“Hey, look who’s here!” Dylan was staring over Alicia’s shoulder, waving frantically.
Alicia’s breath caught in her chest. Was Massie behind her? Was she here to take back her friends? To stage a coup and reclaim her place as alpha? She whip-turned around, feeling like a lioness on the National Geographic Channel, about to throw down to protect her pride.
“Hey, guys.” It was just Kristen. Alicia exhaled a sigh of relief.
“You got my text.” Dempsey grinned. “Cool.”
“Yeah.” Kristen’s skin looked pasty, and her shoulders were slumped. Definitely bad sushi.
“What’re you doing here?” Claire asked skeptically. “You don’t look so good.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Kristen admitted. She dumped her Burberry tote next to the empty seat by Dempsey and collapsed into it.
“Are you sure you should even be here?” Alicia wrinkled her nose and scooted her chair six inches back.
“It’s not that.” Kristen sighed. “I’m not sick. Long story.”
“Spill.” Dylan nudged a latte in Kristen’s direction.
Kristen pushed it back. “Okay. But first, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you guys.” She took a deep breath. “Dempsey and I are sort of…” The corners of her mouth were twitching. She looked meaningfully at Alicia, Dylan, and Claire.
“Ehmagawd!” The girls screamed in unison.
Derrington blew bubbles into his hot chocolate, and Dempsey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The guys scooted their chairs together at the other end of the table, obviously not wanting to be a part of the conversation. “So, ah, are you watching the game tonight?” Josh coughed.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Alicia demanded. This was so big, she almost didn’t care that Kristen was hogging everybody’s attention.
“Have you lip-kissed yet?” Dylan whisper-asked in Kristen’s ear, so the boys couldn’t hear.
“That’s nawt the point,” Kristen protested. “The point is that I just told Massie.” The corners of her mouth dropped instantly.
“Ohhhh.” The girls’ heads bobbed sympathetically as they leaned toward Kristen.
“And now she hates me,” Kristen said softly. “’Cause I stole Dempsey.”
“Hates me too,” Dylan gnawed at her straw. “I stole Derrick.”
Claire tied her bendy brown stir-straw in a knot.
Alicia’s grip tightened around her mug. Why did the girls look so sad? Did they want Massie to forgive them? Did they want her to come back and be their alpha? She had to move fast. Remind them that she was just as good of an alpha as Massie was. Better, even.
“But I don’t want her to hate me,” Kristen said glumly. “So what am I supposed to do?”
Alicia took a long, slow sip of latte, stalling for time. It wasn’t lost on her that Massie would have offered the perfect advice. She always did. Alicia had to think of something good. Fast. She sat up straight and interlaced her fingers in front of her, like her attorney dad did when he was about to approach the bench and say something super important to a judge.
“You should just…” she began.
Kristen and Dylan leaned forward slightly.
But Alicia’s mind was as empty as a bargain bin at a Chloé sample sale. She had no clue what to say. Her friends might as well have been asking her to explain the hard science behind global warming, or the logic of the Jennifer Aniston/ John Mayer hookup/breakup/hookup/breakup. It was impossible to suss out.
“You should just… wait,” she finished. No. Wrong. Alicia’s every hair follicle tightened, and her cheeks felt hot.
“Um… wait?” Kristen tilted her head to the side. “For what?”
Suddenly, Alicia remembered her father’s number one trial tip: Say anything with enough authority, and people will believe you.
“Is it nawt obvious?” she sigh-chided her friends. “You do nothing. No apology texts, voice mails, iChats, or IMs. You didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one who should be apologizing for being such a control freak. So you wait. And if she ever decides to apologize, you wait some more. Tell her you have to think about it. Make her desperate.” She sat back in her chair, satisfied. Everyone knew the wait for a Massie Block apology would be longer than the wait for a Chanel Biarritz bag. Which meant her friends would need a new alpha indefinitely.
“We wait for Massie to apologize,” Dylan repeated flatly. “Massie… Block.”
“Given,” Alicia said firmly.
“’Kay.” Kristen didn’t look convinced.
