Sweet 16 Read online

  Oh, great, Teagan thought, quickening her steps. Panhandlers.

  Just what she needed. She turned her back to the clutch of people as she breezed by, pretending not to notice that anything out of the ordinary was going on. No one stepped in front of her; no one called out to her. She was almost to the corner and it looked like she was home free. Maybe the birthday gods were finally starting to smile down on her.

  "Teagan Phillips!" Some guy said her name in that way guys do. Like he was sizing her up even though he already knew who she was.

  Teagan stopped in her tracks, cursed under her breath, and turned around, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. Stepping out from under the awning, wearing a tatty, wrinkled poncho that just about covered his knobby knees but certainly not his hairy, cargo-shorts-sporting legs was none other than Shay Beckford. His work boots were darkened from the rain and his white socks were soaked through. Water dripped from the edge of his hood and his dark curls were plastered to his forehead, yet his smile was as wide as could be. Teagan sighed. What was a guy like Shay doing begging for money on a Saturday morning? It was such a waste of varsity soccer, honors student, equestrian champ hottie.

  Not that Teagan thought he was all that, but it had been the general consensus at Rosewood Prep. He had won almost every class title in his senior yearbook. What a joke.

  "Shay Beckford," she addressed him, tilting her head. "What are you doing here? Giving your parents yet another

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  reason to sob over your baby pictures, wondering where it all went wrong?"

  "Sharp tongue you got there, Teagan," he said, blue eyes twinkling. "You slay me."

  "Shouldn't you be working on my set list right about now?" she asked. It never hurt to remind the help who was boss, especially when just trying to hold up her end of the conversation made her pulse pound annoyingly in her ears. Somehow she always felt like Shay was looking right through her instead of at her. Almost like he could see that her brain was reeling to think of comebacks even though she was keeping up a perfectly calm exterior. It was unnerving.

  "Don't worry about your precious little party," Shay said. "I already dropped off all my equipment this morning and your set list is good to go."

  "Good," Teagan said with a nod. "Wouldn't want any reason not to recommend you to all my friends."

  "No offense, but I think this is my last teenybopper bash," Shay said with a grin.

  Teagan narrowed her eyes. What was it about him that was so infuriating? The ego? No. She usually liked a little cockiness on her guys. The gorgeousness? No. She could look at him all day if he would just shut up. The fact that he had succeeded even though everyone had pegged him to be a big fat failure? Yeah, that could be it.

  Shay Beckford had graduated first in his class from Rosewood Prep last year and had been handed his pick of Ivy League schools. But instead of heading off to Stanford or Harvard or Yale, he had shocked the entire Upper Sheridan community by taking the trust fund his grandparents had left him and renting a loft apartment in Manayunk, the up-and-

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  coming artist neighborhood on the outskirts of Philly. Then, instead of blowing his bank on drugs, babes, and alcohol like everyone expected, Shay had bought all new DJ'ING equipment (he had dabbled in high school) and used the connections made on his many infamous party weekends to get a few gigs spinning weeknights at some of the hottest clubs in the city. Gradually he had worked his way up to Saturday night headlining gigs and dangerously packed houses. There were rumors that clubs in New York had courted him, but he had turned them down. Ever the hometown boy, he decided to forgo dirty water dogs for cheese steaks and stuck around.

  Then last spring he had been hired by Mayor Reynolds--at a hefty price--to DJ at his daughter's spectacular, two-million- dollar wedding. Apparently young Chelsea, the socialite of the century, just loved Shay's work all those nights when she was slumming in the city with her friends. His performance at the wedding had won rave reviews, but Shay had refused to do private parties ever since, wanting to focus on his club career. (And not be labeled as "hired help," Teagan assumed.) Meanwhile he was always appearing in the press for some charity event or other, working for free to help various causes. According to all the press he had garnered, he was hanging with tons of local celebs and even a few national ones. He always looked so smug in the pictures. Just like he did right then, standing there in all his poncho'd glory.

