The Clique: Charmed and Dangerous

by Lisi Harrison

  There stood a very embarrassed strawberry blond boy with the physique of a bendy straw—thin and arched. His cheeks were flushed. And his black sweatshirt and skinny gray jeans were covered in dust bunnies. “Hey,” he croaked.

  “This is Zadrienne,” Todd announced. “His real name is Adrienne.” He giggled. “Adrienne, like a girl.” He giggled again. “He told Kelsey he changed his name last week. After they kissed. On the lips!” He turned bright red. “I saw it. It was grosser than spaghetti barf.”

  “You’ve been spying on us?” Kelsey’s heart-shaped mouth fell open. She fanned her reddening cheeks and leaned against the kitchen table for support.

  “You said he was asleep!” Zadrienne smacked his shiny forehead.

  “I thought he was!”

  Claire stood back and grinned. “My parents are not gonna like this.”

  Kelsey’s head tilted left—a silent plea for mercy.

  Claire giggled. Like her father always said, things had a funny way of working out. “Unless…”

  “What?” Kelsey asked, biting her thumbnail.

  “How did Adrienne get here?”

  “Zayyyy-drienne,” he corrected.

  The girls giggled.

  “Whatever, how did he get here?”

  “He drove,” Kelsey offered.

  “Drove what?” Claire began pacing like a frustrated interrogator.

  “His Prius.”

  “Kels, I better get going.” Zadrienne saluted, then hurried toward the side door. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Wait!” Claire insisted with a swoosh of her Scarlett O’Hara dress.

  Sarah, Sari, and Mandy air-clapped in anticipation.

  “If you drive us to the Disney’s Grand Floridian Resort and Spa, wait with us until midnight, then drive us home, I’ll keep your secret.”

  Zadrienne opened his mouth in protest, revealing two rows of silver braces.

  “And if you don’t,” Claire continued, “I’ll make my parents fire Kelsey and arrest you for trespassing.”

  The girls bounced with glee. Claire wanted to join them but forced herself to remain stern. There would be plenty of time for celebrating later.

  “Zadrienne?” Kelsey pressed her dusty boyfriend for an answer.

  “I don’t have enough gas,” he tried.

  “Aren’t those things electric?” Mandy added.

  “No!” he snapped. “Besides, I promised my sister she could have it by eleven.”

  “Better un-promise,” Sari hissed, her upper lip curling into obscurity.

  Claire fought the urge to high-five her.

  “Come on, Zay!” Kelsey pleaded.

  He sighed. “Fine.”

  “Yeahhhhhhhhhhh!” The girls came together and hug-squealed for joy.

  Minutes later, a bitter babysitter, her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Scarlett O’Hara, Batman, Princess Fiona, and a bumblebee were jam-packed in a little red Prius—heading for lights, cameras, and plenty of action.

  WESTCHESTER COUNTY AIRPORT

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

  Friday, December 31st

  9:01 P.M.

  Navigating the packed dance floor felt different now. Glares and glances no longer felt like judgments. They felt like pleas for acceptance—as if these people suddenly knew that Massie was the keeper of the purple stone. That she was destined to be the leader of something big, and that she would get right to it as soon as Blink 182 finished playing “What’s My Age Again.” Even the band seemed to know that Ahnna’s reign was more done than disco.

  That’s about the time she broke up with me,

  No one should take themselves so seriously…

  Massie winked thank you to Mark Hoppus while he was singing. And from where she was standing, it looked like he winked back you deserve this. And with that, Massie pushed through the crowd with renewed force. Her shoves no longer said, Um, could you please make room?… Mind the toes…. Please don’t trample me…. They said, Move! Do you know who I am? I said, MOVE!

  The Burberry Bunch were at the front of the stage, right where she left them. Their foreheads were slick with sweat, their voices hoarse from screaming, and their pits ripe with the smell of Funyuns.

  No one acknowledged Massie when she joined their dance cluster. Had they even noticed she was gone? She reached inside the pocket of her dress and rubbed her thumb against the cool flat surface of the stone, releasing more of its power. Then she rubbed it again. And again…

  She needed all the help she could get….

  The performance ended with a final bang of the drums.

