Poseur #4: All That Glitters Is Not Gucci by Rachel Maude

waited patiently.
    “Okay, fine,” Nikki began. “I don’t know why Melissa wants me to find out about Schizo Montana, but I
do
know that she would never put me on such a hard-core mish unless it were super important.”
    “Thank you. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Carly inquired. “Oh, and b-t-dubbs, you don’t have a tell.”
    Bitch!
    “I’m just having a Scorpio moment,” Carly shrugged. (Carly had recently discovered she was born on the Libra-Scorpio cusp,
     instead of squarely in Libra territory like she’d always thought, an astrological distinction she believedjustified virtually any social injustice.)
    “Nikki, darling,” Carly continued, “Juliet and I are beginning to have some—well—
curiosities
about your internship. We have been listening to your accounts of the various duties you perform, and we have been paying
     particular attention to your alleged ‘friendships’ with your employers, and—”
    “We don’t believe you!” blurted Juliet.
    Carly smiled a slow evil smile: “Precisely.”
    “You are always like, bla-di-bla, Melissa complimented my belly chain, and la-di-la, Petra smoked me out, but we’ve never
     even seen any of them talk to you!”
    “That seems peculiar to me too, Juliet,” agreed Carly. “Does it seem peculiar to you, Nikki?”
    Nikki’s eyes felt sore and a familiar lump was beginning to form in the back of her throat. She always felt exactly the same
     thing when she was about to burst out into tears.
No, dammit! Do not let evil Scorpio lady win this round! Do. Not. Cry.
But there was that same old gummy taste in her mouth, that telltale pressure behind the eyes…
    And then something miraculous happened.
    “Hey,” interrupted a decidedly postpubescent male voice.
    Nikki, Carly, and Juliet turned in tandem to see the surf god of Winston Prep leaning against the cracked theater door. He
     had on this white t-shirt that brought out thebronze color of his skin. Yeah, bronze. He looked like he was actually
carved
out of bronze. Or wait—did you carve bronze or, like, pour it into a mold? Whatever. This guy, this god among men, looked
     like he was
made
out of bronze, however you made it. And the sun was right behind him, framing his impossibly chiseled face like some kind
     of astral halo, and his hair… his hair was actually glistening!
    Nikki dropped her California roll; Juliet wet herself, but just a little; Carly’s nips were totally on fire. It was Evan Beverwil—
Evan Beverwil!
—and he was talking to
them
.
    God, look at these fetuses
, he thought, eyeing the blond one. She kinda stood out in those shiny pants and that jewel necklace thing around her stomach,
     and he was pretty sure she was the chick he’d seen floating around with the Poseur girls, bringing them coffee and shit.
    “Was Janie, uhm, Farrish… was she here?” he asked. Carly and Juliet shook their heads, too stunned to speak.
    “I’m pretty sure I saw Janie’s car leave the lot,” Nikki answered in her most enunciated voice. “Of course, she and Jake share
     the Volvo.”
    “Yeah!” chirped Juliet.
    “Yeah, they do!” confirmed Carly.
    “So, you’re saying maybe you saw
Jake
leaving campus in the Volvo?” Evan confirmed.
    “Maybe,” Carly concurred.
    “That’s a totally good point,” Juliet agreed.
    “Except,” Nikki recalled, “Jake was in Charlotte’s car at lunch. They went to Kate Mantilini. So it must have been Janie that
     left campus in the Volvo.”
    Evan frowned. “Oh,” he grunted, letting the theater door swing closed behind him. “Okay.”
    “Do you want me to tell Janie you’re looking for her?”
    Evan paused and then shook his head. “Nah. It’s not, like, important.” And with that, he loped off toward the Showroom.
    The Nicarettes clutched each other, imperceptibly vibrating, and squealing at a frequency nobody—save bats and a few breeds
     of dogs—could hear.

The Girl: Janie Farrish
    The Getup: About to get much