“Sure is.” Claire’s eyes watered.
“Please put on the nets and rubber gloves and join me behind these bins.” Mr. Myner demonstrated by stuffing his wavy black hair inside the webbed cap. “Any questions so far?”
Massie raised her gloved hand. “Um, why do we have to wear these?” She tilted her net like a beret. “It’s nawt like it matters if we get hair in the food. No one’s gonna eat this.” She turned away from the rank bin of eggshells, coffee grounds, banana peels, and vegetable scraps.
“The earth will be eating it, and trust me, she has no tolerance for your mousse, sprays, and fruit-scented gels.” Mr. Myner pushed open the side door, letting in a gust of cold but refreshing air. “Behold, OCD’s compost.”
The Pretty Committee stared in shock at a roofless, outhouse-shaped structure surrounded by piles of mud.
“The workmen who renovated our cabana had to use one of those,” Alicia announced, “because my mom didn’t want them going numero dos in our house.”
“There’s no way I’m going in there.” Dylan pulled off her gloves. “You can expel me again if you want.”
“Relax.” Mr. Myner snickered. “No one has to go in. It’s a compost.”
“Given.” Dylan slowly put her gloves back on, her baffled expression making it obvious she had no clue what a compost was.
“Compost is one of nature’s best mulches,” Mr. Myner explained. “You can use it instead of fertilizer. All you have to do is dump the good stuff in and watch as bacteria, fungi, worms, and insects gather. What remains after these organisms break down the soil is a delicious earthy substance your garden will love.”
The girls stared back at him, frozen in disbelief.
“Just separate out the bread, grease, dairy, and meat or fish parts, and toss the rest in the compost,” he said with the kind of joy one usually reserves for announcing puppy births. “If I hear a single word from any of you, you’ll all be back here tomorrow. And I hear the lunch special is Mexican fish stew.” He slid a metal folding chair against the kitchen door to prop it open, but it immediately slammed shut, sending the chair careening across the Café like a stone from a slingshot. The girls burst out laughing.
“Begin!” Mr. Myner slid another chair in front of the door and this time sat down to hold it in place. “Not another sound.” He pulled a small black notebook from the back pocket of his moss-green cords and began jotting down his thoughts with a red mini-golf pencil.
As Massie tossed a fish spine in the trash, her anger toward Mr. Myner quadrupled. Not so much because she was sorting cafeteria trash after school—she’d known the risk they were taking by skipping class—but because Mr. Myner had caught them before she’d had a chance to recap after ESP. And the need to discuss was eating away at her like worms in a compost.
THE BLOCK ESTATE
DRIVEWAY
Monday, April 19th
4:35 P.M.
“Finally!” Massie stepped onto her gravel driveway, slammed the door of the silver Range Rover, and wave-thanked her driver, Isaac, for the ride. The instant he drove off, she let out a major sigh of relief. “I officially lift the ban on all OL topics and declare them OL.”
“Huh?” Claire crinkled her blond brows in confusion.
“All off-limit car discussion topics like ESP, compost detention, and the bomb shelter are now on-limit discussion topics because Isaac is gone,” Alicia explained, trying to wave away the rotten-trash smell that had glommed onto them like LBRs at a school dance. “Ew. I need a loofah.”
“I need shampoo.” Dylan pulled an eggshell out of her matted red hair and booger-flicked it onto the ground.
“I need a skin graft.” Kristen examined her mud-stained hands.
“Well, what are we waiting for, ladies?” Massie linked elbows with Alicia and Dylan. Dylan linked with Kristen. And Kristen linked with Claire. “To the spa!”
Like a human Frank Gehry torque-chain bracelet, they marched across the perfectly manicured lawn of the Block estate, toward the rustic horseshed-turned-sanctuary. Along the way, Massie organized her thoughts into discussion topics, so they could get down to business the instant they got inside.
1)Force Kristen to choose a date (Griffin?).
2)Force Alicia to choose a date (Josh?).
3)Force Dylan to choose a date (Kemp vs. Plovert).
4)Help Claire get over the re-gifting thing so she can ask Cam.
