Sealed with a Diss

by Lisi Harrison

  They keypad clacked as Layne searched both of those names. “Nope.”

  “I know. Try MySpace. Maybe she has a profile.”

  “Genius!”

  Claire sat on the metal arm of her chair to get a better view. Her teeth started chattering with anticipation.

  “Good news.” Layne leaned back, folding her arms behind her head. “There are one hundred and thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-eight Nikkis.”

  “How is that good news?” Claire snapped, unable to hide her frustration.

  “On second thought, that is lot to weed through, especially with finals coming up.”

  “Um, yeah!”

  “I guess the best thing for you to do is avoid him.” Layne gathered her provisions and started stuffing them in her suitcase.

  “I can’t.” Claire’s hands began to shake. “If I don’t ask him to Skye’s costume party, Massie will kill me.”

  “Well, there’s one thing you could do.” Layne rolled her suitcase toward the door.

  “What?” Claire asked, hearing the hope and desperation in her own voice.

  “You were the star of Dial L for Loser, right?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So? Act!” Layne insisted, reaching for the brass doorknob. “Wait, where are you going?” Claire pushed herself to stand, ignoring a sudden wave of dizziness. Life had never felt so hopeless. “I thought we were going to pull an all-nighter.”

  “That’s before I knew you snooped.” Layne opened the door. “Snooping is a fool’s game. A sucker’s bet. Like I told you, a nonstop bike ride to the anger cul-de-sac.”

  “But I need to get out of the cul-de-sac.” Claire desperately dashed toward her friend. “Help me.”

  “I feel your pain, believe me.” Layne stepped back into the room and hugged Claire. The sudden affection made her eyes well up again. Was it possible to feel loved and abandoned all at the same time?

  Layne released her and, with genuine kindness, wiped Claire’s tears away with her thumb. “You think it’s easy looking Meena in the eye, day in and day out, knowing she stole my songbook? But I do. I manage.”

  “How?”

  “Take your mind off of it.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Try Sudoku.” Layne blew Claire a kiss and placed it on her cheek before leaving her alone in her room. Alone with a broken heart, one hundred and thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-eight Nikkis, and no clue what to do next.

  OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  THE HALLS

  Tuesday, April 27th

  2:51 P.M.

  “If your initials are MB, freeze!” Skye’s raspy voice sliced through the whisper-buzz of after-school gossip, the slamming of locker doors, and the thick flow of get-me-out-of-here traffic.

  Massie, refusing to take orders from anyone regardless of her eighth-grade alphaness, slowed to a window-shopper’s wander.

  “We need to tawk.” Skye hurried toward her, the decorative tiara on her head sloping toward her ear. Normally, if Skye had needed anything from Massie, and made it publicly known like that, it would have meant an instant social upgrade and an excuse for a celebratory Marc Jacobs bag. But Massie knew what Skye wanted. And it was nothing to get excited about.

  “Over here.” Skye tugged the bell sleeve of Massie’s black cotton Paul & Joe mini polo dress, guiding her into the recessed corner by the water fountain.

  The DSL Daters stopped by the shadow box filled with black-and-white photos of poorly coiffed alumni and watched from a distance, bodyguard style.

  “Ah-lone!” Skye hissed to the Pretty Committee, who followed without hesitation.

  “Why don’t you wait in the Range Rover?” Massie asked, making it clear with a pronounced brow lift that they had no choice. “Tell Isaac I’ll be right out.”

  Claire, Dylan, and Kristen did what they were told, while Alicia lingered, probably to covet-stare at Skye’s latest dancer-chic ensemble.

  Turquoise leg warmers hugged the bottoms of her dark skinny AG jeans, while a wide-necked gray cashmere sweater slouched right, exposing a pale shoulder.

  “Are those leg warmers from the Body Alive apparel store?”

  “Yeah, but don’t even bother trying to get them.” Skye straightened her tiara. “When I take something from my parents’ boutique, they’re not allowed to sell it to anyone at OCD. Hamilton family rule.”

  Massie side-glanced at Alicia, knowing her friend was hardly the type to sit back while someone accused her of outfit theft… unless of course it was Skye Hamilton.

