“And a week’s worth of math homework?” Kristen offered.
“And, um…” Claire struggled for something to throw into the mix. “How about a Hello Kitty pencil?” She reached into her new white vinyl Mossimo for Target tote and pulled out a clear pencil case. It was stuffed with colorful new pencils that had all been sharpened to a fine point. “The erasers smell like watermelon.”
“Um, sounds tempting.” Dylan rolled her eyes. “But I can’t. It’s illegal. But I’ll tell you this much.” She paused while they leaned in closer.
Alicia licked her lips.
Massie took off her D&G glasses.
Claire tucked her hair behind her ears.
And Kristen air-clapped in anticipation.
“I’m starting a new diet today.”
“What?” they giggle-shouted, and playfully whipped blades of grass at her professionally straightened hair.
“Who cares about your diet?” Alicia whined. “I want to hear about Ilana.”
“That’s why I need your dad to find a loophole in this ah-nnoying agreement. If he does, I’ll open like an all-night diner.”
“Done, done, and done.” Alicia jammed the documents in her tan leather Marc Jacobs hobo. Massie was relieved to see that between her purse and her black RL cap-sleeved blouse, Alicia still had some taste left.
But someone had obviously gotten to Kristen. Her signature sporty-chic Puma style was out: Roxy Girl was in. She was wearing a pink-and-red striped romper with red platform Havaiana flip-flops, and carrying a canvas tote with a photo of a sun-soaked surfer careening down a sapphire-colored wave. Do-able in the O.C.? Maybe. But at OCD? Not a chance.
“Gawd, Kristen, you spent the summer tutoring. How did this happen?” Massie paused. “Unless that sac is vintage Chloé. Ehmagawd, it is, isn’t it?”
“Nope. It’s H&M. Isn’t it cool?” She admired the photo.
A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead.
“If I was stuck here all summer while you guys were traveling the world, I’d snap and go to H&M too,” Dylan tried.
“Point.” Alicia lifted her index finger, showing off a stack of thin silver braided rings.
“Snapping,” Massie air-quoted, “is getting pierced at Spencer Gifts. Going full-on surfer girl is an identity crisis. And buying a cheap canvas bag at H&M is a major cry for help.”
“I’m fine, okay?” Kristen assured them. “I hung out with the Baxters this summer and—”
“You mean that surf teacher who was going to run the wave pool at Briarwood?” asked Massie. “The one with that hawt son named Dude?”
“Dune.” Kristen ripped out a chunk of grass and whipped it at her.
The girls cracked up, secretly giggle-searching the campus again.
Kristen smiled. “And Dune and I became friends and he gave me—”
“You don’t have to make up stories so we think you had a fun summer.” Alicia put her arm around Kristen’s sunburned shoulders. “We love you no matter what.”
“I’m nawt making up stories. I swear.”
Rrrrrrrrriiiinnnnggggggg!
The bell sounded across the lawn and sent everyone running up the stone steps to the main entrance. The girls grunted as they took turns pulling each other up to stand.
“Wait, where’s everyone going?” Massie looked up at them, just as a white puffy cloud blocked the sun, casting a chilly shadow across the frenzied campus.
Kristen pointed to the sprawling stone building. “The bell just—”
“Puh-lease.” Massie motioned for them to sit back down beside her.
“What about the welcome-back breakfast?” Dylan pulled the stick out from her hair, letting it fall to her hips.
“What about your diet?” Alicia countered.
“What about coughing up the cash to pay for the rest of those boots?”
Massie giggled. She had missed their playful put-downs.
“What are we waiting for?” Claire asked. “What about getting to our table and—”
“We need to make an entrance, like we always do. If we file in with the masses, we’ll be part of the audience. But if we go in late…”
“… we’ll steal the show.” Alicia re-puffed her purse and sat. Dylan, Kristen, and Claire immediately followed.
“Exactly.” Massie grinned like a proud teacher.
“Besides, I have something for you.” She unzipped her bowler bag and pulled out five robin’s egg blue Tiffany & Co. boxes. Each was tied with a white satin bow.
