The Clique: Charmed and Dangerous

by Lisi Harrison

  Massie bit her lower lip to keep from giggling. Was this funny or creepy? Gawd, if only her friends were there she wouldn’t feel so awkward… pathetic… terrified!

  “… spiritus maximus shareshareshare spiritus maximus shareshareshare spiritus maximus shareshareshare spiritus maximus sh—”

  Suddenly, Hermia’s wrinkled lids popped open. In a deep, hushed voice, which seemed on loan from someone more serious, she began. “As always, you are at the it party. With the it crowd. Wearing the it wardrobe. But you just aren’t feeling… eh… I don’t know….” She closed her eyes and moved them back and forth, like she was reading something inside her head. “It! You just aren’t feeling it! Am I right?”

  “Yes!” Massie’s stomach lurched. Hermia was so right! All her life she’d felt detached, like she was being massaged in a snowsuit. And it was time for that snowsuit to come off.

  “You have surrounded yourself with the wrong people,” Hermia continued.

  Massie nodded in agreement, her palm soaking with sweat. Was it time for the snowsuit to come off?

  “You are a girl of many ideas. Strong ideas. Gooood ideas. But you are not being heard.”

  “Ah-greed!” Massie shouted. It wasn’t enough anymore to believe she was it. She wanted to feel it. And she wanted to feel it now!

  “You were born to lead, not follow.”

  “Yes! Yes!”

  “But you must gather your power first,” Hermia insisted. “Draw it to you. Be a human magnet. Attract the necessary pieces.”

  “Huh?”

  “When all five pieces are together, you will reach your full potential as a leader.”

  “What pieces?” Massie snapped. Did she have to be so ah-nnoyingly mysterious? What did that mean? Why couldn’t Hermia just tell her what to do?

  Massie opened her clutch and pulled out a crisp twenty. “What if I give you this? Will you tell me what the pieces are?”

  The psychic released Massie’s hand. “Hermia cannot be bought!”

  Massie rolled her eyes and stood. She’d gotten what she came for. She was going to be the leader of the Ahnnabees. That was all she needed to know.

  “Wait!” Hermia held out a smooth purple stone. “Take this. It’s free.” She smirked.

  “What’s it for?”

  “Purple is the color of royalty, you know. And that’s the color I see when I look at you.”

  “Ehmagawd, me too.” Massie reached for the stone. It would look adorable in her future crown.

  MERRI-LEE MARVIL’S NEW YEAR’S YVES PARTY

  DRESSING ROOM C

  Friday, December 31st

  8:41 P.M.

  Thirty-four minutes until curtain.

  Alicia speed mashed a not-quite-ripe banana with a plastic fork. The white prongs bent against what was supposed to be the planet’s softest fruit. But tough banana and brown rice would have to do. They were the only options on the “performers’ food table” reputed for intestinal binding. And Andrea’s intestines needed some serious binding.

  “Is Mrs. Fossier back yet?” Andrea moaned.

  “She’s searching for ginger ale.” Alicia crouched down beside the couch and offered up a forkful of banan-ice. “Eat!”

  “Ew.” Brooke winced from across the room. “That looks like the stuff you’re trying to get rid of.”

  “Ugggghhhhh.” Andrea curled into fetal position and turned away, her gas-leaking butt aiming straight for Alicia’s face.

  “Brooke, do you mind?” Alicia hissed. “We have twenty-five minutes to find a cure for And-rrhea or we’re going to be replaced by singing dogs.”

  “Ha! And-rrhea!” Brooke burst out laughing. “That’s a good one.”

  Alicia allowed herself a quick giggle. “Eat!”

  Andrea popped open the snap on her pinstriped shorts and cupped her distended belly. “I can’t. You’ll have to find someone else to dance.” A fresh set of hives marred her neck.

  “You’re right,” Alicia sighed, wondering what Skye would do in this situation. Would she replace Andrea? Force-feed her the banan-ice? Or would everything have been fine had Skye been here? What if this “nerve problem” was a reaction to Alicia? What if Alicia’s captaining was making Andrea sick?

  Considering this made Alicia’s stomach plunge. She was so close to being number one. And as usual, someone was getting in her way.

