17Chapter One
Intruding on Friends
Evelyn cringed as she heard Angelica start up the vacuum cleaner in the hallway, right outside her door. "I swear she knows," she muttered, clutching the Air Elemental to her chest and closing her eyes tight as the air in her room lashed out, frightened, hurt, and angry. Evelyn didn't bother to try and calm it down, knowing it wouldn't work. Instead, she burrowed into her blankets, waiting for it all to stop.
She'd been home for only a month and a half, and this was the twenty-fourth time Angelica had vacuumed the entire house. At first, she had insisted on cleaning Evelyn's room as well, but Evelyn had eventually talked her cats, who doubled as her familiars, to put a spell on her door so that only Evelyn could get into her room, unless she granted permission to someone else. Mostly due to the bit about "permission," Angelica now annoyed her more than ever, and Evelyn was more and more frustrated each time. Evelyn, unless she wanted to be found out as a witch, had to invite Angelica in quite a bit of the time. All through June, Angelica had burst into her room, full of good cheer, before she complained of what a mess everything was, saying "You'll soon be like your father, Evelyn, dear." Evelyn had just scowled and tried harder to keep her out.
It had only taken about a week at home to realize that the air had a problem with vacuums, and now that it knew Evelyn was listening, it didn't have any problem demonstrating how upset it was; she'd had to remove all of her figurines and fragile knickknacks around her room, from the mirror with Peanuts' Snoopy on it reading "I THINK I'M ALLERGIC TO MORNING!" to the inch-and-a-half tall figurines of characters from Arthurian Legend that her uncle had painted for her one year. Her photos of family and friends had come down, even the ones from her school, SAM.
She sighed and thought of SAM, the School of American Magic, where the year before she'd spent all her time. The auditorium with its sheets symbolizing different elements, and of House C, or Cuppy House, which was built into the side of Mount Cleon. Now that she was back home, she realized how much she missed the steep hills and bell in the Commons that tolled the time until nine in the evening.
Her home was much different from SAM. She lived in tucked-away section of Montgomery, Alabama, a city where tourists most often noticed the astounding lack of pigeons before they noticed the capitol building, two blocks away from the Cow Mooseum. She couldn't blame them. She'd noticed the lack of pigeons as well, but whether the Cow Mooseum kept them away or whether it was the astonishing lack of night-life, she didn't care. She didn't have much to do either way. She would have spoken to her friends, but with their being scattered all over the world on vacation, and her cat familiars complaining about the amount of travel, she'd tried hard to let up a bit, which had only added to her boredom in the end.
The Air went still as the vacuum was turned off, making everything seem much too quiet.
"Evelyn, dear, would you like some lunch?" Angelica called through the door.
"No, thank you," Evelyn replied, trying to keep the ice out of her voice. She had a feeling that if each of her friends had an assigned element, Brittany's would be ice, and if Evelyn had any slight control of ice, Brittany would get extraordinarily upset.
She heard Angelica make an apparent sound of disapproval in the back of her throat before the vacuum turned back on and Evelyn was forced once again to hide shamelessly under the blankets. Angelica had already talked to Eric, Evelyn's dad, about Evelyn having an eating disorder, no matter if Evelyn was around to hear herself being talked about or not. Little did Angelica know that Evelyn had a pocket of air in the corner of her room where she hid all the food she'd sneaked out of SAM; it was the only place her food was safe when the tornado struck; the only other place was her closet, which was already full of all her other belongings.
Speaking of her dad, he hadn't been of any help all summer. He was always either at work or with Angelica. Which meant he couldn't do anything or take her anywhere, unless she wanted to go with Angelica. Which meant she was stuck at home all the time.
"Dusty," Evelyn begged.
Dusty, Evelyn's oldest familiar, was a large cat with a shape close to that of an ovoid pumpkin. His coat was made of gray stripes like bland prison bars stuck close together. His legs, tipped with white at the toes, tended to spread apart to allow room for his modest share of a stomach. He also had white on his neck, making him look as if he were wearing a bib. His tail lashed at the wind in a rude gesture as he waited as patiently as he could for Air to stop playing with his ears, something Dusty usually only let Evelyn get away with.
"What is it?" he asked in a tone which could have been happier. "Please." He obviously didn't want to be there any more than Evelyn did.
"Deliver a note to Brittany?"
Dusty gave her a look.