  Alicia put a hand on her hip and stuck her face close to Skye’s, but then thought better of it and quickly pivoted toward her friends.

  “So, what’s going on?” Massie asked; her tone drenched in innocence.

  “Nothing,” Skye snapped. “That’s the problem.” She rambled on about trading the bomb shelter for Chris Abeley, and how she wasn’t seeing results… which was totally unfair. It wasn’t like Massie wasn’t trying. And getting chastised by Skye in the crowded halls of OCD wasn’t doing much to motivate her to try harder.

  A chatty cluster of Blisters caught Massie’s attention, and she felt a swell of anger build inside her as they passed. She resented the way they carelessly tossed their bags over their shoulders, the way they laughed, the way they grinned while thumbing the keypads on their cell phones. Why couldn’t her life be simple and fun like theirs?

  Instead, Derrington was telling a roomful of Briarwood boys that she wasn’t perfect. She’d been coerced into playing cupid for OCD’s eighth-grade alpha. The Pretty Committee was dateless for the most prestigious costume party of the year. And, worst of all, she could feel the bomb shelter slipping away from her manicured hands faster than a bar of L’Occitane lemon-verbena soap.

  “So, is he into me or what?” Skye whispered, twirling a buttery blond curl around her index finger.

  Massie smile-nodded, hoping Skye wouldn’t pick up on her guilt. If the alpha ever found out about yesterday’s unexpected Chris-visit to the Block estate, she would be done. No bomb shelter. No ESP. No hope. Even though Inez had been instructed to tell Chris she was out volunteering at the animal shelter, Massie would be known as a boy-snatching temptress.

  But what was she supposed to do? Tell the truth?

  “Um, well, here’s the thing… I sent Chris away because I was wearing baggy weekend sweats and my hair was begging for a hot-oil treatment. And even though he’s not my official crush, and Derrington is, I’ve been a little confused lately about who I like more, and just in case it turns out I’m into Chris and not Derrington, I didn’t want him to see me on a night when I was rating below an eight. Make sense?”

  Yeah, right!

  “Well, is he?” Skye slid the gold locket across its chain, then popped it in her mouth.

  “Is he what?” Massie stalled, trying to buy some time.

  Skye spit out the locket. “Is Chris into me?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Work harder. My party is only—”

  Massie lifted her index finger. “Oh, hold on a sec.”

  She flipped open her not-really-ringing Motorola Razr, pushed a few buttons, and moved her eyes across the blank screen for a few seconds. “This just in…” She snapped her phone shut. “Chris will be at Briarwood’s wave-pool dedication ceremony tomorrow after school. At first he didn’t want to go, but I convinced him, thinking it would be a great place for you guys to”—she made air-quotes—“‘run into’ each other.”

  “Love that!” Skye expressed her joy with a quick arabesque.

  “Told you I’d take care of it.” Massie knotted the green-and-white silk Pucci scarf around her neck. “You just had to be patient.”

  “I knew I could trust you.” Skye fished around the inside of her pink leather Coach hobo tote, probably searching for a token of her appreciation. Maybe a secret alpha ring or a special solid-gold copy of the room key.

  “But just to be
sure…” Her expression hardened. “Take this.” She handed Massie a digital watch with a cheap black plastic band, the kind sold near the cashier’s counter at drug stores and that tech geeks wear with pride. The LED screen glowed blue and a bell icon flashed in the top left-hand corner.

  “The alarm will go off at 7:30 p.m., Saturday night. If it rings and Chris isn’t at my party, playing Brad to my Angie, you’ll find your key to the bomb shelter at the bottom of the Hudson River.”

  Massie half-expected a flash of lightning or a mwah-ha-ha laugh to follow Skye’s villainish threat. But the beautiful blonde simply stared back at her, blue eyes shimmering, her skin glowing, and her smile radiating.

  Massie’s midday latte began working its way back up her throat. “No problem.” She dropped the watch into her mint-green Marc Jacobs Heidi bag, then forced a casual grin.

  “Oh, and speaking of dates, do your friends have any yet?”

