Charmed and Dangerous: The Clique Prequel | Chapter 25 of 30 - Part: 1 of 4

Author: Lisi Harrison | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 5746 Views | Add a Review

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Friday, December 31st
11:33 P.M.

The swerving motion of the wheelchair was slightly nauseating. Or was the shame that came from being pushed by Mrs. Fossier through a crowd making Alicia’s stomach churn? Maybe it was her throbbing ankle? Bloody knee? Destroyed reputation? Stolen Marc Jacobs bag? Or the fact that Skye Hamilton had clogged her voice mail with a barrage of I have never met anyone more pathetic than you in all my life messages?

“Hurry!” Alicia whined. The world had seen her wipe out. Did they need to see her puke, too?

“We’re almost in our dressing room,” Mrs. Fossier cooed, trying to sound compassionate. But it was obvious from her jerky driving that she was upset Alicia had taken down the troupe too.

Mrs. Fossier hit the brakes in front of room C. Brooke and Andrea had gone home. Once Alicia was inside, she could break down in peace. Hot tears stung her brown eyes as the dance teacher jiggled the doorknob. It was locked. She tried it again, this time with more force. Her body odor, a mix of baby powder and canned peaches, was doing nothing for Alicia’s delicate condition.

“Coming!” called a phlegm-filled male voice from inside. A second later, the door clicked open. “Can I help you?” He coughed.

An elderly man wearing a tall chef’s hat and a white apron that said HERSHEL’S BAKERY across the chest smiled pleasantly.

“I think you’re in our dressing room,” Mrs. Fossier said slowly and clearly, in case the mix-up was dementia-related.

He glanced at the big letter C on the outside of the door. “Nope, this is the one.”

Mrs. Fossier folded her arms across her flat chest. “And you are?”

“Hershel Blum.” He smiled proudly. “This year’s record holder for Biggest Peach Scone. Came in at sixty-one pounds.”

“Are you on the show?” Mrs. Fossier snapped. “Or catering it?”

“On it.” He put his hands on his hips like a satisfied superhero. “Right after the Orlando girl gets her kiss.” He shook his head. “She seems a little young to be kissing though, don’tcha think?”

Entertainers hurried by, amped on the adrenaline rush that comes after a live performance. Alicia lowered her gaze, unable to relate. Dogs had replaced her act, and her dressing room had been given to a giant-pastry maker. This captain’s ship had sailed. “Let’s just go.” She sniffed.

“Good idea.” Mrs. Fossier kicked the brake release and hurried away from the dressing room like a ticked-off driver who’d just lost a parking spot.

She pulled up beside the performers’ food table next to a plate of assorted cheese and a vine of picked-over red grapes. Popping a cheddar cube into her mouth, Mrs. Fossier began to chew-talk.

“I remember a girl…” She leaned against the corner of the table, her tongue sweeping the orange cheese bits off her front teeth. “A real dance talent. A starrrrrr.” She reached for another cube. “One night, during an opening night performance of Swan Lake, she insisted on wearing her new toe shoes. They hadn’t been properly worked in and—”

Alicia looked away. The only thing more depressing than wiping out on TV during a once-in-a-lifetime dance performance was listening to a cheese-gobbling grown-up try to make her feel okay about it.

Two cute boys Alicia’s age hurried by tugging a pack of dogs toward the backstage exit. Forgetting for a second that she was tear-soaked, swollen, and confined to a wheelchair, Alicia flirt-smiled at them.

“I think she’s falling for you,” said the shaggy blond.

His handsome friend cracked up and the blond wiggled his butt with glee.

Alicia felt that sick feeling come back with the force of a fire hydrant.

Mrs. Fossier was still yapping about some dancer who found real joy in teaching, not performing. She was still chewing. And still smelling like powder and peaches.

Was this really happening?

The world began to swirl. Passing people blurred. Alicia began shaking. Her ears rang and her mouth filled with saliva. A deep-throated burp burst out of her mouth and next thing she knew, her insides turned inside out. All over Mrs. Fossier’s Danskin.

“Ahhhhhhh!” The teacher jumped back, slamming into the food table.

“I’m so sorry,” Alicia sobbed, tasting bitterness. Her worst nightmare had been realized. She was more pathetic than a washed-up dancer. She was a washed-up dancer in a wheelchair with puke chunks in her lip gloss.

“I’m absolutely covered.” Mrs. Fossier splayed her arms and legs like a starfish and waddled to the bathroom like someone who’d just peed her pants.


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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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