Evelyn stared back and then sighed, exasperated. "All right, all right." She threw off the blankets and braved the now-fading ferocity of the wind as Angelica moved on down the hall. Evelyn took a notepad and pen from their assigned drawers in her desk and wrote quickly:
Dear Brittany,
If it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd like to get out of here now, please. I know it's rude, but could I invite myself over to stay with you for a few days, and then I'll ask Rebecca if I can stay with her or something?
Rude and knowing it,
Eve
She handed it to Dusty, who trapped it under his right paw and stared at it until they were both covered by a thin sheet of golden glitter and disappeared. Evelyn waited impatiently after he'd gone. All her other cats, Daisy, Pongo, Jake, and Nick, were off hiding somewhere. Only one came to stay with her at a time now, which she didn't really appreciate all that much. They were her familiars, after all. Why couldn't they go through what she had to go through?
Grumbling, the wind having now calmed to nothing more than a slightly strong breeze, she made her way to the windows and looked out across the street at the Midgefields' and Shormings' drowsily peaceful lawns. During the sweltering summer months, the air had been still and lazy, and she had learned about it slowly and carefully. She'd heard horror stories about what happened when people tried to control elements the year before, when a town called Aleridge had suffered greatly from an earthquake. Isabella Silverthorn had ruined the town in an attempt to get one or all of the Elemental Stones.
Thinking of Isabella Silverthorn, Evelyn took three quick steps back from the window. They had found no sign that Silverthorn had died in the explosion, and until she knew, Evelyn wasn't going to take any chances she didn't need to. Oddly enough, no one had seen one of her teachers since the explosion, either. Ms. Bronson, the Manipulations teacher. Evelyn hated to admit it, but it seemed awfully suspicious, and it seemed to add up to something she didn't like in the least. After all, there was no telling how many disguises a Manipulations teacher could pull off, nor how long he or she could hold them.
Dusty tapped his paw in annoyance and shoved over Brittany's reply.
Eve,
You know I have family over this week for the family reunion. Most of them are completely normal and don't know about the whole magic thing. As for the rest, we're having enough trouble as it is with them. And introducing them to a semi-famous witch? I know you're crazy, but you seem to be trying to get committed, which, as you know, I can't allow.
By the way, I need to copy your History homework. I'm not going to have time to finish it.
Ha ha (but still sort of sorry I couldn't help),
BrittanyEvelyn frowned, took out another sheet of paper, and started writing her reply.
Brittany,
As you know, Rebecca's visiting France all this week because her dad's writing that Tour of Paris book. And I can't very well stay with the guys. So I'm coming over. Ask your mom if it's all right.
Eve
Dusty harrumphed but left. He returned a short time later.
Eve:
No.
Brittany
PS- Homework, remember?
Dusty growled but left with the next message.
Brittany,
Ask your mom if it's all right or I'll be coming over anyway, complete with my wand and other witchy paraphernalia. I might even turn your sister into a llama and parade her around your living room. I really, really, REALLY need to get out of here.
Eve
PS- No homework if I can't come over.
Brittany's reply was as follows:
That's blackmail! And I really need to get that- no, never mind. I'll get the homework from Jacques! His handwriting is neater than yours anyway. And he knows more about the stuff. HA!
PS- If you really want to turn Briana into a llama, I'll send her over first chance I get.
Evelyn frowned and turned back to her desk, writing a somewhat miffed note. Jacques's handwriting nicer than hers indeed! And he didn't really know more about the history of protections on magical potions (which often ended up poisoning non-magic people who drank them), he just had more experience with them. When she turned her back to give Dusty another note, however, Dusty was gone. She wrinkled her nose. "Stupid cat," she muttered under her breath.
A few minutes later, Dusty had reappeared, with another lady in tow. The woman's hair was dark and cut short in a sophisticated style, her nose skinny, her mouth frowning as she looked at Evelyn's room.
"According to Brittany," she said, "you're room isn't always this clean."
Evelyn's jaw had dropped at the sight of the woman appearing in her room without a trace of smoke accompanying her. At the mention of Brittany, however, she was quick to recover. "Brittany's never seen my room."
"Brittany says you're a messy person. Unorganized. That you've never heard of a trash can. Except for a time when you apparently landed in one." She looked at Evelyn out of the corner of her eye.
Evelyn tried to look down her nose at the woman, but it was incredibly hard to do, as she was sitting on her bed and the woman was standing close by. "Brittany is a liar," she said carefully. "She can't tell a broom from a nosehair. And if she thinks I'm messy, then she's far more stupid than anyone has previously realized."
