“For those of you not spending this summer at five-star camps, yachting through the Mediterranean, or sunning yourselves on a beach in the Hamptons—the extra-credit summer school sign-up sheet is posted outside my office. There are several exciting new math programs to pick from, so take your time reading through the course descriptions before choosing.”
The New Pretty Committee peered over at Kristen, who, thanks to financially challenged parents and a scholarship to uphold, would be all over that sign-up sheet. She kept her eyes forward, though, as if it had no relevance to her whatsoever.
“And now”—Principal Burns tucked her wild gray Albert Einstein bob behind her ears—“I have some terrible news.”
The creaking-wood sounds of girls shifting in their seats echoed throughout the auditorium.
Massie’s heart started to race. She loved a crisis. Loved watching people get all worked up about things. It added excitement into her life, especially when the crisis had no effect on her, which this ah-bviously didn’t. Besides, it would be fun watching someone else in turmoil for a while, because she had certainly had more than her share in the past year.
She had dealt with Claire moving to town, Alicia trying to start her own clique, Nina the big-boobed boy-snatcher visiting from Spain, her first kiss with Derrington, getting expelled from OCD, watching Claire land the starring role in Dial L for Loser, searching for the key to a secret bomb shelter, prying it away from Layne, fixing up Chris and Skye, and wondering if Derrington would ever like her again.
And now, finally, with the creation of the New Pretty Committee, it was all behind her.
Principal Burns cleared her throat. “This morning, at three a.m., something devastating happened at our brother school.”
Massie half-smiled. She was right. It had nothing to do with her.
“Somehow, the main water valve that was used to fill the wave pool was punctured.”
Massie’s palms began to itch.
Alicia fanned her face.
Claire bit her nails.
Kristen opened and closed the Velcro straps on her gray-and-black Pumas.
Dylan started chewing on one of her red curls.
And Layne, who was two rows in front of them, slid down in her seat.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand gallons of water gushed onto the roof of Briarwood and the old building.” Principal Burns swallowed. “Well, the old building, she just couldn’t handle the weight.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And she collapsed.”
Everyone gasped.
Principal Burns dabbed her wet, beady eyes with a crumpled tissue she’d plucked from her tweed blazer pocket. “And now the institution no longer stands as a New York State landmark. Instead, it looks like the lost city of Atlantis.”
“We are so dead,” Alicia mumbled.
“If we’re lucky,” Kristen mumbled back. “I’m never lucky,” moped Claire.
“Does that make us dead or not dead?” asked Dylan.
“Shhh,” whisper-warned Massie. “You sound guilty.”
“We are,” Kristen insisted.
“No,” Massie muttered from the side of her glossy mouth. “Layne is.”
“Be assured that we are doing everything in our power to find out what caused this tragedy. And we are consulting with several European contractors about building restoration. But it’s a long process, and it could take several years.”
“Ehmagawd,” Massie whisper-panicked.
“Ehmagawd,” the New Pretty Committee whisper-panicked back.
Massie imagined her summer. No lazy afternoons by the pool or vigorous rides on woodsy trails with Brownie. Instead, she’s be sweating in a stuffy orange jumpsuit picking trash off the side of Interstate 287 with the New Pretty Committee. It served her right for trusting Layne Abeley.
Principal Burns finally stopped talking, and Massie’s ankle started shaking. She needed to get out of there and discuss, pronto. But instead of dismissing them, Principal Burns looked toward the back of the room and nodded once. The sudden pump of the door handle caused every head to turn.
A rush of overenthusiastic Briarwood boys swarmed inside, scanning the seated girls with the hunger of released convicts. They slid into any and all available seats, and even plopped down on a few of the eighth-graders’ laps. No one had any idea what was happening, but the gleeful expressions on their faces proved they didn’t care. There were guys in OCD. And this was more rare than a Louis Vuitton Panda Pochette special-edition handbag.
Massie, on the other hand, felt invaded and violated by the enemy.
