Lucky Break by J. Minter Read Free Book Online

address of Jade Moodswing’s atelier,” Camille agreed.
    The girls were getting totally freaked out. There was only one thing to do.
    For the very last time, I pulled the GPA binder outof my bag and laid it on the table. “I’m officially turning this over to you guys now. Everything you need to know is in here. Restaurant reservations, shopping routes, Jade’s cell phone,” I said gravely. “Treat it well.”
    The girls looked at the binder in the middle of the table like it was some sort of oracle. Finally, Camille reached for it and placed it on her lap.
    â€œIt’s in good hands,” she said, stroking its glossy top cover. “But I still hate the thought of you not being with us.”
    â€œYou understand though, right?” I asked.
    The girls nodded. “What are you going to do about Alex?” Camille asked.
    â€œHonestly,” I said, “I have no idea. How am I supposed to get over this?”
    I looked at my friends, who looked at each other. We’d all definitely had our share of boy drama, but no one had really had boy
trauma
of this caliber yet. Full-fledged cheating was uncharted territory among our clique.
    â€œYou’re really brave, Flan,” Amory said, sipping the last of her double espresso.
    â€œAnd if Alex doesn’t see that …” Harper agreed, popping a strawberry in her mouth.
    â€œHe doesn’t deserve you,” Morgan finished, signaling the waiter for the check.
    â€œYou’ll call us every day?” Camille said. “Three times a day at least?”
    â€œAnd vice versa,” I said, trying to sound brave. But when I tried to imagine answering the phone to hear about what the girls had gotten from Jade’s atelier, or how they liked the Eiffel Tower, all I could see was my sad self lying at home on the couch with bad takeout food, a box of tissues, Noodles, and a slew of Netflix DVDs. Your basic recipe for disaster. I had to come up with a better plan.
    What was I going to do over spring break?

Chapter 7
MAMA FLOOD SWOOPS IN
    Moping along the sidewalk on my way home from school, the direness of my situation finally started to sink in. I had just called it quits on the most important relationship in my life—in a really mortifying, every-girl’s-worst-nightmare kind of way—and what was worse, practically everyone I knew was fleeing the city and leaving me all alone to wallow.
    All alone. I could almost hear the tearjerker sound track picking up behind me as I shuffled down Perry Street.
    â€œFlan?”
    My head jerked up.
    â€œWhat are you doing here—all alone?”
    The voice came from a limousine, which pulled to a stop in front of me and rolled down its window. When I saw the big black D&G shades, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was my mom.
    â€œAren’t you supposed to be on your way to the airport, with your friends? Flan—have you been crying?”
    Before I could open my mouth, the door of the limo opened up and my mother practically swooped me into the seat next to her. I collapsed on the plush black leather armrest and buried my face in her red cashmere pashmina.
    â€œIt’s never good to cry on the street,” my mom said. Then she grinned the way she did when she thought she was having an especially good idea. “Especially when you have a mother with a four o’clock Swedish massage appointment at Spa Bloomie’s. Hold on, I’ll squeeze you in.”
    Some people are good at playing piano, others have a green thumb for gardening. My mother was born with the insurmountable gift of being able to get any reservation for anything, anywhere, in under thirty seconds. She made a call, and I was in at Spa Bloomie’s for a four o’clock with Helga.
    Well, at least when my friends were sharing all their fabulous Paris stories, I’d have one thing to tell them I did over spring break.
    â€œOkay,” Mom said as we drove south on