The woman's eyes took on a twinkle. She stuck her hand out to Evelyn, who shook it timidly. "Mrs. McClure," the woman said. "I'm Brittany's mother. You might have heard of me?"
Evelyn's jaw took on its downward position again. She had to snap her mouth closed twice to bring it back under control. "I- I- I'm- (cough) Err, I- Whew. (Another cough.) I'm, erm, whoops." She cleared her throat. "Heh. Funny, huh?"
Mrs. McClure raised an eyebrow. "So could you please explain to me why your familiar brought me here?"
Dusty looked smug. "Misplacing objects is a favorite hobby of cats everywhere," he purred.
Evelyn glared at him.
"Have you found your watch yet, by the way?" he asked, a hint of scathing sweetness to his voice.
She glared harder.
"Well?" Mrs. McClure pressed. "We're having Bobby's family over for dinner, and I left the chicken in the stove."
"Could I stay at your house?" Evelyn burst out.
Now Mrs. McClure looked taken aback. "My house? My- why?"
"Because-"
There was a loud knock on the door. "Evelyn?" Angela called through the door. "Evelyn? What's wrong? Who're you talking to? Are you sure you don't want me to vacuum in there?"
Evelyn made a face. "No thank you, Angela. I told you before, I can take care of my own room. But thanks." Once the sounds of her dad's girlfriend had subsided, she turned back to Mrs. McClure. "That's why!" she whispered loudly. "Twice a week. And with the- Did Brittany tell you about the- the- erm . . ."
"The Elemental Stone?" Mrs. McClure asked. "Honey, it isn't a surprise. Danielle Twain is pushing the story. There's a segment every week on how she's getting closer to each stone. And she always reminds everyone how you came by it."
"How I came by it? But she wasn't there."
"She says you came by it by 'underhanded ways'."
" 'Underhanded'- 'underhanded ways'?"
"That's what she said."
Evelyn clenched her fists, red with fury. "That's it. I'm going- I'm going to find her, and then I'll- I'll do something! I don't know what yet, but it'll be rotten!"
Mrs. McClure's lips twitched, a sure sign that she didn't believe a word Evelyn was saying. "Sure. But in the meantime, back to why I was called here?"
"Oh. Oh, yeah. Okay. So the Stone freaks every time there's a vacuum, right? Well, Angela makes a point of vacuuming twice a week minimum. I don't know what it's doing to the carpets, but I'll bet they're threadbare in a month." She took a deep breath and then looked at Mrs. McClure with wide, imploring green eyes. "So could I stay at your house for a while? I won't get in the way. I cook, I clean, I'm small, so I can sit in a corner all day and be very quiet, if you need me to be. I won't get into trouble, I promise, and I'll make sure not to cause a fuss with your relatives, if that's what you're worried about. And- and- and-" She took a deep swallow and prepared herself. "I won't even get into a fight with Brittany. If I can stay, that is."
Mrs. McClure's eyes twinkled, and Evelyn realized with some misgiving that Mrs. McClure was trying not to laugh. "Well, if you're so certain, come on."
Evelyn blinked. "Erm . . . Can I pack first?"
Mrs. McClure looked at her watch. "If you can pack in five minutes. After that, I'm afraid the chicken will have died for no reason."
Evelyn's eyes were wider than usual as she quickly dragged a magical box her grandmother had given her the year before from the closet and started shoving clothes, jewelry, books, shoes, socks, and other essential items (including her toothbrush, hairbrush, makeup, and a few photographs of her parents) into it. The box was spelled to hold all sorts of things and could expand to fit any object. It had no bottom that Evelyn knew of, and it was by far one of her most prized magical objects to date. In addition to being one of the handiest suitcases a person could own, the fact that no one else in her class could lay claim to having one was also a boasting tidbit. She finally felt she had treated Mrs. McClure to a bit of her own. The woman's eyes were bulging out as she saw Evelyn's entire arm disappear into a two-inch deep wooden box.
"Gift from my grandmother," Evelyn said with deliberate understatement and a modest smile.
Mrs. McClure raised an eyebrow.
"Are you ready yet?" Dusty demanded impatiently.
Evelyn glared at him. "I thought you were my familiar."
"That I am."
"I thought you were supposed to be supportive of me!"
Dusty licked his nose quickly. "I don't know whatever gave you that idea," he replied snidely.