“So please, give a warm OCD welcome to next year’s new students,” announced the principal with a mix of generosity and fear.
“What?” Massie jumped to her feet in protest. “No!”
Alicia jumped up too and applauded. Everyone followed except the rest of the New Pretty Committee, who looked up at Massie, waiting to be told how to feel about this shocking development.
“Sit down!” Massie grabbed Alicia’s arms and lowered them both back into their seats. “This is bad. Very bad.”
“Ehmagawd.” Alicia quickly took her seat. “I totally forgot we hate boys.”
Massie rolled her eyes, trying to downplay the giddiness that was swirling all around them.
Snippets of lively conversations danced in the air like the dust particles from moments ago. And everyone except the New Pretty Committee seemed to be taking part in them.
“… do you think he’ll sit at our lunch table?”
“We should start doubling to school. You can ride on the back of Jesse’s bike and I’ll ride on the back of Luke’s.”
“We have to go shopping.”
“And tanning.”
“… he’s the one in the black Lacoste—no, don’t look.… He’s totally checking you out.…”
“Can I look now?”
“No… wait… okay… now.”
“Ohmygoshhe’ssocute!”
“Ehmagawd!” Massie gasped for air. “Do you realize it’s been, like, an entire minute since anyone’s even looked at us?”
“Huh?”
“It’s like the boys are the new alphas!”
But no one responded. The New Pretty Committee was too busy scanning the crowd for their ex-crushes to notice much else.
“Is Olivia Ryan talking to Cam and Derrington?” asked Alicia.
“Yup,” scoffed Kristen.
“I think I’m going to barf.” Claire lowered her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook.
Suddenly Massie was overcome with flu-like symptoms. Her first instinct was to flirt with other guys, but as the founder of the New Pretty Committee, she couldn’t. Which left her feeling embarrassingly helpless and lost.
“Ehmagawd, if Olivia so much as talks to Josh, she’s dead to me.”
“Kemp and Plovert won’t even look at me,” Dylan whined.
“Neither will the LBRs,” Kristen gasped.
“Ehmagawd.” Massie fanned her face with a musty prayer book. “What if our ex-crushes are the new eighth-grade alphas and we’re the new…” Her voice trailed.
“The new what?” Asked Alicia.
Massie opened her mouth, but all she heard was a collective gasp from the New Pretty Committee. No further explanation was needed.
While the auditorium was buzzing with excitement and anticipation as the OCD girls and Briarwood boys mixed and mingled, Massie, Alicia, Kristen, Dylan, and Claire sat motionless. Their futures were clear. Their fate was obvious. And it could be summed up in three letters.
Three letters that would haunt them over summer break.
Three letters that would become their eighth-grade nicknames.
Three letters that would mark the end of an era.
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Q U I Z<
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Five girls, five ah-mazing personalities—which member of the Clique are you most like?
1) It’s the first day of school—time to get ready! Without even opening your closet, you know you’ll wear:
a) Something super-cute and super-trendy, like your new Alice & Olivia puff-sleeve blouse and Elie Tahari sabine skirt. You’re already a style icon, and you can’t disappoint your ah-doring fans!
b) A pair of Sevens and your favorite Nike track jacket. You’re not exactly Sporty Spice—hello, ten years ago—but no need to get all girly when you’re headed to practice after school anyway.
c) A fitted Ralph Lauren Black Label button-up with slim-fit jeans—totally classic. But just because you dress conservatively doesn’t mean you act that way! Hello, boys…
d) Your new Pumas, faded James jeans, and a fitted white tee. All you care about in the morning is a bowl of Cheerios—not outfit drama.
e) Black Theory pants and a black Vince boatneck tee. Hey, dark colors are flattering!
