Boys R Us

by Lisi Harrison

  “Depends,” Massie replied nonchalantly. “What would my time commitment be?”

  “Two board meetings a week, plus party-planning time after school and on weekends for the next two weeks.”

  “Press opportunities?”

  “The local press is already scheduled.”

  “Put calls in to the Times Style section and Vogue,” Massie advised shrewdly. “This could be way bigger than Channel Five.”

  As she talked, Massie’s face slowly began to light up, like she’d just applied a fresh dusting of MAC Belightful highlighting powder. “They do say giving is the new getting,” she pontificated, twirling her purple hair streak around her index finger.

  Kendra leaned toward her daughter expectantly.

  “I’m in,” Massie decided grandly.

  “That’s my girl.” Kendra glowed as her cell buzzed from the black Kate Spade holster on her hip. She reached for it and checked the screen. “Excuse me.” She held her hand up, pressing the phone to her ear and bidding adieu to Claire and Cam as she sauntered out of the closet. “Olga! Tell me you’ve had a cancellation.” She swiftly closed the closet door behind her.

  “Did you hear that, Bean?” Massie scooped up her pug from the donations pile and kissed her tiny head, leaving a glossy lip print in her black fur. “I’m going to be on the board of directors for a charity!”

  “Are you sure you want to give up all your afternoons and weekends?” Claire fingered a violet silk Chanel blouse as it skimmed by on the rotating rack next to her.

  “Why not?” Massie shrugged. “It’s for a good cause… and Dempsey is so going to love that I’m doing this.”

  That explained it. Dempsey Solomon, Massie’s newest crush, had been on a mission to save the world ever since he and his parents moved back to Westchester from Africa, where they’d been doing charity work of their own. Short of showing up to school with an African orphan peeking out of her Louis handbag, getting involved with a cause was the best way for Massie to capture Dempsey’s attention—and his heart.

  Massie glared at the Cookie Monster tote Cam was holding. “That, by the way, is a definite no. These poor people have suffered enough already.”

  Claire pulled out a scuffed, camouflaged Ked and the hedge clippers. “We brought a few things to cheer you up.”

  “Huh?” Massie’s right ear dropped toward her shoulder.

  Cam placed a Patricia Underwood fedora from Massie’s short-lived hat phase on his head. “Yeah. After your other friends ditched you, we thought—”

  “Um, we just wanted to make sure you were okay, after everything that… happened,” Claire finished awkwardly, dropping the shoe back in her bag.

  Massie rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease.” She sighed with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “I’m so over them.” She pinch-lifted a hairy black sweater from the DESIGNERS TO DONATE pile like it was a pair of dirty underwear. “Those girls are like this itchy angora,” she said. “Pretty, but toe-dally not worth the pain.” She tossed the sweater back into the reject pile.

  Claire tugged at the hem of her Tomahawks jersey. “But what about the Pretty Comm—”

  “Everybody knows PCs are out,” Massie said crisply. “I’m switching to MAC.”

  “MAC?” Cam asked.

  “Massie and Crew, ” she announced. “Which includes me, Claire, and Kristen.”

  The knot in Claire’s stomach resurfaced. Massie and Crew? Could she seriously move on this quickly? Forget about the Pretty Committee like they were last season’s resort wear? What if Claire didn’t want to move on? What if she wanted her old group of friends back?

  “What about Dylan and Alicia?” Once again, Cam practically read her mind.

  “Out,” Massie repeated casually, like she was Heidi Klum and Dylan and Alicia were Project Runway castoffs.

  Claire swallowed hard. This was all happening way too fast. And she had too many questions running through her mind at once. Did being part of Massie’s new group mean she couldn’t be friends with Dylan and Alicia? Was Massie forcing her to pick?

  Cam patted Claire’s shoulder awkwardly, as if sensing her panic. His warm hand comforted her. She straightened up, looking Massie in her amber eyes. If she was going to get through this, she wanted Cam by her side. She took a deep breath. “I want Cam in too,” she declared boldly, the knot in her stomach growing tighter.

  “This isn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet, Kuh-laire,” Massie balked. “You can’t just pick and choose.”

  Claire opened her mouth, but Massie cut her off.

  “Besides, you can’t have a boy-girl crew. It doesn’t work.” She shook her high, glossy brown pony authoritatively.