She stared at him for a few long seconds. "Do you want tuna later or not?" she asked, half teasing.
The cat's attitude changed immediately. "Well, let me get the transportation spell fixed right up!" he exclaimed with an overdone semblance of joy.
Evelyn grumbled and then remembered that the transportation spell would be for two people, not one. She looked up at Mrs. McClure. "I didn't know you were a witch," she said. It didn't come out as polite as she had meant it, but it came out nonetheless.
Thankfully, Mrs. McClure, like her daughter, had a hard time taking true offense to anything that came out of Evelyn's mouth. "I'm not. Bobby's mom is. I'm on the non-magic side of the family."
"Oh." She waited a few seconds. "So . . ."
"How are things?" Mrs. McClure asked, trying to make conversation.
"Er, good, thanks. On your end?"
"Dead chicken. Fruitless death. Nothing to come of it now." She coughed as if she hadn't meant to say that and looked around the room.
Evelyn looked up and glared at Dusty, who was amiably sitting on her desk, watching them with amused yellow-ish green eyes, his tail flicking in a motion that clearly said he was trying not to laugh. She growled. "Dusty?"
"Yes, miss. Right away, miss," Dusty purred.
Instantly, Evelyn felt the air around her displaced. She heard a faint popping sound and realized she could hear almost nothing at all. Noises were muffed and sounded far-off. She felt almost as if she were on a coast, staring in a fog to the other side of the ocean, knowing a lighthouse was there but unable to figure out where or how far away. She had just noticed her breath was short when there was another popping sound and the noises were all too close, pummeling her from all sides.
"Oh, no," a familiar voice drawled. "Mom, did you have to bring her?"
Mrs. McClure gave an odd gnarling sound in response before running off to check on her chicken.
Evelyn looked around. She was standing in a small but well-tended back yard. A trampoline stood a few feet away. A cluster of oak trees stood in the corner, with a few pines scattered everywhere else. Turning, Evelyn saw a modest one-story house with a clean brick patio. Two ferns sat on either side of a country-blue door; two more sat beside a porch swing. A tasteful forest-green metal lawn table, complete with four matching chairs and an umbrella (yes, that matched too). There was a pot of pansies on the table next to the umbrella shaft and a candle scented to keep the mosquitoes away. Three people sat around the table, two of them staring at Brittany, Evelyn, and Dusty with opn mouths and the other with a faintly amused expression.
The most horrifying thing about the trio, in Evelyn's eyes, was that they all looked somehow like Brittany. The man had her gray eyes, but his nose was larger and longer. His entire person, as a matter of fact, seemed to have been stretched out like rubber at some point in his life. He was as skinny as piece of asparagus, though with a healthier color. Dressed in jeans, black cowboy boots, and a T-shirt from Mad Dog's Motorcycles, he clashed outrageously with the woman across from him.
The majority of the woman's hair was blond, though the roots had the tinge of beet-juice. Her eyes were a pale shade of green. She wore designer shoes to match her tailored skirt and blouse. In promised contrast to her opposite, she was as round as the world itself, though a few hundred sizes smaller. Her face was round but pleasant, her nose short but sticking out. Seeing Evelyn, she seemed to have suddenly smelled something like rotten bananas. She hmphed and studied her painted nails.
The last member of the group was an elderly woman, with graying dark hair pulled back into a bun on the nape of her neck. Her skin had been darkened and hardened by the sun, but the smiling wrinkles around her clear almond eyes were kind as they rested on Evelyn. She wore a light cotton top and a wide skirt, and she seemed to be in remarkable shape for her age. Her arms were still muscular, and she seemed as if she could still put up a fight with a mugger twice her size.
Brittany McClure, one of Evelyn's best friends for the past year since they'd had a memorable clash with authority in the Magic Mall and later a battle of the sexes, used one arm to propel Evelyn over to the table. "Everyone, this is Eve," she announced. "Eve, this is my Uncle Brad." Indicating the other side of the table, she said, "My aunt Bertha." Indicating the woman in the center last, she said with a trace of more pride, "And my Grandma Bana."
"Hello," Bana greeted her.
Brad's mode of greeting was less stylish. "How the hell did you get here?" he demanded, looking at Evelyn as if she were an alien.
"Hopped the fence," she replied, lying easily.
Bertha didn't look convinced. She glared at Brittany. "And your mother hopped a fence too?" she asked sarcastically.
