The Pretty Committee Strikes Back

by Lisi Harrison

  “Huh?” Claire wished she had the guts to tell Layne the truth.

  “We have to get you back to the old Claire. The one Cam first noticed.”

  “What old Claire?”

  “Claire B.P.C.” Layne said with a proud smile, like she had just said something brilliantly clever. Claire stared at her blankly.

  “Before the Pretty Committee!” Layne wheeled Claire's industrial-looking full-length mirror across the room. “See for yourself.”

  Claire pushed herself up and stood in front of the mirror with her hands on her narrow waist.

  “You've lost your Florida charm. Your cute Disney bangs have grown out, you traded in your cherry ChapStick for lip gloss, and you wear boot-cut jeans instead of overalls,” Layne said. “You're not the girl Cam first fell in love with.”

  Even though Claire knew the real reason Cam had dumped her, she couldn't help but wonder if Layne had a point.

  “Maybe you should cut bangs again,” Layne said. “I bet once Cam saw the old Claire, he'd want you back.”

  Claire knew this was ridiculous, but like any desperate person, she felt compelled to take a leap of faith and give it a try. Who knew, it just might be the thing that worked.

  “Fine.” Claire sighed. “Maybe I'll ask Massie to call Jakkob for an appointment.”

  Layne stopped pacing, put her hands on her chunky hips, and shook her head. “You just don't get it, do you?”

  “Get what?” Claire felt a wave of prickly heat under her arms. She hated being left out of an inside joke, especially when it was at her own expense.

  “Ugh.” Layne lifted her hands in frustration. “Claire B.P.C. would not call Ja-kkkkkkkob for a cut.”

  “She wouldn't?”

  “No, she'd do it herself.”

  Layne stomped over to the bed, grabbed her Sunshine Tours bag, and dumped it upside down. Chewed pencils, three quarters, two dimes, six pennies, one Susan B. Anthony dollar, red hair elastics, two bottles of nail polish—one black, one fluorescent yellow—liquid eyeliner, two tubes of vanilla Go-Gurt, Carmex, Kleenex, a mini pink calculator, a Hello Kitty money clip filled with Big Red gum, three loose house keys, a disposable digital camera, a rolled up Delia's catalogue, and a baby blue Miss Army pocket knife spilled onto the freshly bleached hardwood floor.

  Layne reached for the Miss Army knife and unhinged a few of its hidden tools: a nail file, a mirror, and a pair of tweezers. “Where are those cute little scissors?”

  “You're so not cutting my hair with that Swiss Army knife thing.” Claire jumped to her feet.

  “Got ’em.” Layne unfolded the collapsible scissors and forced her fingers into the tiny holes. “They're a little stiff, but they'll do the trick.”

  “No way.” Claire darted for her bedroom door, grabbed her red bike helmet off the hook, slammed it on her head, and tightened the chin strap. “Let's see if those tiny scissors can get through this.” Claire knocked on the metallic plastic and giggled. Her mood suddenly shifted again and she felt light and giddy. She almost felt like Claire B.C.E.—Before Cam Ended.

  “No problem.” Layne scraped her foot along the floor three times, like a charging bull, and ran headfirst into Claire's stomach.

  “Get off of me.” Claire was laughing so hard it sounded like “Offa eeee.”

  Layne tackled Claire, throwing her onto the bed. She climbed on top of her and pinned her down by kneeling on her thin arms. Claire squirmed and bucked. But Layne held firm.

  “Stop moving or I'll Go-Gurt fart on you.”

  “Ew, get off!” Claire laughed and bucked even harder. Her hair was starting to sweat under the helmet and her scalp was getting itchy.

  “Is everything all right in there?” Judi Lyons knocked on her daughter's bedroom door, then opened it just enough to stick the tip of her button nose inside the room.

  “Yeah, we're fine, Mom,” Claire panted.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lyons.” Layne's voice was sweet and innocent. “Sorry for the noise.” She dug her knees deeper into Claire's arms.

  “No problem,” Judi replied kindly. “Have fun.” She backed away from the door but left it open a crack.

  As soon as her mother left, Claire started bucking again.

  “If you lie perfectly still, I'll get up.” Layne's body was being flung from side to side.

  “Fine,” Claire panted.