5)Discuss: What could Derrington’s issue with me possibly be? Is he intimidated? Does he feel like he’s not good enough? Am I too perfect? Is it alpha to ask him to the party anyway, or should I find a new date? WWSD? (What Would Skye Do?)
6)Ways to make Chris Abeley get over ex, Fawn. Example: Spread vicious rumor about her unbreakable bed-wetting habit.
7)Ways to make Chris Abeley like Skye. Example: Give her a crash course in horseback riding.
8)Ways to make Chris Abeley call Skye. Example: Break into his cell phone and change all his stored numbers to Skye’s.
9)Ask Alicia if there was a Hard Candy Galaxy Glitter eyeliner pencil in the bomb shelter. If not, buy one before the party.
10) Has anyone even thought about studying for finals yet?
The closer they got to the horse shed, the more Massie’s heart pounded with excitement. She needed some unobstructed alone time with her girls almost as much as she needed a Dead Sea–salt scrub. Fortunately, she was minutes away from both.
“Clll-aire!” a distant girl’s voice shouted.
The Pretty Committee stopped at once.
“Clll-aire!” they heard again.
Everyone turned left, toward the quaint stone guesthouse where Claire’s family had been living for the past eight months.
“Layne?” Claire sounded surprised when she saw her friend speed-walking toward them. A clear backpack hung over the front of her torso, revealing a Chococat pencil case, a mini can of V8, a math textbook, an orange Lucite clipboard covered in old Transformer stickers, a blue Nokia phone, and several Slim Jim wrappers. “What are you doing here?”
Claire looked at the Pretty Committee apologetically.
“We’re supposed to study for the math final, remember?” Layne tapped her backpack with a neon-orange fingernail. “I’ve been counting the ants on your porch for over an hour. At one point there were forty-seven.”
Claire turned red. “Oh, no. I totally forgot.”
“Gee, thanks.” Layne eyed the Pretty Committee, silently blaming them for her friend’s insensitivity.
“I mean, I didn’t forget forget. It’s just that I had deten—”
“Don’t tell!” Massie coughed, reminding Claire that revealing anything about the bomb shelter could cost them ESP and, ultimately, their future as eighth-grade alpha-boy experts.
“I… I had a dentist appointment and—”
“Whatever.” Layne shrugged it off, like she did most things. “Let’s just go now.” She folded her arms across her backpack, bracing herself against the cool evening wind.
“Um…”
“She can’t.” Massie placed a composty hand on her J Brand denim–covered hip. “Because we’re, um—”
“We’re going to the spa,” Alicia bragged.
“Perfect.” Layne pivoted on the heel of her lime-green Converse sneaker.
Massie shot Alicia a thanks-a-lot glare. Kristen and Dylan snickered.
“Sorry,” Alicia mouthed.
Claire looked at Massie, her blue eyes wide and shifting, like those of a baby seal caught in a trap.
“Layne,” Massie asked sweetly, “are you made of Saran Wrap?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting all clingy?” The girls burst out laughing, and Massie resumed her trek toward the spa.
She could hear the footsteps of the Pretty Committee in the grass as they followed closely behind her.
“You owe me,” Layne called after her.
“I owe you what?” Massie practically roared.
Layne
hurried to catch up.
“When I gave you the key to Skye’s secret room, you told me I could come to one of your sleepovers every month.”
Massie stopped and glared at her. The others stopped too.
“And?”
“And I’d rather go to the spa instead.” She pulled out one of her three side-braids and re-braided it.
The Pretty Committee let out a collective gasp.
“It’s nonnegotiable,” Alicia snapped.
“What if I—?”
“Nonnegotiable,” Dylan insisted.
Claire squinted toward the horizon. The sun was sinking, like it didn’t want anything to do with this discussion either.
“What if I promise not to go to your sleepover next month, either?”
“Nonnegotiable,” Alicia reiterated, only this time she said it to Massie, silently asking her for backup.
“Please—it’s not like I’m Maksim Myaskovskiy,” Layne pleaded.
“Who’s that?” Claire laughed.
“Hilary Duff’s stalker,” she giggle-explained.
The Pretty Committee burst out laughing.
