“Nicely done.” Massie nodded.
“Thanks.” Dylan beamed.
“Nawt you.” Massie giggled.
Everyone cracked up.
“I am very impressed with Layne.” Massie applauded. The Pretty Committee, confused at first by her open display of LBR appreciation, eventually joined in.
Layne stood and bowed.
Claire’s heart swelled with genuine happiness. Finally, her friends were accepting Layne. Her two groups were coming together. No more separate plans or hurt feelings or—
“Um, Layne…” Massie’s voice rose above the applause.
Claire’s heart instantly deflated.
Layne continued to bow and spin and curtsy for her fans.
“Layne!” Massie shouted.
Everyone stopped.
“Yeah,” she smile-panted.
“You may want to use the bathroom.”
“Huh?”
Massie cupped a hand over her mouth like she was about to whisper, yet spoke at full volume. “That thing you have that keeps you from going in hot tubs is making me see red, if you know what I mean.”
“Nooooo!” Trying to catch a glimpse of her backside, Layne spun like a dog trying to chase its tail.
“Ew!” The girls gasped and covered their eyes, but for some reason, Claire couldn’t keep from looking.
“I don’t see any—”
Claire sympathy-blushed for Layne. Unable to face her, she lowered her eyes and focused on her puffy white waterlogged cuticles. It didn’t matter whether Massie was telling the truth or not. Either way, Layne was doomed to days of embarrassing period jokes at her expense. Claire had fallen victim to that when she first moved to Westchester and accidentally sat in red paint.
“Trust me, it’s there,” Massie insisted. “Layne, there’s a bathroom in the back past the showers. Take all the time you need.”
“Thanks.” Layne reached for her clear backpack and bolted toward the double glass doors. She was in such a hurry, she left her phone behind. Claire considered chasing after her, but something told her that if she left, she’d miss out on something big. So she opted to soak for a few more minutes. It wasn’t like Layne needed her phone in there anyway.
“Thank gawd.” Massie bolted out of the hot tub the moment Layne was gone. She wrapped herself in a plush white robe and flopped down on a chaise.
“Well, I’m done.” Alicia squeezed the chlorinated water out of her hair and hurried for the open seat beside Massie.
“Me too,” Dylan echoed.
“Same.” Kristen lifted herself out of the hot tub.
Claire knew she was expected to follow.
Everyone wrapped themselves in robes and curled up on the chaise beside Massie, like a tangle of newborn gerbils.
“Finally, some alone time.” Massie squirted a dollop of Nexxus VitaTress hair-food supplement onto her palm, finger-distributed it evenly, and then passed the tube around.
“Why is she even here?” Alicia snarled.
“Seriously.” Dylan rolled her bloodshot eyes.
Massie sighed, then rested her head against the back of the chair and gazed up at the ceiling like she was considering something that had been weighing heavily on her mind.
“Tell us.” Kristen gently rested her hand on Massie’s terry-cloaked shoulder. “What is it?” Massie’s amber eyes seemed to fill with sadness and something else Claire couldn’t quite identify.
“I have some major gossip to tell you,” Massie told them confidentially.
“How many points?” asked Alicia.
“One thousand.” They leaned forward in anticipation.
“I need to make it quick, because it won’t take long for Layne to figure out I was lying about the whole per—”
“Ew!” Alicia covered her ears. “Don’t say it.”
“I knew you were making that up!” Dylan highfived her. “Genius!”
Claire hated herself for thinking for a second that the PC would ever respect Layne. She hated herself more for not running into the bathroom to warn her, now that she knew the truth. But one thousand gossip points was major.
Massie glanced at the double doors to make sure Layne was still out of earshot. Then she leaned forward. “IletLaynecometothespabecauseIneedherhelpwithsomething.”
“So it’s a use? Phew.” Alicia wiped her brow. “I thought you were getting soft.”
“What about the gossip?” Dylan pulled a handful of red hair out of her comb and stuffed it into the pocket of her robe.
“YouknowthatbigsecretmeetingIhadwithSkyelastweek?”
They nodded again.
“Well,sheaskedmetomakeChrisAbeleylikeher. Shewantshimtobeherdatefortheparty. That’showIgotusintotheroomearly. ItoldherIwouldhelpherifshegavemethekey.”