  “Fine by me,” Cam said, looking slightly relieved.

  Claire felt her cheeks start to flush. Making mix CDs, agreeing to help with her charity… Cam had gone out of his way to make Massie feel better.

  “But—” she started. She put her hands on her hips. Cam took a step backward toward the door.

  “Kuh-laire.” Massie leveled her eyes in Claire’s direction. “Is Cam a fattening Girl Scout cookie layered with creamy peanut butter and a chocolate coating?”

  “No,” Claire snapped, knowing what was coming.

  “Then don’t make him a Tagalong,” Massie finished triumphantly.

  “So now I’m a cookie.” Cam looked more confused than ever.

  “All I’m saying is, maybe you could be a little more like an elastic waistband.” Claire suggested, yanking at the hem of her jersey. “You know, stretch a little? Maybe if you apologized to Leesh and Dylan—”

  “Eh-ma-never.” Anger flickered behind Massie’s amber eyes. “Alicia stole my cheerleading squad. And Dylan stole my Derrington.” She scooped a large pile of silk and knit clothing from the closet floor and secured it underneath her chin. “They’re dead to me. I’m moving on.” Her purple hair streak suddenly lodged in her lip gloss. She spit it out ferociously. “And you have one minute to decide if you’re coming with me.” She brushed past Cam and stomped out of the closet, a white Chanel blouse stuck to the heel of her boot like silk toilet paper.

  “But wait!” Claire called after her. “What does that mean?” She leaned against the closet wall, dizzy. Just seventy-two hours ago, the Pretty Committee had been as tight as Ben and Jerry.

  “It means you’re either a PC or a MAC.” Massie whirled around in the doorway and turned to face her.

  “Can’t I be both?” Claire focused on the gold-carpeted floor to avoid Cam’s disapproving glare and Massie’s challenging stare.

  “Im-possible. PCs and MACs are nawt compatible.” Massie scraped the blouse off her heel and kicked it aside. “At some point everyone has to choose.”

  The knot in Claire’s stomach tied its own bow. So she was being asked to pick sides. Her friends or her alpha. It wasn’t a choice Claire was prepared to make.

  BRIARWOOD–OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  OUTSIDE THE AUDITORIUM

  Monday, October 12th

  8:37 A.M.

  Alicia Rivera speed-walked down the empty, locker-lined hallway toward the auditorium, silently cursing herself for being late on today of all days. She’d lost track of time trying to find the über-perfect, alpha-worthy outfit for her first post-BFF-breakup assembly entrance. She’d changed her mind more times than Jason from The Bachelor, but had finally settled on option number nineteen: dark, curve-hugging Blank Denim skinny jeans, a thigh-skimming turquoise silk tank to make her olive skin pop, and her new charcoal gray Theory stretch vest. Caramel-colored riding boots added an equestrian chic touch to the carefully crafted ensemble.

  She slowed as she reached the assembly doors. Maybe being late wasn’t such a bad thing. In fact, casually waltzing through the auditorium after assembly had started could be the perfect way to advertise just how fine she was without Massie Block breathing down her Angel perfume–spritzed neck. The perfect way to prove to BOCD, and herself, that she could capture everyone’s attention without Massie by he
r side. To prove that she, Alicia Rivera, was an alpha in her own right.

  Then her stomach did a triple pirouette. It wasn’t that she doubted her ability to rock a solo entrance. Just the opposite. Years of dance training had prepared her for this very moment. She was ready for the spotlight, ready to drink in the admiration she deserved. It was just that she’d never made an assembly entrance without Massie before. Suddenly thinking about it felt strange. Like she’d forgotten to floss before a lip-kiss.

  “… if I should get Jessica Alba bangs or Vanessa Hudgens bangs, and he goes, ‘What’s the difference?’” huffed a honey-blond seventh-grader wearing a long black skirt, giant white sunglasses, and a floor-grazing hand-knit scarf.

  “How can he nawt see the difference?” squealed her friend, whose giant black sweater coat made her look like death. “Jessica’s are curtains drawn and Vanessa’s are curtains open.”

  “I knoooow,” bellowed Long Skirt.

  Alicia rolled her eyes. The Mary-Kate Olsen look had just hit the seventh grade, as though it had been stuck at customs for two years and finally made it through. It was hard to believe anyone could be more behind the trends than her Spanish cousins, but hobo chic was spreading faster than strep this semester.