“Ugh!” Massie took the last remaining steps to the wood spa and gripped the massive barn door.
“Why do you want to go to the spa so badly?” Kristen asked, instinctively helping her friend slide the heavy wood panel.
“Because my brother, Chris, won’t be here for another hour, and I don’t want to sit outside in the cold anymore. Besides, it’s getting dark.”
Massie didn’t say a word. Instead she tapped her chin and squinted, rolling this new information around in her mind.
“Massie!” Dylan squealed. “I thought you wanted to talk about—”
“Fine.”
“Fine, what?” Layne asked.
“Fine, you can come.”
“Huh?” everyone asked, including Layne.
“Really?” Layne gave Claire’s wrist a triumphant squeeze. “Really.”
Claire grinned.
“Wait!” Alicia sounded shocked. “Why is this okay?”
“Does everyone have their cell phones?” Massie asked, her mind racing.
The Pretty Committee nodded.
“Then she can come.”
The girls entered the warm spa in silence. Massie could tell by their not-so-subtle side glances that they had no clue why she’d accepted Layne’s offer. But they would.
Eventually.
THE BLOCK ESTATE
SPA
Monday, April 19th
5:30 P.M.
After a therapeutic multi-jet shower with plant-essence-infused water and five different body scrubs, Claire twisted a thick white towel around her clean hair and slipped on a disposable swimsuit—a gift to all spa guests, compliments of the Blocks.
The black one-piece sagged at the chest and gaped around her butt, but Claire was too distraught to care. Her crush had turned out to be a re-gifter and her best friend had obviously walked into some sort of trap. And no amount of cooling eucalyptus creams or warming citrus oils would change that.
After sliding into a pair of yellow Havaianas, Claire flip-flopped her way across the white marble shower floor in the back section of the spa and pushed through the foggy double glass doors, leaving a floral-scented steam cloud of Decleor products behind.
The Pretty Committee, dressed in identical black bathing suits, were waist-deep in the emerald-green Jacuzzi, lounging behind a misty veil of chlorine and periodic blasts of Evian facial mist.
Layne lay barefoot on a white chaise lounge, dabbing her beading forehead with a piece of graph paper torn from her math notebook.
“Aren’t you getting in?” Claire asked, dipping her toe in the hot, frothing water.
“I can’t. I have my—”
“Ew!” Alicia covered her ears. “Don’t say it again.”
Layne sat up. “What word?” The corners of her mouth curled. “Peri—”
The Pretty Committee squealed, their horror echoing off the white tile walls.
“Why do you hate that word so much?” Layne teased with delight. “You’re all gonna get it.” She zeroed in on Alicia’s chest. Her C-cups filled the bathing suit in ways Claire never would.
“I can’t believe you don’t have it already. I mean you’re so developed and—”
“Layne! Opposite of go awn!” Alicia pulled her robe into the hot tub and covered herself. The Pretty Committee cracked up as the heavy terry cloth ballooned, then sank to the bottom. “Will someone puh-lease tell me why she’s here?”
Claire waited nervously for an answer.
None came.
Massie lowered her head into the water, wetting the ends of her hair so that they stuck to her back like a swatch of black velvet. Then she stood, gripped the silver handrail, and stepped out.
After drying her pruning hands with a plush white towel, Massie reached for her phone. Without a word of explanation, she passed the towel around to the Pretty Committee, who somehow knew exactly what to do with it.
Once their palms were dry, she distributed the remaining cells to their rightful owners. The girls held them high above the bubbling water, awaiting further instruction.
“How ’bout a little music?” Layne suggested, oblivious to the ritual unfolding before her.
“Play the CD that’s in my Prada.” Kristen chin-pointed to the black messenger bag in the corner. “You guys are gonna love it.”
As soon as Layne turned to get it, the girls’ phones vibrated.
MASSIE: K, U ASKING G?
KRISTEN: NEED 2 C ESP AGAIN 2 B SURE HE’S HART.
Massie rolled her eyes and typed.
MASSIE: PARTY IS DAYZ AWAY!!!!!
KRISTEN: 1 MORE TIME. I PROMISE.