  “Where were you?” Ahnna snapped.

  Massie grinned. Her days of answering to Ahnna were almost over.

  “Stawp smiling, it’s not funny.” Ahnna peeled some sweat-stuck curls off her forehead. “Since your parents didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve with you, my parents are responsible…”

  Owie.

  “… and they wanted another head count.” She paused dramatically. “I had to lie, Massie. Lie! Why? Because you were gone. Ah-gain! Do you know how that made me feel?”

  “Like you’re losing friends?” Massie asked, stone-faced.

  Shauna, Brianna, and Lana gasped then giggled. Massie saw a glimpse of her future… a future with Friday night sleepovers, wardrobe summits, Isaac-driven mall trips, and a royal purple bedroom….

  “How am I losing friends?” Ahnna’s brown eyes bulged.

  Massie stood firm, despite the stream of people pushing their way to the bar before the next performance. “Because I have all the power now,” she bellowed, feeling like Moses in that old movie The Ten Commandments.

  “What?” Ahnna practically snorted. She made a goofy face at the other girls, implying Massie was crazy.

  They goofied back in agreement.

  Massie turned to Hermia’s tent, like it was a customer-service help line and she had a faulty product. Perhaps Hermia could offer a few tips on how this transfer of power might go down. But the only thing Massie got was the sudden urge to end this drama and get on with the rest of her royal life.

  “This means I have the power now. Just accept it.” She pinched the stone between her thumb and index finger and held it under Ahnna’s pert nose.

  “Stawp!” Ahnna whacked Massie’s arm away from her face.

  The gold charm bracelet flew off Massie’s wrist and landed by Lana’s foot. The lanky brunette scooped it up and let it dangle between Massie and Ahnna, unsure of whom to give it to. “Here you go,” she finally said, obviously hoping someone would take it.

  But Massie couldn’t move. She was frozen by the realization that she’d just let some celebrity psychic lead her to revolution without a plan, an army, or a chance. Her destiny had never been clearer. Or more grim.

  “The only thing I’m going to accept,” Ahnna finally responded, “is that your Cracker Jack bracelet is too cheap to stay on your bony wrist.” She grabbed it from Lana and began twirling it around her finger. “Maybe my little sister can use it. She’s always losing the pieces to our Monopoly game.”

  Massie recalled the joy in her parents’ voices when they’d presented her with the bracelet. She pictured Inez outside her door grinning because she’d made it up the stairs in time for the surprise. Then she remembered the Ahnnabees’ envious expressions when they first saw the trendsetting piece. And she knew. The bracelet was special. It was more than an accessory. Each charm represented part of her soul. And her soul was worth fighting for.

  “Give it back!” Massie swiped like a frisky cat, hooking her finger around the gold chain.

  Grinning, Ahnna pulled it back.

  Scowling, Massie pulled it forward.

  Squinting, Ahnna pulled it back.

  Grunting, Massie pulled it forward.

  Wincing, Ahnna pulled it back.

  And then—pppsht!—it was gone. The chain broke in two and the charms scatter-bounced across the stiletto-stabbed concrete like spilled Tic Tacs and disappe
ared.

  Ahnna-you-dizn’t!

  Forgetting her pride, her dress, her bare knees, and the densely packed dance floor, Massie dropped to the ground. The house DJ began playing “Gone” by N’Sync and the stilettos began to stomp.

  On all fours, palming the floor amidst a barrage of spiked heels was so nawt how she wanted to ring in the New Year. Not even close.

  “Will someone please help?” Massie shouted up at the Ahnnabees.

  A college-age hipster in a brown leather suit and white Converse high-tops extended his hand. “You hurt?”

  Massie looked up at his warm smile and teared. “No.” She lowered her head, “’M okay.”

  Finally, Lana and Shauna dropped to their knees. Brianna stood by Ahnna and glared, their faces bloated with superiority.

  “How many are we looking for?’ Lana asked, like maybe she actually cared.

  “Five,” Massie sniffled, her knees pressing into the cold concrete while everyone above her danced. How would she ever find five charms in this mess of heels and—“Ehmagawd, five!” she shouted.