“SCOOOORE!” Josh yelled, flicking a napkin paper football across the table and through the goal Dempsey was making with his hands.
The guys cheered. People at nearby tables looked up from their MacBooks, silently shushing the boys with their glares.
Yesterday, Alicia would have been embarrassed. But today, watching Josh go for the field goal almost made her sad. Soon he’d be flicking paper footballs all the way over at Briarwood. Without her.
“So what’re we doing after this?” Dylan retrieved the paper football and wiped away her latte foam mustache with it.
“We gotta head out,” Derrington said. “Practice starts at five.”
“Yeah,” Josh said, shoving back his chair. “Coach makes us run extra laps if we’re late.”
Alicia tensed. Why didn’t the boys look sad to leave? Was everyone not having enough fun?
“You guys should come,” Josh mumbled. Alicia silently forgave him for forgetting to pay attention to her for the past five minutes.
“Okay!” Kristen brightened.
“I don’t know…” Alicia said loudly, nibbling her glossy bottom lip. What made Kristen think she could just decide what they were doing? After all the planning she’d already done? “What are we supposed to do while you guys practice?”
“Watch?” Cam suggested.
She shrugged and pretended to swallow a yawn, like watching the boys execute their Beckham-style scissor kicks was about as appealing as watching grass grow.
“Make you a deal…” Josh said. “Come to practice this afternoon, and I’ll do whatever you want tomorrow.”
“Mani-pedis?” Alicia tried, flashing her most irresistible smile.
Claire giggled.
“Hotz! Come on, man!” Derrington protested, his voice suddenly an octave lower than usual.
“Manicures for guys are so in,” Dylan announced. “I read it in In Style.”
“I dunnooooo,” Derrington said.
“I mean… GQ,” Dylan said quickly. “I read it in GQ.”
“It’s true,” Alicia piped up. “Beckham gets mani-pedis before every game.”
“Right.” Dempsey snorted.
“If we do this, you have to swear not to tell.” Derrington stabbed a mini marshmallow with his fork. “The guys will never let us hear the end of it.”
“Pinky-swear.” Dylan nodded.
“Deal,” Josh said.
“Fine. Deal.” Cam still looked skeptical. “But nobody’s painting my nails.”
Claire giggle-grinned and kicked her Keds back and forth under the table.
Alicia took a deep breath. She’d been waiting for this moment the entire afternoon and was this close to sweating with anticipation. “Deal. And since we’ll be doing stuff as a group, people will definitely be talking about us,” she said with authority. “And it takes so long to say all eight of our names. Soooo, it’ll be easier for everyone if we come up with a name for ourselves.”
“Like what?” Kristen asked. The color had finally seeped back into her cheeks.
The table fell silent.
“The Supreme Team!” Derrington shouted.
“The New Crew?” Kristen suggested.
“The Odd Couples?” Dylan joked.
“Wait.” Alicia touched her index finger to her shellacked lip thoughtfully, as if she was coming up with an ah-mazing idea just that moment—even though she’d been thinking about it all day. Everybody turned toward her. “What abou
t… the Soul-M8s? Since there are eight of us?”
“Love it!” Kristen and Claire squealed in unison.
“Brill,” Dylan added. “Best idea you’ve ever had.”
“Pretty good.” When Josh smiled at her, his dark eyes flashed I heart you.
Alicia flashed I heart you right back. Finally, everything was falling into place. Finally, she had the one thing Massie Block had never had:
A boy-girl clique.
Of course, being the Soul-M8s’ alpha would take a lot of time, focus, and energy. Which she had plenty of, now that the Heart-Nets were no longer necessary.
Alicia could hardly excavate her cell from her burgundy Hype Picasso bag fast enough. She’d held off on disbanding the Heart-Nets until she was sure she had something better. And now she did. She’d make the breakup quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid. And she’d put in it language that her soon-tobe-ex squad could understand.
Alicia: U had the cutest outfits
Ur kicks were super high!
Now the Tomahawks r leaving
It’s time 2 say buh-bye.
