“I heart that!” Alicia beamed.
“Brill!” Dylan high-fived Massie, who then high-fived Kristen.
“Toddddd!” Claire pressed her clammy palms against the windowpane.
“Wait! Skye is giving the pajamas back,” Dylan announced like a sportscaster. “Now she’s shaking her head and reaching into her stone-colored Juicy Couture Sienna bag, and pulling out…a gold envelope. She’s handing it to Tiny Nathan…no, Todd…no, Tiny Nathan…no, she’s taking it back, teasing them…and…Ehmagawd, she’s making them cross their hearts and hope to die.…Now she’s…Ew! She’s giving them each a…Ewwwwww!“
“Ewwwwww!” everyone screamed.
“Did she just kiss my brother?” Claire shouted over the screech of Porsche tires and scream of angry guitars.
“And Tiny Nathan!” Alicia squealed as the bright yellow car zipped off down the street.
Relief warmed Massie’s icy fingertips like a pair of Chanel lambskin-and-fox-fur gloves. The beautiful blonde who hung out with high school guys and who had created the fashion trend Massie secretly labeled “dancey couture” wasn’t at the Block estate to buy something of Claire’s. She hadn’t lost her cool and become an FOC. Skye Hamilton was as alpha as ever. An anxious flutter wormed its way through Massie’s belly.
So why was she there?
Digging her thumb into the white remote, she shouted, before the window had fully opened, “Bring that envelope up here ay-sap!”
Todd and Tiny Nathan were too busy running around the wagon, giggling and punching each other, to respond.
“Todd, I mean it!” Massie shouted.
“Todddd!” Claire echoed.
Massie tugged the gold crown on her charm bracelet, desperate to know what was inside that envelope. And more important, whom it was for.
“Want me to sit on his chest and fart?” Dylan asked with a hopeful smile. “Kristen can tackle him and I can—”
“Not necessary.” Massie held her palm in front of Dylan’s emerald green eyes. “I got this.” She winked, then cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Alicia, put your shirt back on!”
Todd and Tiny Nathan froze.
Alicia gasped. Massie quickly gave her a play-along-or-change-schools look.
The boys’ shoulders were shaking with laughter as they buried their faces in their gray Gap hoodies.
“Let’s all take our shirts off,” Dylan bellowed.
“I’m in!” Kristen grabbed the brown Ella Moss T-shirt dress off Massie’s floor and tossed it out the window. “Wow, I feel so free!”
“Me too!” Dylan lobbed a white Petit Bateaux tank.
Massie reached into the pile of clothes beside her mannequin, grabbed a handful of skinny jeans, and whipped them into the cool April breeze.
Moments later, the Blocks’ lawn was covered in rejected back-to-school clothes, and Todd and Tiny Nathan stood panting in Massie’s doorway, wearing matching army green Crocs and clutching a reflective gold envelope.
THE BLOCK ESTATE MASSIE’S BEDROOM
Sunday, April 4th
4:32 P.M.
“I told you they were faking.” Tiny Nathan punched the inside of the empty red money belt strapped to his narrow hips.
Massie lunged toward Todd and plucked the pristine envelope from his sweaty grip. Everyone rushed to her side.
Bean crawled under the oatmeal-colored cashmere blanket on her princess doggie bed and sighed.
“No, I told you.“ Todd smacked his petite friend on the back of the arm. His money belt jingled like a Unicef box on Halloween.
“No, I told you!”
“It’s not addressed to anyone!“ Kristen blurted.
“What did Skye say when she gave it to you?” Claire asked her brother. Before he could answer, Massie ripped open the sticky seal and dumped the contents on her purple duvet.
“A CD?” Dylan asked.
“Is it labeled?” Kristen leaned closer.
Massie read the miniature gold letters on the spine. “It says alpha.”
“That’s us!” Alicia bounced in her yellow patent leather ballet flats.
Massie hurried to her G5 and fed it the mysterious disc. She had a hunch about the contents but didn’t want to say anything. Not until she was sure. Her heart thumped while she waited for the computer to stop wheezing like an asthmatic and read the CD.
