IN OUT
MAC PC
Peace War
Scene stealers Crush stealers
THE RIVERA ESTATE
ALICIA’S BEDROOM
Saturday, October 17th
2:03 P.M.
“Do it,” Alicia instructed, yanking her ponytail to maximum tightness.
“I mean it,” Claire insisted, flicking the soft tassel hanging from the tangerine silk pillow in her lap. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Kuh-laire,” Alicia snapped. She nudged the thick issue of Vogue España across the jewel-toned rug on her bedroom floor. Her Spanish cousins had sent her a subscription for her birthday last year. But since she could only read a few words of the six-hundred-page fashion encyclopedia, she’d had to find creative ways to put the magazine to use. “Swear.” She was starting to get impatient. What good was it to lure Claire to her house with promises of sweets and a The Hills DVD marathon if Claire wasn’t going to hold up her end of the bargain?
Sighing, Claire lowered her right palm onto the glossy cover. “I, Claire Lyons,” she muttered.
“Do solemnly swear.” Alicia straightened up, rolling back her shoulders and smoothing her midnight blue curve-hugging sweater.
“Do solemnly swear.”
“To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Gawd,” Alicia finished in her most official newscaster voice.
Claire repeated the oath, then collapsed back onto the mountain of brightly colored pillows in the corner.
“Now spill.” Alicia leaned forward, her heart beating faster. Letting Claire go to Massie’s sleepover the night before had been a genius move. Now Claire could report back everything she’d seen and heard.
“Um…” Claire wiped her palm on the worn thigh of her root beer bottle–brown cords. “When I got there, she was doing a face mask, and—”
“Color?”
“Green.”
“Seaweed or avocado-honey?” Alicia pressed, using her father’s interrogating-a-witness tone.
“What difference does it make?” Claire shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
“Seaweed means Massie’s stressed. Avocado-honey means she was on the verge of breaking out, which means she was stressed times ten.”
“Um, avocado-honey, I think?”
Alicia nodded, satisfied. “Go awn.”
“We played What Would You Rather? And then…” Claire paused, her blue eyes darting back and forth, like they were scanning her brain for the right thing to say. “And then we went for a walk outside and I, uh, went to bed.”
“Outside? For a walk?” Okay, something was definitely up. Did Bean have diarrhea? Was there a lunar eclipse? Was the spa on fire? Alicia knew for a fact that Massie wouldn’t walk outside between October and May until global warming hit Westchester. She’d told Alicia that once. A sadness-pinch gripped Alicia’s intestines. It was weird knowing so much about someone you no longer considered a friend. It was like having all the Ralph Lauren clothes in world, only three sizes too small. All you could do was hand them down to someone else and hope they appreciated them as much as you did.
“Yep, a walk.” Sunlight poured through the enormous bay window, making Claire squint. Or was that her “I’m lying” face? Because they kind of looked alike.
Alicia eyed the magazine between them. A sweaty palm print still glistened on the cover. Claire was definitely hiding something.
Pushing herself to her feet, Alicia glided over to the mini fridge and pulled out a small glass bottle of Diet Coke. Alphas were supposed to know everything about the betas in their pride. And if Claire was keeping something from her… Were Claire and Massie planning a takeover? What if Dylan and Kristen were in on it? Alicia was starting to feel light-headed, like she’d gone an entire dance class without water. She gripped the edge of her desk to steady herself.
“Leesh?” Claire nibbled on her thumbnail. “You okay?” She sounded concerned but looked guilty.
“Given.” Alicia closed her eyes and took a long swig of soda. The fizz invigorated her senses, while the sting of cold bubbles rushing down her throat made her feel protected, like an army of tiny spirited soldiers was entering her body to help her fight. Her lids snapped open. “So, that’s everything?”
“Yup.” Claire’s head bobbed up and down so fast, Alicia thought it might snap off. “That’s it. So tell me about the planning party last—”
Alicia shook her head slowly, her shiny ponytail swishing accusingly from side to side. Why Claire was still being so loyal to Massie, after everything she’d done, was beyond Alicia. But Alicia had had a feeling this might happen. She reached for the yellow legal pad on her desk, and a black Sharpie.
