Miss Teen Sweet Valley Read online

  "Well, Jess, hi. This is a surprise."

  Jessica shrugged, her hair brushing her cheek as she bent to peer into the oven at the simmering food. "It was my turn to fix dinner," she said.

  Mrs. Wakefield smiled and pushed a tendril of blond hair back from her face. She was a beautiful woman, an older version of Jessica and Elizabeth. "I see," she said in an amused tone as she set down her briefcase. "Is Elizabeth home?"

  "Don't know," Jessica answered without looking at her mother. This was no time to discuss her grievances with her twin, important as they were.

  Mrs. Wakefield took a cup from the cabinet and an herbal-tea bag from a canister. After adding water to the cup, she set it in the microwave to heat. "Things have been pretty tense between you and Elizabeth lately," she said casually.

  Jessica felt her shoulders stiffen slightly, but she still tried to maintain her unruffled attitude. "Sometimes Liz can be pretty unreasonable," she remarked. Though her voice was even, her temper was seething and bubbling like the casserole in the oven.

  The bell on the microwave chimed and Mrs. Wakefield took out her tea. She dropped the tea bag into the trash and sat down at the kitchen table before replying. "Elizabeth feels very strongly about the beauty pageant," she said moderately.

  Jessica put the finished salad into the refrigerator and began to clean up the mess on the counter. "So do I," she answered, miffed. "This is a terrific chance for me to do something really important, and if Liz gets her way, she'll wreck it for me."

  "I don't think her campaign to have the pageant canceled should be seen as a personal attack against you," Mrs. Wakefield said. "Your father and I are doing our best to stay out of this, but I admit I'm concerned about the hostility between you two."

  Jessica stuffed peelings and stems into the garbage disposal and then took some satisfaction in grinding them up. She washed and dried her hands before turning to meet her mother's gaze. "How do you and Dad feel about this?" she asked. "Are you going to stay home on pageant night, if there is one, or will you be there to cheer me on?"

  Mrs. Wakefield rose from her chair to give Jessica a brief but reassuring hug. "Of course we'll be there. What gave you the idea we wouldn't?"

  Jessica was surprised to discover how relieved she was. "I guess I thought you'd agree with Elizabeth."

  Mrs. Wakefield smiled. "Whatever our private opinions might be, Jessica, you're our daughter. Your father and I love you very much."

  Jessica smiled. It was good to hear her mother talk like that. Now the Wakefields were a tight family unit again, but not so long ago tensions between Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield had become almost unbearable and Mr. Wakefield had moved out of the house. For a while, at least, Jessica, Elizabeth, and Steven had all thought their parents might end up getting a divorce.

  "Thanks," Jessica said. She checked the casserole and then got out dishes and silverware to set the table while her mother relaxed and drank her tea. When she sensed the moment was right, Jessica leaned back against the counter, folded her arms, and smiled. "There is one thing I wanted to talk to you about."

  Mrs. Wakefield had finished her tea, and she looked relaxed. "What's that, sweetheart?"

  Jessica ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. "Well, it's about the talent portion of the contest," she ventured. "I plan to dance, but—well, let's face it, I'm a little rusty. And I'm up against some pretty heavy-duty competition."

  Mrs. Wakefield arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow, and Jessica thought she saw her mother's lips twitch with amusement. It was clear she was beginning to get a glimmer that her daughter might have a reason for being so eager to help with dinner. "Go on."

  "The point is," Jessica rushed on eagerly, "I think I need some lessons to sort of brush up."

  "That's a good idea," Mrs. Wakefield said, but her tone of voice and her expression were strictly noncommittal.

  Jessica gave a theatrical sigh. "The problem is, I spent the last of my allowance on the music and the leotard and tights for my dance number."

  "Ah," said Mrs. Wakefield. "You're broke."

  Jessica spread her hands in a gesture of helpless consternation, as if someone else had spent her allowance for her. "Flat," she said, blowing so that her bangs danced against her forehead.

  It seemed that Mrs. Wakefield could not be prompted into doing what Jessica wanted. She was going to make her daughter ask.

