“Joyce will help,” offered Alicia. “It’s her day off on Wednesdays, so she’s available. She’d love it.”
“You think?” Kristen asked in disbelief.
“Given. Why else would she pick cleaning for her career? Because she hates it?”
“Sounds puuurrrrfect.” Massie beamed. “Brody from RL Home will be here with a notepad and a tape measure by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“Yayyyy,” they cheered.
Even Claire.
“Now, who’s ready to pledge?” Massie stepped up on the bench and held out her wrist, shaking the bracelet so it chimed.
Alicia and Claire stepped up beside her, while Dylan and Kristen took the opposite bench.
“Everyone please join wrists.” Massie held out her arms. Her best friends’ initials glistened, even in the darkest of times. “Now close your eyes. And repeat after me.”
“And repeat after me,” Dylan burped.
Everyone cracked up.
Once they stopped, Massie began the pledge-poem she had spent all of geography and half of Spanish memorizing.
“From this moment awn,” she began.
“From this moment awn,” they all repeated.
Massie smiled with satisfaction and recited the rest of the poem, the New Pretty Committee echoing each line after her.
I pledge the following to you.
To rid my thoughts of boys
Done and done, they are through.
I’ll focus on fashion
Study new trends in beauty
Strengthen my friendships
And tighten my booty.
You won’t find me flirting
Or talking to guys
No texting, IMing
No batting my eyes.
I’m above that now
Been there done that
Time for the LBRs
To have their turn at bat
Let them wear tight clothes
And watch boring soccer (no offense, Kristen!)
Let them laugh at fart jokes
Let them be the stalkers!
It’s BFF time
No boys, not ever.
Because BFF has a new meaning
And that’s Boyfast Forever!
“You may open your eyes.,” Massie purred with post-yoga calmness.
Alicia hopped off the bench, and the girls released their wrist-grips.
“We’re nawt finished yet,” snapped Massie.
“Oops, sorry.” Alicia stepped up. “Go awn.”
Massie held out her arms again, only this time she kept her eyes wide open.
“Fail the fast and fail the group. Fail the group and lose the bracelet. Lose the bracelet and lose your membership to the NPC.”
“I am so ready for this!” Dylan air-clapped.
The others gasped.
“Does that mean we can’t even talk to a boy?” Alicia sounded more afraid than curious.
Claire bit her thumbnail. Kristen squeezed the shark tooth around her neck.
“Put it this way: Treat the boys like you would treat your brother. You can ask for help or favors or money, but no flirting, crushing, texting, or dressing to impress. Done?”
“Done!” Dylan bellowed.
She was the only one.
“Done?” Massie asked a second time.
“Done,” everyone replied.
“Good. Now, to start things off I figured we would—”
Massie was interrupted by the click of the door. They dropped each other’s wrists and jumped off the benches.
“You were right, Mass,” Kristen muttered. “We are done.”
BOCD
THE BOMB SHELTER
Tuesday, September 8th
4:03 P.M.
A rush of boys dressed in burgundy shorts and green shirts hurried in. Massie stiffened. The soccer team?!
Derrington in her bomb shelter was too much to process. Her palms flooded. Her pits prickled. And her personality was MIA. All she could do was stare at his muddy, grass-stained knees and hate herself for thinking the boy who’d dumped her at an eighth-grade party looked kinda cute.
“Look, it’s more girls.” Derrington ran a hand through his sweaty, dirty blond post–soccer practice hair. “Everywhere we go we have fans.” He turned around and wiggled his butt.
“Ehmagawd, I should have known!” Alicia fanned her cheeks and paced in a tight circle. “I made the announcement at lunch!”
What announcement? Massie asked with crinkled brows.
“The Tomahawks soccer meeting will be held in room sub-C5 at four this afternoon,” she air quoted. “I had no idea sub-C5 was—”
“We’re like Beckham.” Kemp Hurley high-fived the guys.
Massie twirled her purple hair streak tightly around her finger until the digit throbbed.