  “Yeah, we heard you.” Lana rolled her eyes.

  Massie sat back on her butt and placed a hand on her forehead. “That’s it! Five pieces coming together!”

  “Huh?” Shauna pushed her red glasses up her nose.

  “I get it!” Massie leaned forward, dabbing her moist eyes with the top of her kneesock. “My charms are the five pieces. First we have to find them, then we’ll come together.”

  “Stawp, I found two!” Lana dropped the diamond-encrusted bell and the horse into Massie’s palm.

  The horse was slightly scuffed, the bell unharmed. There was hope!

  Massie scoured with renewed determination, her hands scraping over dust, spilled drinks, and discarded cocktail napkins. If it weren’t for Hermia’s promising prediction, she would have called off this degrading search mission before it even began. But those charms were no longer guilt-tokens from her absent parents. They were magical keys with the power to unlock her destiny. Totally worth a floor crawl.

  “Can I keep the horse?” Lana asked, nibbling on her beauty mark. “You know, as a reward?”

  “Yeah, and can I have the bell?” Shauna asked, squatting like a frog. “For helping?”

  “What?” Massie snapped. “No!”

  Shauna and Lana exchanged shoulder shrugs and stood.

  Turning faster than yogurt in a hot car, they wiped their hands on their Burberry dresses and joined Ahnna and Brianna’s condescending stare-circle.

  “Who’s ready for a live performance from Christina Aguilera?” Merri-Lee shouted from the stage.

  “Eeeeeeeeeeee!” The Ahnnabes waved their hands, then rushed the stage with the rest of the guests, never once looking back to see if Massie was with them.

  The pain of getting ditched like last year’s Pucci print seized Massie’s entire body. Her vision kaleidoscoped. Her limbs hung like an empty dress, her heart a squashed piece of bubble gum on the side of the road. Was she that easy to walk away from? That disposable?

  Obviously.

  The girls’ Burberry plaid–clad bodies vanished into the dense crowd. And just like that, the Ahnnabees were gone, like a fading scene in a movie. A movie about a friendless girl desperate to find her missing charms or she would be forever doomed.

  WESTCHESTER COUNTY AIRPORT

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

  Friday, December 31st

  9:07 P.M.

  Spending hours in a dressing room while her swizzle stick–size sisters cursed carbs and saturated fats worked Dylan’s appetite into a frenzy. Only this time, she didn’t crave food. She craved fun.

  “I’m going out to watch Christina,” she announced to her sisters, who were still in the makeup chairs being preened like it was Fashion Week. It seemed criminal to watch the show on a dinky monitor when the performances were right there, just on the other side of the wall.

  “Tell the girl she needs to eat,” Jaime snarled at the TV. “That genie is gonna slip right out of her bottle.”

  “Hold still,” urged Kali, clamping down on the eyelash curler. “I almost ripped your lashes off.”

  “Ohmigod, I would club a seal to look like Christina.” Ryan dotted iridescent highlighter over her cheekbones. “She’s got the whole hungry runaway look down.”

  “I’ll let her know.” Dylan rolled her eyes, then hurried out, finding it hard to believe they came from the same parents.

  Backstage, the air was crackling with energy. On the dance floor it was blazing.

  Dylan forced her way to the front of the crowd, just behind the mosh pit. Were people really moshing to “Come On Over”?

  The whirlpool of spastic rain-dance moves looked like it would have been fun if it were a sneakers-and-sweats kind of day. But in YSL wedges, it was all about steering clear of harm and swaying gently with a less explosive bunch.

  Dylan inched back a few feet and stood beside the four girls in ill-advised matching Burberry dresses. They were standing in a gossip cluster, threatening to destroy some girl they’d just fought with. Still, Dylan decided they were less dangerous than the pop pit.

  Sexy servers weaved in and out of the crowd. Their recipe-covered catsuits added an edge to the party that was typical of her mother. Merri-Lee always did it better and bigger than anybody else. The packed house and fourteen-page waiting list proved it.

  “Who’s ready for a new year?” Christina called into the crowd.

  Everyone cheered, especially Dylan, who had spent the last three hundred and sixty-four days playing it safe with the COCs (Children of Celebrities), her press-phobic friends, and was hungry for some action.

