Boys R Us

by Lisi Harrison

  An image of Briarwood lit up the projector screen, while a recording of the boys’ band playing an instrumental version of Christina Aguilera’s “Keeps Gettin’ Better” blared from the speakers. The school and the grounds looked brand-new and better than ever. The modern glass facade gleamed in the sunlight, wide stone steps led to a state-of-the-art atrium, and freshly sodded sports fields stretched into the distance.

  Alicia’s tongue felt like sandpaper. She willed Josh to turn around in his seat so they could panic-gaze at each other. The only reason she and her crush got to see each other every day was because Briarwood had been undergoing renovations. But if the renovations were finished…

  But Josh didn’t turn around. Instead, he high-fived Plovert and Cam.

  “Yesssssss!” Throughout the auditorium, the Briarwood boys clapped one another on the back, grinning at the glowing image of their school on the screen. After a few seconds, the picture of the front facade melted into a shot of a sleek new Briarwood auditorium. Rows of cushy movie theater–style chairs led up to a giant, rotating stage lit by colorful spotlights.

  Dean Don slid up to the mic as a gym complex popped on-screen. “The new gym floor doubles as a hockey rink and has NBA rims and an Olympic-size pool.”

  The boys erupted in whoops and applause. The girls looked lost and confused. Like they had been abandoned on the side of the highway with nothing but a soggy map and a Ziploc full of pennies. Dylan seemed too stricken to speak.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Alicia saw Claire attempt to grin like someone who was happy for her crush. But it came off looking like she had cramps. Luckily Cam was too amped up to notice.

  Alicia opened her mouth, then closed it. Why wasn’t Josh upset about this? Was an in-house movie theater more important to him than she was? She was suddenly aware of the combination mothball/dusty-textbook smell that hovered over the creaky wooden non-stadium seats.

  “Briarwood students will return to their school a week from today.” Principal Burns nudged Dean Don out of the way and retook her place at the podium. “As a welcome-back gift, each student will be receiving a brand-new Endu(red) laptop, courtesy of Bono, who has generously donated them to Briar-wood and our brother school in Kenya.”

  “Woooo-hoooo!” The guys were on their feet now, clapping and aisle-dancing to the beat of the music. The girls were frozen in their seats, mouths half open, stares vacant.

  A back-in-business Briarwood meant only one thing.

  No. More. Boys.

  Which meant no more weekday flirting.

  No more Briarwood Tomahawks soccer games.

  And no more Briarwood Tomahawks soccer games meant…

  A sweaty palm gripped Alicia’s bony shoulder.

  “Ew!” She whipped her head around to face the row of Heart-Nets, blinking in unison, as if begging her to do something.

  “Does this mean no more squad?” one of the girls whisper-gasped.

  “But we spent all that time rehearsing!” another whined.

  Alicia’s mouth parted slightly, but she had no idea what to tell her girls. Her head was spinning with too many thoughts. How could Josh be so excited to leave? What would happen to her if she lost her squad? She turned involuntarily toward Massie, who was serenely examining her fingernails as Dempsey grinned at the projector screen. She looked calm and composed. Even in tragic times like this, Massie always knew what to do.

  But Alicia had never felt more powerless. Alpha was leaking out of her pores, leaving her more hollow than one of Dylan’s empty Red Bull cans. To be an alpha, you had to be confident. In control. And more in charge than Visa. Alicia was none of those things. Not anymore. Not without a cheerleading squad. Not without the Briarwood boys. Not without stadium seating. She was over before she started. She was a social Zune.

  “This cannawt happen,” Dylan cried desperately. “The boys can’t leave! What’re we gonna do?”

  Every muscle in Alicia’s body tightened. Dylan needed an alpha. Someone to guide her in her time of need. And Dylan was choosing Alicia. Not because Alicia could do six pirouettes in a row without getting even a little dizzy (even though she could). Not because her hair was the shiniest in eighth, or because she was the only girl at BOCD who had a perfect chemical-free tan year-round. But because, at that moment, Dylan didn’t know what to do, and she believed that Alicia did.

  “Okay,” she began loudly, her voice suddenly strong and clear. “Listen up.”

