Claire’s face peered around the edge of the steps. She was holding a clipboard and looking incredibly smug. Layne appeared behind her.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” Layne said. “All rise for the great and honorable Claire Lyons, who has a very important announcement.”
“It’s the dawn of a new Claire-a!” Claire said.
“A new what-a?” The end of Massie’s nose felt numb. She reached up to touch it, to make sure it was still there. To check if this evening had actually happened—that it wasn’t just some cheap candle smoke–induced hallucination. Faster than you could say credit denied, she had lost her crush, her house, and her wardrobe, and now her friends had abandoned her. She felt emptier than the foreclosed home down the street and more pathetic than Jessica Simpson’s new reality show.
Layne rolled her eyes. “Claire-a. Like ‘era.’ Like a period of time. Only it sounds like Claire’s name, so we’re calling it Clai—”
Claire elbowed Layne. “Rule number one!” she shouted. “Thou shalt put the ‘end’ in ‘bad friend.’”
“I’m going to put the ‘up’ in ‘shut up,’” Massie said, pushing past Claire and bolting up the steps.
Claire darted after her, Layne close behind. “Rule number two: Thou shalt not interfere with my friendships by spreading lice rumors or anything of the kind.”
“You are interfering with my patience right now, Kuh-lassless.” Massie reached the landing and turned around.
“Rule number three! Thou shalt not say my name in vain!” Claire yelled. “Rule number four!”
Massie ran into Claire’s room, slammed the door behind her, and locked it.
“RULE NUMBER FIVE!” Claire shouted through the door.
Massie grabbed Claire’s headphones, put them on, and turned up the volume. Wicked’s “Defying Gravity” blasted into her ears.
“Let me in!” Claire pounded on the door. “This is my room!”
“Open up!” Layne yelled.
With a shaking hand, Massie turned the volume even louder, understanding for the first time why LBRs hide in the world of virtual reality.
The door shook. Claire and Layne faded into the background and the lyrics took over.
IT’S TIME TO TRY
DEFYING GRAVITY
I THINK I’LL TRY
DEFYING GRAVITY
AND YOU CAN’T PULL ME DOWN!
Once the pounding stopped, Massie whipped off the headphones. She hadn’t defied gravity. She’d sunken to its lowest depths.
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
FORBIDDEN PLANET
Saturday, December 13th
11:21 A.M.
“I can’t believe people actually came,” Claire whispered to Layne and Cam. “Are you sure they’re really all here for us? Or did a new Twilight book come out today? A scratch-and-sniff version maybe? In 3–D?”
Layne grinned. “This is for us, Claire. It’s all YOU. And after all, we did Facebook everyone from OCD and Briarwood. The people are ready for this. POWER TO THE LITTLE PEOPLE!” she shouted.
All the people within earshot broke into cheers. She turned back to Claire. “See? I’m going to go hand out more flyers.” She motioned to a stack of hot-pink A NEW CLAIRE-A WILL GET YOU THERE-A flyers and then disappeared into the crowd.
It was the first official rally of the new Claire-a, and despite the cold, a small but rabid crowd of about twenty-five people had gathered outside Forbidden Planet. They were talking, laughing, dancing in place, using their asthma inhalers, putting wax on their braces, and Tweeting the event, all to the pumping strains of Jay-Z’s “Off That,” which, thanks to Danh, could be heard for blocks. Kori, Meena, Strawberry, and Heather marched through, holding two giant banners Layne had given them. One read USHER IN A NEW CLAIRE-A (complete with a Photoshopped picture of Usher and Claire, giving each other a high five), and on the other they’d put IT’S THE DAWN OF A NEW CLAIRE-A in orange, pink, yellow, and red—or, as Layne put it, “dawn colors.”
To Massie it probably would have looked like a gathering for a makeover show “before.” But to Claire it looked like an assembly of future world leaders: smart, fun, creative people who had been persecuted by the current regime. Well, no more!
Danh approached and tapped his tiny laptop. “All systems are go on our end,” he said.