“And she said yes?” Kristen’s narrow blue eyes were wide with disbelief. “Just like that?”
“Kinda.” Massie crinkled her nose with dread.
“Whaddaya mean?” Alicia asked.
“ShesaidifIfailedhershewouldtakethekeyawayforgood.”
Everyone gasped.
“But we get it back for eighth grade, right?” Alicia asked.
Massie shook her head slowly.
They gasped again, then exhaled sharply, accidentally blowing out the vanilla-lavender pillar candle beside them. A thin ribbon of black smoke curled toward the high wood rafters.
“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” This time Dylan dropped a clump of hair on the floor.
“Some things are alpha-to-alpha.”
“But this affects all of us,” Kristen insisted.
“I wanted you to focus on getting dates,” Massie confessed. “That’s your priority. Let me deal with this.”
At that moment, Claire felt sorry for Massie. She was obviously stressing over the deal she’d struck with Skye and had been too full of pride to ask her BFFs for help. It made Claire wonder what other things alphas kept inside. And how alone those secrets must make them feel.
“That’s why I’m telling you. And that’s why Layne is here,” Massie assured them. “I need her to help me get access to her brother and—”
Right then, Layne pushed through the double glass doors, and Massie instantly changed the subject.
“And that’s why I switched to AT&T.”
“I’m going to make the switch too.” Alicia nodded enthusiastically.
“But you need Cingular for the iPhone,” Kristen reminded them.
“Point.” Alicia lifted a pruny finger.
Layne stood above their chaises and looked down, her arms folded across her chest like she knew they had been lying. But she didn’t look hurt. In fact, she was smiling in a soft, confident way, like someone about to make the winning move in a long, heated game of chess. “I heard everything you said.”
“That’s fine.” Massie shrugged off the accusation. “It’s no secret that AT&T has a good nationwide calling plan. You should consider switching.”
“No, I mean about my brother.”
Claire smile-bit her bottom lip.
“And Skye,” Layne finished.
Massie focused on the grumbling Jacuzzi jets to keep herself from fainting.
No one said a word.
“Don’t you want to know how?”
They nodded slowly.
Slapping a clump of mousy brown hair to the left of her head, Layne revealed a tiny, putty-colored earpiece nestled in her ear.
“You’re deaf ?” Alicia gasped.
“Hearing impaired.” Kristen was quick to correct her.
“How did you read our lips from the bathroom?” Dylan sounded amazed.
“I heard deaf people have better vision than nondeaf people,” Alicia explained.
“Hearing impaired,” Kristen insisted.
“I’m the opposite of deaf,” Layne beamed. “I have superhuman hearing, thanks to my Spy Ear.”
They stared at the peanut-shaped contraption.
“I knew Massie was lying about my pants, because
I was lying about my per—” Alicia held up her palm. “Don’t say it!”
“So I activated my Spy Ear so I could hear what you were saying about me when I left.”
“Where did you get that?” Massie asked with genuine interest.
“EBay,” Layne replied. “But it only works with a Nokia phone, and Nokia doesn’t use AT&T, so you’re out of luck.”
Claire giggled. She was constantly impressed with Layne, who had the uncanny ability to not let the Pretty Committee get to her. It was like she was made of Teflon or something, and their words just slid right off of her.
“So what’s your point?” asked Massie, skillfully managing to put Layne on the defensive.
“I want to help,” Layne answered, helping herself to the tiny available corner of the girls’ chaise.
“Huh?”
“I want to help you make Chris like Skye.”
“Why?” Massie wiggled free from the others and jumped to her feet, causing the Pretty Committee to collapse like a heap of old, worn stuffed animals.
“Just to help.”
“Why?” Her voice echoed against the misty white tiles. “Because I want my brother to get over Fawn. He’s been so depressed lately, and he never wants to hang out anymore.”
“That’s it? It’s that simple?”
“It’s that simple,” Layne assured her. “Oh, but if you could throw in one of those disposable bathing suits, I’d appreciate it. I think it would look cute with my gauchos.”
THE ABELEY HOUSE
LAYNE’S BEDROOM
Sunday, April 25th
2:19 P.M.