Thanks a mil for being true.
But the -nets r splitsville
(Population: U).
Alicia pressed send and blew on her fingertip like it was a smoking gun. Done, done, and done.
“So let’s get out of here?” Dempsey emptied a packet of brown sugar into his mouth.
“You ready?” Josh asked Alicia, scooping his soccer ball from the floor.
She nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”
As if on cue, her friends shoved back their chairs, slung their bags over their shoulders, and headed for the door.
“Hey.” Claire gripped Alicia’s arm as they exited the café. “Can I ask you something?”
“What’s up?” Alicia murmured, only half listening since she was busy picturing what everyone would say tomorrow when they found out she was the leader of a new crew.
“Do you think it’ll work, us hanging out with the guys all the time?” Claire asked.
“Given.”
“But… I heard boy-girl cliques don’t work.”
Alicia stopped.
So did the rest of the girls.
Alicia relaxed slightly. “What are you, six?” she asked, resuming her walk. “Of course it will work. I’ll pull a Tim Gunn.”
“What?” Claire looked clueless.
“I’ll make it work,” Alicia insisted. And with that she strode ahead of her friends, taking her rightful place at the head of the group.
BOCD
SECOND-FLOOR BATHROOM
Tuesday, October 13th
3:30 P.M.
Kuh-laire. Kuh-laire.
Claire’s Massie ringtone reverberated inside the beige metal walls of the fourth stall, where Claire had been hiding since the last bell. Trying to divide her time equally between Massie and the Soul-M8s all day had left her feeling more worn than the magnetic strip on Massie’s Glossip Girl Frequent Glosser card. She’d done lunch with the Soul-M8s, then sat next to Massie during study hall, and was supposed to meet the Soul-M8s for mani-pedis in less than five. Was this what kids with divorced parents felt like all the time? It was so exhausting, she’d ducked into the second-floor bathroom to get some peace.
Kuh-laire. Kuh-laire.
Which was obviously not an option in the second-floor bathroom, or any other place with decent cell reception.
“Okay, okay.” She clawed through the contents of her Anya Hindmarch for Target python satchel, bypassing a spiral notebook, an emergency sours stash, and an almost-empty tube of Sephora Sugar Cookie gloss before she found her rhinestone-encrusted Motorola.
Massie: Smoothie. Isaac can be here in 5.
Hola, chica! Hola, chica! Her phone sounded Alicia’s custom ring.
Alicia: Where r u??? Etd 4 soul-m8s mani-pedi = 5 mins.
Claire closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the cool metal of the stall door, strangling her buzzing Motorola with her sweaty grip. Why did it have to be like this? Why did she have to choose? Last year, she would have been psyched to be so in demand. But now, she felt like the old yellowed undershirts her dad used to wear when he did repairs around the house in Orlando: torn and stretched too thin.
Hola, chica! Hola, chica!
“Kuh-laire.”
Claire’s eyes snapped open. A pair of tan wedges tapped impatiently under her stall door.
“Massie?” The overpowering scent of sandalwood and ylang-ylang invaded her tiny sanctuary.
“Um, question for you,” Massie hissed.
Claire peeked through the side-crack of the door. Massie’s arms were folded across her eggplant-colored tunic, her fingertips pressed into the muslin sleeves.
“Am I piece of lint-covered cashmere?”
“No.” Claire sighed, bracing her stomach for the inevitable punch.
“Then why are you brushing me off?” Massie was blocking Claire’s exit, hands now glued to her hips.
“I’m not,” Claire protested. “It’s just… I sort of… have plans.” Her fist tightened, squeezing the life out of the synthetic snakeskin handle of her satchel.
“Plans?” Massie took a step back. “With them?” She narrowed her eyes accusingly, as if she’d just caught Claire wearing white Keds with black socks.
With a deep breath, Claire unlatched the metal lock and threw the door open. “Yes,” she affirmed reluctantly. “But maybe we can do something tomorrow?” she said, making a break for the sinks. She turned on the faucet to drown out her thumping heart. A rush of hot water scalded her hand. Ignoring the burn, she continued like nothing was wrong. “You know, go shopping or something. I’d love to get something new.”