  "I need to borrow money to pay for a crash course in modern dance," Jessica finally blurted out. "I've already called the best studio in town, and they have an opening, but I'll have to act fast."

  "What are your terms, Jessica?"

  Jessica raised both eyebrows, puzzled. "Terms?"

  "Yes. How do you intend to pay me back?"

  A dazzling smile broke over Jessica's face. "You mean you're going to lend me the money?"

  Mrs. Wakefield smiled again. "Provided we can come to some satisfactory agreement, yes. This isn't a gift, after all; it's a loan."

  With dance lessons, Jessica would surely win the contest, and that meant she would have ten thousand dollars to spend. She wasn't worried about paying back the small amount she needed to borrow. It would be easy. "OK. We'll work something out."

  "Not something," Mrs. Wakefield said, her manner pleasant but firm. "I'll be deducting fifty percent of your allowance until the full amount is paid off."

  Jessica nodded quickly, ready to agree to anything that would cinch the Miss Teen Sweet Valley pageant for her. "Thanks, Mom," she said.

  Mrs. Wakefield took her checkbook and a pen from her briefcase. "How much?" she asked.

  Jessica told her mother the amount the dance studio secretary had mentioned when she had called for information. Mrs. Wakefield wrote the check and handed it to her daughter.

  "Remember, Jess," she cautioned. "Debts always have to be paid, one way or another."

  It was all Jessica could do not to dance around the kitchen in sheer joy. She would think about debts later; right then all she cared about was wowing the judges on pageant night and coming home with that crown glittering on her head—and the key to Frazer's heart in her hand.

  When she joined her family at the table, however, and came face-to-face with Elizabeth, some of Jessica's optimism and excitement faded. Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield would be in the audience on pageant night to see Jessica win all that money and all those prizes, their faces filled with pride in their daughter's accomplishments.

  Providing Elizabeth didn't manage to ruin everything first.

  Five

  Jessica had just finished reading Elizabeth's article in The Oracle when she caught a ride with Lila to Krezenski's Dance Studio the next afternoon. Her ego was stinging from the things Elizabeth had said about beauty pageants and the people who participated in them. Even now, snatches of the article ran through her mind. . . .

  Contests like this set the cause of women's rights back generations. . . . Women who enter and support them are, for all practical intents and purposes, betraying their own sex. . . .

  Lila raised both eyebrows when she brought the car to a stop in front of the studio. It was located in an old, seedy-looking building with brick arches over the windows.

  "You'd think a famous teacher like Mr. Krezenski could afford a better studio," she commented.

  Jessica wasn't interested in Lila's opinion of the neighborhood. "I'll see you later," she said, jumping out of Lila's expensive car and reaching into the back seat for her purse. She'd put her textbooks in the Fiat earlier so that Elizabeth could take them home. "Thanks for the ride, and remember to keep this a secret."

  Lila gave the aging building another disapproving look, shuddered, then shrugged. "Sure. See you tomorrow."

  Jessica hurried into the studio, filled out a brief form, and gave the receptionist the check her mother had written the night before. After that she was directed to the dressing room, where she was supposed to change her clothes.

  Because she was saving her white leotard and tights for the pageant, Jessica wore a pale blue exercise outfit she'd borrowed from Elizabeth—without consulting her sister, of course. The big mirror covering the opposite wall told her she looked terrific.

  Six other girls, of different ages but all slender and graceful, were stretching at the bar while scratchy music played in a corner of the room. A man with snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes approached Jessica. His face wore a thoughtful expression.

  "You are a new student?" he asked, speaking with a heavy Eastern European accent.

  Jessica's confidence wavered a little under the man's stern and serious gaze. "Well, sort of," she said nervously. "I've never attended your classes before, but I have had several years of dance."

  Mr. Krezenski nodded, but he still didn't smile. When he suddenly clapped his hands together in a series of sharp slaps, Jessica jumped.

  "Let us be started," the dance instructor called out in his funny, awkward English, and all the girls scurried to the center of the room to stand in a straight line.