  A muffled ringing sound drew her back. It was coming from the bottom of her new caramel-colored Marc Jacobs tote. Thanks, Santa!

  Whoever was calling would have to wait. She was in crisis mode. This was no time to discuss celeb sightings with the couch-ridden girls in her grade.

  But the caller kept calling. And calling. And…

  With a frustrated sigh Alicia dug deep into her MJ. She dug beyond the Juicy sweats. Beyond the hair products. Beyond the sealed box of Nair. And pulled out her pink Nokia.

  The display flashed SKYE HAMILTON.

  Ehmagawd, was she back? Did her Hawaii trip get canceled? Was she ready to dance? Could she be here in twenty minutes? Normally Alicia would have ignored the bossy captain, but under the circumstances, she would gladly welcome her back.

  “Skye!” she answered, sounding slightly out of breath. “Hey! Are you ba—”

  “What did you do to Andrea? Why is she so nervous? Do you realize how important this night is? Not only for the troupe but for my parents’ studio?” She continued screaming but Alicia tuned her out. Instead she covered the mouthpiece and whispered to Andrea. “Did you call her?”

  Andrea bit her bottom lip and nodded yes, like a child caught drawing on the furniture.

  Alicia’s heart tapped like Riverdance.

  How dare And-rrhea undermine her authority by calling Skye in Hawaii!

  How dare Skye blame her for And-rrhea’s nerves!

  How dare Brooke sit so peacefully in the corner, bopping her head to some peppy song while Alicia’s world fell apart?

  How dare Mrs. Fossier disappear on a ginger ale hunt instead of trying to find a new dancer?

  She turned to the wall-mounted TV monitor above her head. The audience was applauding like crazy.

  Sisqó was ending his performance and leading his backup dancers off the stage. The last one, an Asian beauty, couldn’t have been all that much older than Alicia. And she was dancing for one of the biggest rap stars of the year. It wasn’t fair! Alicia was just as good as she was. But no one would ever know. Because her one big shot—Ehmagawd!

  “That’s it!” Alicia pressed her French-manicured thumbnail into the end button. She grabbed her tote, marched toward the door, and threw it open.

  “Where are you going?” Brooke shouted over the music in her earbuds.

  But Alicia didn’t bother answering. She didn’t have time.

  Outside the dressing room, the halls were crackling with energy. Costumed performers and frenzied stage managers hurried by like schools of fish. But Alicia swam upstream, fighting the crowd, determined to find… There she was!

  The girl was even prettier in person. She had short black bangs and a long ponytail that was so shiny it looked wet. Her mouth was a perfect circle and her puffy lips were stained pink. Her body was more muscular than Alicia’s and her boobs were smaller. If Alicia hadn’t been so desperate she would have dismissed the girl for being too pretty to perform with. This was like a shadow asking to dance with a light. She was sure to fade next to the beauty. But at least the shadow would be on national TV. Once it was over, Alicia could get a copy of the performance and have the girl edited out. If Mariah Carey could have her torso digitally stretched in her videos, surely something could be done to make Alicia a solo star.

  “’Scuse me,” Alicia said in her most confident voice. It was important the girl know she was an equal and not a fan. “I’m Alicia. And you are?”

  “Poppy.” The dancer raised one of her thin brows and puckered her lips. It was the classic speak—I’m waiting pose. Alicia had perfected it back in the third grade.

  �
�I’ll give you two hundred dollars if you dance for me.” Alicia tapped the soft caramel leather tote.

  “I am not that kind of dancer,” Poppy hissed.

  “Huh?” Alicia asked, before understanding the misunderstanding. “Ew! I didn’t mean it like that! I’m captain of BADSS.” She paused, giving the girl a chance to gush about how she’d heard of them. But her speak—I’m waiting pose was all she offered.

  “One of my girls is sick and I need a replacement. You seem decent enough and you’re the right size for the costume, so—”

  “Is that the costume?” Poppy cocked her head, scanning the silver sequin–covered tuxedo vest and pin-striped short shorts.

  “Everything except the leg warmers,” Alicia said proudly. “They’re captain-only.”

  “I dunno.” Poppy scrunched her lips as if trying to sniff her own gloss.

  “Puh-lease! It’s much more modern than what you’re wearing,” Alicia said to Poppy’s ripped denim shorts and black demi-cup bra. “At least my costume comes with a shirt.”

