, trying to see if she is back to being mad at me again. But she looks oddly calm.

  “I’m sorry too,” Kayte continues, and I try not to look shocked at how easily the words come from her mouth. “I’m sorry your locket is missing.” I nod my head. “I promise I didn’t take it, but if you want, I’ll try to help figure out who did. And I’m sorry for telling everyone you peed yourself.” She says this last part just to Deirdre, but the comment makes Bree’s shoulders start to shake. She squints her eyes closed, and for a moment I think she’s crying.