Brittany nodded enthusiastically. "Pretty spry lady, isn't she? You'd hardly guess her age was over twenty."
Her mom's voice came from the window a short distance away. "You're lucky you didn't make that any older!"
Brittany tried to crack a grin. "Mom. Radar hearing," she told Evelyn softly.
"And where'd your cat go?" Bertha demanded shrilly. She somewhat resembled a baby bird at this point, shrieking for worms. Nothing like the kind expression her face had held earlier.
Evelyn waved a dismissive hand. "Probably up a tree somewhere."
Beside her, she felt Brittany fight to surpress a guffaw. Even Evelyn had to admit that the image of Dusty climbing a tree with legs the size of toothpicks and a body the size of a rather large fish bowl (and the shape of said fish bowl as well) was humorous. "Come on." Brittany said quickly, before there were any more distractions. "You and Becky can stay in my room while you're here."
"Becky's coming?" Evelyn asked, surprised. "I thought she was in France."
"She's coming day after tomorrow. Her parents wanted to make sure she'd be able to get her school supplies this weekend."
Evelyn hated to admit it, but she felt somewhat offended that she herself hadn't been asked to take in Rebecca, even though all her friends knew (in depressing detail) the plight of Evelyn's situation.
Brittany gave her a sideways glance and continued, trying to be nice but not quite able to find a nice way to say it. "Her parents didn't want her to stay with you because of Danielle Twain, you know."
Evelyn nodded grimly and sighed. "I hate being well-known."
"I'd hate it too, the stuff she's been saying about you."
Evelyn's jaw dropped. "The stuff she's been saying about me? What stuff has she been saying about me?"
Brittany fixed her with a suspicious glare. "You mean to tell me you haven't been reading the paper? You, you, of all people, haven't been keeping up to date?"
She hung her head. "I cancelled my subscription," she muttered. "I figured surely she'd be fired, after trespassing and all. And I wouldn't have anything else to worry about."
Brittany shook her head. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
Evelyn frowned. "That wasn't necessary."
Shaking her head, Brittany opened her bedroom door. "I've got the articles," she said, walking in. Without a word of explanation, she dug in her closet, lifted a small boy of about six, walked past Evelyn, and dropped him in the hall. Shoving Evelyn inside, Brittany locked the door behind them. "They're in my desk somewhere. Hold on."
Evelyn blinked, looking at the door with the intense expression of stunned confusion. She looked back at Brittany, who eventually noticed she was being stared at.
Turning, Brittany realized what the unvoiced question was. "My cousin, Bentley," she explained, going back to sifting through papers. "He's taken to hiding in my closet."
"Your closet?" Evelyn echoed, feeling as if she were waking to a very odd sort of dream.
Brittany nodded without looking. "It's either mine or Briana's, and Briana and Beth are always in her room comparing sports championship stories." She stood, holding a pile of newspaper clippings. "And no one wants to be around those two when they find out they have the same standing in something. They nearly put a hole in the trampoline trying to find out who could do a better triple-flip twist complete with a corkscrew turn." She shoved the paper clippings at Evelyn, who took them even though she was thoroughly dumbfounded. "Have fun," Brittany said brightly. "I'm going to help Mom with the chicken while you read those. According to Bryan, the oven nearly burned the house down after your cat stole my mother - without my permission, by the way." She disappeared through the door, leaving a shocked Evelyn behind with hardly a clue what to do.
After a few moments, she remembered enough to sit on the bed (with her shoes off, of course; she didn't know what Mrs. McClure would stand for, and knowing how bad Brittany was, she was in no rush to tick off her mother). She spread the articles out in front of her and assembled them in chronological order. They were all clippings from one of the magical newspapers, The Know-It-All, by a reporter named Danielle Twain. The year before, Evelyn had gotten herself involved on the public scene by visiting a small village called Aleridge and helping to rebuild it. The fact that she had helped, if it had been left at that alone, would have been a mere trifle, if that. But Evelyn had gone a step or two farther than the other volunteers. She had spoken with the Elements and gotten the Elements to repair themselves, unlike the other more experienced adults who had tried.
One of the little-known facts about the incident was that Evelyn hadn't been alone that dewy morning. Dusty had conspired with the other familiars of her friends, Brittany, Rebecca, Jacques, Jacob, and Sean, and organized a sort of chat room. The "chat room" had allowed them to talk with each other through their thoughts and share power. Though such spells ordinarily resulted with the witch or wizard going crazy, this version of the spell had been programmed to stop functioning at the end of the school year. Which hadn't helped to make Evelyn's summer less lonely.