Alicia’s chocolaty Angel perfume, mixed with Claire’s sugary gummy-worm breath, mixed with Kristen’s coconut-scented Paul Mitchell mousse, mixed with Dylan’s watermelon Bubble Yum, mixed with Todd and Tiny Nathan’s corn-soaked Frito fingers, engulfed her.
“Everyone take five steps back!”
Massie waited for the sound of retreating footsteps on her hardwood floors. “If your name is Todd or Tiny Nathan, you have three minutes to gather my clothes from the lawn and deposit them in the laundry room. If you don’t, I will tell everyone at OCD and Briarwood Academy that you peed your pants when Skye Hamilton kissed you. One Miss Sixty…two Miss Sixty…three Miss Sixty…four—”
Thanks to the reflection on her twenty-inch computer screen, Massie didn’t have to turn around to see the 10-year-old boys shoving each other out her bedroom door.
Suddenly, the ffhhht sound of a match striking a scratch pad came through her speakers. Then a whoosh. A smooth, pale female hand illuminated by an orange flame came into focus. It was lighting the wick of a white Tocca votive.
Everyone gasped. Massie wiped her clammy hands over the purple faux-fur padding on her desk chair.
“Ehmagawd, that’s Skye’s mouth,” Kristen pointed to the Ferrari-red lips that filled the screen. “I can tell by that little beauty mark to the right of her philtrum.”
“Her what?” Massie hit pause.
“The philtrum is that groove between the nose and the lips,” Kristen announced. “Sorry, I assumed everyone knew that.”
“Maybe everyone named Wikipedia,” Dylan snapped.
“Quiet.” Massie pressed play.
The camera pulled back, revealing a close-up of Skye’s flawless face. Her thick, buttery blond waves and Tiffany-box blue eyes, along with the warm flicker of the candle, made looking at her head-on painful, like staring straight into a beautiful sunset.
“If you are watching this,“ Skye whispered, her raspy voice crackling like cellophane wrap on a gift basket, “you have been chosen.“
“Ehmagawd!” Massie hit pause again and swiveled her chair around. “I knew it. She’s giving me the key!”
“So the key is really real?” Alicia squealed.
“What key?” Claire asked.
“Does this mean the room is really real?” Kristen crinkled her eyebrows.
“What room?”
“So is key season legit?” Dylan spit her gum into Massie’s mosaic-tiled trash can.
“What is key season?” Claire stomped her watermelon-spotted Keds.
“Allow me,” Alicia insisted. She gathered her shiny black hair into a smart bun and fastened it with a silver Tiffany pen from Massie’s desk. “Rumor has it there’s a secret room at OCD the teachers forgot about, and the alpha eighth grader has the key—”
“It’s not a rumor, it’s true,” Dylan interrupted.
“It’s a rumor until it’s proven true,” Kristen insisted. “Alicia, have you ever seen it?”
“Opposite of yes.”
“Then it’s a rumor.”
“It’s true!” Massie tapped her freshly manicured nails on her keyboard. “I can feel it. Ehmagawd! We are so set for eighth grade.” She hit play.
“What you are about to see is classified,” Skye continued, her expression serious and grave. “If you can’t keep a secret, please eject this CD-ROM and destroy it. Failure to keep the following information confidential will result in the DSL Daters ejecting and destroying you.” An offscreen chorus whisper-chanted, “Eject…eject…eject…destroy…destroy…destroy,” while Skye stared at Massie.
“This is freaking me out.” Alicia folded he
r arms across her chest.
“Same,” Dylan echoed.
“If this is still playing, you have agreed to carry the secret of the key for the rest of your life—the key that unlocks the door to paradise.”
All of a sudden, the chorus from Nelly’s song “Paradise” blasted through Massie’s speakers.
Paradise
That’s what she said to me
Paradise
Glittery animated images of rainbows and suns and stars pulsed on to the screen to the soulful beat of the music. Then they stopped, and Skye returned.
“This five-year tradition began when a certain major loser of an eighth-grader found the key to an abandoned room on campus….“
A picture of a tall, gawky LBR standing in front of her locker with a pink knockoff pashmina draped over a barf-yellow boiled wool turtleneck appeared on the screen. Her face was covered with a clip-art picture of a gold key to conceal her identity.