“What’s that?” Claire asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Alicia said casually, popping off the Sharpie cap. “Just the guest list for my dinner party.” The Sharpie hovered over the pad. “BTW, I could really use your help on this.”
“My help?” Claire repeated warily.
“It’s just that I really only have room for seven,” Alicia said, widening her large brown eyes. “I’m thinking about cutting someone. And since everybody else’s crushes are gonna be there, I would really hate to have to cut Ca—”
“Okay, okay!” Claire cracked like an antique vase, just like Alicia knew she would. “There’s one more thing. But she made me pinky-swear not to tell.”
“You can trust me,” Alicia giggle-grinned, kneeling gracefully on the pillows next to Claire.
“She was going into the city today.” Claire exhaled.
“So?” Alicia’s shoulders dropped. Nothing unusual about that.
“With Layne.”
Alicia burped Diet Coke through her nose. The burn—or was it rage?—made her feel like a fire-breathing dragon. “You mean Layme?” she sputtered. Oh yeah, something was definitely up.
Claire nodded, and Alicia’s heart thumped behind the low neckline of her midnight blue curve-hugging sweater. It was the best gossip Alicia had heard since the Dempsey-Kristen hookup hit Twitter last week.
No matter how hard she tried, Alicia couldn’t mask the giddiness she felt when she imagined Layne and Massie sharing a bite of the Big Apple. What would they possibly do? Plastic bead shop in the fluorescent-lit DIY jewelry stores between Thirty-second and Thirty-eighth streets? Dumpster dive for used clothing? Beef jerky buy at every Duane Reade from Battery Park to Harlem?
The corners of Alicia’s glossy lips curled into a Cheshire cat grin.
It seemed as though her absence had forced Massie to friend Layne, like a crab doomed to bottom-feed for survival. Finally, Alicia had something Massie Block wanted. Status.
Correction.
Alpha status.
And she was determined to rub it in Massie’s face like an avocado-honey mask until she turned green.
Exactly fifty-seven minutes later, Dean, Alicia’s driver, rolled through the Blocks’ open gate. The red brake lights of the Range Rover were just ahead of them, coasting smoothly up the drive. Perfect timing.
“Thanks for the ride, Dean,” Claire called.
Dean smile-nodded his thanks in the rearview mirror.
“Just park next to Isaac,” Alicia instructed, tightening the sash on her trench. She slipped her hand into the bag at her side, feeling around for her legal pad for the eighth time. It was still there. “I want to say hey to Massie.”
Claire snorted. “Um?”
Alicia batted her mascara-lengthened lashes and checked her ponytail for bumps. “Calm down, this won’t take long.” She gripped the door handle with a slightly trembling hand and reminded herself that she could pull this off. That there was no reason to be nervous. So why did she feel like she’d just had one too many lattes?
She opened the door and stepped onto the Blocks’ driveway, Claire at her heels. It felt like she was stepping onto enemy soil. Massie opened her door too, slamming it loudly when she saw the girls.
“Um, is your name Hue?” Massie aske
d with detached disinterest.
Alicia nodded disappointedly, like she was so over this childish routine.
“Then why are you stocking me?” Massie cocked her head.
Alicia might have laughed if they were still friends, but instead, she cocked her head right back and matched Massie’s cool tone. “I was just dropping off Kuh-laire.” She paused for dramatic purposes. “But now that I’m here, I’d like to make you an offer.” She lowered her white Tom Ford shades, even though it was starting to get cloudy.
Claire chewed at her nails, glancing back and forth between the girls.
Massie lowered her mirrored Prada aviators. “Unless you’re offering to leave, I’m not interested.”
Alicia felt a twinge of pity for her ex. She was obviously too proud to admit defeat.
“I heard about your little field trip with Layne,” Alicia said, reaching into her bag. Her fingers closed around the crisp edges of her legal pad.
“And?” Massie folded her arms across her buttery soft leather jacket.
“Aaaaand I have a solution to your problem.” Alicia waved the pad under Massie’s sharp chin.
“What problem?” Massie smacked the pad.
“Your FATS problem?”
Claire gasped.
