Bridesmaid Blitz Read Online Free

real prince. But I do believe you’ve put your finger on something there.” She whips her notebook out of her utterly swoony red vintage Birkin bag (“borrowed” from the
Goss
fashion cupboard) and talks slowly as she starts scribbling. “‘How to Make Your Summer Lovin’ Last and How to Cope When It All Goes Belly-up.’”
    She reads it back to herself then looks up. “Bean Machine, you’re a genius. You may have just saved my bacon. Finally, I’ll have something decent to show Saffy. Oh, and I almost forgot . . .” She digs around in her bag again and pulls out a square of dark-pink tissue paper. “This is for you.” She thrusts the packet into my hands. “Happy ‘back to school,’ Beanie. Enjoy second year — it’s stellar. No major exams, and oceans of time to hang with your friends — what’s not to love?”
    I peel back the tissue paper and beam. It’s only the Alexander McQueen scarf I spotted in the
Goss
’s last issue. It’s beautiful — black, dotted with tiny dark-pink skulls with angel wings. I’m about to thank Clover when there’s a noise from the hall.
    “Amy? Amy? Is that you down there?”
    It’s Mum.
    Still clutching the scarf, I leap up to open the living-room door before she comes down the stairs and finds Clover here. She’s standing at the top of the stairs in her baggy striped pajamas.
    “Thought I heard voices,” she says. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in your room, young lady?”
    “Just switching off the television — you were so tired you must have left it on, Mum. Go back to bed.”
    “Right. OK. Well, don’t be too long.” She shuffles away, yawning.
    After she’s gone, Clover appears behind me. “Better mush,” she whispers. “Don’t want to get you into trouble with Sylvie. And thanks for the feature-creature. Smooch, smooch.” She kisses the tips of her fingers, blows them at me, and flies out the front door, her bag slapping against her hip.
    I run my fingers over the scarf and smile to myself. “Thanks, Clover. You rock.”

“Would you look at that piece of fine in the Saint John’s uniform?” Mills nods at the boy standing beside the doors of the DART, listening to his iPod. It’s hard not to stare. He’s tall and tanned, with emerald eyes and chiseled cheekbones that angels would fight to hang their wings on. Under his slouchy gray beanie, his hair is jet-black.
    I grin at her and whistle under my breath. “Bom-chicka-wha-wha.”
    “Amy!” Seth isn’t impressed.
    “You know I only have eyes for you.” I kiss the tips of my fingers and blow them at him, Clover-style.
    He laughs. “Keep it that way.”
    “Must be his first day,” Mills says. “Poor guy. I’d hate to be a newbie. Wonder if he’s in our year.”
    Seth looks him up and down. “Nah. Too tall. I’d say third or Transition.”
    Annabelle Hamilton and Sophie Piggott totter past us on their spindle heels, legs, hands, and faces fake-baked the D4s’ signature dark orange. I’m surprised to see them together; they had a falling-out recently — Sophie snogged Annabelle’s boyfriend, Mark Delaney, at the end-of-term party, in her garden shed, no less. They’ve obviously made up now, though. It’s hard to keep up with D4 politics, so generally I don’t bother.
    Sophie used to be our friend up until the summer when she was consumed into the bowels of the D4 posse. I think Mills misses her sometimes, but I most certainly don’t. She’s catty, bitter, and as twisted as a
Wizard of Oz
cyclone. Sophie’s idea of having fun is shaking her blue-and-white pom-poms at one of the boys’ rugby matches with the rest of the self-styled cheerleading squad. They call themselves the All Saints ’cos our school is
Saint
John’s College. Sad.
    They shouldn’t even be on the train — none of them actually live on the DART line — but they get their parents to drop them at Dun Laoghaire station so they can check out the Blackrock College and Saint Michael’s boys on