  When Grim Reaper and Long Skirt disappeared into the auditorium, Alicia took a deep, calming breath and got ready to make a fresh start.

  “And five, and six, ah-seven, eight!” she whisper-counted, bursting through the double doors.

  Deafening chatter poured over her like a tsunami the second she stepped inside. Students were milling around the aisles, weaving through the rows of creaky wooden chairs as Principal Burns shuffled papers at the podium onstage. Dean Don was huddled with Mr. Myner and a few of the other teachers in the front row, whispering intently.

  Alicia strategically stepped into the dusty spotlight that poured through the stained-glass windows. This was her moment.

  “Heads up!” A guy’s voice rose over the noise. Alicia ducked just in time, narrowly missing getting whacked in the head by a soccer cleat.

  “Ehmagawd!” Straightening up, she whip-turned toward the offender. But he was too busy high-fiving his buddies to notice.

  Panicked, Alicia considered ducking back through the doors and starting over. This wasn’t working. She should have waited until she heard Principal Burns’s voice over the microphone. But it was too late; there was no turning back now.

  Scanning the auditorium for a familiar face, she spotted the Heart-Nets, the cheerleading squad she’d created last week after quitting Massie’s Socc-Hers, due to irreconcilable creative differences. Namely, that Massie never accepted her suggestions, despite Alicia’s superior dance ability. She had generously offered to let Massie be the alpha in life—so long as Alicia was the alpha in dance—but Massie had refused. Hence her new motto: If your alpha won’t join you, beat her.

  The Heart-Nets were clustered together in the fifth row of the wooden seats on the left, wearing their signature uniforms: pressed white Ralph button-downs, denim short shorts with red hearts on the pockets, and matching BCBG metallic belts. They looked ah-dorable, of course. All thanks to Alicia. But why had they shown up to school in uniform? She hadn’t told them to. Had they decided on their own? Without her?

  “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!”

  In the fourth row, Dylan Marvil was pounding a can of Red Bull, her head tilted back like an open Pez dispenser. Cam, Derrington, Chris Plovert, and Josh Hotz leaned over the back of their seats in the third row, egging her on. Derrington was timing her on his iPhone and keeping one eye on the huddle of teachers in the front row, who were too busy whispering to each other to scold the students around them. With a final gulp, Dylan raised the empty can over her head in victory like it was the Olympic torch.

  “Doooooooooone,” she burped.

  From her seat next to Dempsey Solomon, at the far end of the row in the middle section of the auditorium, Massie was busy texting, not paying the slightest bit of attention to Dylan’s bodily functions. Alicia resisted the urge to catch Massie’s eye before she rolled hers at Dylan.

  “Seven seconds!” Derrington high-fived Dylan. “Record time!”

  The guys cheered, then swiveled forward in their seats without so much as a glance at Alicia. Gleefully, Dylan tilted her can upside down and shook it as Alicia edged by her. A few drops of Red Bull landed on the toe of her caramel-colored riding boot, leaving a dark, teardrop stain.

  “Dylaaaan,” Alicia huffed.

  “Ehmagawd,” Dylan burp-breathed, her cheeks flushed with victory. “Did you see that?” She patted the seat next to her, motioning for Alicia to sit. “Seven seconds!”

  Alicia bumped the back of Josh’s chair with her gunmetal Botkier Bianca satchel as she slid into her seat. Her crush turned around.

  “Oh. Hey.” Josh gave her a quick grin, showcasing his headshot-worthy smile. He looked beyond adorable in his red RL polo and navy Yankees cap. “Thought you weren’t coming or something.”

  “I was just late,” she explained, taking the seat next to Dylan.

  “Oh. Cool.” Josh pulled his cap over his eyes and slouched low in his seat.

  Alicia scanned her row. Claire was sitting exactly halfway between Alicia and Massie, three empty seats on either side of her. She was gnawing at her nail beds like she hadn’t eaten anything but cuticle all week.

  “Kuh-laire,” she called.

  When Claire glanced up, Alicia slapped the empty wooden seat on her free side. “Come sit,” she ordered, trying to speak just loudly enough for Claire to hear, but not loudly enough to attract Massie’s attention.

  Claire waved, pretending not to hear the invite.