  “Then you and your shirt should go find a nice mirror to dance in front of because it’s the only way you’re ever gonna—”

  “Okay, wait!” Alicia grabbed the girl’s boy-arm. “I’ll give you three hundred dollars.”

  “Hmmmmm…” Poppy folded her arms across her bra while she considered this.

  Alicia tapped her foot impatiently. “Hurry. I still have to teach you the routine and—”

  “Fine.” Poppy smiled at a passing dancer. “On one condition.”

  “Anything.” Alicia’s shoulders softened.

  “The bag.”

  “Huh?” Alicia’s armpit pressed a little harder against the braided strap.

  “I want your bag.”

  “No way! I just got it for Christmas!”

  Instantly, Poppy turned away. Her ponytail swung with such sass Alicia could practically hear it say, See ya, sucker!

  “Fine! Have it!”

  Poppy returned and reached for her prize.

  Alicia took a quick step back. “After we dance.” She squeezed the margarine-soft leather, assuring it that the decision was nothing personal. Just business.

  Show business.

  KISSIMMEE, FL

  THE LYONS RESIDENCE

  Friday, December 31

  8:59 P.M.

  Limo lights streaked across Claire’s bedroom walls, prison watchtower style.

  “It’s time!” she whisper-commanded, poking her face into the hallway. “Remember, it’s all about speed and silence. We have to get to that driver before he rings the bell.”

  The girls nodded dutifully, then followed her down the peach-carpeted stairs.

  At the landing, Claire held out her palm like a crossing guard, urging them to stop while she checked the perimeter. Images from the muted TV flickered against the recliners, glass coffee table, and half-empty pizza box as if Martians had abducted Kelsey.

  If only! Claire sighed.

  She was probably in the bathroom, smacking more Silly Putty–colored cover-up on her benzoyl-peroxided cheeks, or making sure the childproof caps were engaged on the medicine bottles, just in case someone decided to sleepwalk with their mouth open.

  It was now or never.

  Sarah, Sari, and Mandy huddled close on the bottom step, each dressed in one of Claire’s old theater costumes. They looked like a nervous tween act about to take the stage in a local talent competition.

  As escape missions went, this was no Shawshank. There was no exit strategy. No plan for reentry. And no way Claire’s parents would forgive her if she got caught. Still, she had to try. Because turning down a shot at a New Year’s Eve kiss from ThRob would be like Cinderella refusing to try on the glass slipper because it hadn’t been properly sanitized. If you want to be swept off your feet, you have to be prepared to fall—and then hope like hot dogs you don’t.

  “Now!” mouthed Claire, lifting the stiff red chiffon hem of her Scarlett O’Hara dress.

  In a rush of glitter, tulle, and tassels, the girls tiptoed toward the front door. Cracking it open with no more than a tiny kiss sound, Claire smiled back at her friends. They were free!

  All of a sudden, a bright light smacked Claire in the eyes. A microphone was thrust in her face. And a woman began to speak.

  “Meet Claire Lyons, the girl chosen by SCUM 101.1 to kiss Orlando’s very own ThRob at midnight.”

  Claire giggled awkwardly. What was happening? Was this the news? America’s Most Wanted?

  “Are you a ThRob fan, Claire?”

  She giggled again, and then quickly warmed to the attention. “Totally.” She beamed, feeling the weight of her friends pressing against her back.

  “Heyyyy!” They waved into the camera.

  “What’s this?” screeched a familiar voice. Without turning, Claire knew it was Kelsey. “Get in the house! Now!” She grabbed each of the girls by the backs of their costumes, pulled them inside, and slammed the door in the reporter’s face. “You’re in huge trouble,” Kelsey barked. “Huge!”

  The words coiled around Claire’s body and squeezed out all her joy.

  “I had no idea they were there,” she tried to explain, her hands still a shaking mix of excitement and fear.

  “I had no idea you were there.” Kelsey chewed her bottom lip until it was redder than her cheeks. “Would someone care to explain?”

  “Run!” Sarah made a break for the door, a flurry of yellow and black glitter falling from her costume and forming a mini glitter puddle on the carpet.

  Kelsey blocked her with a stiff arm to the chest. “What’s with the bumblebee?”