On the minuscule screen of his laptop, Claire could see the members of OCD’s astronomy club, their backs to an enormous window on Westchester Hill. They all gave Claire a thumbs-up, and she gave a thumbs-up right back.
Claire walked back up to the stage, which had been assembled by the OCD stage crew—what Massie would have called “theater geeks”—and stood behind the podium. She scanned the parking lot, her heart hammering in her chest. Off to one side a group of theater buffs (who had asked her four times if headshots would be required for the rally) were practicing an a cappella version of “One Day More” from Les Misérables as per Layne’s request.
Cam and Layne approached the podium. Layne wore a whistle around her neck.
“How you doing there, slugger? You’re looking a little scared-a,” said Layne.
Claire bit her lip. “I’m nervous,” she said. “I don’t like public speaking. What if they don’t like what I have to say?”
Cam massaged her shoulders like she was a prizefighter and he was the coach. “We’ve got this in the bag,” he said. “All you have to do is lay out the rules of the Claire-a, and they will love it.”
Layne wrapped a towel around her shoulders and squirted a quick shot of Smartwater into Claire’s mouth. “Listen, kid,” she said. “You’ve got big dreams, and now is the time to make them real. I want you to go out there and knock ’em dead. Do it for Milton and Bernice.”
“Who are Milton and Bernice?” Claire said.
“They’re my grandparents. They were both shy kids. Anyway, those people out there? They want to hear those rules; they need to hear those rules. So get out there and show these peeps what you got!”
With that, Layne pushed Claire on stage, toward the microphone Danh had set up.
Claire adjusted the mic, which made a shrill squeal. The audience groaned. She looked out over the crowd. Kori and Strawberry leaned forward. The choir kids belted their puffy coats and blew on their hands. Danh fiddled with his laptop.
“Well, now that I have your attention…” Claire laughed nervously. In the awkward silence that followed, Claire wracked her brain for the first line of the speech she and Layne had prepared. Something about justice—no, people. Something about justice and people.
“L… B… R…” Layne mouthed frantically from stage left. Cam gave her a thumbs-up, and Claire felt a thrill run through her.
Right. LBRs.
She stood up straight as a prima ballerina and shouted, “How many of you have been called an LBR? How many have had to endure eye-rolls at your outfits?” Several hands in the audience went up. “Or been asked to move from where you were sitting at lunch to make room for someone’s purse?” In her periphery, she could see Layne raise her hand. Claire raised her own.
“Massie asked me to move lockers because she didn’t like how my grape-scented erasers smelled,” one girl yelled.
“She asked me if I was related to Picasso because my left boob is bigger than my right one!”
“She asked me if my cell was E.T.’s, cuz I only use it to phone home!” Olivia Ryan called out.
Claire shook her head. “How many of you have been mocked for liking theater, art, computers, chess, astronomy, medical textbooks…?”
More hands went up. People were shouting out their grievances.
“She told me chess was for people who didn’t have chests!”
“She said all painters go crazy from the fumes!”
“She said theater is for geeks who want to act like they’re cool.”
Still more hands.
Claire looked sternly out over the crowd. “And how many of you are ready for a time when you can pursue the hobbies you want to pursue, with no worry o
f extracurricular persecution at your school?”
Now, all the hands in the audience were raised. Claire smiled. She leaned into the microphone.
“Well then, it’s time for… ” Her heart was pounding. She looked over at Cam and Layne, who were nodding and pumping their fists. “It’s time for”—she took a breath—“THE DAWN OF A NEW CLAIRE-A!”
At first the crowd was silent. Claire’s throat went dry. But then Danh started clapping. Then a girl next to him joined in. More and more people were clapping, until suddenly, the entire group erupted with the sounds of high fives and cheers. Danh held up his laptop, and Claire could see the members of the astronomy club jumping up and down.
Claire felt Layne’s elbow nudge hers. She opened her mouth for another shot of Smartwater.
“Doin’ good, boss,” Layne said. “They’re loving it. And you haven’t even gotten to the list of the rules yet!”
Claire took a deep breath and started again. “And so, it is in the spirit of change that I present to you the ten rules, the ten commandments of our cause! Number one: Thou shalt put the END in bad FRIEND!”