  Alicia’s throat tightened. Since when did she have to recruit her friends to sit next to her? She turned to Dylan. “Where’s Kristen?” she asked, nodding at the empty seat on her other side.

  “Home sick from bad sushi.” Dylan shrugged, extending an open bag of caramel kettle corn in Alicia’s direction. “Spicy tuuuuuuuuna roooooooolllll.”

  Alicia rapid-fanned away Dylan’s burp fumes, shifting in her seat. The urge to look over at Massie again was getting stronger and stronger. Was she devastated from their fight? Wishing she’d taken Alicia up on her offer to co-alpha the Heart-Nets? Finally, Alicia stole a quick glance.

  Massie was staring straight ahead, her expression stoic and glassy. She wore black thigh-hugging cigarette pants tucked into Prada ankle boots. An appropriately wrinkled collared shirt peeked out from under a shrunken tuxedo blazer. Last week, Alicia would have given the outfit a solid 9.9. But this was Monday. Things were different now.

  For a split second, she wondered if the fight had been a mistake. If she should have kept her glossy lips shut and let Massie run the Socc-Hers. It would have been easier. But she remembered the way she felt every time Massie tried to control her: like she was wearing a bra that was two sizes too small. Alicia shuddered at the memory. She could never go back to that constricting feeling again.

  Just then, Massie looked up, locking eyes with her.

  Alicia forced a laugh and whirled around in her seat, pretending one of the Heart-Nets had just said something hilarious. But a long, shrill squeal interrupted her as Principal Burns neared the mic.

  “Ugggghhhh.” A unanimous groan sounded over the feedback as students shifted in the creaky wooden auditorium chairs.

  “Attention!” Principal Burns hunched over the podium microphone, glaring from underneath a curtain of I-just-stuck-my-finger-in-an-outlet gray hair. Her ill-fitting black polyester suit, the one she only wore on special occasions, signaled that something big was about to go down. Dean Don hovered behind her, rubbing his dark stubble with one hand. “Both Dean Don and I are pleased to welcome you to a special assembly here at Briarwood–Octavian Country Day School.” She looked as pleased as someone getting an exclusive sneak peek at Ralph Lauren’s spring line.

  “Pssst.” Dylan leaned in. “Have you talked to Massie?”

  Alici
a stole another quick glance to her right, then slid her gaze back to Dylan. “Who?” She blinked coolly.

  Principal Burns cleared her throat, staring down at Alicia and Dylan with tiny, beady eyes that reminded Alicia of the capers in her mom’s world-famous paella. “As I was saying, we have an exciting announcement to make.”

  “Cawwwww cawwwww,” cawed a boy in the back. A swell of muffled chuckles followed.

  Pretending she had no clue the birdcall was directed at her and her hawklike facial features, Principal Burns waited patiently for the laughter to subside before continuing. Dean Don coughed uncomfortably.

  “Whassgoingon?” Dylan whisper-hissed as a giant white screen descended from the ceiling.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia noticed that Massie’s glossy lips were curled as if around a secret. Did she know what the announcement was? If they were still friends, would Alicia know too? Did the fact that she didn’t know make her a bad leader? Alicia leaned forward slightly, smile-nodding like she knew exactly what was about to happen.

  The auditorium lights dimmed.

  “As you all are aware, an unfortunate incident at Briar-wood Academy last year forced us all to… adapt rather quickly while the school was being repaired.”

  Alicia gulped.

  Claire gnawed at what was left of her nail beds.

  Dylan cracked open another Red Bull. Last spring, the wave pool on the roof of Briarwood had leaked, flooding the entire school. Everyone had assumed it was faulty construction, but it was actually Layne Abeley and the Pretty Committee’s fault. They had sneaked into the boys’ school at night to fix the secret spy cam that recorded their crushes’ sensitivity training class, and ended up drilling a hole through the water pipes.

  “After many, many months, we are proud to announce the completion of the new and improved…” Prin cipal Burns paused dramatically. “BRIARWOOD ACAAAAADEMYYYYYY!” she yelled into the mic, like she was Oprah and Briarwood was one of her Favorite Things. Only her excitement-yell sounded more like she was pinching her nose in a stinky bathroom stall, shouting for someone to bring her more toilet paper—a mix of urgency and discomfort.