  Dylan leaned in close. From the corner of her eye, Alicia saw Claire’s gaze linger on her. They were waiting for her instruction. Depending on her to know exactly what to do, the way they used to depend on Massie.

  “The boys are just excited because they think Briarwood’s gonna be more fun than OCD.” She rolled her eyes toward the row of seats in front of them. Cam and Josh leaped out of their seats for a chest bump as a shot of an indoor soccer field lit up the projector screen. “Right?”

  “Right.” Dylan crossed her legs, intentionally slamming the round toe of her Sam Edelman wedge heel into the back of Derrington’s seat. He didn’t notice.

  Claire was tilted so far to the left to hear Alicia’s words without leaving her seat that she looked like a capsized sailboat.

  “So ah-bviously, all we have to do is make it ten times more fun to hang out with us,” Alicia reasoned. “We can totally beat indoor soccer and stadium seating.”

  “Right,” Dylan repeated, sounding less than convinced. “So… what’s the plan?”

  “We have to get everybody together after school today,” Alicia continued without missing a beat, faking like she actually had a plan. “You, me, Kristen and Kuh-laire…” She side-glanced at Claire to see if she was in. Claire blinked that she was. “… plus the boys,” Alicia finished confidently. “I’ll text the time and location by lunch.”

  “’Kay.” Dylan looked slightly relieved.

  The Briarwood boys’ shouts, plus the thump of the music and the flash of the slide show, all faded to the back of Alicia’s mind. She felt a jolt of nervous energy, the way she did when she was waiting in the wings, about to glide onstage for a dance solo. It wasn’t lost on her that being an alpha was the biggest performance she’d ever give in her life.

  And choking onstage was so not an option.

  BOCD

  MAIN BUILDING

  Monday, October 12th

  3:05 P.M.

  The grating tick of the second hand echoing in the silent hallway sounded like a judge’s gavel rapping over and over again, sentencing Massie Block to social death. Planting one Prada in front of the other, she hurried toward her locker in a race against time, mentally thanking Mr. Myner for letting her duck out of class before the final bell.

  She’d been leaving classes early all day so she wouldn’t have to run into Dylan or Alicia between classes, putting on an “I’m at death’s door but look how brave I am for making education a priority” face for her teachers. And she was only faking a little. Part of her really had died when Alicia left the Socc-Hers to start her own squad. Another part had died when Dylan and Derrington showed up together at her pool-party-slash-slumber party Friday night, only to flaunt their relationship the second she released her hold on Derrington. And an even bigger part of her had bitten the dust when Alicia didn’t even bother to show up.

  Being the leader of the Pretty Committee had been Massie’s life. Without them, she’d practically lost her purpose. She was like Mother Teresa without the poor. Angelina without the babies. Paris without the random BFFs.

  She was keeping it together for one reason, and one reason only.

  Dempsey Solomon.

  Crushing on Briarwood’s most adorable do-gooder was the only thing that gave her life meaning now. If it weren’t for Dempsey, Massie probably would have spent most of the morning’s assembly wondering if her former friends were texting about her behind her back. But flirt-glancing at Dempsey and waiting for him to flirt-glance back (which he had, until he’d gotten distracted by Princi
pal Burns’s announcement about Briarwood’s new solar-paneled roof) had temporarily numbed the pain of the PC breakup.

  Staring into Dempsey’s sea green eyes was more comforting than her 1500 thread count violet Frette sheets. Soon, she’d be able to stare into those eyes whenever she wanted. Kristen and Dempsey were next-door neighbors, and Kristen had pinky-sworn that she’d talk to him for Massie.

  Kristen. When Kristen hadn’t called to update her on the Dempsey situation, Massie had had Isaac drop off a get-well-soon Gossip Girl Complete Collection box set at Kristen’s apartment. So why hadn’t she called to thank her? Did this mean she was siding with Dylan and Alicia? And what about Claire? Massie had texted that morning, demanding Claire make a decision on MAC versus PC within twenty-four hours. And still, nothing.

  Remembering her race against the final bell, Massie glanced up at the giant clock hanging at the end of the hallway. Twenty seconds.