  “Well, get ready for this!” Christina unzipped her satin jacket, revealing a black leather tube top, then swan-dived into the crowd. Fans passed her between them while the dancers kept the party going onstage. When Christina was ready to sing, the crowd lifted her stiff body back onto the stage as if loading a sarcophagus onto a truck. Now this was living!

  Dylan’s insides leapt like popping popcorn kernels. Why had she wasted so much time trapped in a stale dressing room with her sisters when she could have been out here, living la vida loca?

  Then she remembered…

  She didn’t have anyone else. The COCs were away on family vacations. And living la vida loca solo was like riding a bicycle built for two—alone. What was the point?

  Thwack!

  A sharp object pegged Dylan’s left ear. She looked up, suspecting a loose bead from the Yves. But the ceiling hadn’t retracted yet, so any clutch-related fallout would have landed on the roof.

  Thunk!

  Owie! Dylan rubbed the right side of her neck. A crispy wonton lay lifeless by her shoe, dead like a bee after stinging. Either there was a disgruntled waitress in their midst or the universe was urging her to eat more.

  Thwack!

  Another wonton nailed her cheek. She eyed the Burberry girls, wondering if this had anything to do with their recent fight. But, engaged in a battle all their own, they continued close-talking, oblivious to the WMDs (wontons of mass destruction).

  Dylan whipped around.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  Three more WMDs hit her square in the face.

  Ouch!

  Two boys about her age, standing ten feet away, turned toward the stage and bit their bottom lips. Their shoulders shook with erupting laughter.

  Flirting much?

  Bending down while holding the snap on her pants closed just in case, Dylan scooped up the fallen WMDs. On her way up, more popcorn popped inside her. This had total fun potential!

  The COCs would have dropped the wontons on the closest server’s tray, wiped their hands of unwanted grease, and breathed a spearmint-scented sigh of disgust. But Dylan pulled back her arm, twisted her torso, and unleashed the apps like a softball pitcher on scout day. Two hit the shaggy blond and one pegged the brunette.

  Ha! Not bad for a skinny girl!


  They quickly searched the floor, hoping to fire back, but the wontons were squashed by a gaggle of Carrie Bradshaw wannabes teetering their way to the front of the crowd in last season’s Manolos.

  “Now what?” Dylan called, in love with her own bravado.

  “Now we dump these”—the blond one held up a pack of Pop Rocks—“in the mango salsa.” He wiggled his little butt like a happy puppy.

  Dylan giggled. “What’s your name?”

  The boys exchanged a playful glance. They were both cute, but in different ways.

  “I’m Dick Hurtz,” snickered Shaggy.

  “And I’m Dick Burns,” grinned the pretty boy who, at closer look, had one green eye and one blue eye. He was definitely more movie star handsome than the other one. Still, Dylan was more drawn to Dick Hurtz, for his pranking genius.

  “Nice to meet you,” Dylan said to the Canine Chorus name tags pinned to their oxfords. Dick Hurtz was “Derrick.” Dick Burns was “Cam.” “My name is Harriett Weiner.” She smirked. “But most people call me Harri.”

  They all cracked up together, completely unaware that Christina had finished her set and Merri-Lee was promising an introduction to her daughters after a few more songs from the DJ.

  “Cool hair, Harri,” Cam told her genuinely.

  Dylan felt her red do, remembering that she was rolling with the half-curly half-straight, thanks to her needy sisters. “I didn’t want to commit.”

  “Kinda like my eyes.” Cam smiled.

  Dylan smile-giggled.

  “So, Harri, how’d you get into this party?” asked Derrick, dumping some Pop Rocks into his mouth. They crackled with delight, like his mischievous brown eyes.

  Cam handed him a can of Coke. Derrick took a big sip. When his head didn’t explode, they shrugged and turned their attention back to Dylan.

  “Um, I came with some friends,” she lied, fearing the pranks would stop if they knew she was related to the hostess. “What about you?”

  “We’re kind of working here.” Cam smiled sweetly. “Our moms are volunteer trainers for the Canine Chorus. So we’re kinda helping out.”