  Jessica took a place at one end, nervously tugging the back of her blue leotard into place. Until that day, she had known Mr. Krezenski only by reputation. Elizabeth had watched a special on public television about his career as a dancer and his dramatic, daring escape from some little country in Eastern Europe, and she had talked about practically nothing else for a week after the show. Jessica had pictured the man as young, handsome, and very romantic, and now she was disappointed.

  About half an hour of the class had passed when Jessica's troubles really began.

  "No, no, no!" Mr. Krezenski yelled suddenly, clapping his hands again and then stopping the music by grabbing the arm of the ancient phonograph and wrenching the needle off the record. Obviously, the man liked to do everything the old-fashioned way.

  He came to stand in front of Jessica, his hands resting on his hips, and glared into her face. "Do not fling yourself from side to side as if you expected to fly away like Peter Pan!"

  Angry, embarrassed color flooded Jessica's cheeks. She was about to turn and walk out when she remembered how well Sharon Jefferson played the piano. And rumor had it that Maggie Simmons was going to perform a dramatic scene from Shakespeare at the pageant. If Jessica wanted to win the title of Miss Teen Sweet Valley, and she definitely did, she was going to have to stick this out. Besides, she had noticed a sign behind the reception desk that said NO REFUNDS, and she didn't exactly want to go home and tell her mother she had wasted all that money by giving up her lessons on the very first day!

  "Again!" shouted Mr. Krezenski. Without waiting for Jessica to comment, he stormed over to the dusty phonograph and set the needle back on the record.

  Without looking at any of the other girls, Jessica bit her lower lip and began to dance.

  She got through about four steps before Mr. Krezenski decided to humiliate her again.

  "Stop, stop, stop!" he cried.

  Jessica figured the mean guys in that faraway government of his had probably been glad to see Mr. Krezenski go. He was crabby in a major way. She let out her breath and her bangs bounced against her forehead. "What am I doing wrong now?"

  Mr. Krezenski looked surprised at her question, and some of the others giggled. "Everything!" he bellowed. "You have the grace of a drunken moose, my dear! You dance as though you were wearing boots of lead!"

  Tears stung in Jessica's eyes, but she was too proud to cry in front of the man or his students. She lifted her chin and held her shoulders very straight.

  "Watch Marlena," the instructor barked, pointing toward the tall, willowy girl standing next to Jessica. "Dance as she does, like the gazelle!"

  Jessica would have bet six months' allowance that things couldn't get worse. If she had, she'd have lost, because Mr. Krezenski didn't give her a moment's peace from then until the class ended.

  After the lesson, Jessica was hiding out in the dressing room, drying her sweaty face with a towel, when she looked up and saw Marlena standing beside her. Suddenly Jessica remembered seeing the dancer in the halls at Sweet Valley High.

  "You're Jessica Wakefield, aren't you?"

  Jessica's spirits rose a little. Finally, someone who understood that she was popular and important and should be treated with respect! She nodded and smiled.

  "Elizabeth's sister," Marlena said with admiration. "I really wish I could write the way she does. That article she wrote about beauty pageants was really hard-hitting."

  "Hard-hitting" was a good description, Jessica thought ruefully. When she had read Elizabeth's article she'd felt as if someone had hit her. Hard.

  "Right," Jessica said. She put on her shorts and tank top and left the studio. To her relief, Mrs. Wakefield was waiting in her car.

  "How did it go?" she asked as Jessica flung herself into the seat with a heavy sigh and fastened the seat belt.

  Jessica tilted her head back and closed her eyes. At that moment the only thing she wanted more than a shower and a dip in the pool was the Miss Teen Sweet Valley title. And that seemed as if it might be a lot harder to get than she'd ever imagined it could be. "It was a nightmare," she breathed. "The man hates me."

  Mrs. Wakefield chuckled. "So the lessons are harder than you expected, huh?"

  "They are hideous," Jessica raved, flinging her hands wide. "Mr. Krezenski is a monster, and he's not going to be satisfied until he's stomped my ego right into the floor!"

  Her mother smiled as she pulled out into the light traffic. "Honestly, Jess, was it really that bad?"

  "I'm not planning to quit, if that's what you're asking," Jessica muttered as she covered her eyes with her hand. "But I sure feel like it."

  "We can't always do what we feel like doing," Mrs. Wakefield pointed out with quiet good humor.