“So, what brings you here?” Derrington strutted over to the benches and glared at Massie. “Autographs?”
The guys snickered, forming a tight half-circle behind their star goalie.
“No.” Massie struggled to keep her shaking knees from knocking. “We’re not signing today. Sorry.”
She exchanged a triumphant round of high fives with the NPC.
“Then why are you here?” Derrington pressed. “To apologize for spying and beg for our forgiveness?”
The Tomahawks laughed and moved in closer. Cam was the only one who didn’t join them. Instead he camped out by the Poland Spring cooler, nervously filling, gulping, and refilling a tiny waxed-paper cup with water.
Massie dialed up her inner alpha and pleaded for something fabulous to say. But the call went straight to voice mail.
“Because we’ve talked about it. And we’ll forgive you, if, and only if, you complete a few small tasks for us.” Derrington folded his arms across his chest.
The boys high-fived again while the NPC eye-urged Massie to do something.
But what?
Her heart thumped like a little bunny whose feet were about to get torn off and made into key chains. The last time she’d felt this threatened had been at a crowded Southampton estate sale over the summer. She had grabbed a black satin vintage Chanel clutch that was ridiculously underpriced at eighty-five dollars and was immediately descended upon by a pack of Kelly Ripa look-alikes. As they got within grabbing distance, Massie froze. The grassy lawn spun, the sun intensified, and her Cookie Dough Glossip Girl lip gloss evaporated. A tangle of spray-tanned arms reached out toward her. Luckily, the overpowering smell of freesia perfume woke her inner alpha. Sudden bolts of energy zapped through Massie’s entire body and fortified her with the strength she needed to escape. Without a second thought, she dug into her Coach tote, grabbed a crumpled hundred-dollar bill, whipped it at the cashier, and sprinted for the Range Rover.
Now, desperate for another lifesaving bolt of energy, Massie unzipped her bowler bag and quickly spritzed the air with Chanel No. 19. She inhaled deeply. The green floral wood notes, jasmine, rose, iris, ylang-ylang, sandalwood, and mosses filled her every cell. She was back.
She took a step forward and glared into Derrington’s light brown eyes.
“Do you have a nut allergy?”
“No, why?” He glanced at his teammates in confusion.
“Because your head is starting to swell.”
The NPC burst into laughter and slapped each other with a hearty round of high fives.
Derrington stepped closer. “Um, do you have a towel?” he asked evenly.
“No, why?” She fake-yawned.
“Because you’re all washed up.” Derrington wiggled his butt and bowed for his whooping and hollering male audience.
Massie gripped her purple crown charm. “Are you a sweater set?”
“No, why?”
“Because you’ve just met your match.”
“Yes!” squealed the NPC, who danced and spun and wiggled their booties in a ha-take-that! sort of way … until Derrington countered.
“Are you Will Ferrell?”
“No why?�
�
“Then don’t make me laugh.”
“Oh yeah? Well, are you a calendar?”
“No, why?”
“Because your days are numbered!”
And with that Massie grabbed the NPC and yanked them toward the exit. Slamming the black door behind them, she and the girls broke into hysterics. They ran and giggled and panted and laughed all the way up the steps, through the boiler room, and out the side of the building, burning off the leftover adrenaline that exploded in them like fireworks.
Collapsing on the grass under their favorite oak, Massie accepted their nonstop congratulations on a job well done. But she was unable to take comfort in their praise. Comfort would come once the battle was won. And it was just getting started.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN
OUT
The Oak
The Bomb Shelter
Crushing Derrington
Crushing on Derrington
BFF (Boy Fast Forever)
BFF (Best Friends First)
BOCD
THE SECOND-FLOOR BATHROOM
Wednesday, September 9th
12:01 P.M.
Someone in yellow Crocs burst into the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. Alicia immediately lifted her waxed legs and pressed the heels of her kelly green canvas platform sandals against the beige metal door of her stall.
