“So seriously.” Derrington crossed his arms over his chest, glaring out the window. “If you guys tell anybody about this—”
“Re-laaaax,” Dylan said. “We won’t.”
“Swear,” Josh insisted. “If this ever got out—”
“Pinky-swear,” Alicia assured him. Claire caught Cam’s green eye and smirked. Once she’d drawn a little heart on his big toe with her red Sharpie. He widened his blue eye, as if embarrassed at the memory. But Claire knew for a fact that he’d worn the heart on his toe for over a week. She turned to nudge Massie, the only person she’d told about the Sharpie session, then remembered the alpha was too far away—in all senses of the word—for an inside joke.
All around her the limo was full of life and giggles and chatter. But for some reason, Claire just felt empty.
WESTCHESTER, NY
SERENITY SPA
Tuesday, October 13th
4:05 P.M.
“We’re here!” Alicia announced when they arrived at the spa ten minutes later.
Dean opened the limo door. “Just text when you’re ready,” he instructed Alicia, his furry brow knitting together like a caterpillar inching its way across his forehead.
“’Kay.” Alicia marched to the head of the line, narrowing her eyes at the boys as they huddled close the limo, not wanting to go inside. “Come awn,” she ordered, leading their dragging feet to the frosted glass door.
Inside, giant crystal chandeliers cast a shimmering light over the all-white decor. Customers sat at large white marble cubes, their hands outstretched toward their aestheticians. Even though the spa was packed, the only sound came from the rush of the indoor waterfall that spilled over the glass wall at the back of the spa. It was chic times ten. Alicia mentally applauded her choice of venue.
“Miss Rivera!” A striking woman wearing black skinny pants and a ruffled black button-down sashayed across the slick marble floors to greet them. She air-kissed Alicia on both cheeks. “Cómo estás?”
“Muy bien.” Alicia beamed. She turned to the group for introductions. “Soul-M8s, this is Estée. Estée, meet the Soul-M8s.”
Estée smile-nodded, the soft white light from the chandeliers illuminating her perfectly chiseled cheekbones. “Hello, ladies,” she said, before her eyes fell on the boys. “And gentlemen?” she said, her voice lifting in surprise.
Alicia smile-nodded proudly.
The boys reddened.
“There. Are. No. Other. Dudes. Here,” Derrington hissed. Dylan elbowed him playfully.
“Estée, as in Lauder?” Claire marveled.
“Yeah,” Kristen said under her breath. “Estée Lauder’s got nothing better to do than pumice your feet.”
“I want paraffin treatments for the boys,” Alicia announced, pacing back and forth in front of the group. The staccato click-clack of her heels punctured the silence of the spa.
“Parawhat?” Cam whispered in Claire’s ear.
“Hot wax,” Claire whispered back. “I think it’s French for ‘waste of money.’”
Alicia jabbed Claire with her elbow.
Dempsey hitched up his cargo pants. “Will the wax make the soccer ball stick to my feet?”
“No!” Kristen giggled.
“I can’t believe this,” Josh muttered. “Least they have snacks.” He reached for the crystal bowl sitting on a side table in the waiting area. Plunging his hand into it, he stuffed the contents into his mouth.
Claire’s hand flew to her mouth. “Josh!” she whispered. “I think that’s—”
“Gross!” Josh yelled, spitting out a dried rosebud.
“No waaaay!” Cam, Derrington, and Dempsey doubled over laughing while Josh spewed potpourri like a leaf blower.
Estée pursed her plumped lips. A stooped dowager furrowed her goo-covered brows. A technician tapped her French-manied nails on her white workstation and glared.
Alicia turned bright purple but pretended not to notice.
“And for the girls…” Alicia paused briefly in front of Claire, letting her eyes run from the green silk Tea and Honey blouse to the violet ballet flats. “We’ll go with Essie,” she decided. “Cloud Nine.”
“Excellent choice.” Estée nodded her approval as Alicia moved on to Kristen and Dylan, relishing the feeling of being in charge and taken seriously.
“I’m sure you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.” Estée led the Soul-M8s past the marble cubes when Alicia finished making her color choices. The boys sashayed behind Estée, mimicking her hip-swinging walk. Alicia swallowed a reprimand as the old lady customers sharpened their glares.