Massie placed her right hand on her waist, letting the left dangle at her side, Saks-mannequin-style. She rotated her torso five degrees and lifted her chin ever so slightly.
“Rate me,” she murmured through a stiff smile.
Her cap-sleeved midnight-blue BCBG minidress complemented the gray tights and metallic-silver Frye motorcycle boots that had just arrived from ShopBop. And her hair, thanks to a dollop of straightening gel and an early-morning blowout by Jakkob, was practically reflective. Chanel No. 5 wafted from her pressure points, filling Layne’s glow-in-the-dark bedroom with the crisp smell of spring, a necessary change from the oily bovine funk of Slim Jims.
“What do you mean, rate you?” Layne clamped her limp, light brown hair to the back of her head with a neon-pink banana clip. The Spencer’s Gifts–type accessory seemed to fit right in with the collection of neon face masks, highlighter-colored lightbulbs, and fluorescent rugs that surrounded them.
“I mean, how do I look?” Massie huffed, longing for her girls. “Give me a number out of ten.”
“It’s kinda hard to see in the dark.” Layne bounced off her luminous paint-splattered duvet cover and flicked on the lights.
“Ehmagawd, thank gawd,” Massie mumbled. “I was starting to feel trapped in an episode of The Simpsons.”
Layne, ignoring the dig, circled Massie, slowly tapping her lip. “Hmmmm.”
“What?” Massie’s heart quickened.
Were the boots too loud? Tights too drab? Mini too mini?
“I’d say you’re aaaaaaaaah…” She made one more rotation. “Seven.”
Massie gasped. “Sev-uhn?”
“Higher than you expected?” Layne tightened the gold sash on her multicolored satin kimono, a bathrobe she somehow thought appropriate to pair with black knee-high Steve Madden wedges.
“Nope,” Massie lied. “It’s exactly what I thought you’d say.”
She longed for the Pretty Committee, who never gave her lower than an eight point five, but knew her decision to ban them from this mission had been the right one. It would have been impossible to have an effective heart-to-heart with Chris if her friends were there, watching, giggling, judging. Besides, what if he started crushing on Alicia instead of—
Massie deleted that sentence mid-thought. It was the only way she could keep her name from ending it. After all, this was about Chris and Skye. There would be plenty of opportunities for Chris to fall in love with her once the room belonged to the Pretty Committee. Besides, she needed this time to contemplate her true feelings for Derrington. As of late, his maturity and loyalty were in question. But to be fair, he was a HART, at least as far as seventh-graders went, and she didn’t want to give him up until she was absolutely sure she wouldn’t regret it.
“Wanna help me work on my karaoke glasses? They’re almost done.” Layne pulled a metal cookie sheet out from under her bed. An assortment of screws, wires, batteries, computer chips, and tweezers were spread out upon it. A pair of old-school black Ray-Ban Wayfarers lay in the center.
“All we have to do is build a Starscroll-size projector and attach it to one of the arms. If my theory is correct, the dark plastic will act like a screen, and the words of songs will scroll across it. Meaning, karaoke! Anywhere. Anytime. No wires, no bulky TV screens. No hassle.” She bowed, anticipating applause.
“Is your brother home?”
Layne nodded yes, then lifted her head.
“It’s time.”
“What’s your plan?” Layne asked, sliding the cookie sheet back under her bed.
“I figured a good pep talk and a fun afternoon with me would be enough to get him off his girl-fast.”
“That’s it?” Layne’s narrow hazel eyes widened.
“Yeah. How hard can it be?”
“O-kay.” Layne snickered in a don’t-say-I-didn’t-warn-you sort of way and then flicked off the lights. “Follow me.”
Massie pinched her cheeks for a quick burst of color, then repositioned her glossy hair across her right eye. She knew it was slightly wrong to fuss over her looks when she was there to promote Skye. But she still had to hold Chris’s attention. And that meant leaving Ugly Betty on ABC, where she belonged.
