Sloane Sisters by Anna Carey Read Free Book Online

comfortable in my own room anyway,” she said, smiling fakely at Cate. “It was nice meeting you all.”
    She’d rather go into Ashton Prep solo than with some pseudo-sorority psychos. After all, she’d never had to fight to be friends with anybody. If there was a permanent A-list, Stella Childs was always at the top.
    With that, she threw the bag over her shoulder and strutted toward the sliding glass doors, not bothering to look back.
    Â 
    TO: Andie Sloane
    FROM: Cindy Ng
    DATE: Sunday, 5:18 p.m.
    SUBJECT: I’m back!
    Just got back from Maine and can’t wait to see you! And I can’t wait for you to see me . The braces are off and I got my teeth professionally whitened. They’re, like, blinding. I’m practically a supermodel.
    Not! But I bet you are. Seriously, are you Emma’s prodigy yet? The first petite supermodel?
    And how are her daughters? I bet you guys are giving each other pedicures and being fabulous together right this second. I’m jealy.
    Anyway, see you tomorrow at school!
    Xoxoxoxoxoxo
Cinds
    Â 
    TO: Cindy Ng
    FROM: Andie Sloane
    DATE: Sunday, 6:24 p.m.
    SUBJECT: RE: I’m back!
    I can’t wait to see you, too, and your fab new smile. No, I am not the world’s first under-five-foot supermodel yet. All in time, right?
    As for your other question…
    Stella = Evil Cate Clone
    Lola = Loser Cat Lady
    Cate = Just as nasty as ever
    I wish I were an only child.
    We’re off to some torturous family dinner. Ugh. See you tomorrow.
    â€”A

UNHAPPILY EVER AFTER
    S unday night, Cate glanced sideways at Stella, stabbing a stiff Carolina shrimp with her fork. Ever since the sleepover, Stella had been acting like a total princess: breezing around the town house like she owned the place, “accidentally” unpacking her clothes in the hall closet designated for Cate’s shoes, finishing the last eggs Norwegian their chef Greta had cooked specifically for Cate.
    On top of everything, this morning she’d found Lulu’s creature using her velvet couch as a scratching post. Couldn’t they build it a doghouse out in the backyard or something?
    Across the round table, Winston’s arm was wrapped around Emma’s shoulder. Cate inhaled, the sharp smell of basil pistou stinging her nose. After dinner she was going to tell her dad that Stella had tried to steal all of her friends. Of course Cate didn’t want to do it, but someone had to let her dad know he couldn’t just throw four girls in a house together and expect them all to play nice.
    It had only been one weekend, but the Childses’ departure was long overdue. Surely the thrill of dating a supermodel would wear off soon, and her dad would move on—and the British Invasion would move out.
    Emma smoothed down the lapel of Winston’s Etro suit. It was pin-striped, which his guy at Barneys assured him was “slimming,” but it just made him look like a preppy mobster.
    Just then a cell phone blared techno music so loud Cate half expected people to bust out glow sticks and start raving. At the table next to them, a woman with thinning gray hair looked up from the roasted duck breast she was pretending to eat and stared at the girls disapprovingly.
    Winston glanced around the table. “No cell phones, girls. Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind, but tonight is our first dinner as a fa—”
    Cate cringed. He had stopped himself, but she knew he’d been going to say family . She looked at Lola, who was slumped in her chair, poking at her crab cake. Andie was looking for split ends—she hadn’t said two words all night. Right, Cate thought, one big happy family .
    Emma threaded her arm through Winston’s and squeezed.
    â€œSorry,” Stella said, pulling her iPhone from her blue Lauren Merkin clutch. “It’s Bridget—just a minute?”
    Stella read the message and giggled, then covered her mouth with her hand. “She’s too