At the back of the spa, in front of the waterfall, a line of eight white leather massage chairs and eight all-black-wearing pedicurists were waiting. Nestled in the left armrest of each chair was a champagne flute filled with sparkling cider and topped with dark chocolate shavings that looked like confetti. Each glass had different initials gold-stamped on the base.
“Just like I wanted,” Alicia proclaimed with a satisfied nod.
Dylan swiped a truffle off a tray and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm, peanut butter,” she mumbled.
“Sweet!” Derrington held up a pair of white earbuds that had been plugged into the side of the chair. “We can listen to the regional finals!”
“ADD is gonna clean up,” Dempsey said. “Their team is sick this year.”
The guys high-fived, clearly relieved to have a manly activity to distract them from their parafem pedicures.
Alicia found her glass, stamped with the initials AR, and settled between Dylan and Kristen. Dunking her feet into the lavender-scented water, she tilted back her chair and sipped her cider. The moment was perfect. Everything had gone according to plan. Everyone was here, having fun. And, once again, it was all because of her.
“Claire. Cam. Get together.” Alicia pulled a tiny digital camera out of her handbag. The only way to make this moment more perfect was to capture it forever.
“New camera?” Claire asked through her frozen smile.
“Yep.” Alicia lowered her index finger. The camera emitted a tiny click. “I got it for making good grades this year.”
“Puh-lease,” Kristen said into copy of Shape magazine. “We’ve been in school for like a month. You don’t have any grades.”
“Well, I’ve ‘demonstrated exceptional academic promise,’” Alicia air-quoted. “Now do me.” She tossed the camera to Claire and lifted her champagne flute in the air. “I propose a toast,” she announced, pausing long enough to narrow her eyes at the camera.
Claire took the shot, then raised her glass.
“To the Soul-M8s!” Alicia announced.
“To the Soul-M8s!” the girls echoed.
“Cotton bomb!” Derrington lunged forward suddenly, launching a handful of cotton balls in the girls’ direction.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” the girls scream-ducked.
A collective, sharp inhale from the customers around them did nothing to stop Kristen from picking up a giant loofah. She waved it menacingly.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Dempsey challenged.
“I would!” Dylan flicked a nail file down the row, pegging Derrington in the chest.
Claire laughed out loud and chucked a foam toe separator at Cam, as if she didn’t care what the customers in Estée’s fancy spa thought about her or her friends. Alicia’s cheeks burned, and not from the rubbing alcohol–laden cotton ball that had just hit her cheek. A little voice in the back of her head told her this never would have happened if Massie were around. She wouldn’t have allowed it. She’d be too concerned with her reputation and how people wouldn’t regard her as a serious patron of the pampering arts. And the Pretty Committee would have been too scared to cross her. But how could Alicia stop it without seeming uptight and unfun?
Derrington reached for the tray of chocolates. He palmed a dark chocolate truffle and wound up.
“Miss Rivera!” Estée faced all eight chairs, her toned arms crossed over her chest. A wet cot
ton ball whizzed past her elbow and landed with a splat on the marble floor.
The boys snort-snickered.
Dylan bit her lower lip.
Kristen buried her face in Shape.
Alicia could feel her dark skin fade to a yellowish gray. “Yes?” She blinked rapidly, like it was Morse code for “Please don’t tell my mom.”
“I’m going to have to ask you and your friends to control yourselves, or you will be asked to leave.”
Again, a little tiny disloyal voice popped up in the back of Alicia’s head, and she couldn’t help but wonder how Massie would respond to Estée’s threat. Would she bust out a snappy comeback? Something like “Um, Est, are you Steven Spielberg? Then why are you telling me how to act?” Or would she flat-out deny everything, making Estée think she was having a delusional episode. It was hard to predict. But one thing Alicia knew for sure was that Massie would never, ever—
“I’m sorry,” Alicia mumbled the words before she could stop herself.
Apologize.