  “Stayyy.” Layne held her index finger in between Claire's eyes like she was training a dog. “Stayyyy,” she said again. Before Claire could stop her, Layne whipped the scissors out from behind her back and in one smooth motion snipped the chin strap on Claire's helmet. Claire lifted her head in shock and the helmet slipped right off. Layne rolled off Claire and onto the floor. She kicked her legs in the air and pumped her arms over her head. “Victory!” she shouted.

  “You ruined my bike helmet,” Claire shouted, trying as hard as she could to suppress the smile that was forcing itself across her flushed cheeks.

  “You're welcome,” Layne said. “If Cam ever saw you in that thing, it would be over for good.”

  Claire felt the lead returning to her bones. Her smile started to fade.

  “Now, let's work on those bangs.” Layne grabbed Claire's arm and pulled her over to the full-length mirror by the window.

  Claire allowed herself to be led. “I dunno. It took me four months to grow these out.”

  “Your call.” Layne cut the air with the tiny scissors. They were so stiff they squeaked.

  Claire sighed. “Okay, why not?” She had a feeling she'd regret it, but at least she'd have something else to worry about besides Cam.

  “Cool.” Layne rested her hands on Claire's shoulders and turned her around to face the mirror.

  “Don't you want me to face you?” Claire asked.

  “No. This is how they do it at the hairdresser's.”

  “Fine, do it.”

  Layne reached into the back pocket of her dusty pink cords and pulled out a peppermint Altoid. She popped it in her mouth and stood right in Claire's face. Layne's butt was reflected in the mirror and Claire checked to see if there was a metal Altoids tin imprint on her back pocket. There wasn't. The mint had been in there naked, probably all hot and soft from Layne sitting on it all day. Claire shook her head.

  Layne quickly moved the scissors away from Claire's forehead. “Don't move.”

  “Sorry.” Claire rolled her eyes. But she was glad Layne was taking this seriously.

  The tiny scissors came toward Claire's face and for some reason the Jaws music started playing in her head: Da-na da-na da-na…

  Layne pinched a clump of hair between her two fingers and Claire squeezed her eyes shut. The scissors squeaked once and a flurry of yellow hair fell to the floor.

  “Let me see.” Claire moved her head to the side so she could look in the mirror, but Layne grabbed her chin and held it in place.

  “Don't move or you'll mess up my line.” A cool mint smell rushed out of Layne's mouth. “You can look when I'm done.”

  Claire took a deep breath, shut her eyes again, and waited for the next squeak. “I'm so good,” Layne said to Claire's bangs. “This looks perfect.”

  Claire felt her shoulders relax. Having her old bangs back might be fun.

  “One more snip and you're done,” Layne said with a satisfied sigh.

  She pinched the last bit of hair and slid the scissors into position.

  “AIBO! COME ’ERE, AIBO!” Todd, Claire's ten-year-old brother, shouted in the hallway.

  The sudden noise startled Layne and she released Claire's hair.

  Both girls let out a sigh of relief.

  “That was close.” Layne sighed. “Good thing I wasn't midcut.”

  “Sorry. Aibo is Todd's new robot dog. He's in love with it.”

  “A robot dog?”

  “Yeah. He wants a real one but my parents don't think he's responsible enough, so they're making him prove himself with this stupid barking robot.”

  Layne bit down on her Altoid an
d reached for Claire's hair again. First the pinch, then the squeak, and then Todd kicked open Claire's bedroom door with the heel of his L. L. Bean boots.

  Layne screamed and jumped, just as the scissors bit down on Claire's hair.

  “Have you seen Aibo?” Todd shouted.

  “NO!” Claire wailed.

  “Nice hair,” said the freckly redhead. He chuckled into his hand and slammed the door behind him.

  Claire pushed Layne aside and looked in the mirror. Most of her bangs were perfect … except for the part above her nose, which was two inches shorter and crooked. Claire immediately flashed back to the third grade when her front teeth were missing and she spoke with a lisp. She'd wanted to cry every time someone asked her what her last name was, because it came out sounding like Lyonth. Eventually she'd dropped the s and referred to herself simply as Claire Lyon until her big teeth grew in.

  “I can't believe this.” Claire's ears started ringing and her vision became narrow and a little blurry around the edges. “It looks like I got a haircut in the Leaning Tower of Pisa.” She thought of the hair clips, the gels, the endless tugging and training that had gone into getting her blond bangs to finally reach behind her ears. Now, one mistake and they were gone. Just like that.