“What?” Massie snapped. “I don’t have Fallen Alpha Trauma Syndrome.”
“Ahhh, denial.” Alicia sighed. “It’s the first symptom of FATS.” She re-shoved the pad in Massie’s airspace, this time with added force. “Read this. It will help.” The contract her dad had helped her draw up would speak for itself.
Massie peered over the top of her sunglasses. “‘From the desk of Alicia Rivera,’” she read in a monotone voice. “‘Hear ye, hear ye. The alpha of the second part—’”
“That’s you,” Alicia clarified.
“‘Agrees that the alpha of the first part—’”
“Me.”
Massie rolled her eyes. “‘Is heretofore the sole alpha of the Soul-M8s, hereafter referred to as quote-unquote “the pride.”’” She slapped the legal pad to her side. “What is this?” she demanded.
“Keep reading,” Alicia said evenly.
“‘The alpha of the second part is hereby invited to join quote-unquote “the pride,” providing that said alpha pledges allegiance to the alpha of the first—’” Massie stopped cold. “Wait. You want me to join something called the Soul-M8s?” A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “Alicia, do I look like I dance with a crew?”
“It’s not a dance crew.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “It’s my crew,” she announced, liking—no, luh-ving—the way that sounded. “And I’ll let you in pursuant to the terms of the agreement, ah-bviously,” she added, to avoid sounding eager. She reached inside her bag for the glitter pen. “You’re as good as in, so long as you agree that I’m the alpha. Nawt you.” She handed Massie the pen but avoided her eyes. This was probably a humiliating moment for her, and she didn’t want to make it any harder. Besides, there would be plenty of time to gush once the contract was signed.
“Take it.” Alicia waved the pen. “It’s okay. It’s over.” She grinned warmly, preparing herself for the hug that always followed one of their fights. For the flurry of “I’m sorry”s and “I didn’t mean it”s and “I heart you”s.
Until she realized Massie wasn’t taking the pen.
“Um, Alicia?” Massie asked sweetly.
What was happening?
“Is my name Helen Keller?”
Alicia braced herself. “No.”
“Then why would I sign?”
Massie opened the back door of the Range Rover. Four girls slid out, each one looking like she had stepped directly off the runway and onto the driveway.
“Ehmagawd.” Claire’s palm flew to her mouth.
“Meet Massie and Crew.” Massie smirked, oozing confidence and control. “Or MAC, as we like to call ourselves.”
Alicia felt like she’d just gotten socked in the stomach with Vogue España. She whip-turned toward Claire, shock and rage clouding her features. How could Claire’s intel have been so wrong? For one thing, Layne wasn’t even here. And second, Massie didn’t look like she was suffering at all.
“Come awn, girls,” Massie ordered. Silently, the model lineup turned in perfect sync, following their alpha toward the house.
And even though Claire was standing right next to her, Alicia had never felt more alone in her entire life.
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
THE PARKING LOT
Monday, October 19th
7:29 A.M.
Shampoo-yellow sunlight spilled over Massie the second she stepped out of the Range Rover. Eyes closed, she tilted her face slightly toward the sky and let the warm beams ignite her shimmer-dusted cheeks. The fall air was crisp, invigorating, and, most important, boy free. She applied a generous of coat of Mango Magawd Glossip Girl and grinned, feeling like her old self again.
For one thing, Alicia wanting her back made her feel in demand. And for another, now that the boys were safely at Briarwood, the Soul-M8s had been cut in half and were now just 4-Squares. Plus their alpha, Ew-licia, was probably still reeling from Massie’s rejection, and that made them weaker than knock-off perfume. The girls of Octavian Country Day needed guidance more than ever. And Massie and Crew were ready to give it to them, effective immediately.
After a final check in the side-view mirror, Massie couldn’t decide which sparkled more: her future, or her cheekbones.
Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk!
A line of luxury SUVs was starting to form behind her.
“Puh-lease.” She rolled her eyes and saunter-stepped across the pavement, smoothing the pleated ivory sweater dress she wore over textured olive DKNY tights. When the light caught the shimmering Lurex threads in the soft cashmere, her outfit literally glowed. She felt like an animated fairy. If she were sprinkling golden glitter-dust with every step, Walt Disney would have risen from the dead and handed her a contract.