  “I told you I looked like a bee!” Sarah pouted.

  “Well, it is a bee costume,” Mandy explained.

  “Easy for you to say!” Sarah’s blond curls bounced indignantly. “You got the Princess Fiona gown.”

  “At least you’re not in a blue romper,” Sari chimed in, tugging at her Dorothy dress. “Claire, why couldn’t you have been a model instead of an actress? The clothes would be way cool—”

  “Silence!” Kelsey brandished a tan cordless phone like a sword. “I want Mr. and Mrs. Lyons to hear me clearly when I tell them you were sneaking out to be on some reality show.” She began dialing.

  “Reality show?” Mandy giggled.

  “Wait!” Claire reached for the phone.

  Kelsey pulled it back.

  The limo horn honked.

  “Who is that?” Kelsey pushed past the girls and stepped outside. A chill filled the front foyer.

  “Kelsey, wait!” Claire tugged the bottom of the babysitter’s lavender crewneck. “You don’t understand!”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She smacked Claire’s hand away. “I had to combine all my holiday gift cards to buy this J. Crew sweater. It’s a wool and cashmere blend. Stretch it and cry.”

  “But just listen,” Claire pleaded.

  “Yeah, Kelsey, just listen.” Sari stomped her ruby red–slippered foot.

  The others nodded with urgency.

  Kelsey ignored them and stepped farther out onto the front porch. “Go home!” she shouted, waving the driver off. “No thank you!”

  “Kelsey, wait!” Claire begged.

  “We’re not interested!” she continued. “Not interested!”

  The driver started the engine.

  “No, wait!” Claire called. But it was too late. The limo rolled down the street like a rejected boy at a dance.

  “How could you do this to me?” Claire cried. Her night was ruined. Her New Year’s Eve was ruined. Her life was ruined. “This doesn’t just happen every day, you know?” she sobbed, not caring if her friends were watching. Not caring if the neighbors could hear. Not caring that the babysitter had no clue what she was talking about.

  Kelsey slammed the door.

  “What doesn’t happen every day? You sneaking out of your house? You being totally irresponsible? You—”

  “Kelsey?” chirped a familiar voice f
rom the living room.

  “Todd!” Claire stomped her navy Keds sneaker. “Stay out of this!”

  “But I have a question.” The little redhead emerged from behind the La-Z-Boy. “What does irresponsible mean?” He curl-buried his fists inside the sleeves of his Batman pj’s.

  “Toh-odd!” Claire sniffled. “Just go to bed, okay?”

  Kelsey held up her pinkish palm. “It’s okay, Claire. He can learn from this. I’ll allow it.”

  Todd beamed smugly.

  The babysitter crouched down and met Todd’s brown eyes. “Irresponsible means, hmmmm, let me see, how can I explain it?…” She scanned the stucco ceiling until… “Okay, ir-re-sponsible means breaking the rules when people trusted you to follow them.” She gripped his narrow shoulders. “An example would be: Claire and her friends were irresponsible when they tried to sneak out of the house. Or, Claire’s parents will say she was irresponsible and that’s why they are going to ground her. ”

  Todd smiled. “Oh, I get it.”

  “Good.” Kelsey stood, then dusted off her jeans like she had just fixed a leaking sink.

  Claire met her friends’ eyes and silently apologized for what was turning out to be the worst New Year’s Eve ever. They responded by looking away. The international sign for you are too pathetic to make eye contact with.

  “Is this right?” Todd put his hands on his hips like a superhero. “Kelsey is ir-re-sponsible because her boyfriend is hiding in the broom closet.”

  “What?” the babysitter snapped.

  “Or how about, Kelsey is ir-re-sponsible because Mr. and Mrs. Lyons told her no friends or boys while she’s working and she’s broken that rule almost every Friday for the last year.”

  The invisible joy-sucking coil released its grip around Claire. Her tears dried like puddles after a sun shower. Her love for Todd ran deeper than a groundhog. “There’s a boy in here?”

  Todd wagged his thumb toward the kitchen.

  Sarah, Sari, and Mandy shriek-ran toward the mystery guest.

  “Wait!” Kelsey called, chasing after them. But she was too slow. The girls ripped open the narrow door and shrieked.