  Panic-stricken, she deposited her turquoise Kooba bag on the floor and zeroed in on the padlock. Her Chanel Feu de Russie–polished fingertips flew expertly over the lock, blurring in front of her. She had to get out to the parking lot, to the safety of the Range Rover, before the halls were clogged with nosy girls whisper-gossiping about the PC’s breakup. If she didn’t make it, she’d be forced to face them all alone. Which would leave her more exposed than Jen Aniston on the January ’09 cover of GQ.

  Twelve seconds.

  Massie yanked at the padlock. It held fast.

  Ten seconds.

  Frantically, she tried the combination again, tugging on the lock with all her weight. Nothing.

  Seven seconds.

  Puh-lease, Gawd. She tried the combination again, slower this time. The lock snapped open with ease. Ducking into her locker, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the comforting smell of her Chanel No. 19 locker deodorizer. Her signature scent had been the only part of her day that felt familiar. The hints of jasmine and ylang-ylang were perfectly content to play supporting roles to the stronger green floral scent. And why shouldn’t they be? Jasmine and ylangylang would be nothing without their green floral alpha. Just like—

  Riiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng.

  The piercing ring of the last-period bell sent a shiver down Massie’s spine like acrylic nails on a chalkboard. Just then a fresh burst of Chanel No. 19 exploded from the deodorizer, temporarily blinding her. Tears sprang to her eyes. Great. Now BOCD would think she was nothing but a weepy LBR who couldn’t survive without her friends.

  Classroom doors flew open along the hallway and students spilled into the halls. Massie’s stomach twisted into a jumbo pretzel at the slap of ballet flats against the shiny floor, and the metallic clanging of the boys play-shoving each other into the lockers on their way down the hall. Not wanting to face the crowd, she stayed buried in her locker, focusing on her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her locker door.

  That morning, the pin-striped Steven Alan boyfriend shirt she’d worn under her shrunken plum Helmut Lang tuxedo jacket had seemed like the perfectly effortless complement to her cigarette pants. The hammered silver bangles on her left wrist had clinked confidently with her every step. And her conscious decision to wear only structured fabrics announced to the world that she had zero interest in incorporating elastic into her wardrobe or her friendships.

  But in the harsh, fluorescent light of the hallway, things seemed different. Her shirt looked stiff and uptight, her blazer felt like a straitjacket, and her bangles gleamed like handcuffs. She was a prisoner in her own school.

  “D! Go long!”

  Massie froze at the sound of Derrington’s voice. Slowly, she swiveled around on the heel of her black ankle boot.

  Her ex-crush was holding a plastic baggie of jumbo marshmallows, and Dylan was giggle-jogging backward through the clogged hallway.

  “Five seconds left on the play clock!” Derrington yelled, winding up. He was wearing the cutest Diesel jeans, brand-new forest green Pumas, and a dark blue fleece. Massie had never seen any of it before. Was Derrington giving his wardrobe a makeover just for Dylan? “Four, three, two!”

  “No!” Dylan shriek-flirted, her sapphire-colored sweater coat billowing around her as she ran, like she was swimming underwater. Massie rolled her eyes. So now they were coordinating outfits? Who did they think they were, Posh and Becks?

  “He shoots!” Derrington launched the marshmallow into the air. Dylan bobbed and weaved in the crowd, her mouth open wide. The marshmallow missed her mouth, smacking her on the forehead. She grabbed it before it hit the ground and popped it in her mouth.

  “He scores!” Derrington wiggled his butt. “And the crowd goes wiiiiiild!”

  Dylan chomped on her marshmallow as Derrington took a bow. A cluster of seventh-grade girls just a few feet from Massie stopped cackling long enough to envy-watch the couple as they paused at Dylan’s locker. The girls were staring in the same way they used to stare at Massie as she walked down the hall. But no one was paying attention to her now.

  “Ice ot,” Dylan called, showcasing a mouthful of white, gooey marshmallow. She spotted Massie and her smile faded like a pair of Earnest Sewn Hefner jeans. Finally, the girls who had been watching Dylan turned to focus on Massie too. But instead of envy, their expressions were a mixture of fear, confusion, and awe.