  Just like Cam.

  Layne knelt down on the floor and quietly started putting her things back in the Sunshine Tours bag.

  All Claire could do was stare at her crooked bangs and wonder who she wanted to kill more, Todd, Layne, or herself.

  The ding of an IM lifted Claire out of her daze. She hurried toward her gray Dell computer. Was Cam finally ready to forgive her?

  “Is it him?” Layne jumped to her feet and joined Claire. “I knew the bangs would work.”

  “It's only Massie,” Claire moped.

  “Only Massie,” Layne teased.

  They both knew six months ago a friendly IM from Massie Block would have made Claire's life. That fact wasn't lost on Claire; she was just too depressed to acknowledge it.

  MASSIEKUR: U CAN'T EVER LET ALICIA KNOW U KISSED JOSH HOTZ. WE'RE ON THE PHONE NOW. SHE'S BEEN TALKING BOUT HIM 4 LAST HOUR.

  Claire immediately positioned herself between Layne and the screen. But it was too late. She could feel the heat of Layne's minty breath on the back of her neck while she typed her reply message.

  CLAIREBEAR: CALL U L8TR. TALKING 2 MOM.

  Claire hit send and turned off her computer. “So, what time do you have to be home?” She avoided Layne by straitening up the mussed comforter on her bed.

  “You kissed Josh Hotz?” Layne dove onto the comforter and rolled around until she had undone all of Claire's tidying. “Why didn't you tell me? When did you become such a big slutburger with everything on it?”

  “That's why.” Claire bit down on her thumbnail.

  “I'm kidding, I don't think you're a slutburger. I used to make out with Eli all the time in his laundry room.”

  “You did?” Claire finally looked at her friend. “Why didn't you tell me?”

  “I didn't want you to call me a slutburger,” Layne said.

  Claire wanted to laugh, but all she could manage was a weak smile.

  “Does Cam know?” Layne asked.

  Claire plopped down on her bed and shrugged. She ran her fingers along the clear stitching on her comforter, willing herself not to cry.

  “Wait, is that why Cam dumped you?” Layne slapped the bed.

  Claire shrugged again.

  “Come on, tell me. I hate that Massie Block knows more about your life than I do.”

  Claire tried to smile again but couldn't.

  “Pleeeease.” Layne clapped her hands. “I'll tell you something totally embarrassing about me.”

  “Only if you promise not to think I'm lame.” Claire lifted her head.

  “Promise.” Layne held her palm in the air and crossed her heart.

  “Fine.” Claire leaned in toward Layne just in case her eavesdropping brother and his fake dog were listening at the door. Then, in a hushed tone, she told Layne how Nina had made it look like Cam was over Claire and how that had driven her into the arms of another boy.

  “So Josh told Cam you kissed him?” Layne unwrapped a stick of Big Red gum and stuffed it in her mouth. “What a loser.”

  “No.” Claire shook her head slowly. “Cam saw us.”

  “Brutal!” Layne shoved another piece of gum in her mouth. “But it served him right for ignoring you, right?”

  “I dunno.” Claire lowered her head. “Turns out it wasn't really his fault.”

  “How?”

  “Later I found out Nina told Cam she'd put a Spanish soccer spell on him, that if he ignored me, their team would win the finals. She told him I knew about it, so he didn't think I'd be upset.”

  “Didn't they lose that game?”

  Claire nodded.

  “So after the game, when Cam realized the whole spell thing was bogus, he came to talk to me, and that's when he saw…” Claire's voice trailed off.

  “Why don't you just explain what happened.” Layne chomped on her gum.

  “I tried.” Claire smoothed the foil on one of Layne's discarded wrappers. “He won't take my calls or read my e-mails. Nothing works.”

  “Wow, he actually fell for that Spanish soccer spell thing?”

  “I guess people will believe anything when they're desperate.” Claire tugged on her short bangs.

  “Maybe you should write him a poem,” Layne suggested. “Those usually work.”

  “You think?”

  “Totally.” Layne nodded once. “I sent one to my dad when I wanted a bike and the next week there was a brand-new Bratz Beauty bike in my driveway.”

  “Wasn't that a surprise for your next-door neighbor?” Claire asked.

  “Yeah, but when I told my dad I wanted one just like it, he promised to get me one for my birthday.”