“She snuck in with her friends, turned it into a secret hang spot, and invited a few Briarwood boys over during lunch. Within a week, these girls were the new alphas. And the old alphas were done—”
Massie hit pause.
Without saying a single word, she stared at Skye’s frozen face on the screen and imagined what it must have been like to be the alpha who got usurped by a pack of knockoff-pashmina-wearing LBRs. The thought made her stomach churn and her scalp tighten. It was the closest thing to physical pain she had ever known.
“Um, hu-llo?” Alicia waved a hand in front of Massie’s eyes.
“Sorry.” She fluffed her hair and pressed play.
“When she went to high school, she passed the key on to the coolest girl she knew, who happened to be a true alpha. So from that moment on, the key always went to the OCD elite. And now I’m doing the same.”
“Yes! She knows I’m the coolest.” Massie gripped the computer screen and kissed it, leaving a shiny Crème Brûlée–flavored Glossip Girl lip print in the center. “The Pretty Committee will finally have a private place to hold meetings! I am so hiring a decorator over the summer.”
“Let’s load it with animal-print furniture from the Ralph Lauren Home collection.” Alicia beamed. “The new line is insane!”
“Done.” Massie cranked up the volume, not wanting to miss a single syllable.
“Take a look at some of the things we did.”
One by one, photographs of “the room”—which was half the size of a classroom, and windowless—faded onto the screen. There was a shot of three girls lying on pink beach towels surrounded by white sand and matching bikinis, their faces hidden by animated smiley emoticons. A giant sun-lamp beamed down on them.
“Is that sand inside the room?” Claire asked.” It looks like they’re at the beach.”
“Shhhhhh,” the girls snapped.
The next shot showed them leaning against a juice bar made of palm fronds and leaves. It reminded Massie of the Sugar Shack, a poolside smoothie hut she’d frequented during her family’s vacation in Tonga.
“Is that juice bar inside the room?”
“Shhhhh!”
The third shot showed four grinning emoticons with their eyes closed in cushy black recliners getting pedicures from four shirtless high school guys. Rose petals covered the floors, and happy valentine’s day was spelled out on the wall behind them in red-foil-covered Hershey’s Kisses.
“Ehmagawd.” Kristen rubbed her flat abs. “I’ll have a place to hide the clothes my mom won’t let me wear. I won’t have to change in the Range Rover anymore!”
“Let’s hire that goth barista to work in there.” Dylan beamed. “We’ll buy a Starbucks machine, make her wear a green apron, and teach her how to make those enormous fat-free blueberry muffins. We’ll text our orders and zip over between classes to pick them up.”
“Can we dig a tunnel that leads to Briarwood so the boys can sneak in?” Claire asked.
“Love it all!” Massie tapped all their suggestions into her PalmPilot. “Done, done, and done.”
The photos faded away, and candlelit Skye returned. “And there’s something else in the room that’s way too incredible for your little seventh-grade eyes to see.” Skye winked at the camera. “But it will be yours…if you are the first one to find the key.”
Massie smacked pause.
“First one to find it? Who else will be looking for it?” She ran a shaky hand through her chestnut brown layers. “Don’t I automatically get it?”
“Yeah,” huffed Alicia. “I thought it got handed down from one alpha to the next.”
“It’s probably just a formality,” Kristen suggested. “Like how you have to say the name of your favorite radio station before you win the concert tickets.”
Massie took a deep breath to calm her quaking hands, then pressed play.
“Since it’s the fifth anniversary of the room, I’m going to break tradition and do something different. Instead of automatically handing the key off to the seventh-grade alpha, I’m turning this into a contest and have sent out five CD-ROMs to a wide range of girls. This way, nonalphas have the chance to become alphas, just as our great founders did, five years ago. And I’ve hidden the key under the mattress of a highly respectable Westchester boy who understands that being an alpha is about more than having the right clothes—”
“Yes!” Kristen punched the air.
“It’s about staying true to yourself, no matter what anyone else thinks.”