  Eyes burning from the thick mist of Chanel, Massie stared back at them, racking her brain for the perfect thing to say or do to show them that she was still on top. But her mind was even emptier than her heart. And it didn’t help when she saw Alicia and Olivia Ryan charging together down the hallway, laughing. Were they laughing at her? Racking up gossip points about her?

  Her iPhone buzzed in her Kooba, saving her from her own thoughts, and her hand shot into her bag in record time. A text. She whirled around, turning her back to Alicia, Dylan, and Derrington, like the message was top secret.

  Kristen: What r u up 2 after skl?

  Massie’s heart pole-vaulted over her rib cage. Kristen hadn’t thanked her yet for the box set, but at least she was still talking to her. Which meant she’d chosen her over Alicia, right?

  Then again, her font seemed smaller than usual. More timid. Usually it was a sign that she was nervous about something. But in this case it was probably just the bad sushi.

  Massie: I have some options. Trying 2 decide. Feel better?

  Kristen: Yeah. Bad sushi.

  Massie: Eel made you keel?

  Kristen: Tempura made me hurl-a!

  Massie: Edamame hurt ur tumme?

  Massie burst out laughing. Not only because their exchange was funny times ten. Or because she was glad Kristen was still talking to her. But because Alicia and Dylan were peeking at her. She could feel eyeballs searing the back of her neck. And she needed to prove that life went on without them. Even if that life felt worse than death.

  Kristen: Need 2 talk 2 u about Dempsey. Meet in the locker room in 5?

  Massie: I thought u were home sick.

  Kristen: Soccer practice. C ya in 5.

  It was official: Massie’s heart was going to burst out of her intentionally two-sizes-too-small blazer at any second. Not only did Kristen want to be a MAC, but in exactly five minutes, Massie would be getting the news that her crush liked her back.

  “You ready, Derrick?”

  Massie looked up to see Dylan tenderly wiping marshmallow dust from the side of Derrick’s mouth with her sleeve. A flash of hot anger surged through Massie’s body. Dylan was rubbing her love for Derrington in Massie’s face like St. Ives vanilla whipped moisturizer. And just like cheap moisturizer, it stank.

  She suddenly flashed forward to the couple at ninety. Derrington would be dribbling rice pudding down his shaky lips and Dylan would wipe it away with the nubby sleeve of her puke-colored terry cloth robe. The repulsive image filled Massie with gratitude. She might have been crushless and slightly friendless, but at least her future self wasn’t dabbing up Derrington’s ricey dribble. And knowing that
helped her get past this awkward moment.

  Derrington stuffed his hands in his pockets, not looking in Massie’s direction as he shuffled down the hallway. Dylan stomp-followed him. Alicia stomp-followed her. Massie’s fists clenched involuntarily at her side. Then she released them, slowly. She couldn’t let everyone get to her like this. It was time to move on. Dylan and Derrington were her past. And Dempsey Solomon, with his piercing green eyes, natural highlights, and eco-friendly wardrobe, was her future.

  Speed-heading toward the girls’ locker room, Massie kept her head held high, ignoring the whispers and pity-glances that swelled around her as she faced the seemingly endless stretch of hallway. She desperately needed to regloss. Her naked lips felt as vulnerable as she did. But that was all about to change. With Kristen, Dempsey, and Claire (she’d come around) on her side, she’d be on her way to a comeback. Dylan and Alicia would be sorry.

  Finally, she reached the girls’ locker room and shoved through the swinging door. The faint hiss of running showers was the only sound she could hear. Stepping over a mountain of gym bags, she hurried past the rows of sticker-covered yellow lockers. The sound of her heels clacking on the spotless cement floor echoed in her own ears. Past the locker bay, the room opened up into a small dressing area. The chocolaty smell of Bumble and Bumble’s Creme de Coco shampoo flooded the steaming dressing room, reminding Massie of Alicia’s cloying Angel perfume. She swatted the thought away, sending some foggy shower steam with it.

  “Kristen?” she coughed, feeling her professionally straightened brown locks beginning to weaken and curl in the humidity. She squinted into the mist, making out rows of polished hardwood benches that faced a rolling chalkboard littered with dusty X’s and O’s.

  “Guess again, Lollipop Legs.” A deep, throaty voice wafted to Massie’s ears, along with the shower fog.