Claire, Kristen, and Dylan exchanged a look. Suddenly the smell of lavender was overpowering. Alicia’s eyes burned and she couldn’t get enough air. Her friends’ looks confirmed what Alicia instantly knew to be true: that in the OCDictionary, “I’m sorry” was just another way to say “I’m a beta.”
THE BLOCK ESTATE
GUESTHOUSE
Tuesday, October 13th
5:37 P.M.
An hour later, Claire waddled awkwardly into her bedroom in the spongy flip-flops provided by the spa, her ballet flats dangling from her fingertips. She stepped over the pile of Keds next to her door and tossed her shoes into her open walk-in closet. A tiny yelp escaped from inside, and Bean trotted out, chewing a green Kate Spade sandal that had been a Massie hand-me-down.
“Bean! No!” Claire knelt down and wrestled the soggy shoe away from the puppy, careful not to smudge her nails.
“She has ah-mazing taste.” Massie’s voice leaked from inside the closet.
“Hey!” Claire inhaled sharply, her heart thumping in her chest. “I didn’t know you were here.” She yanked the closet door open wide. Massie was standing inside, Claire’s favorite jeans and a yellow silk top Claire still hadn’t worn draped over her arm.
“I needed more clothes for the homeless.” Massie shrugged, scooping Bean from the floor. “Your mom let me in.” She glare-nodded at Claire’s flip-flops. “How were your plans?”
“They were”—Claire started carefully—“okay.” She sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly removed her foam shoes. Her feet were still slick with sweet almond massage oil. She wiped her smooth soles on the floor, as if trying to destroy the evidence of her fun afternoon.
Claire studied Massie for a second. Her lips were practically reflective, like they had a protective shell.
“I missed you. We all did.” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly true. But Claire had to believe that deep, deep, deeeeeeeep down, the other girls missed Massie too.
Massie’s face seemed to soften slightly.
“You know, it’s not too late to—”
“I already told you.” Massie’s features hardened faster than quick-drying nail polish. “Elastic is for Lululemon.” She reglossed. Claire could almost see her reflection in Massie’s lips. “It’s time to choose.”
“Choose?” Claire squawked.
Massie nodded slowly. “PC or MAC?”
Bean barked once.
“Um, what’s MAC again?” Claire stalled.
“Massie and Claire,” she said flatly.
“What about Kristen? And, you know, the crew?”
“What’s it gonna be?” Massie hissed at Claire’s pearly toes, ignoring the question.
“Neither!” Claire collapsed back onto her duvet and stared up at the glow-in-the dark stars plastered to her ceiling. “I mean, I’m not choosing. I can be friends with you both.”
“Won’t work,” Massie retorted. “Do you think Courtney Cox Arquette is friends with Brad and Angie?” She dropped Bean to the floor.
Alicia’s voice echoed in Claire’s head. She bolted upright.
“I’ll pull a Tim Gunn,” Claire insisted. “I’ll make it work.”
“Trust me. You can’t.” Without even looking in Claire’s direction, she headed for the door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And don’t come crying to me when your PC crashes.” She stormed out.
Bean lifted her tiny nose in the air and followed.
Claire tasted pennies. She couldn’t let Massie walk out on her twice in one day. “Wait!” she said desperately, rushing toward the door. She tripped over her Keds, jamming her big toe into the doorframe.
“Owwww!” she yelped, hopping up and down on one foot. Downstairs, the slam of the front door told her Massie was gone. Pain shot through Claire’s toe, all the way to her heart.
Collapsing in defeat on the floor, she examined the wound. Her toe was red and throbbing, and her pedicure was ruined. Just like her afternoon.
BOCD
ROOM G-16
Wednesday, October 14th
11:59 A.M.
“Et maintenant, le subjonctif,” Madame Vallon wheezed from the front of the classroom, gripping the sides of the wooden podium like it was a walker. Massie took a break from the Teen Vogue quiz on her desk to indulge in a quick wrist sniff. The Bengay-slash-mothballs-slash-stale-peppermint smell that hovered within a ten-foot radius of OCD’s ancient French department head was making her feel light-headed.