  "Don't I know it?" Jessica moaned. She turned and looked at her mother earnestly. "Just don't tell anyone I'm taking lessons, OK? If I do fall on my face, I don't want everybody in the world to be in on the joke."

  "I've already mentioned it to your father. After all, it's his money, too, that's paying for the lessons," Mrs. Wakefield said. "But I won't say anything to Steven or Elizabeth if you don't want me to."

  "Good. Let's keep it our secret."

  Minutes later they were home. Jessica headed straight for the bathroom she shared with Elizabeth. Her head was throbbing. She gulped down two aspirins, stripped off her clothes, and got into the shower.

  After drying off, she put on a swimsuit. She was already feeling much better now that she'd washed away the sweat and strain of her dance lesson, but a few minutes in the pool would help her unwind.

  "Hi," Elizabeth said as Jessica passed through the kitchen, bare-footed and with a towel rolled up under one arm.

  Jessica thought of all the misery she'd suffered during Mr. Krezenski's dance class, and how it would be all for nothing if Elizabeth had her way. Then she remembered the article Elizabeth had written for The Oracle. "Hello," she said in an icy tone. "That write-up in the school paper was a real hatchet job. Maybe we ought to call you Lizzie Borden from now on."

  For a second Elizabeth looked hurt, but then she narrowed her eyes and said, "I was only expressing my opinion."

  "Great," Jessica responded. "Just remember that I have the same right." She left the room, closing the door briskly behind her.

  Later, at the dinner table, Steven reached for the mashed potatoes and dropped a spoonful onto his plate. Much to Jessica's disappointment, he hadn't brought Frazer McConnell home to dinner with him. "Lately, this place has all the charm and grace of Beirut," Steven said.

  Jessica and Elizabeth were watching each other eat in cold silence.

  Mr. Wakefield took a sip from his water glass and looked at his daughters thoughtfully. "I assume you're still battling it out over the beauty pageant," he asked presently.

  Elizabeth's cheeks went pink. She gave Jessica a look flickering with blue fire before answering. "I have certain principles to uphold," she said coolly, "both as a woman and as a journalist."

  Jessica leaned forward in her chair. She was totally steamed. "And I don't have principles, I suppose?" she shot back.

  "Enough," Mr. Wakefield broke in. His voice was quiet but firm, and both twins knew he meant what he said. "Steven is right: this house is beginning to feel like a war zone." He gazed solemnly at Elizabeth and then at Jessica. "I want the two of you to sit down and talk this over in a spirit of compromise."

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

  Jessica was wary. "What kind of compromise?" she asked. Maybe she sounded as if she was offering an olive branch, but nothing short of an act of Congress would make her do what Elizabeth wanted her to do—quit the pageant.

  "You could agree to disagree, for one thing," Mrs. Wakefield said.

  "There is absolutely no question that we disagree," Elizabeth said stiffly.

  Steven shook his head. "Why do I feel as if somebody just tossed a live grenade under the table?"

  "Please excuse me," Jessica said with mock politeness. She pushed back her chair and glowered at Elizabeth. "I seem to have lost my appetite. Again."

  "So have I," said Elizabeth, flinging down her napkin.

  Mr. Wakefield looked at his wife and sighed. "I tried," he said.

  "I know, dear," Mrs. Wakefield answered sympathetically.

  The telephone rang early the next morning. Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield had both left for work, Steven had gone to his first class, and Jessica had barricaded herself in the bathroom. Elizabeth picked up the receiver of the hall phone.

  "Wakefield residence," she said.

  "May I please speak to Elizabeth Wakefield?" a female voice asked. "This is Angela Stone calling. I'm a reporter for the Sweet Valley News."

  Elizabeth's heart leapfrogged right over one beat into another. "Hello, Ms. Stone," she said, and then introduced herself.

  "Call me Angela," the reporter urged her. "Listen, Elizabeth, I read your article in The Oracle on the Chamber of Commerce's beauty pageant. You see, my daughter goes to Sweet Valley High, so I have the opportunity to read the school paper. I must say I was very impressed. We'd like to run the piece in our paper, if that's all right with you."