  “Ehmagawd, do you always worry this much?” Massie shook her head in disbelief. “You poor thing.”

  “I’m nawt worried, I’m just—”

  Massie promptly made her move down the now empty hall, toward OCD’s main exit. “Try the hot-rocks massage at Retreat.” She pushed through the glass doors. “If that doesn’t get rid of your pre-party jitters, nothing will.”

  Before Skye had a chance to respond, Massie was gone.

  Massie quickly scanned the rain-soaked parking lot. Hair-frizzing dampness must have forced everyone into their respective cars faster than usual. And with everyone gone, Massie had no trouble spotting her target.

  “Abeley, wait!”

  Layne stood in front of the open door of her mom’s silver Lexus, nose in the air, searching for the person who’d beckoned her.

  “Over here.” Massie waved, ignoring Layne’s gigantic gold glitter-covered sunglasses. Because when someone wears oversize gold glitter-covered sunglasses, they want to be acknowledged. And Massie refused to be manipulated twice in one day.

  “Is Chris driving?” She tilted her head toward the Lexus.

  Layne nodded yes. She was wearing a clear plastic rain poncho and knee-high, yellow-ducky-covered rubber boots.

  “Switch with me,” Massie demanded when she got closer.

  “Operator?”

  “Switch with me.” Massie opened a tube of Candy Apple–flavored Glossip Girl and quickly applied some. “Chris needs my help. He’s still depressed.”

  “But…” Layne glanced at the Blocks’ Range Rover. The Pretty Committee was inside, noses pressed up against the windows, anxiously awaiting the details from the Skye confrontation.

  “No buts.” Massie stomped her foot. “I’m going with Chris, and you’re going with the Pretty Committee.”

  Layne pursed her lips as if contemplating this offer—an offer any other girl in their grade would have paid for. “Is Claire in there?”

  “Given.”

  “Does she get dropped off first or last?”

  Massie rolled her eyes. “Last, ah-bviously. She lives where we park the car.”

  “Hmmmmmmm.”

  “Layne!”

  “Fine, I’ll do it.” Layne pushed her glitter glasses over the slight bump on the bridge of her nose. “For Chris.”

  “Thanks.” Massie hurried toward the Lexus before Layne had a chance to ask for something in return.

  And then she stopped.

  The sight of Chris’s head poking over the top of the black driver’s seat sent a paralyzing tingle through Massie’s body. It originated behind the button on her denim mini and shot straight to the backs of her freshly shaved kneecaps. The natural wave in his thick hair was mussed to perfection, creating that accidental ah-dorableness products like Bed Head strive to capture.

  She had about six seconds until she reached the Lexus. Six seconds to come up with a plan to cheer him up and make him forget about Fawn once and for all. A super-speedy problem-solving session was her only option. So she asked herself the following questions:

  Q: What cures sadness?

  A: A new leather handbag (Chloé, Marc Jacobs, YSL, Dior, Coach, Miu Miu, Prada).

  Q: What cures rejection?

  A: New flats or hard-to-find boots (Chloé, Marc Jacobs, YSL, Dior, Coach, Miu Miu, Prada, Tory Burch, Frye, Calypso).

  Q: What cures depression?

  A: A new haircut and color (see Jakkob).

  Done!

  A satisfied half-smile illuminated her face as she texted her fab hairstylist with the plan. He responded immediately. And then, like a guided missile, Massie headed straight for her target.

  “Surprise!” she bellowed after yanking the door open.

  “Hey, you’re not my sister.” Chris looked pleasantly alarmed.

  She lowered herself daintily onto the black leather passenger seat and made a show of crossing her legs so he would notice her calf-high red motorcycle boots.

  “Do what I say and you won’t get hurt.” Massie poked a tube of Hot Chocolate Glossip Girl in the side of his rib cage. He was wearing a navy henley under his dark Levi’s jean jacket. Had he been hoping to run into her, or was his old stylish self coming back? Either way, it was good news.

  “What have you done with Layne?” He turned the key and started the car, making it clear that it didn’t really matter.

  “She’s fine.” Massie put a little more pressure on the tube of lip gloss. “Now drive. And don’t stop until you get to Forest and Main.”