They gasped.
Suddenly, the campus was remarkably empty and silent. There was only the sound of a few chirping birds and the squeak of the school bus hiss-parking in the back lot. But Massie could have sworn she heard the thumping heartbeats of her friends as they stared excitedly at the little boxes on her lap. She silently counted to ten to heighten the drama—and then began to explain.
“From this moment awn, ‘BFF’ will have a new meaning.”
They exchanged confused glances.
“Starting now, it will stand for ‘Best Friends FIRST.’”
The Pretty Committee collectively nodded in agreement.
“This year is going to be all about us,” Massie continued. “And only us. Boys. Are. Out.”
Dylan held on to her smile, while Claire, Alicia, and Kristen shifted uncomfortably on their bags. Massie ignored their hesitation and forged ahead, knowing that the most convincing part of her speech was coming up.
“Boys make girls act like LBRs. Remember how lame we all acted last year?” She lifted her right brow and glared into each of their eyes. One by one they lowered their heads in shame. “I called Derrington immature. Meanwhile, I was the one kissing Skye Hamilton’s butt so we could spy on Briarwood’s sensitivity-training class. How immature was that?”
Everyone nodded with a mix of support and understanding.
It was the first time Massie had ever admitted she was wrong about anything. But doing so was necessary for her plan to succeed.
“Now, who would like to go next?”
The cloud passed. And sunshine returned, doling out its dwindling supply of summer warmth through the spaces between the leaves.
“Claire, how about you?”
“Huh?” She bit a cuticle on her thumbnail.
“How did a boy make you act like an LBR last year?”
She blushed. “I guess spying on Cam in sensitivity-training class and then getting the wrong idea and accusing him of cheating on me with a camp tramp named Nikki was pretty bad.” She giggled nervously. “He hasn’t returned a single one of my calls all summer.”
“Are you ready to give up boys in the pursuit of fabulousness?”
Claire squinted up at the bright sky for a moment, then met Massie’s gaze. “I guess?”
“You guess?”
“I mean, yeah. Yes. Yes, I am.” Claire sat up tall.
Massie led the girls in a round of supportive applause, then placed a light blue box on Claire’s lap. Holding up a palm, she made it clear that the gift was not to be opened yet.
“Dylan?”
“I pretty much turned into Shrek.” The redhead burst out laughing when she remembered how much she’d eaten—and burped—just to show Plovert and Kemp how “down-to-earth” she was.
“Are you ready to give up boys and focus on yourself and your friends?”
“Yup.” Dylan beamed. “No guy is worth ten pounds. Even when it’s two guys.”
“Congratulations.” Massie handed her a blue box.
“Kristen?”
“Easy.” She smile-blushed. “I pretended to love romance novels and black nail polish because I thought Griffin Hastings would like me better.”
“And what happened?” asked Massie, trying to suppress her victory smile.
“He dumped me.” She giggle-shrugged. “Shocker, huh?”
The girls laughed with her.
“Are you ready to give up boys and focus on your friends?”
“Uh-huh.�
�� Kristen squeezed the shark tooth.
Massie held out her hand and wiggled her fingers.
“What?” asked Kristen.
“Isn’t that from Dune?”
Kristen’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Well, he’s a boy, isn’t he?”
The soft breeze blew again, offering temporary relief to the heated moment.
“Isn’t he?”
Everyone stared at Kristen expectantly, wondering what she would do next.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “But the necklace is from his sister Ripple.”
“I thought you said it was from Dune.” Alicia’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed.
“You were right.” Kristen lowered her eyes and plucked a loose red thread from the bottom of her romper. “I lied so it would sound like I had a fun summer. Ripple made it for me. I’m over boys. I promise.”
“Knew it!” Alicia slapped her own thigh.
Massie, determined to stay on track, decided to believe her… for now. Kristen accepted her box and sighed with relief once the attention shifted to Alicia.
“What?” She shrugged. “I didn’t do anything embarrassing. Josh still has a crush on me and I still have a crush on him.” Alicia beamed with pride. Her smile faded when Massie started tapping her nails on the last Tiffany box. “But I probably will do something stupid eventually, so I’ll swear off boys too. Just to be safe.”