A loud whoop! came from the crowd.
“Number two…” Claire continued.
Behind her, Strawberry, Kori, Meena, and Heather were at the ready with ten poster boards, each printed with one of the commandments. As Claire read them out, the girls paraded behind her, holding their signs up high.
The reading of each additional commandment was met with shouts and cheers, murmurs of approval, and fists thrown high in the air. More than once Claire had to stop and wait for everyone to quiet down. By the time she got to the last one, she was hoarse from shouting.
“And number ten: Thou shalt not roll your eyes and talk about empty calories when we are EATING DELICIOUS PROCESSED SUGAR TREATS!”
And as she said treats, Layne reached into an enormous Sweetsations sack and pulled out handfuls of individually wrapped gummies: planets, protractors, paintbrushes, sea creatures, and gummy words printed in Latin. She tossed them into the crowd.
“But what will we do if Massie and the PC come back against us in full force?” shouted Carol, the head of the art club.
“We will stay calm and strong and rational. We will stay together so that none of us has to encounter bullying alone,” Claire said.
Layne led a chorus of woo-hoos.
“Can I list this as an extracurricular activity for college applications?” asked Meredith, a member of the P.P.C.C. (the Pre-Pre-College Club).
“Sure,” Claire said. “Why not?” She formed her left hand into a C shape and held it up. “This C is for Claire-a,” she shouted. Then with her right arm she made a muscle. “This is for strength!” Then she flashed a peace sign with her left hand and held it up. “And this is a peace sign for the tone of our philosophy.” She did the whole thing again in one fluid movement. The crowd oohed. “This will be our signal,” she said. “So that we can recognize one another out in the field, recruit new members, and give one another strength!”
Claire watched as everyone in the crowd tried it. “Now go forth,” she finished. “Live by these ideals and mottos. Together, we can bring a new era to OCD, to Briarwood, and to the world!”
And with that, Layne turned up Jay-Z’s “Off That” again, and everyone started to cheer, holding their hands up in Cs and peace signs.
“Social persecution!” Claire yelled.
“We’re off that!” screamed the crowd, punching the air.
“Getting made fun of for our fashion choices!” she yelled.
“We’re off that!”
In a fit of jubilant excitement, the theater group busted into “One Day More.” Claire stepped off the stage. Her entire body buzzed with energy. She could barely get through the crowd for all the people reaching out to shake her hand, pump her shoulders, and pat her on the back. A girl came up and handed Claire a tiny puppy and then snapped a picture. “For her Facebook page,” she explained, pointing to the puppy.
“This has been a long time coming!” another girl said. “I’m going to write an essay for The Octavian Courier.”
“Massie and the PC won’t know what hit them!”
“I hope I can get school credit for this!”
“Viva la Claire!”
Cam gave her a big hug, and Claire’s heart was filled with the warm s’mores feeling she got whenever she was near him. Layne got the audio guys to turn the music up. And then she started marching out. Claire walked next to her. The rest of the crowd followed, shouting, “Claire-a, Claire-a, Claire-a!”
It seemed as though power was finally going to the people—just where it had always belonged.
THE BLOCK ESTATE
THE GUESTHOUSE
Monday, December 15th
7:37 A.M.
Massie kicked Claire’s festive candy-cane sheets to the floor, along with her green-and-red elf-covered comforter, and sat up in bed. If there was one thing worse than going to sleep in a bed full of bugs, it was waking up in a coarse tangle of jolly holiday sheets. At least with bugs you expected to be itchy.
“Beeeeean,” Massie moaned. “Please make it Sunday again.”
Usually by Monday morning, Massie felt refreshed from a weekend of sleepovers, shopping, and seeing her crush du jour. But this weekend had contained none of those things, and Massie felt more worn than her poor pencil skirt.
She’d tossed and turned all night in Claire’s scratchy sheets, which were even less comfortable than the ones in the Block house’s guest room, trying to escape the haunting images of Landon’s grandparents discussing the “fast young lady” who’d smooched their grandson on the Internet. Or her friends walking out on her, one by one. Or declined credit cards, swiping with ease for someone else while other shoppers laughed, as she had to make do with her one bedraggled outfit. With each turn, she’d chafed her legs and rubbed her elbows rawer than yellowtail sushi.