The upstairs hallway outside Chris’s room smelled like Thanksgiving dinner—warm, tangy, and dusted with cinnamon. Oriental rugs cut the center of the mocha wood floor, while lofty totem poles and Egyptian sarcophagi occupied the corners. It was the kind of creepy, eclectic clutter one would expect to find in Lara Croft’s basement, and the total opposite of Derrington’s modern glass cube of a house—which reeked of Lemon Pledge and had a fragile-don’t-touch vibe.
Massie decided she liked the feel of Chris’s house better. It seemed more welcoming. Passionate. Alive. But still… Her heart pounded, and she would have traded her new red, white, and blue Juicy inflatable beach tote for a sip of chilled Evian.
“Code red!” Layne banged, paying no mind to the DO NOT DISTURB sign from the Marriott’s Timber Lodge time-share in Lake Tahoe, California.
“What?” Chris called, his voice muffled.
“Um…” Layne looked at Massie, her hazel eyes flooded with panic. “Uh—”
“Tell him there’s a special girl here to see him,” Massie whisper-suggested.
“I can’t do that,” Layne whisper-shouted back. “What if he thinks its Fawn?”
“Then he’ll open the door.” Massie rolled her eyes, silently accusing Layne of being an amateur.
Layne inhaled deeply, then did as she was told.
Seconds later, Chris was standing in the doorway, feet bare, Diesel jeans ripped at the knees, and a worn gray Harvard sweatshirt hanging off his fit frame. His hair was a little top-heavy and in need of a trim, and he was squinting, like he had woken up and was adjusting to the light.
Even depressed-dressed, he was a nine.
“Oh,” he said to his visitors, sounding disappointed. “Hey.”
“Surprise!” Massie pushed past him, slamming the door in Layne’s face.
“Hey, what gives?”
Massie flipped the lock, ignoring Layne’s incessant banging.
“So, uh, how ya doing?” Massie asked, her voice suddenly forced and hollow, like it was coming from a bad actor in a school play.
“Been better.” Chris picked his black electric guitar up off the floor and sat on the edge of his unmade bed. He didn’t
seem to wonder why she was there. Nor did he seem to care.
Unsure of where to stand now that they were alone, Massie stuck close to the door and leaned against his bare navy-blue wall. She slid her hands behind the small of her back and angled her face left, showing off her better side. “So, how funny was it running into you at Galwaugh?” she tried.
He fell back onto his bed. The light blue throw pillows shook from the sudden impact. Massie wondered how a girl named Fawn could turn such a hot prep-school rebel into such a sad sack. What powers did she have? What was her secret? Massie wondered if she’d be that intoxicating after a few more visits to ESP. The mere thought of it motivated her to push harder.
“Remember that blond girl I was with?”
He plucked a few chords, which Massie took as a yes.
“Well, she’s the best dancer in our entire school. Not to mention the prettiest girl in the eighth, soon to be ninth, grade.” Massie paused. “She was pretty, don’tcha think?”
Chris bobbed his head. Was he was agreeing with her or simply feeling the music? It was impossible to tell.
“What was her name again?”
Breakthrough!
“Skye,” Massie offered. “Her name is Skye Hamilton.”
“That’s right.” He grinned. “I knew it was something like that.”
“So you’ve been thinking about her?” Massie’s blood pumped faster, like it did when she knew her dad was about to give in to one of her demands.
“I guess.” He strummed.
Yes!
“What have you been thinking?” Chris looked up, dark blue eyes gripping her like a sapphire-colored force field. “I’ve been thinking she has one of those nature names.”
“I know.” Massie beamed. “Isn’t it—”
“Fawn is a nature name.” He lowered his head again and plucked B-minor.
“Oh.” She scanned the ill-decorated room for something reflective so she could run a quick check on her appearance.
Maybe her long bangs had been finger-swept too far right. Or maybe her gloss had faded or her cheeks had dimmed. And maybe if she could swing a quick touch-up, things would go smoother.
But all she saw was a black Formica dresser lined with mini cologne bottles, a glass-topped desk covered in pencil sketches of the some long-haired girl with devil horns and blacked-out teeth, and an old Dell laptop. The far wall by the window was dotted with crooked snapshots of his boarding-school friends, pictures of Tricky, and a thin white shelf stocked with gold riding trophies and first-place ribbons. Not a single mirror in sight. Unless…
Sealed with a Diss Page 8