Massie exhaled and grinned. She handed the box to Alicia, who snatched it up as if it were the last pair of sunglasses RL would ever make.
“I officially declare us the New Pretty Committee.”
The girls applauded and began pulling at the ribbons on their boxes.
“Nawt yet!” Massie insisted. “You have to agree to the rules. As of this moment, we are on a boyfast. No flirting. No texting. No nothing. Boys are over.”
Everyone gasped and exchanged side-glances.
“From now on we will focus on being fabulous and staying on top.”
They applauded again and turned to their boxes.
“Nawt yet!” Massie snapped. “There’s one more thing.” She cleared her throat. “Failure to stay on the boyfast will lead to expulsion from the NPC.”
The breeze stopped suddenly and the trees stood still.
“Ah-greed?”
No one spoke.
“Ah-greed?”
“Ah-greed,” they muttered.
“Good. We’ll have an official swearing-in ceremony after school in the bomb shelter.”
“Can we open these now?” asked Alicia, her red toes squirming in her boots.
“Go ahead,” Massie insisted, sounding more than pleased with herself.
“Ehmagawd,” said the girls as they slipped on their new platinum charm bracelets. Five cursive initials—M, A, C, K, D—hung off each one, and a red heart with the letters NLC engraved inside swung alongside them. Massie’s bracelet was the only one with a seventh charm—a royal purple crown covered with sparkling Swarovski crystals.
“Now, who’s ready to go inside?” Massie jumped to her snakeskin-sandaled feet with renewed hope and energy.
The NPC quickly joined her and linked arms, their bracelets swinging and colliding, toasting their new union.
“Where’s your old charm bracelet?’ Claire asked as they swiftly made their way toward the building.
“It’s gone.” Massie beamed. “Just like the old Pretty Committee.”
“I bet the new one will be much better,” Dylan panted as she climbed the steps.
“It already is,” Massie lied.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
NPC PC
OCD BOCD
BFF (Best Friends First) BFF (Best Friends Forever)
A Sneak Peek of Pretenders
9.4.12
INTERIOR. NOBLE HIGH—ALMOST LUNCHTIME.
A classroom stretches out before us. SHERIDAN SPENCER, an alluring freshman, sits center row, center seat. Poised, she click-starts her pen and writes.
Morning One as a Noble High freshman did not involve a lot of handholding. Like, none, in fact. Which was fine. It’s just not what I’m used to.
One might assume I do well in new situations because I channel celebrities for confidence. Like, right now for example, I am pretending to be Blake Lively. But if I’m being totally honest, which I am, first days are hard no matter how famous you act.
When I (as Blake) arrive someplace new I’m greeted right away. I’m given a tour of the set and offered a Dr Pepper on ice, no straw. My trailer is decorated to my exact specifications; boho-chic and stocked with Original, Tropical, and Sour Skittles. But this morning? Notsomuch. The only rainbow I tasted came from the Lucky Charms burp I tried to suppress at the Pick and Flick. (That’s what everyone calls the pickup/drop-off curb.)
FLASHBACK.
It happened as I watched the taillights on my dad’s BMW M5 disappear into the morning fog. I was standing with my very best friend, Audri Dunsing. She always rides with me because we live in the same gated community and… well, more on her later. The point is, we were just standing at the Pick and Flick because we didn’t know where to go yet. I guess we could have followed everyone else, but we were kind of stunned because our middle school was tiny and this place is huge. Anyway, it’s raining and I’m trying to open my zebra umbrella. Backpacks are bashing into us and it’s total chaos. O’course, that’s when Audri gets a whiff of my burp and decides to shout:
Ewwwwww, Sheridan! Digestive tract issues much?
I managed to apply more Russian Red lipstick, which helped me hold on to a bit of Blake. But not enough. I was seriously mortified. So I go: Sick! What is that smell? while fanning the air all innocent. Then I fan-smacked some older Blair Waldorf–type in the neck.