  Chris backed out of the parking space and Massie searched for her favorite radio station, as if playing his copilot was something she did every day. Once she heard Justin Timber-lake’s latest single, she cranked up the volume, rolled down the window, and sang along, wishing the girls at OCD could see her now.

  Fluffy clouds spread over the sky like cashmere lint balls on last year’s winter-white sweater. The air smelled freshly washed from the earlier afternoon rain, and the tree-studded streets glistened like a fresh blowout. It felt like they were driving through a commercial for new beginnings.

  “Wait!” Massie gripped the black leather hand rest. “You’re in the ninth grade, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then how can you drive?”

  “It’s easy.” He smiled softly, exposing an ah-dorable white fang at the side of his mouth. “I hit the gas when I want to go and brake when I want to stop. The rest of the time I pray I don’t hit anyone.”

  “Aw-nestly?” Massie’s heart revved.

  “Yeah, why?” He turned to her, practically searing her lashes with his fiery blue eyes.

  “Ummmm.” Massie stalled while considering her next move. If she seemed afraid, he wouldn’t think she was cool. If she seemed shocked, he wouldn’t think she was cool. If she did anything other than highfive him for being such an outlaw, he wouldn’t think she was cool.

  “I love it!” She lifted her palm.

  He lifted his.

  They met and slapped. Electric currents shot up her arm.

  He tilted his head back and cracked up. “You’re cool for a girl.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She tried not to sound like she was shopping for compliments, even though she was.

  “It means, when I told Fawn I drove illegally she practically jumped out of the car.”

  “Why would she do that?” Massie dug her nails into the bottom of her seat. “It seems like you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do.” He grinned.

  “How?”

  “I have my license.”

  Massie searched his face for an explanation. He revealed nothing.

  “How?” She giggle-insisted.

  “I was held back a year for causing trouble. That’s why I got shipped off to boarding school in London.” He side-glanced at her, then quickly turned his attention back to the road. “Satisfied?”

  She felt herself smile. “You don’t seem like a troublemaker.”

  “You don’t seem like a kidnapper.”

  “You’re funny,” Massie a
ccidentally giggle-blurted, then blushed. She turned to the window to hide her cheeks and focused on a blond skateboarder rumbling down the rain-slicked sidewalk. He looked a little like Derrington.

  She thought about her supposed boyfriend—a goofy, makes-you-wanna-laugh-out-loud kind of guy—and suddenly wondered if she had been selling herself short. After all, Chris was clever, Abercrombie hot, a licensed driver, and all around more mature. Massie was about to ask herself which one made a more “suitable” crush for the eighth grade. But the answer was ah-bvious.

  “Now will you please tell me where we’re going?”

  “Just drive.”

  He snickered.

  “See, girls aren’t so bad,” she told him.

  “You’re not like most girls.”

  “Puh-lease. There are tons of girls like me out there,” Massie lied.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Really?” she screeched. But she quickly remembered her mission: Skye… secure the room… ESP access… rule eighth grade… become boy expert… Massie forcibly put her ego aside. “You mean you think you can, you know, move on?”

  He cupped her shoulder. “It’s very possible.” He squeezed.

  A panic-bolt zipped through Massie’s entire body. Could he sense her terror? Did he realize he was dealing with an inexperienced lip-kisser? Or was he too smitten to care? What about Derrington? And Skye?

  Massie leaned toward the radio, giving Chris and his electromagnetic love-palm the slip. An invisible handprint, hot and alive, lingered on her back long after he returned his hand to the wheel.

  “Let’s have some fun!” She cranked up the volume.

  Chris lowered his window.

  They banged their heads to the final chorus of the Fray’s “How to Save a Life”and kept on singing while the DJ announced the next block of songs. “But first”—he deepened his already deep voice—“here’s a little blast from the past for all you fools in luvvvv.”

  They lowered their heads in preparation, and Massie couldn’t help giggling into her A-cups. Doubling on Derrington’s bike was so out.

  Suddenly, a heartbroken pop star’s nasally lament whined through the speakers.

  JoJo.