She had gone over the plan with Josh the night before on IM but was still nervous and needed one final round of reassuring texts before putting his plan into motion.
Before typing, Alicia triple-checked her iPhone to make sure the camera feature had been switched off. The only thing worse than Massie catching her stall-texting her crush on day two of their boyfast would be accidentally snapping a picture of herself on the toilet and sending it to Josh. Even though the seat cover and her white pleated tennis skirt were both down, it would be a complete digital disaster.
Alicia: R u sure this will work?
Her charm bracelet knocked against her phone as she typed.
Josh: Yup
Alicia: What if the NPC doesn’t sit at #2?
Josh: They will cuz we’ll beat them to #18.
Alicia: What if the guys don’t wanna sit at #18?
Josh: They will because D wants to get back at M for not saying sorry when he gave her the chance. He knows this will freak her out.
Alicia lowered her iPhone, her mind racing.
Did Derrington honestly think he’d given Massie a “chance” to apologize? By what? Asking her to complete “a small series of tasks” while the entire soccer team laughed at her? Puh-lease! What did he expect her to say?
The sudden urge to call this whole thing off bubbled up inside Alicia like shaken Perrier. It would be easy. A few simple keystrokes, a light tap on the SEND icon, and this deceptive plan would be terminated. She could join her best friends at their usual table and not have to worry about getting brought up on betrayal charges. …
But then she’d have to end things with Josh … before they’d even started … and that would be—
Josh: U still there?
Alicia: Yeah.
Josh: Ready?
The lunch bell rang. Time for Alicia to make her announcements. Time to decide if she was going to go through with this. If it was worth the risk. If …
Josh: BTW, cute sandals. They match my shirt. Same green.
Alicia had her answer.
Four and a half minutes of awkward silence later, the toilet next to her finally flushed. After a quick click of the lock, Yellow Crocs squeaked toward the sink, pumped the soap, and ran the water for what seemed like days.
Alicia pressed her lips against the stall crack. “Ehmagawd, will you just leave already?” she snapped, unable to stay trapped in there for one more second.
“Huh?” asked the super-slim blond at the sink. She was vigorously scrubbing orange bronzer off the white lace blouse she never should have worn under a thin black cotton button-up jumper. The materials were mismatched, the textures fought each other, and the look was last year. Alicia wanted to tell her that she’d seen her outfit in Madem-EW-selle. But no one was there to laugh with her, so why bother?
“Um.” The girl looked up. “Aren’t you going to flush?”
“Huh?” Alicia turned around, wondering if she’d heard correctly.
“That’s a little disgusting.” She returned to her orange stain. “You were in there for, like, ever. And you didn’t flush.”
Alicia smiled again. Only this time it was full of fake. “What’s your name?”
“Irika. With an I.”
“Noted.” Alicia hurried out.
She arrived at the radio booth at the same time as Principal Burns, who was there to make her classified announcement.
“After you.” The tall, thin, wrinkled woman with the wild gray bob and birdlike features reminded Alicia of a Dr. Seuss character. If she swapped her baggy tweed pantsuit for a red-and-white striped angora sweater and green leggings, she’d have her own Christmas special.
“Thanks.” Alicia hurried inside the dark, stifling booth, dreading being trapped in there alone with the principal, who smelled like a mix of expired perfume and cat pee.
She reached for the folder with the day’s announcements. After a quick scan, she put on her headphones and flicked the switches on the audio board.
“Good afternoon, BO, and welcome to your lunchtime update …”
Principal Burns held up a sign written in black Sharpie that said IT’S BOCD, NOT BO!!!!!!
“Sorry,” mouthed Alicia, fighting a smile.
“… starting with the lost and found. A brown row of hair extensions was found on the tennis courts this morning and is being held in Nurse Adele’s office. … It’s tee time for anyone interested in joining the girls’ golf team. Sign up outside the gym. You must have three years of lessons and you must be a girl. Principal Burns is up next to make a few announcements, but before I turn the mic over to her, I would like to let everyone know that Irik a with an I does not flush the toilet. The NPC rules! This is Alicia Rivera for BOCD saying, I heart you.”