“Like what?” Massie jammed the slanted tip of her Glossip Girl tube against her lips. “A spine?”
Claire chewed at the inside of her cheek, speed-pumping the soap dispenser. She’d have given up sugar for a year if it meant the Pretty Committee would get back together. But in the absence of a reunion, it seemed like being friends with both Massie and the Soul-M8s was the right thing to do—not the cowardly option.
“And I said, Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone I’ll be waiting, all there’s left to do is run.”
Claire’s phone was ringing again. But this was a call she wanted to take. She rinsed her hands and reached for her phone.
“Hey, Cam,” Claire whispered into the receiver, as though saying his name softly would make their relationship less threatening to Massie.
Massie rolled her eyes.
“Hey! We’re in the Riveras’ limo! Out front!” Cam’s voice was barely audible above Dylan’s shrieking laughter and the beat of a Kanye West song thumping from the speakers. “You coming?”
Claire mashed the phone against her ear, blocking the sound of fun from Massie. She stared at the floor, not wanting to have to see the hurt on Massie’s face.
“Yeah. Um, okay. I—I’ll be right there,” Claire blurted with the urgency of an EMT. Maybe if Massie thought someone was hurt she wouldn’t feel so—
The bathroom door slammed shut. Claire looked up at the now empty bathroom. A trace of Chanel No. 19 lingered, the only proof that this whole situation was real, and not just some horrible nightmare.
When Claire reached the limo, Dylan’s head popped through the open sunroof, her long red locks whipping wildly in the breeze.
“Get in!” she yelled. Then she dropped back inside the limo like a reverse jack-in-the-box.
The second Claire opened the door, Derrington bolted from the limo like a prisoner making his escape.
“Go! Go! Go!” Josh yelled.
“Save yourself!” Dempsey added, his smile curving into his dimpled cheeks.
“Ohhhhh, no you don’t!” Dylan shot out after Derrington. In seconds, she’d caught up with him and was dragging him back to his cell. “If I have to sit through soccer practice, you have to get a mani-pedi.”
“Awww, man.” Derrington rubbed the back of his neck, diving into the sea
t between Cam and Dempsey.
“Good effort.” Cam elbowed him.
Claire ducked inside the limo and shut the door behind her.
“Finally!” Alicia tossed a chilled bottle of cran-grapefruit Vitamin Water in Claire’s direction. “What took you so long?”
Claire eyed the tiny patch of vacant leather next to Cam. She wanted to squeeze in, but Alicia was already directing her to the spot between Dylan and Kristen.
“Sorry.” Claire shrugged, without bothering to answer. After all, the question was the equivalent of “Is that what you’re wearing?” It didn’t actually require an answer.
Cam side-glanced at his friends, who were busy sucker-punching one another, then nudged Claire’s ballet flat with his Puma. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Claire nudged him back. Alicia rapped on the glass divider behind her and the limo lunged forward. “These little piggies are going Chanel,” she decided, rolling up the hem of her olive satin cargo pants and planting her black patent peep-toes on the edge of the leather bench across from her. “Vendetta.”
“Oooh.” Dylan nodded. “Good one.” She took a gulp of Skinny Water and wiped her mouth with the back of her arm.
“Not me.” Dempsey grinned. “Shanghai Red, all the way, baby.”
“Duuuude.” Derrington shook his head slowly.
Kristen looked horrified. “How do you even know that’s a color?”
Dempsey’s chin dropped to his 100 percent recycled IT’S NOT EASY BEING GREEN cotton tee. “My mom likes it.”
“Sure she does,” Josh snorted.
“You okay?” Cam asked Claire quietly, from his seat across from her.
“Yeah. Just tired.” She sighed.
Cam reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a fresh bag of sours.
“Thanks.” Claire smiled, letting the stress of the day melt away like the sugar on her tongue. The vibrations from the speakers transformed the creamy leather seats into massage chairs.
Boys R Us Page 5
