Petty in Pink by Compai & Compai

Author:Compai & Compai [MAUDE, RACHEL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV006000
ISBN: 9780316052702
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2009-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

The Girl: Nikki Pellegrini

The Getup: White skinny jeans by J-Brand, bright blue spandex tube top by Baby Phat, bronze leather brass-studded platform sandals by D&G, and spanking brand-new identity by Melissa Moon

“Nicoletta!” Nikki Pellegrini’s ancient Italian grandmother, Nikki the First, gripped the stippled white-leather wheel of her metallic gold 1981 Cadillac DeVille, her withered powder-crumbling face contorted with concentration. “Remember,” she warned, adjusting her oversize rose-tinted Sophia Lauren sunglasses. “You are my eyes—you are watching the road?”

“Uh-huh.” Glancing up from the Sanrio Chococat organizer on her lap (her first official purchase as the Poseur intern), her fourteen-year-old flaxen-haired granddaughter focused on the morning-sunlit palm tree–lined boulevard. In the past four minutes, they’d traveled at most three city blocks, putting their speed at roughly seven miles per hour. Judging by Nonna’s ecstatic expression, however, you’d think they were going a hundred seventeen off the edge of the Grand Canyon.

“Stop sign,” sighed Nikki.

“What?” Her tiny grandmother craned above the Cadillac’s expansive dash and squinted.

“Stop sign,” she repeated. “Stop sign stop!”

Her grandmother slammed on the brakes, jutting the Cadillac’s gigantic chrome grill a good four feet into the busy Beverly Hills intersection. An angry platinum BMW sailed by, horn blaring. “Yes, yes.” Nonna shook her head. “He has to honk, so what does he do? He honks.”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Nikki, returning her cornflower blue eyes to her vinyl planner. With a Paparazzi Pink fingernail pinned to the lower left-hand corner of the page, she dug her pink metallic Nokia phone out of her papier print LeSportsac handbag, flipped it open, and dialed. “Beverly Hills,” she chirped, holding the phone horizontally to her mouth and then quickly lifting it to her ear—the way she’d seen Melissa do it. Feeling Nonna’s eyes on her, she cleared her throat. “Mariposa Restaurant,” she requested, attempting a more professional tone. “Hello, yes, I’d like to make a reservation, please? The name?” She smiled with pride. “Melissa Moon.”

Nonna bobbed her painted copper eyebrows. “What kind of name is this? Melissa Moon. Is she a person, or a thing hanging in the sky?”

Nikki raised her hand, indicating her grandmother should wait a moment. “Sorry, what?” she spoke into the phone. “Oh, twelve thirty. Yes. Table for five?”

Narrowing her watery blue eyes and sinking a size five powder blue suede Ferragamo bootie into the gas, Nonna slowly, slowly cranked the wheel. Over the past few weeks, this Melissa Moon had become the center of her Nikki’s universe, replacing all other passions: the boys, the friends, the schoolwork… even the My Space. At first, of course, she had been relieved—not so long ago, her dearest granddaughter had been shunned at school—much like Agostina Maria Bagni, the quiet, long-faced daughter of Pupi, the village goatherd, had been shunned, now many years ago. Agostina was rumored to stuff her pockets with goats’ droppings; if you talk to her, her classmates had warned, she will throw them at your face and curse you. In the end, the only thing Agostina ever threw, la bambina tragica, was

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