Dylan stuffed a piece of bubble gum in her mouth and slurped back the onslaught of watermelon-flavored spit.
“I hereby dedicate the key, and the following poem, to him.” Skye’s Tiffany box-colored eyes glistened with tears. Massie couldn’t help wondering if the effect had been added in Photoshop.
Biting her lip, Skye closed her eyes and began. Her words floated across the screen in a pink glittery script that seemed too cute and playful for the low, raspy voice reciting them.
The boy who sleeps atop the key
Is into the exact same things as me.
He loves all creatures, big and small,
So his age doesn’t matter, not at all.
I try not to think about his “glamour-don’t” style
By focusing on his kick-butt smile.
Note to self: I’ve kissed this guy,
But I’ve kissed them all. How bad am I?
We already rode off into the sunset together,
But the next time we do, it will be forever.
Holla!
The pink glittery script faded away and Skye’s lips returned.
“Talking about this to anyone, including me or the DSL Daters, is against the rules. Searching for the room before you are in possession of the key is against the rules. And asking any boy if I have been to his house is a waste of time. The answer will always be yes. If you find the key, wear the Coach key chain with the little handbags on it around your neck. Then wait. I will contact you. May the true alpha win.” Skye blew out the Tocca votive candle. A swirling gray ribbon of smoke twisted in the darkness, eventually giving up and fading. The screen was black.
“May the best alpha win?” Massie whacked her computer. “How many alphas does she think there are in the seventh grade?”
The image of Carrie Randolph and her BFFs Alexandra Regan (metal mouth) and Livvy Collins (lip-gloss eater) ruling the room popped into her head. The make-out virgins would probably throw parent-supervised girls-only parties where they’d talk about the latest technology in braces and the best-tasting balms. All this while the Pretty Committee roamed the cold, bustling halls in last year’s calf-high Kors boots, searching for a warm place to hang.
“What if someone else wins?” Dylan anxiously tore a subscription card out of Alicia’s Teen Vogue, then folded it around her chewed gum.
“Impossible.” Alicia batted the air. “This is our destiny.”
“It better be,” Massie brooded, a massive to-do list forming in her head.
“Shhhh.” Kristen lifted a finger
to her lips. “We’re not allowed to talk about this with anyone.”
“Point.”
“That can’t possibly apply to us,” Massie whispered, just in case.
“Point.”
Massie turned her back on the naked mannequin and snapped into drill-sergeant mode. “Kristen, put a file together of Skye’s hobbies. Alicia, I need names of the boys she’s kissed. Dylan, find out who else got this CD-ROM. And Claire, ask Todd what she said to him. We’ll go over everything tomorrow during lunch.”
“What’s your job?” Claire asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“My job?” Massie faced her army and lifted her chin. “My job is to win.”
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL THE HALLS
Monday, April 5th
8:12 A.M.
Claire gazed at the Hogwarts-esque stone building, with its elegant turrets and landscaped grounds, then zipped her powder blue down jacket all the way to the very top. As she often had before, she found herself wondering how the rest of the Pretty Committee could manage to go jacketless on such a gray, blustery day. Granted, they were about to make their grand reentrance to OCD and didn’t want their well-crafted outfits marred by coats and scarves and gloves. But didn’t they feel the angry wind winding its way through the spaces between their bones? Or the finger-numbing chill of winter? Did they not feel cold?
It was the first time Isaac, the Blocks’ driver, had dropped them off in the rear parking lot, and the first time Claire had seen her school from that angle. The back was as majestic as the front, yet something about the view made her feel lonely.
“Ew.” Alicia winced, scanning the rows of fuel-efficient Fords and Toyotas. “These cars are so Toys ‘R’ Us. Why are we here? Can’t we go around front where the normal people park?”
“No,” Massie huffed, in an I’m-only-going-to-explain-this-one-last-time sort of way. “We need a private place for final
Outfit inspections. Besides, you may want to spend a minute or two on your hair. The wind has not been kind.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Alicia scurried to the side mirror of a white Volkswagen Jetta and finger-combed her highly envied black shoulder-length waves.
It's Not Easy Being Mean Page 2
