Allie Finkle's Rules for Girls: Glitter Girls and the Great Fake Out by Meg Cabot Page B

said no talking, remember?”
    “I know,” Sophie said. “But I just think it’s really important we all go on Saturday. To support Missy. I think she has problems with her self-esteem. That’s why she’s so bossy. Allie, are you sure you can go? Don’t you have ballet on Saturday?”
    I had forgotten I had ballet with Madame Linda on Saturday. My parents pay in advance for my lessons, too.
    “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure I can skip my lesson this one time.”
    This was a lie. But it was just a very small lie. I was sure it didn’t matter. Very much.
    “That’s good,” Sophie said. “What about you, Caroline?”
    “Oh, I can go,” Caroline said. “I have my Mandarin lesson, but it’s just with my dad. I can do it anytime.”
    “You guys,” Rosemary said, when she saw we were all looking at her. “I don’t want to go. And I don’t think anything is wrong with Missy’s self-esteem. She’s just a brat. And baton twirling is boring.”
    “It’s not boring,” Sophie said, looking offended. “It’s a very beautiful form of self-expression.”
    “Missy is kind of bossy,” Erica admitted. “But she doesn’t have very many friends. She could really use our support.”
    “Teenage hormones,” Caroline said knowingly. “I’ve read about this. You’re right. We have to support her.”
    It was kind of funny that right at that moment Missy turned around and, looking enraged, yelled, “I said no talking!”
    We all knew what was coming next. We jumped from Missy’s bed and ran for her bedroom door before she could leap on any of us, knock us down, and sit on us.
    Thinking about what might happen after that was too terrible even to contemplate.
    Fortunately, we all made it out into the safety of the hallway, where Mrs. Harrington happened to be walking by with another of Missy’s twirling costumes, which she had been hemming down in her studio, where she also makes fine collectibles, such as dollhouse furniture and miniature felt toadstools with tiny lady dwarves sitting on them, to sell in her shop downtown.
    “Good heavens,” Mrs. Harrington said when we all came tumbling out of Missy’s room at the same time. “What’s going on?”
    “Nothing,” we chimed together, coming to a halt right in front of her.
    When Missy saw her mom, she pointed an accusing finger at us and said, “That’s not true! I was performing my dance routine for Saturday, and they started talking! It broke my concentration.”
    “Well, honey,” Mrs. Harrington said, looking completely unruffled, though Missy looked as if she was about to cry. Really! She had tears in her eyes, and everything (except that they were fake tears, if you ask me). “I’m sure the girls didn’t mean any disrespect. And you’re going to have to get used to people talking during your performances, Missy. There are going to be all sorts of distractions this weekend. People talking, other girls and boys doing their routines at the same time yours is going on.” Also, people eating popcorn. “You’re really going to need to learn how to focus and block them all out, sweetie.”
    Our eyes wide, we glanced over at Missy to see how she’d handle this information. She narrowed her eyes at her mother, then fixed each of us with a glare that could have melted snow.
    Then she turned around and stormed back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
    “Excuse me,” Mrs. Harrington called after her. “But we do not slam doors around here, young lady!”
    This was a rule.
    “Sorry,” Missy called, from inside her room.
    But if you ask me, she didn’t sound sorry at all.
    “I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Harrington,” Rosemary said. Rosemary was very good about apologizing to adults. “We didn’t mean to make Missy upset. And those glittery costumes you made for her are awfully nice.”
    “Why, thank you, Rosemary!” Mrs. Harrington beamed. “I’m very flattered you like them. If you’d like to take up twirling, I’d be