2) You’re at a party, and your crush is here! What do you do?
a) Act like you’re having a blast and make him come to you. Like an ah-dorable boy-moth to a totally smokin’ flame, no boy can resist you.
b) Start a totally innocent party game, like Twister… or spin the bottle… and see if he wants to be your partner.
c) A smile and a wink is all you need. He won’t be able to resist your coy glances, or your new strawberry-favored Glossip Girl gloss. Yummy.
d) Your game plan is simple: if you see him, talk to him. Boys are like TiVo: All they need’s a little basic programming.
e) Pelt him with Cheetos. When he turns to look, give him a flirty, come-hither glance. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?
3) It worked and you got his attention. Not only that, he asked you out! What’s your idea of the perfect first date?
a) Dinner at Le Fancy Restaurant. What could be better than having your date’s rapt attention, as well as an entire wait staff at your beck and call!
b) Front-row tickets to a baseball game. Nothing says love like hot dogs and home runs. Okay, maybe not, but at least it’s a guaranteed good time.
c) Ballroom dancing. Super hot but still totally proper! Just watch the hands, buddy.
d) An impromptu bike ride with a quick stop at the candy store. Simple and sweet. Just like you!—and hopefully him.
e) Movie night. It’s dark in there, so no need to obsess over your outfit or if you’ve got Milk Duds in your teeth. First dates are exhausting!
4) It’s your best friend’s birthday. You get her:
a) An iPhone. Nothing but the best, for the best. Plus this way she can report back to you with any important sightings. Go to it, spies!
b) Your favorite Adidas short-shorts. Okay, so she’s not as sporty as you are, but they’re great for everyday. And everybody likes to show a little leg.
c) A gift certificate to Saks and a personal escort for the trip: you! Always thinking of others… .
d) A playlist of all her favorite songs—you even steal her iPod and upload them when she’s not looking. It’s something only you could have made for her.
e) Godiva truffles. It’s her birthday—time to indulge a little. Plus, she’s good at sharing! Deeee-licious.
5) Your motto is:
a) “It is better for a leader to be feared than to be loved.” Machiavelli definitely was onto something.
b) “It doesn’t matter if you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.” Most sports metaphors work in real life, too.
c) “Every girl should use what Mother Nature gave her before Father Time takes it away.” Use it or lose it, sister!
d) Um… You don’t really have a motto, you sort of just do things and have faith that it will all turn out okay.
e) “Life is short, eat dessert first.” Then, buy flattering black pants.
Mostly A’s – MASSIE, Mostly B’s – KRISTEN, Mostly C’s – ALICIA, Mostly D’s – CLAIRE, Mostly E’s – DYLAN.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisi Harrison is the author of the Clique, Alphas, and Monster High series. She was the senior director of production development at MTV and also served as head writer for MTV Productions. She is currently working on her next novel.
Lisi lives in Laguna Beach, California. Her website is www.lisiharrison.com.
Also by Lisi Harrison
Pretenders
Monster High
Monster High: The Ghoul Next Door
Monster High: Where There’s a Wolf, There’s a Way
Monster High: Back and Deader Than Ever
Alphas
Movers and Fakers
Belle of the Brawl
Top of the Feud Chain
The Clique
Best Friends for Never
Revenge of the Wannabes
Invasion of the Boy Snatchers
The Pretty Committee Strikes Back
Dial L for Loser
It’s Not Easy Being Mean
Sealed with a Diss
Bratfest at Tiffany’s
The Clique Summer Collection
P.S. I Loathe You
Boys R Us
Charmed and Dangerous: The Rise of the Pretty Committee
The Cliquetionary
These Boots Are Made for Stalking
My Little Phony
A Tale of Two Pretties
A Sneak Peek of Bratfest at Tiffany’s
BRIARWOOD–OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
THE CAFÉ
Tuesday, September 8th
7:23 A.M.
ALL STUDENTS MUST KEEP OUT UNTIL 8 A.M. NO EXCEPTIONS.
“Puh-lease!” Massie Block ripped the sign off the frosted glass doors of the Café.
“What are you doing?” gasped Claire Lyons, searching the empty hall for witnesses.
