Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [16]
“It won't be that bad,” Bridget said, pulling her old Jetta into a parking space between two colossal mud-covered pickup trucks.
“I know I'm going to see someone I don't want to see . . .”
Sure enough, we'd been out of the car for approximately five seconds before we were sonically assaulted by none other than Sara D'Abruzzi, daughter of my brother-in-law's business partner, Wally D, but better known as the slightly less skanky half of the Clueless Two. Thankfully, her whorey counterpart, Manda, did not seem to be with her. (Perhaps she was busy battling the patriarchy in her own unique way, which seems to rely heavily on fellating other girls' boyfriends while not having sex with her own.) Manda's absence also meant that I would be spared from a bump-in with Len. I know that it's been more than a year, and I'm in love with Marcus and I didn't even like Len very much, but it still stings to think that he preferred that pseudo-feminist hobag over me.
“Omigod!” Sara shrieked, swinging her Louis Vuitton Murakami bag. “Bridget! You look so quote Hollywood unquote. And Jess, you look—omigod!—so quote New York unquote.”
“And you look so quote Harrington unquote,” we replied in unison, which is not something Bridget and I often do. Hope and me, yes. (That is, when Hope and I used to see each other, which afforded us the opportunity to say things simultaneously.) But Bridget and me, no. This is an indication of how it was the obvious thing, the only thing to say.
Sara looked exactly like a privileged princess attending a country club joke of a college should. Her hair was dyed an expensive blond (the kind Bridget and every Darling woman but me was born with) and Japanese-straightened into geishalike submission. Her skin was fake baked to the point that it was practically a racial slur. And she was the skinniest I'd ever seen her, which is not a compliment. Through all of her weight ups and downs, Sara hasn't realized that she actually looks better with some extra pounds softening up her beady-eyed, beak-nosed features.
Sara is not cute. And with this hack job–whack job haircut, I know from not cute.
She was wearing a sorority T-shirt with the season's ubiquitous Juicy miniskirt and überubiquitous Ugg boots, the latter being the best example of onomatopoeia that I can think of: Ugh.
“Your shirt's a joke, right?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Sara asked, looking down at the pink and green Greek letters on her chest. “I'm proud to be in a sorority.”
“But the letters,” I began. “Omega Mu Gamma . . .” I trailed off, assuming she'd fill in the rest. She didn't. “O.M.G.”
Still nothing. I offered a hint.
“Omigod!” I squealed.
“Omigod!” Sara's face exploded with excitement. “I never thought of that before. Wait until I tell my sisters!”
I found it difficult to believe that not one sister in the history of the sorority had put this together before. I suppose they're just too busy taking topless pictures of themselves for collegehumor.com.
“Omigod!” Sara paused, pointing at her shirt as if to say, Omigod! How funny is this? Omigod! before continuing. “I'm on the CCR Ageless Body diet.”
“CCR?” I asked. “Creedence Clearwater Revival?”
“Carb and Calorie Reduction,” Bridget explained.
“Aren't all diets about carb and calorie reduction?” This is an area I know nothing about. I have never met a cheeseburger I didn't like, and, unfortunately, have the heart-attack-high cholesterol to prove it.
“It's not about the perfect body,” Sara said. “It's about extending your life through dramatic reduction of food intake.”
“It's big in LA,” Bridget said.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “The last time I checked, starvation killed people.”
Sara ignored the dig. “So how are you?” she asked Bridget in her most patronizing voice. “Are you still with Percy?” She turned to me. “Are you still with Marcus?”
We both gave her the answers she was looking for, which she would surely tack on to her gossip bulletin: Everything I Know About Everyone. And then