  When Teagan had decided to hire a DJ for her party, Shay had been the obvious choice. He had balked at first, citing his no-private-parties policy. But then Teagan had upped the price. And upped it. And upped it. Until Shay couldn't lucidly refuse. Teagan figured the money was well worth it--until he had been quoted in the Inquirer last week saying he was going

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  to give the whole fee to charity. Like she wanted everyone to know she was throwing her money away.

  But he was universally acknowledged to be the best in the Philadelphia area. And really, Teagan Phillips wasn't about to have anything less than the best. Of course, at that moment, staring him down in the rain, she was kind of wishing she had gone with the live band idea.

  "Well, I should be going," Teagan said, hoping to make her escape before he made her feel stupid, as he always seemed able to do.

  "Don't you want to make a donation?" Shay asked. "It's for the East Sheridan homeless shelter. We're collecting clothes, toys, appliances. . . .was

  "Oh, and I always carry a dishwasher in my jacket pocket," Teagan said.

  "And cash," Shay finished, eyeing her handbag. "Whaddaya got in that crocodile monstrosity of yours?"

  Instinctively Teagan clutched her purse strap. She felt a blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. How irritating. If she didn't give him anything, he was going to think she was a spoiled brat and act all superior. If she did give him something, he was going to think he had some influence over her and act all superior anyway.

  "Sorry, I can't help you," Teagan said with a forced smile. "My father takes care of all the family's charitable donations."

  There. Argue with that.

  Shay smirked. "Sweet sixteen and she still can't make her own decisions," he said. "Why am I not surprised?"

  Teagan's mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. No matter. Shay didn't give her time to formulate a comeback anyway. He quickly turned his back on her and strolled over to

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  the crowd, striking up a conversation with an elderly guy in a walker. Teagan's blush took over now, heating her every pore. God! Could Shay Beckford be more infuriating? He couldn't insult her and walk away. He couldn't insult her, period!

  Except he just had. And she was still standing there in the rain like a moron.

  Teagan turned to go, more than ready to vent her frustrations to Lindsee, and immediately a woman in a yellow raincoat stepped in front of her, holding one of those buckets. Teagan started to step around her, but then she saw her face and stopped in her tracks. The lady was completely bald, her eyes sunken and rimmed with purple bruises. She looked emaciated, yet she wore a positively radiant smile.

  "Make a donation to the homeless, miss?" she asked. "Anything you can give will help."

  Teagan swallowed a huge lump in her throat. This woman looked so much like her mother had the week before she died, it could have been her. For a split second, she felt her mom looking down on her and was overwhelmed by sadness and guilt.

  She checked over her shoulder. Shay had been enveloped by the crowd. He wasn't watching.

  "Hang on," Teagan said. She stuffed her hand into her coat pocket and her fingers closed around a bill. She barely looked at it before depositing it into the bucket. All she wanted to do was get the hell out of there.

  "Fifty dollars!" the woman gasped. "Thank you, miss!"

  "Yeah, no problem," Teagan muttered.

  She was around the corner and out of sight before she could even think about looking back.

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  GOSSI
P PAGE

  Buzz, Buzz, Buzz

  By Laura Wood, Senior Writer

  With Teagan Phillips's sweet sixteen rapidly approaching, this school hasn't seen so much buzz since the legendary senior prank of 2001, when Lance Larsen let a hive of bees loose in the cafeteria. Here are just a few of the rumors running rampant through our halls.

  Do you know if Giselle is coming 'cuz if she is, then I'm gonna hafta get a haircut." Note to the boys of Rosewood:

  Whether Giselle is going to be there or not is unconfirmed, but a new haircut is not going to get any of you in there.

  "Apparently every girl who goes has to get her belly button pierced. That's either really clever or kind of gross, depending on how long you think about it. I don't know about you, but I already have all the holes I need."

  "I heard she has an endorsement deal with Apple and she's giving out mini iPods as her favors."

  Free iPods? Who in this school doesn't already have an iPod?

  "I overheard her yesterday talking about her big 'grand entrance', She's going to be arriving by private jet! I'm serious! She kept talking about keeping the runway clear."

  "Dude, I heard she's having, supermodels there."