“It’s a piece of poster board, Kuh-laire.” Massie kicked it aside. “What’s it gonna do, paper-cut us to death?”
Claire giggle-shrugged.
“Now get serious. This mission is top priority.” Massie gripped the door’s silver pump handle, with its back-to-school shine, and then paused to admire her deeply tanned, Chanel No. 19–scented hands.
Their rich butterscotch hue said, “Why, yes, my summer was perfect. I feel confident, relaxed, and on top of my game. I’m ready for the new year. Ready for the Briarwood boys to move into OCD. Ready to meet and defeat the new crop of seventh-graders. Ready to dominate—eighth-grade alpha style.”
But if asked, her heart would have told a very different story.…
More than anything, Massie wanted to collapse on the freshly waxed floor, curl into the fetal position, and roll straight into the school shrink’s office. Once comfortable, she’d tell Dr. Baum how she’d been stressing about this day since mid-May. How she was secretly afraid of the Briarwood boys. How her alpha status was in jeopardy. And how she was on high alert, in extreme danger of becoming an LBR.
“What exactly is an LBR?” Dr. Baum would ask, burgundy Montblanc poised above her yellow legal pad.
“Loser beyond repair.”
“Ahhh.” She would make note. “And why are you so afraid of boys?”
“I’m not afraid of boys,” Massie would snap. “Just the Briarwood ones. Well, actually the soccer players.”
Dr. Baum would remove her rectangular black plastic LensCrafters frames and re-cross her hose-covered legs. “Go on.”
Massie would inhale deeply and then continue.
“Last year, the Pretty Committee won this key to a bomb shelter in the basement of OCD. Inside, there was a flat-screen that linked to the boys’ sensitivity-training class at Briarwood. We watched it a few times and heard all of their secret confessions.…”
Dr. Baum’s thin, coral pink lips would part, but knowing it was her job to listen and not judge people for spying, she’d nod attentively and continue speed-writing.
“After that we kind of started acting like freaks around our c
rushes because we thought we knew what they were thinking, even though it turns out we really didn’t, so they all dumped us at Skye Hamilton’s end-of-the-year costume party.”
Flipping to a new sheet of paper, the shrink would continue scribbling at a wrist-snapping pace.
“And it’s not so much being dumped that bugs me,” Massie would explain, “because it’s kind of alpha to have a bunch of ex-crushes. It shows you have experience.”
“So what is it that bugs you?” Dr. Baum would finally allow herself to ask.
Massie would run her hand across the pea green chenille fabric on the worn couch, searching for the best way to explain.
“It bugs me how the girls at OCD are so super-excited to have boys at our school.”
Dr. Baum would stop writing, look up, and put on her LensCrafters. Her head would tilt slightly to the right, and her black, overgrown brows would collide in confusion.
“Because,” Massie would sigh, “if they’re as excited as I know they’re going to be, the boys will be upgraded to ‘beyond popular’ status, which automatically makes them the new alphas. And if the new alphas don’t like us—which they don’t—the Pretty Committee will be downgraded to LBRs. And if I become an LBR…” She’d look up at the white stucco ceiling, reversing the direction of her hot tears. “And if I become an LBR, I’ll have to move to Canada and start over and…” Massie would look at the doctor intensely. “And Glossip Girl doesn’t ship to Canada.” She’d grab a Puffs Plus from the wicker box on the end table and blow. “No one does.”
At this point Dr. Baum would immediately put down her notes, buzz her secretary, and insist she cancel all appointments for the rest of the year so she could devote all of her time to this very serious crisis.…
Hence, Massie’s early-morning decision to hyper-gloss.
The idea was to quadruple the weight of her lips, transforming them into an impenetrable wall. That way, her insecurities would be trapped inside her body, unable to escape. Better they stay churning and burning in the pit of her stomach than make themselves known on this crucial day, where first impressions could make or break the entire year.
Sealed with a Diss Page 19