Principal Burns opened her lipless mouth in horror, but Alicia tossed her the headphones and raced out the door before she could say anything.
The laughter in the New Café could be heard all the way down the hall, filling Alicia with pride. Thanks to her gutsy broadcast, Irika and all of her little seventh-grade boy-worshipping friends would know exactly who ruled BOCD. And that would earn her major loyalty points with Massie and the NPC—something Alicia figured she’d need very, very soon.
“As you all know, our beautiful institution has been a little crowded lately. …” Principal Burns’s signature squawk crackled through the speakers.
The announcement was under way.
There was no time left for a pro/con list.
A choice needed to be made.
Would it be Massie or Josh?
Friendship or true love?
But all Alicia could focus on was how unbelievably unfair this whole thing was. Why should she have to choose? Why couldn’t she have both? Why did Massie have to declare a boyfast? Why was Josh so ah-dorable? If only her father could sue the universe for being so cruel. But there was no time for long, drawn-out lawsuits. Alicia had arrived at the frosted glass gateway. And once opened, her heart would lead her wherever it truly wanted to go.
In three … two … one … and …
The doors burst open and Irika with an I suddenly bolted out. Her overbronzed cheeks were now red and blotchy and salted with tears. “Thanks ah-lawt!” she sniffled, pushing past Alicia and racing to the bathroom.
Alicia rolled her eyes and resumed her countdown.
In three … two … one … and… With a single pump of the silver handle, she was in.
The earthy fragrance of ripe tomatoes … the dreamy gray light that seeped through the greenhouse-style roof … the heads that turned to see who dared enter late … the jam-packed tables … th
e sound of Principal Burns droning on about BO’s dedication to solving the population problem … and Massie, frantically waving her glitter bangle–covered arms from table two—everything bombarded her at once.
All Alicia could do to stay on track was lower her head and snake her way to the back of the New Café, past the mini vegetable gardens, around the eco-friendly bamboo chairs, and beyond the silver BMW reverse vending machines.
Finally, she reached table eighteen.
Without looking up, Alicia plopped down in the empty chair. Kori and Strawberry were on her left, laughing at baby Kate, who was deposited in the middle of the table like one of the marzipan dove centerpieces at Cindy Starr’s bat mitzvah party. Across the table, Olivia drew a skull tattoo on Cam’s arm with yellow highlighter.
To her right were Derrington, Kemp, Cam, Plovert, and Josh.
Josh …!!
He winked, and Alicia lowered her dark brown eyes, desperate for a place to hide, at least until her head stopped spinning. But that wasn’t how they’d planned it. She was supposed to look surprised. Shocked, even. Something other than ashamed, or she’d never convince Massie that the whole thing was an accident.
But it was too late for theatrics. Her iPhone was buzzing.
Massie: What r u doing over there?
Alicia’s mouth went dry as she tapped away at her screen. Was she really doing this?
Alicia: Last time i checked, this was our table. What r u doing over there????
Massie: Didn’t u c me waving?
Alicia craned her head until she spotted Massie at the very front of the room by the steely kitchen doors.
“No!” she mouthed.
Even from that distance, Alicia could feel angry hate rays shooting out from Massie’s amber eyes.
“… which is why I am pleased to announce that we have created a charming little overflow facility for some very lucky students,” ech-hemed Principal Burns.
Alicia lifted her eyes and met Josh’s. His relaxed grin seemed to say, “Don’t worry, this is going to be great.” Wanting to believe him, she blinked in agreement.
“So will everyone seated at tables one through ten please gather your stuff and follow Ms. Dunkel and Mr. Hermann to your new home. Delicious snack boxes will be available to you for lunch, courtesy of Subway, so enjoy!”
Bratfest at Tiffany's Page 6