  I heard Ryan Seacrest is gonna be there and he's gonna kick out one guest every thirty minutes." Seacrest is coming? There's one good reason not to attend.

  Yeah, that's not a disaster just waiting to happen, she hired WWE wrestlers "Instead of having bouncers, to keep the freshmen out. Seriously. Those frosh better stay miles away."

  Well, there you have it, folks!

  The best of the best. So ladies, keep your hands over your tummies, and

  Poor freshmen. gents, don't provoke the nice wrestlers.

  Oh, and in case I can't like, make it, someone throw some birthday cake at Ryan Seacrest for me, will ya?

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  * * * "Happy birthday, girlfriend!" Lindsee greeted Teagan as she stepped into Michel's Salon and Day Spa. She held two champagne glasses full of bubbly orange liquid in the air. "I got us mimosas!"

  Ah, mimosas. Far superior to skim lattes.

  As always, Lindsee was the picture of perfection. Her long blond hair fell in gorgeous, gleaming waves over her shoulders. Her lip gloss shimmered and her brows were freshly waxed. She wore a scoop-neck, cream-colored Max Mara sweater over camel leather pants that hugged her ass like they had been slathered on with a butter knife. Nothing like a date with Lindsee to make Teagan feel like a frump. Still, she shook her ponytail back, lifted her chin, and smiled like a pro. It was all about attitude.

  "Thank God --can you believe this weather?" Teagan asked as the salon staff rushed forward to whisk away her coat

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  and umbrella without a word. Just the way Teagan liked her help --prompt and mute.

  "I know," Lindsee said, handing Teagan her glass. "But don't worry. A little rain cannot bring Teagan Phillips down. Today is your day. And it's totally going to kick ass."

  "You're right. I just need a little pampering and I'll be good to go," Teagan said. She lifted her champagne flute toward Lindsee. "And a little of this won't hurt either."

  "I hear that," Lindsee said. They clinked glasses and downed the sweet champagne-and-OJ drinks in one gulp.

  Teagan glanced around at the bronze walls, asymmetrical mirrors, and gilded sinks. Michel revamped his salon every year to keep up with the latest trends in haute decor. The place was like a continual homage to the TLC network and all its home makeover shows. But Teagan liked this latest incarnation. Thanks to the dark brown leather chairs, the burnt orange marble stations, the dark gold, suede-finish walls, and the sleek, geometric mirrors, it was warm without being too cozy. Chic without falling back on black. She felt at home here. Probably because she was here every other week, sitting in some chair or another, getting something buffed, waxed, or highlighted. With each decorating overhaul, the employee uniform changed as well. Today the stylists, hair-removal technicians, manicurists, and masseuses were wearing head-to-toe black. Last year it had been white lab coats and gray pants. Next year Michel would probably outfit them all in red unitards.

  "Is there anything else you ladies require before your appointments?" one of the assistants asked, appearing soundlessly at Teagan's side.

  Teagan pulled out her Prada wallet and slipped out her platinum AmEx. "Just take this now so I don't have to think

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  about it," she told the woman, handing over the plastic. "Put everything on it and add the customary tip."

  "Yes, miss," the woman said, scurrying away.

  Lindsee grabbed Teagan's wallet out of her hand. "Omigod! What is this picture?"

  Teagan looked over Lindsee's shoulder. Max gazed up at them in black and white, his light eyes smoldering. "Max got head shots done. He's gonna try modeling this summer."

  "You're kidding me," Lindsee said. "I didn't know about this!"

  "Why would you?" Teagan asked coolly, taking the wallet back. He's my boyfriend, she added silently.

  Lindsey smirked. "Modeling, huh? That takes a special kind of cocky."

  "Well, he is the hottest guy in school," Teagan replied, placing her empty champagne flute down on the nearest station.

  "I don't know about that," Lindsee said, toying with her own empty flute.

  "Oh, please! You totally wanted him last fall. You're just irritated that I got him," Teagan replied, laughing. This conversation was making her feel much better.

  "I did not want him!" Lindsee protested.

  "Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that." Teagan snorted.

  Lindsee's jaw dropped and a squeak emitted from the back of her throat. "You know, if it wasn't your birthday, I could -- his

  "Ladies!"

