Is Bridgeport big enough for Kae, Robyn, Alex and Jasmine? They're all beautiful, captivating, and a little bit crazy... but there can be only one It Girl.
[ Based on the It Girl series by Cecily Von Ziegesar ]
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Alex stared at the blackboard in calculus late Wednesday morning, unable for the life of her to understand what all the graphs and figures meant. Dr. Goldstein, the absolutely ancient math teacher, normally managed to slow down enough for her students to follow the complicated math processes she scratched across the board, but today Alex was completely lost. Maybe because she and some of the other girls had stayed up late last night in the downstairs common room, gossiping about boys and sex instead of studying.
Something about the Women of Bridgeport meeting had really loosened everyone up, and as they sat around drinking soda and eating snacks, it had felt really, really good. Normally, all the Bridgeport girls seemed to be unconsciously—or consciously—competing with one another, always looking to see who had the newest bag or the sexiest shoes or the finest boyfriend. But last night had been a release of so much tension, Alex felt like her life at Brodgeport had suddenly taken a turn for the better, regardless of the fact that this year, her love life had taken a dramatic turn—more like a nosedive—for the worse.
She simply could not get over the fact that Quincy had slept with someone else. If he had kissed his stupid hipster chick, that would have been something she could understand. Kisses just happened. But sex? Sex was not something that just happened. There were a hell of a lot of steps to it—and a hell of a lot of chances for him to pause, and maybe, just maybe, you know, not.
Alex felt something poke her in the back through her thin, gray sweater. A beefy senior football player behind her held out a piece of notebook paper that had been folded a billion times into a tiny triangle. She raised her eyebrows at him, wondering why he was sending her a note when they'd never exchanged two words to each other. He twitched his head to his left, indicating, across the aisle, the figure of Dave East, leaning back in his seat as if it were an armchair. He winked at Alex.
Great. She turned around and slowly unfolded the note beneath her desk, careful to keep the crinkling noise to a minimum. What was Dave doing passing notes? That was so junior high. In his surprisingly neat cursive, the note read, I've seen a lot of kisses in my day, and there was DEFINITELY something to your kiss with Yara. Right?
Alex felt her face get hot. What? She resisted crumpling up the note into a tiny ball and chucking it back at Dave. Instead, she folded the note neatly back into its triangle and stuffed it into the pocket of her black wide-leg pants. She stared at the chalkboard and tried to concentrate on the figures.
Then she felt something vibrating silently next to her, and she slowly pulled her phone from the pocket of her maroon Bridgeport blazer hanging on her seat and casually hid it in her lap. It was a text message from Dave.
IM SERIOUS! IT LOOKED SO SEXY. YOU MUST HAVE FELT SOMETHING.
She texted back to him, quickly. UR CRAZY.
Almost immediately her phone buzzed again. Alex glanced around the room and saw that most of the other students weren't paying attention to her but were either staring, mystified, at the board, or texting under their own desks. So much for cell phones not being allowed on campus—everyone used them during class. She read Dave's words. I DON'T BUY IT. YOU BOTH LOOKED...HOT. I THINK YOU SHOULD TRY IT AGAIN.