Sorry, it was an accident. (Me.)
You’re the accident! (Her.)
Remember those old cartoons where the coyote runs off a cliff and freezes in the air? It isn’t until he looks down and realizes he’s in trouble that he falls. Well, that’s kind of what happened to me when Blair and her friends started laughing. I realized I wasn’t really Blake Lively and my confidence took a dive—whistle sound effects and all. Which turned me back into me: Sheridan Spencer, future screen star, including but not limited to TV, film, computer, and tablet. Current blooper.
Anyway, I pull Audri off the main path and onto the grass lawn—which is huge, by the way. As big as Spencer BMW (my dad’s dealership), which has, like, hundreds of sedans and SUVs, and I go: Thanks a lot, Audri!
O’course she starts speed-blinking and I know exactly where this is going. Yes, I have a stronger stage presence than Audri. (I’ve played leads in Wizard of Oz, Wicked, Annie, Mary Poppins, Beauty and the Beast, Hansel and Gretel, High School Musical, The Little Mermaid, Grease, and six holiday tributes to the birth of Jesus.) But when it comes to fake crying? She’s the best. Our old drama coach called her Meryl Weep.
Why did you call me out on that burp? (Me. Not letting it go.)
Sniffle, sniffle. I’m sorry. (Meryl.)
She took off her signature blue-framed glasses, jammed them in the pocket of her Lucky Brand denim jacket, and wiped her wet cheeks. I rolled my eyes.
Watch those tears, little freshman! (Some random blond guy.)
He had choppy layers and blue eyes like Niall Horan from One Direction. But zero of Niall’s charm. I’m guessing from his rounded shoulders that he underdelivered on stage presence too. Anyway, after the tears comment he said: I drove a convertible. If you make it rain I’m going to stuff you in my trunk. Then he jingled his car keys in Audri’s face the way my mom used to do with the twins.
What was that for? (Me, after he left.)
Audri shrugged and put her glasses back on.
FLASHBACK OVER.
Whatever Zero Direction meant about the rain, he was right. It’s been pouring for hours. The good news is there have been no further embarrassments. The horrible news is that Audri and I don’t have a
single class together. Not even lunch. And so far no one has made any effort to meet me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll channel a more approachable blonde like Reese Witherspoon.
Ms. Silver just gave us the ten-minute warning. So far she’s my favorite teacher. All we’ve done is write in these journals. She wants us to fill these pages by the end of the year. She swears she won’t read them. To prove it she gave us these leather cases with locks on them. She said she’d flip through the journals at the end of the year to make sure they’re full but that’s it. All she cares about is getting us away from computers. I’m going to record everything and eventually adapt these musings into a one-woman show. I can’t wait to tell Audri so she can do it too.
OMG! So the guy beside me is writing with unbridled passion. Hold on. I have to peek.
OMG! OMG! I side-eyed him at the exact same time he was side-eyeing me. A simultaneous side-eye. How romantic comedy is that? I smiled my eyes into narrow crinkles (like Blake’s). I must look fetching in my Russian Red lipstick because he got all nervous and looked away. He appears to be drawing hearts!
Are alleged hearts for me? Is he even cute? I want to peek again but—
The bell.
To Be Continued…
END SCENE.
DUFFY
Tuesday
Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Andrew Duffy. Everyone calls me Duffy. Duffy. Duffy. Duffy. Duffyyyyyyyyyyy.
Duffy.
Duffy.
Duffy.
Duffy.
Duffy.
Duffy.
Duffy.
Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um.
Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um.
Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um. Um.
How am I supposed to write 250 pages about feelings in one year? Do we even have 250 feelings?
I’d ask Ms. Silver but she said no questions. Just write. Don’t worry about spelling or grammar or structure. Just write. She said some other stuff about pressure and being a freshman, but I yawned, and when I yawn I go deaf for a second. So I missed that part. Then she gave out these cases with locks so our thoughts stay private. But the logo on my case is the same as the one on those boxes my sisters jam in the trash. A half-open flower or something.
Sealed with a Diss Page 21