And just when she’d finally drifted off, Claire had started banging on the door, demanding to be let in. Then Mrs. Lyons had knocked and called her name through the door. But Massie had pretended to be asleep. And she wished she were still asleep now. Because through the window she could see her still-tented house, meaning she had to face yet another day as a crushless, outfitless, and possibly friendless outcast.
Her phone buzzed with an e-mail.
TO: Massie
FROM: Mom and Dad
SUBJECT: Hi hi!
Hello, darling.
You and Claire must be having a great time! It’s bright and sunny every day here. We got you and Bean matching leis! The boat is so lovely. How fun would it be to live on one for a year?
We’ll be home tomorrow.
Air kisses!
Mom & Dad
PS: We tried calling last night. Judy said you were out cold. Must be all the fun you and Claire are having!
Thank Gawd! Her parents were coming home tomorrow. The thought filled her with some hope—but not much. Because she still had to get through today in her outfit. Like those shipwreck survivors who survived on mangos and then could never eat them again, Massie planned to renounce Theory as soon as this nightmare was over.
“Come on, Bean,” Massie groaned. “Time to go meet the enemy. Or have breakfast with it… or whatever.”
Massie put on her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses (the Lyonses’ blinds were highly ineffective) and went to the chair where she was sure she’d thrown her outfit last night. It wasn’t there. “Maybe it’s under the covers,” she told Bean, throwing Claire’s scratchy terry cloth robe over her nightgown, aka the stretched-out-boob shirt she’d lent Alicia. She padded down the hallway to the stairs. When she reached the bottom landing, the smell of turkey bacon tickled her nostrils and the sound of laughter hit her ears.
“Can you believe it?” Mr. Lyons roared. “A sourdough pretzel!”
“More like a sour-grape pretzel,” Mrs. Lyons joked.
Weird. The Blocks never talked in the morning. Massie’s father was usuall
y already at work by the time Massie left for school, and her mother had early tennis lessons with Andre, a tennis pro whose biceps were so big that he had to get his tennis shirts custom-tailored. Massie normally just grabbed a Luna bar from the cabinet and hopped into the Range Rover to go to school.
“There you are!” Mrs. Lyons jumped up from the square, white wooden table when Massie entered the kitchen. She lay a cool hand on Massie’s forehead. “I was so worried when you slept through my knocking.”
Claire choked on her poppy-seed bagel. Todd pounded her on the back.
“Oh, I had earplugs in,” Massie lied, glaring at Claire. “Todd’s newts have been keeping me up.”
“I can’t help it if my newts are nocturnal,” Todd said.
“Say that ten times fast,” Judi laughed.
What was with these people? It wasn’t even eight a.m., and they were acting like they were on Regis and Kelly. Massie winced under her sunglasses and tried to just focus on her main objectives: finding her clothes, which had gone MIA, and figuring out how to turn them into a dress using only dental floss and a stapler.
Massie poured herself a glass of orange juice from the Minute Maid carton. “Judi, did you know this is only fifteen percent juice? And you should really buy calcium fortified. It would help Claire’s nails grow more normally.”
Claire jumped up from her stool and stormed upstairs. A minute later, Massie heard the sound of a door slamming.
Judi sighed wearily as Massie put some kibble in a bowl for Bean. The dog gave it a hesitant sniff. “I’m sorry, Bean,” she whispered, “but they don’t have au jus in this house.”
“Massie, sweetie, what kind of eggs do you want?” Mrs. Lyons asked, standing up.
Massie shrugged.
“Well, then it’ll just have to be a surprise!”
Mrs. Lyons wandered off, and Massie sat down at the table next to Todd. He was staring at her. She poured a bowl of cereal and (ugh!) whole milk. When she looked up, he was still staring at her.
“WHAT?!” Massie spat.
“You look like a spy in those glasses,” Todd said.
My Little Phony - 13 Page 11