  “And you think that's because of the poem you wrote him?”

  “It didn't hurt. Besides, Cam is a total softy. He's always burning CDs for you and bringing you candy. He's such a poem guy.”

  “Hmmm.” Claire was reluctant to take any more of Layne's advice, but she did have a point. Cam was a total romantic. He was probably waiting for Claire to make an effort, something more than an e-mail or a text message. “Maybe I'll try it.”

  “You should.” Layne stood up and put on her white pleather trench coat. “I better go. Dinner is early tonight because my parents are on some new diet where they can't eat past six-thirty p.m.”

  “Wait.” Claire stood up and ran toward her door. She leaned against it until it closed, then stayed there, blocking Layne. “What's your embarrassing secret?”

  Layne tightened the belt on her coat and threw her Sunshine Tours bag over her shoulder. “Oh, that. It's no big deal. I'll tell you tomorrow.”

  “No way.” Claire pushed Layne away from the door. “You promised.”

  “Fine.” Layne rolled her green eyes. “If you must know, I got my period last month.”

  “No way!” Claire didn't know anyone who'd had her period yet.

  “Yeah way!” Layne said. “And I'm terrified I'll get it again when we're in Lake Placid.”

  “What's it like?”

  “It's like what your nose is going to look like if you tell anyone.” Layne stepped toward the door.

  “I won't,” Claire promised.

  “Look, I have to go.” Layne's face was bright red. “I'll call you later.”

  Claire stepped aside and let her friend leave. She was ready to spend some alone time in front of the mirror anyway, just her and her short, crooked bangs.

  A rush of panic shot through Claire's body when she saw the damage up close. It had taken her four months to grow out her bangs, and now they were even worse than they had been before. How would she face the Pretty Committee?

  She had been right about one thing: the ridiculous haircut was taking her mind off of Cam.

  Claire took a deep breath, reached into the bac
k of her closet, and pulled out her old wood box of hair clips. It had been months since she'd needed them. She took out the silver seashell barrette, the one she'd first worn when she arrived in Westchester, and fastened her lopsided bangs to the side of her head. Then she took a deep breath and powered up her computer. At the top of the page she typed, Miss Understood. After that the words flowed out of her like tears.

  MISS UNDERSTOOD

  by Claire Lyons

  You used to send me e-mails

  And gummy worms galore.

  I stopped biting my nails

  Because I wasn't lonely anymore.

  I'd stare into your eyes,

  One green and one blue;

  We'd share a plate of fries

  And I'd dream of kissing you.

  But Cam, you broke my heart like glass,

  And all because of Nina Call-as.

  You acted like we were through,

  And so J.H. I had to choose.

  I never liked him as more than a friend;

  I was hurt because I got dissed.

  Please don't say that this is the end:

  I won't be happy till we've kissed.

  And without reading it over, Claire hit send. Because that's what desperate people do.

  OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL THE SERENITY CHAPEL

  Friday, February 20th 3:50 P.M.

  If Massie had known she'd be crouching in the balcony of the Serenity Chapel, spying on Dylan and Alicia after school, she never would have worn her denim Chip & Pepper miniskirt.

  If they'd happened to look up, they would have caught their newly appointed kissing guru squatting like a frog, making little effort to conceal her turquoise Cosabella thong underwear.

  Massie prayed to Gawd that Principal Burns would burst through the heavy oak doors and bust her friends for sneaking into the forbidden chapel after school. That was plan A and her only way out. If the girls got caught, they'd immediately get kicked out of the chapel and sent home for the rest of the day. Then the kissing lesson would be canceled and Massie would have more time to build up the courage to truly kiss Derrington and get some real experience. Because now all she had to share with her disciples were a few makeshift props and a big load of crap.

  Livvy Collins, Alexandra Regan, and Carrie Randolph tiptoed across the royal blue carpet and disappeared into the choir pit below the pulpit where Dylan and Alicia were hiding. The sounds of giggling followed by loud shhhh's rose up to the balcony every time another girl stepped down into the pit, filling Massie with nervous desperation. She had deployed hundreds of insane tactics to maintain her queen bee status, but this one was the most ridiculous. Not only was she claiming to be an expert on something she knew nothing about, she was flat-out lying to Kristen, Alicia, and Dylan. And that took social warfare to new heights.