Read Online Messy by Heather Cocks, Jessica Morgan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Cocks, Jessica Morgan
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this?” he asked. “Wait! Let me guess. You’re the foreign exchange student Brooke sent away for!”
Brooke pulled away from her father. “Daddy, that was five years ago. This is Molly’s friend. She comes over to the house, like, three times a week.”
Recognition flooded Brick’s face. “You mean the girl who’s named after cheese?”
“I’m Max,” said Max, wishing she had something more glamorous to offer.
Brick rubbed his hands together. “I’m not familiar with that one—sounds like one of the more exotic Bavarian cheeses, yes?”
In the face of his eager smile, Max felt flummoxed. Brick’s freakishly charismatic enthusiasm had a way of sweeping people up, and the next thing you knew, you had agreed to something ridiculous. This explained why anyone was even considering a fifth Dirk Venom movie, and in that moment, his charm was hypnotizing Max into nodding dumbly. And then speaking dumbly.
“Yes,” she heard herself say. “It’s, um, Maxschtagen.”
Huh?
“One of the rarer wax-coated cheeses.”
What are you saying?
“It’s very creamy, with a fruity bite.”
Stop talking.
“It comes from the milk of mountain goats that are fed white chocolate and strawberries.”
Brooke kicked the back of Max’s foot. Max gratefully closed her mouth.
“That is fascinating, Max!” Brick boomed, clapping her on the back. “I feel enriched! Now, pardon me, but I have to go speak to someone about this condiment problem. You girls have fun. The rest of the kids are down in theguesthouse.” He pressed his hands together. “But be on your guards. Trans fats lurk like a cat burglar.”
“Goats fed white chocolate and strawberries?” Molly quoted as they exited the tent. “What was
that
?”
“I don’t know,” Max said defensively. “He thought I was Brie. I got all flustered.”
“You are hideous under pressure,” Brooke noted as they clambered down candlelit brick steps toward a giant guesthouse that was easily larger than Max’s own home. “Although I appreciate the attempt to improv. Unfortunately, he’s probably going to go home and try to order that cheese, and then I’ll have to have a talk with him.” She sighed. “Brick has loved exotic cheese ever since those three weeks he was on Atkins.”
“Why is there a separate kids’ party?” Max asked as they neared a set of French doors. “This feels like Thanksgiving at my grandmother’s.”
“That other one is for Moxie’s parents, really,” Brooke said. “An excuse to network and stuff, plus they can pretend to be chaperoning.
This
is the real thing.” She stopped and grabbed Max’s arm. “Are you ready? Maxine, this is important. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.”
“Brooke, I’ve watched
Lust for Life
since the womb,” Max said. “Nothing fazes me.”
Brooke shrugged, then threw open the doors. A wall of sound hit them in the face—a mixture of aggressive hip-hop blaring from the deejay’s deck and a thousand drunk, screaming conversations. If the event outside looked like awedding reception, then this was the bachelor party, complete with a stripper pole mounted in the corner of the dimly lit open-plan space. Max needed eight-inch leg extensions just to have a prayer of seeing through the crowd, but she could make out at least three teen stars in a twenty-foot radius alone, and—grossly—several actors well into their thirties. Nearby, a coffee table was chockablock with magazines Moxie had been in over the last two years, one of which bore a cover photo of her in a gingham blouse and the headline WHY I’M WAITING FOR MY WEDDING NIGHT .
“Whoa,” Molly said. “This is… bold.”
“This is
awesome
,” Max corrected her. “I knew that whole ‘Jesus is my talent manager’ shtick was bogus. Seriously, I’ve never read an interview with her where she didn’t use the word
amen
.”
Brooke, totally unmoved, was idly filing a wayward nail.
“Where
is
Moxie, anyway?” Molly asked, craning her
Brooke pulled away from her father. “Daddy, that was five years ago. This is Molly’s friend. She comes over to the house, like, three times a week.”
Recognition flooded Brick’s face. “You mean the girl who’s named after cheese?”
“I’m Max,” said Max, wishing she had something more glamorous to offer.
Brick rubbed his hands together. “I’m not familiar with that one—sounds like one of the more exotic Bavarian cheeses, yes?”
In the face of his eager smile, Max felt flummoxed. Brick’s freakishly charismatic enthusiasm had a way of sweeping people up, and the next thing you knew, you had agreed to something ridiculous. This explained why anyone was even considering a fifth Dirk Venom movie, and in that moment, his charm was hypnotizing Max into nodding dumbly. And then speaking dumbly.
“Yes,” she heard herself say. “It’s, um, Maxschtagen.”
Huh?
“One of the rarer wax-coated cheeses.”
What are you saying?
“It’s very creamy, with a fruity bite.”
Stop talking.
“It comes from the milk of mountain goats that are fed white chocolate and strawberries.”
Brooke kicked the back of Max’s foot. Max gratefully closed her mouth.
“That is fascinating, Max!” Brick boomed, clapping her on the back. “I feel enriched! Now, pardon me, but I have to go speak to someone about this condiment problem. You girls have fun. The rest of the kids are down in theguesthouse.” He pressed his hands together. “But be on your guards. Trans fats lurk like a cat burglar.”
“Goats fed white chocolate and strawberries?” Molly quoted as they exited the tent. “What was
that
?”
“I don’t know,” Max said defensively. “He thought I was Brie. I got all flustered.”
“You are hideous under pressure,” Brooke noted as they clambered down candlelit brick steps toward a giant guesthouse that was easily larger than Max’s own home. “Although I appreciate the attempt to improv. Unfortunately, he’s probably going to go home and try to order that cheese, and then I’ll have to have a talk with him.” She sighed. “Brick has loved exotic cheese ever since those three weeks he was on Atkins.”
“Why is there a separate kids’ party?” Max asked as they neared a set of French doors. “This feels like Thanksgiving at my grandmother’s.”
“That other one is for Moxie’s parents, really,” Brooke said. “An excuse to network and stuff, plus they can pretend to be chaperoning.
This
is the real thing.” She stopped and grabbed Max’s arm. “Are you ready? Maxine, this is important. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed.”
“Brooke, I’ve watched
Lust for Life
since the womb,” Max said. “Nothing fazes me.”
Brooke shrugged, then threw open the doors. A wall of sound hit them in the face—a mixture of aggressive hip-hop blaring from the deejay’s deck and a thousand drunk, screaming conversations. If the event outside looked like awedding reception, then this was the bachelor party, complete with a stripper pole mounted in the corner of the dimly lit open-plan space. Max needed eight-inch leg extensions just to have a prayer of seeing through the crowd, but she could make out at least three teen stars in a twenty-foot radius alone, and—grossly—several actors well into their thirties. Nearby, a coffee table was chockablock with magazines Moxie had been in over the last two years, one of which bore a cover photo of her in a gingham blouse and the headline WHY I’M WAITING FOR MY WEDDING NIGHT .
“Whoa,” Molly said. “This is… bold.”
“This is
awesome
,” Max corrected her. “I knew that whole ‘Jesus is my talent manager’ shtick was bogus. Seriously, I’ve never read an interview with her where she didn’t use the word
amen
.”
Brooke, totally unmoved, was idly filing a wayward nail.
“Where
is
Moxie, anyway?” Molly asked, craning her
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