A Tale of Two Besties Read Online Free PDF Page B

street. “What’s the magic word?”
    I tugged the handle of Nugget, my sister’s gold Prius. “Let me in, Rachel.” I hated sounding whiny, which Rachel knew and which is exactly why she provoked me so much.
    â€œSay the magic word!” Rachel had to shout just to be heard over the engine, which she was revving dramatically with the emergency brake on. Luckily all that car noise brought my dad to the door. He was still fixing his tie for another day “with the suits” at the record company he co-owned with Mr. Slater, my friend Tim’s dad.
    â€œRachel, you are going to burn the brakes doing that!” he yelled from the driveway. My dad always looked a mess, which Rachel says he does on purpose and is just one more sign that he’s a corporate hipster
poseur
. She gets a dreamy look whenever she says “poseur,” which means she’s thinking about her boyfriend, Jacques the Jock Itch (aka Jacques the Jerk, Jacque in the Box, “Jacques-ooze me, have you seen that name of some obscure band around here? I must have dropped it.” That last one is Lily™.).
    â€œI’m not burning the brakes, I’m testing them to make sure they work! I’m driving my precious little sister to her first day of high school, after all, and we need to be safe!” Rachel winked at me through the window.
    â€œWhat?” Dad shouted over the engine’s roar.
    â€œNothing!” Rachel sighed. She popped the lock and I scrambled in, pushing aside an accumulated lifetime’s worth of empty organic juice bottles, melted protein bars, and Rite-Aid receipts for sparkly eyeliner. In the backseat, several old bottles of nail polish clanged noisily as Rachel put the car into first gear and a couple tumbled over the seat onto the floor. I picked one up. It was a muddled brown with bright red and blue glitter in it, like bedazzled cow poop. Rachel had the weirdest taste in polish.
    Rachel backed out of the driveway, and I waved goodbye to Dad as Katy Perry played on Kiss FM. Rachel claimed to hate Top 40 music, but she didn’t change the station, and I caught her singing along under her breath when we stopped at a light.
    â€œSo,” she said as she adjusted her pout in the rearview mirror, “Let’s talk about your first-day-of-school outfit. What’s the vibe you are going for here? TALK ME THROUGH THIS, HARPER!” She patted my leg.
    â€œThere’s no ‘vibe,’” I said, pulling out my iPhone. “I just like this dress.”
    â€œOkay, fair enough. So. You pumped yet, Harpo? Freshman year is kind of the worst.”
    â€œSure,” I muttered. “Thanks for the pep talk.” Even though I knew Rachel was just giving me a hard time, she was still making me sick with nervousness. I needed to feel on my A-game, so I texted Lily. “I love you more than all the possible emoji options that exist and will exist.”
    Two seconds later I got a reply: a Lily-Selfie original of her in the car to Pathways! It was just a shot of her wings, which I guess she’d decided to wear, but underneath she had texted “Holding my breath until you pick me up. Turning blue. SOS.”
    Before long we arrived at Beverly Hills High, which from the outside looked like the world’s sunniest maximum security prison. I scanned the crowd of kids as we pulled into the parking lot, but I didn’t recognize anyone. They must have all just appeared from another galaxy and landed here. I hoped they came in peace.
    â€œOkay, hop to it little dawg,” Rachel smirked. “Woof-woof!”
    On the inside, Beverly Hills High didn’t seem so bad, but it WAS laid out in the dumbest way possible. I eventually broke down and used Google Maps to figure out how to get to first period, but that didn’t help because the GPS lady told me I needed to turn around and get back on the freeway, which seemed maybe not right.
    I finally found