  Michel scurried out from one of the colorists' suites, his black shirt open all the way down to his navel, exposing an unnaturally hairless chest. Under the iridescent lights, the dark skin on his shaved head shone like a doorknob. His broad smile made his eyes squint so tight they were almost closed.

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  "There she is! The birthday girl!" Michel called out, kissing the air around Teagan's ears. "I must say, you do look older! You girls are blossoming before my eyes!"

  Teagan blushed obligingly. Lindsee still looked a little annoyed, but she managed a smile.

  "Now, Teagan, let's get you right to the sinks," Michel said, grabbing her arm and steering her up a few stairs toward the back. "With your hair and this weather, we have got our work cut out for us!"

  Taking a deep breath, Teagan told herself it was time to relax. She was in good hands. Michel would take care of her. What would she do without him?

  Teagan sat back in a cushy chair in front of one of the half dozen gold sinks. "Tamika is going to wash and condition you," Michel said with a smile. "Then we'll put on the sealant and you'll get your mani-pedis. After that, you're all mine," he said with an almost-lascivious grin.

  "I can't wait," Teagan said.

  Brooklyn, a gorgeous girl with butt-length red hair, approached with a smile. Teagan always wondered how Michel convinced all this eye candy to work as menial laborers.

  "I hear it's your birthday," she said, her nose ring blinking under the soft lights. "Congrats."

  "Yeah. She's touched. Where can we get some more mimosas?" Lindsee demanded curtly.

  "You twenty-one?" Brooklyn asked, looking Lindsee up and down.

  "You my mother?" Lindsee shot back. Teagan snorted a laugh. Brooklyn simply shrugged and blew out a breath.

  "You'll have to talk to Sona at the cafe," she told Lindsee

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  with an air of perfect nonchalance. Teagan was impressed. Most people cowered or at least balked when they met Lindsee's snippy side.

  Lindsee scoffed with impatience. "I'll be right back."

  Teagan knew Lindsee was irritated about the Max conversation, but all she had done was tell the truth. It wasn't her fault if Lindsee was a sore loser. Plus if she knew anything about her
cool-z-a-cucumber-mask best friend, Lindsee would be over it by the time she got back. Or at least she would pretend to be.

  Brooklyn slipped a black coverall around Teagan's shoulders and clasped it behind her neck. She tipped Teagan's head back into the sink and Teagan rested her neck in the little cradling dip, closing her eyes. The water was warm and calming. Yes. This was good. Everything was good.

  Teagan breathed in and out deliberately, trying to soothe away the last of her tension over the rain and her random morning encounters. With each breath she expelled another negative. Good-bye, Karen. Good-bye, bacon. Good-bye, idiot midlifer and his Land Rover. Good-bye, cancer lady. Goodbye, Shay. Especially, definitely good-bye, Shay.

  "So, ready for the scandal of the day?" Lindsee asked, returning with the drinks. Clearly Max had been set aside.

  "Absolutely," Teagan said.

  "Maya and Ashley bought the same dress for your party," Lindsee announced, clinking the two glasses together in mini- celebration over this news. "I'm talking the same exact dress."

  "You're kidding me," Teagan said with a smirk. That sounded like something her friends Maya and Ashley might do. They rarely thought for themselves and when they tried,

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  they almost always came to the same conclusion. It was like after sixteen years of being best friends, they had actively dulled the personality right out of each other.

  "Yeah, so Maya, like, freaked out, saying it was so much better for her coloring and Ashley lost her shit all over Maya for being so vain all the time and now they're not speaking," Lindsee said, snorting a laugh. "So pathetic."

  "They're not speaking?" Teagan asked, her shoulder muscles coiling. "Great! Now I'm going to have to spend my entire pre- party listening to them bitch about each other."

  "Don't worry, I'm sure it'll blow over by then," Lindsee assured her. "They're both out shopping for new dresses right now."

  "Omigod, Ashley just called me to sing 'Happy Birthday1'" Teagan said. "She probably shattered the eardrums of everyone in Bloomingdale's."