Or maybe it was the faint combination of spicy chocolate, crisp green apple, fresh grapefruit, and cheap drugstore vanilla that was making her ill. Reminding her that Alicia, Kristin, Dylan, and Claire were all sitting in the back row, speed-texting, while her iPhone sat eerily cold and silent in her lap.
“We’ll begin with the verb avoir,” Madame Vallon trilled, sending her face wrinkles into vibrating spasms. She pressed her giant putty-colored hearing aid into her left ear, then turned to the board, leaving her deaf ear exposed to the class.
“To haaaaave,” Dylan burped from the back of the room. The class exploded into giggles. Massie pinched the skin between her index finger and thumb until it hurt.
“Répétez: que j’ai, que tu aies, qu’il/elle ait.” Madame Vallon turned back toward the class, oblivious. The wrinkly neckskin that spilled over the top button of her shapeless oatmeal cardigan swung slowly back and forth as she spoke.
While the rest of the class chanted in monotone voices that suggested hypnosis by neck fat, Massie pulled her Nutella gloss from the pocket of her charcoal wide-leg Yaya Aflalo trousers. Nutella was the newest flavor from Glossip Girl’s international collection, and the rich chocolate gloss tinged with hints of hazelnut and espresso made her feel like she was somewhere way more exotic than room G-16 of Octavian Country Day. Somewhere she could start fresh. Where she’d be appreciated for her fashion-forward style, her ability to move in a four-inch-plus heel, and most of all, her talent for taking charge. Paris, peut-être.
“… que nous ayons, que vous ayez, qu’ils/elles aient,” Madame Vallon continued.
Realistically speaking, Paris was out of the question, especially given Massie’s strict policy against horizontal stripes and simple carbs.
Usually, when she needed a change, she made a beeline for Jakkob’s salon. But the kind of change she needed now was bigger than fresh highlights and a bang trim. It was bigger than a new wardrobe from Barneys or a day at the spa. She was going to have to start from scratch. With a whole new group of friends.
Wasn’t Kendra always telling her to quote-unquote “learn from her mistakes”? Well, the only mistake she’d made recently was in whom she hung out with. She was done, done, and done with alpha-wannabes, food-obsessed ex-snatchers with an excess of gas, sporty crush-stealers, and neutral Switzerlands. Her new friends had to be more alpha than her old ones, in every way.
Staring at the mag quiz in front of her, Massie nibbled her lower lip. The chocolaty flavor sent a sugar rush through
her veins. It cleared her head and renewed her confidence, giving her an idea that was beyond genius.
Flipping open her notebook, she got to work on a quiz of her own.
ARE YOU MAC MATERIAL?
1. You leave the house looking hawter than hawt in your new black lace Miu Miu cami and BCBG wide-leg pants. You open the door of the Range Rover. Massie is wearing the exact same cami! EHMAGAWD! No worries, you know exactly what to do. You:
A. Do nuh-thing. You know you look hawt, so why should it matter?
B. Take a bad sushi day. The cami was ah-bviously Massie’s idea first.
C. Trick question! You would cuh-learly never buy anything without consulting with your alpha beforehand.
D. Trick question! Underwear-as-outerwear is so last year. You’d sooner wear acid-wash denim.
Answer: C & D. Obv.
2. An ah-dorable Briarwood boy moves into your building. He’s mature, stylish, and tanned. You just know he’d be perfect for Massie. Even though she needs zero help with boys, you offer to see if he’s into her. What’s your first move?
A. Give Massie 72 hours notice, then plan an “accidental run-in” with Massie and Briarwood Boy. Follow up with a *casual* text to determine Briarwood boy’s level of interest. Make sure there’s nothing in the text to make the boy like you instead of Massie. Also, make sure there’s nothing that would make him think *you* like him. Double-check before sending.
B. First move? You have a jillion ideas, and they’re all fantastic. So you prepare a short PowerPoint presentation and let Massie choose. After all, who knows more about anything than she does?
C. Plan an “accidental run-in” with Massie and Briarwood boy. Forget to warn her.
D. Plot ways to get him to like you instead. Then, when she least expects it, tell her he’s just not that into you. Pretend to be sorry.
Answer: A & B are both acceptable options. Check in with Massie and proceed accordingly.
Boys R Us Page 6