The incident had also brought her to the attention of a so-called investigative reporter known as Danielle Twain, who, sensing blood in the water, had used Invisiglo makeup and followed Evelyn around campus to get the scoop on her. At the end of the year, Evelyn and her friends had managed to figure out what she was doing and how, ending up throwing water at Twain until she had been revealed. Apparently, Twain had been upset, because the least insulting title was "The Brat Who Stole SAM", detailing how Evelyn had repeatedly stuffed food into her air pouch for her own private use.
Evelyn, remembering the air pouch, opened it and started eating some cakes, unconcerned.
Another article had tried to make a love triangle between Evelyn, Jacques, and Marie. Then another between Evelyn, Sean, and Brittany. Evelyn shook her head and continued reading. Sure enough, a love triangle between Evelyn, Jacob, and Rebecca was a few clippings later.
Evelyn, realizing this would take longer to ponder than she had previously thought, took out some Caramel Crumpets and started chewing.
She then tossed a Caramel Crumpet to Bentley, who had at some point in her reading returned to his spot in the closet.
If Rebecca's parents had seen these articles, then it was no wonder they hadn't wanted their daughter spending any of her summer with Evelyn. Evelyn probably would have agreed with them.
She sighed, chewing harder, and glanced through the rest. By the time she was done, she was astounded to find that, in addition to what Mrs. McClure had mentioned earlier, she'd taken a pay-off from the president of the magicking world, Credodidi Cuppy. She'd also apparently chased the former principal of SAM, Faustin Webber, off with his tail between his legs and replaced him with a tyrant by the name of Timothy Doggles. Evelyn wasn't so certain Twain was wrong about this, but she chalked it up to wrongdoing anyway. Evelyn was dismayed to find, however, that she was also a renowned thief at the Magic Mall, that she mistreated her stepmother (who wasn't, for the sake for fact, her stepmother at all). There were also several theories for why Evelyn's mother might have left, none of which made Evelyn look innocent in the matter.
When Brittany came back some time later, Evelyn was disturbingly red in the face, though Brittany couldn't be sure if it was the reading of articles or the chewing of toffee. "Dinner," she managed. Before continuing, she deposited Bentley in the hall. "Oh, and your cats are here. They keep stealing mail from around the house." Glancing at one of the articles citing theft, she added quickly, "But the mail's addressed to you anyway, so it doesn't matter. I managed to get one to give to you. I don't think they wanted you to see."
Evelyn took the letter and opened it. Sure enough, it was hate mail. She'd been wondering why no one had apparently taken notice of Twain's articles as they had before. Now she realized that they had taken notice, only that her familiars had been careful to get the letters before Evelyn did.
Dear Evelyn,
Very disappointed in you, dear. Very wrong of you indeed. And to take advantage of those poor people! You ought to be ashamed!
Love,
Haley Hatfield
Evelyn, not moving, looked up at Brittany.
Brittany moved around to read the letter as well before looking somewhat conscientious. "That one's about today's article. It's still in the cereal, so I haven't been able to cut it out yet."
"The cereal?" Evelyn queried, trying to calm down so her face wouldn't feel as if it were burning.
Brittany nodded enthusiastically. "The cereal. That's where we hide the paper when non-magical people here. No one eats Nutri-Grain that we know of, so we just stuff it in there until they aren't around."
"Ah," Evelyn said, feeling some success in the war against molten lava in her cheeks. "Could I see it?"
Brittany cringed. "You don't want to. It wasn't very pretty."
Evelyn made a face. "Neither were those," she said, indicating the clippings on the bed.
Coughing fakely into her hand, Brittany tried to elaborate. "Basically, it boils down to your using the publicity from the Aleridge stuff to get Webber out, introduce yourself to Cuppy, get more fame, all that. Oh, and a position on the Rubbish team."
Evelyn's fists clenched. "I was already on the Rubbish team," she grated.
"You know that. I know that. Everyone who knows you doesn't. Take my mom's advice. 'Anyone who doesn't know doesn't matter.'"
"Can't be your mom's advice. Doesn't sound right."
"Oh, it's right enough." Brittany shoved Evelyn out of the room.
Evelyn sighed, swallowed the toffee whole with a monstrous shudder, and resigned herself to eat dinner with Brittany's family.