“Heyyyyyy!” Layne was waiting for her on the curb, bouncing in her sneakers and flapping her long arms like a hyperactive chimp. “Hurry up! They’re waiting!”
Massie slowed slightly. Last Friday she’d rented the old overflow trailers from the school, saying she needed a “private study zone” and had them revamped over the weekend. Even though she was dying to see how her new friends looked in their trailers, taking orders from Layne Abeley was like borrowing Claire’s Keds: It just wasn’t going to happen.
Just then, two girls in long black skirts ambled by, the hems collecting leaves and dirt as they trailed across the ground. Massie had to swerve to avoid a head-on LBR collision.
“Ehmagross.” She winced. “FOOD!”
“Huh?” Layne asked, rolling up the sleeves of her navy plaid men’s shirt.
“Fashion Opposite Of Do!” Massie gasped. “They’re everywhere.”
The outfits were bad, but the unwashed hair and makeup-free faces were unacceptable. The girls did less for OCD’s curb appeal than a barbed-wire fence jammed with Taco Bell wrappers and bird feathers. Looking around, Massie noticed that slumped shoulders, glossless lips, and dull hair plagued every student in sight. OCD had been transformed into one big “before” picture, and Massie was the lone “after.” “What’s going awn?”
Layne unwrapped a brick of neon green gum and popped it in her mouth. “The Briarwood guys are gone. ‘Dress to impress’ is just for weekends again.” A girl in SpongeBob pajama pants lumbered toward the main building. “I think it’s liberating,” Layne announced, chomping smugly on her gum.
“I think it’s nauseating.” Massie fought the urge to vom.
“Well, you’re not gonna believe how great our girls look,” Layne gushed as they walked to the back parking lot. She yanked the brim of her navy baseball cap low over her eyes. The phrase DIRECT TO DVD was printed in gray block letters across the foam forehead. “We’ve been rehearsing your talking points and strut formation all morning.”
She and Layne passed the towering, leafy trees that shaded the trailers, and Massie’s stomach flip-flopped.
“Ehmagawd.” Massie gripped Layne’s wrist at the sight of the trailer. The dingy gray rectangular box that loomed in front of them looked like it had been power-sprayed with milky-white pigeon poo. Dents cratered the walls like unsightly acne scars, and rust surrounded the windows and doors.
It was beyond disgusting.
Which made it the beyond perfect hideout. No one in the entire school would think to come anywhere near this pooencrusted, tetanus-inducing sardine can.
“Isn’t it great?” Layne sprinted up the carpeted stairs and threw the door open.
“Totes.” Massie hurried after her, careful not to touch anything.
The inside of the trailer looked exactly like the blueprints she’d drawn up for Willem Rowe, Westchester’s premier set designer. The floor had been carpeted in crimson velvet to make the MAC girls feel like they were walking the red carpet when they stepped inside. Silk-covered director’s chairs were arranged against the far left wall, each girl’s name embroidered in rhinestones on the back, and four rectangular dressing room mirrors hung in front, surrounded by glowing heart-shaped bulbs. Beneath them were four shelves stocked with makeup and hair products to complement each girl’s coloring and hair type. The very back of the trailer served as the costume department: Four clothing racks were filled with items Massie had preapproved and had overnighted from Neiman’s. Behind the racks was a Project Runway–style accessories wall lined with shoes, handbags, and chunky necklaces.
The trailer was perfect. Only one thing was missing: the actors.
“Okay!” Massie whisper-barked. “Coast’s clear. You can come out.”
One by one, the MAC girls popped up from inside their dressing room cubbies.
“Excuuuse me,” Lilah said, smoothing her pixie cut. “My call time was, like, forty minutes ago. Even Cameron Crowe didn’t make me wait around this long.”
Jasmin, aka Tampax Sport, widened her chocolate brown eyes. “You worked with Cameron Crowe?”
The tiny hairs on the back of Massie’s neck bristled, but before she could put the actresses in their places, Layne interrupted.
Boys R Us Page 10
