I sigh and rub my forehead. “It means SBH and SBA will have classes together and we may get their teachers and vice versa.”
Audrey squeaks, her expression one of horror.
Isla makes a miserable sound.
“Looks like you’re up for a challenge this year,” Aunt Ruthie deduces.
“I can’t let them knock me down from the top ten students,” Audrey relays. “It can’t happen. My grades… oh shit, shit, shit!”
“What’s wrong? Are they smarter?” I ask and Isla gasps. I look over at her like, what?
“No,” Audrey snarks, “they aren’t smarter, but they are smart. Double the students will make it all the more difficult to maintain my standing. My parents…” She rubs her forehead.
“At least you’ll be in school with your guys, right?” I question.
Audrey glares. “Grades over guys. I need to get a scholarship to the college of my choice so my parents are the ones choosing where I get to go.”
“Oh. Well… do we still get to choose between the six variations of our uniforms?” I question.
“Yes, that won’t change,” Aunt Ruthie answers.
“Good. I like a couple of them, even if they’re skirts,” I reply.
“Ohmigod,” Isla exclaims. “We need to go shopping—now. We need new accessories.”
I’m so confused. “Accessories?”
Audrey rolls her eyes like, duh. “Socks, tights, shoes, hats, scarves—”
“Oh,” I interrupt. “I have that stuff.”
“No. You don’t,” Audrey tells me. “Trust me, the ones we have aren’t up to the standards they’ll be wearing.”
“They’re socks. How can one sock be better than the other?” I question, looking at Aunt Ruthie. She shrugs.
“Trust me,” Isla says. “We need to shop.”
I look at Aunt Ruthie again. “Apparently, I need to shop. Did Dad—”
She hands me her black AmEx card and I gape. “Shop till you drop, girls. It’s on me.”
“Really?” Isla squeaks. What is up with all the squeaking today? This is not doing good things for my hangover.
Aunt Ruthie nods. “My treat—and don’t skimp. My girls will be the best dressed, no matter the cost.”
“Do you need the car?” Aunt Ruthie asks.
Audrey and Isla both gasp in horror.
“Bitches,” I mutter. “No, Audrey has her car. I’m not a bad driver!” I protest.
“I beg to differ,” Audrey replies.
“Me too,” Isla adds.
I scoff. “Fine. Let me shower and get ready. You can drive.” I’m a little miffed. It’s not my fault California highways are like NASCAR.
“Thank the heavens,” Isla says, and I shoot her a glare.