MASSIE: D, WHAT ABOUT U?
DYLAN: SO MANY CHOICES.
MASSIE: PICK 1.
DYLAN: NEED ESP 1 MORE TIME 2.
Massie sighed loud enough to let Dylan know she was getting impatient. Dylan held her phone high and typed more.
DYLAN: THE WRONG CHOICE COULD B BAD 4 THE PC.
Massie must have known she was right, because she moved on.
Claire’s stomach pretzel-twisted. Was she next? She knew Massie wanted her to ask Cam already, to encourage the others. But how could she, knowing he’d been lying to her?
Luckily, Massie’s heart-stopping glare passed over Claire and landed on Alicia. She was about to press SEND when a song that sounded more like a man projectile vomiting heaved through the white Bose ceiling speakers.
“What is that?” Dylan plugged her ears with handfuls of wet red hair.
“It’s the Saw III sound track,” announced Kristen, as if death metal was something fabulous she’d just discovered, like a cure for blackheads or Britney Spears’s rehab diary.
“Turn it awff.” Massie threw a wooden back-scratcher at the speakers, obviously not caring if they smashed into Tic Tac–size pieces.
“You don’t like it?” Kristen screamed above the guttural wails.
“If the feeling of getting fistfuls of hair ripped from your scalp were downloadable on iTunes, it would be the Saw III sound track,” Massie snapped.
“Point.” Alicia lifted her cell phone an inch higher. “What about the flute music that was playing when we walked in? Can’t we hear that again?”
“That Enya stuff is so mainstream,” Kristen insisted. “Wait until you hear the next track. It’s called ‘Eyes of the Insane.’ The lyrics are—”
“When did you become so alt.com?” Massie asked.
“When she saw Griffin, the dark lord,” Dylan answered for her.
The CD was ejected and the music stopped.
“Thank gawd!” Massie muttered under her breath. “What happened?” Kristen stepped out of the Jacuzzi and padded over to the sleek stereo. She pushed the CD tray back in and hurried back into the warm hot tub.
Projectile-vomit sounds barfed from the speakers once again, and the girls giggle-moaned.
Then, seconds later,
the CD self-ejected.
Claire side-glanced at Layne and half-smiled.
“Why does this keep happening?” Kristen pressed her hands against the wet tiles, pushed herself out of the tub, and tiptoe-jogged over to the stereo again.
“My Bose has good taste,” Massie replied.
Claire laughed much louder and harder than the other girls, and Massie shot her a curious glare.
“Sorry,” Claire said, but it came out sounding more like “reeeee.”
Massie kept staring. And Claire kept laughing. Then Layne joined in, which cracked her up even more. Desperate to stop, Claire slid underwater, but the muffled roar of the jets scared her into resurfacing before she was completely cured.
“What is going awn?” Massie smacked the bubbling surface of the water.
“Yeah.” Kristen slid back into the hot tub.
The CD started up once again.
And then it ejected.
“Show them,” Claire urged her friend as she fought the twitching corners of her mouth.
“Show them what?” Layne snickered.
“Yeah, show us what?” Massie narrowed her amber eyes, silently threatening social homicide if Layne didn’t comply.
“This.” Layne reached behind the chaise and grabbed a tiny clump of copper wires. She held them out in front of her with pride.
“I just pulled something that looked like that out of my hairbrush this morning,” Dylan joked.
Everyone giggled, except Massie, who refused to spend one more second on the outside of an inside joke. “What are those?”
Layne sat up and cleared her throat. “It’s a cluster of thirty-eight conductors that I knotted, then threaded through a metal bobby pin. But the real magic happens once you attach the—”
“Yawwwwwn.” Alicia stretched her wet arms and patted her mouth.
“Tell them what it does,” Claire urged.
“It’s a signal interceptor,” gushed Layne. “I threw it together with a little help from the World Wide Web. It’s like a remote control.”
“So you ejected my CD?” Kristen asked.
Layne nodded with glee.
“Can you intercept this?” A burst of bubbles surfaced around Dylan’s butt. “S’cuse me.” She giggled.
Sealed with a Diss Page 7
