Boys R Us

by Lisi Harrison

  “This was how you wanted it, right?” Layne tapped the white dry-erase board at the front of the room, which had been transformed into a storyboard. She had used colorful markers—lavender for Lilah, magenta for Mia, jet-black for Jasmin, and kale green for Kaitlyn—to chart each girl’s story line, blocking, and call times for the day. On Saturday morning, Massie had e-mailed Layne GABs—General Areas of BSing—so the girls would know the following “facts:”

  A) The crew of MAC attends the International Billionaires’ School

  B) Went to awesome high school party on Saturday

  C) Gossip points awarded for best intel

  “Yes.” Massie nodded briskly, then quickly scanned over the actresses’ outfits to make sure they were costumed according to her specifications. She pulled out her iPhone and cross-referenced her list against her new A-list friends. “Mia, step forward.”

  Mia gave her Fergie-inspired center-parted locks a shake. “This trailer is bananas.” She wore a belted black DVF maxi-dress and giant Bulgari sunglasses.

  “Check,” Massie said, accepting the compliment with a satisfied smile. “Kaitlyn?”

  She stepped forward, spinning around to show off the cream-colored Nanette Lepore minidress. It popped beautifully against her dark, glowing skin. Massie nodded at her approvingly, then quickly checked off Jasmin’s Stella voile shirtdress and Lilah’s bronze Miu Miu shorts and crème Dodo + Angelika knit top.

  Satisfied that the MAC girls looked better than acceptable, she allowed herself a full five seconds to bask in the glory of her accomplishment. Finally, she had friends who went along with exactly what she wanted. It was more refreshing than Pinkberry pomegranate fro-yo. And then she got to work.

  “Listen up!” she said crisply, basking in the warmth of all the eyes on her. “We have exactly four minutes before you make your OCD entrance. I cannawt stress this enough: This first scene is cuh-rucial. It sets the tone and establishes the mood. And if the mood isn’t total envy, we—by which I mean you—have failed.” She pinched a piece of platinum hair off Mia’s shoulder and flicked it to the ground. “Visible foundation lines, static cling, or frizz will get you cut faster than a dangling nose hair. So I suggest you start acting like best friends and check over each other’s outfits before we go public.”

  Layne jumped down from her director’s chair and stood next to Massie, digging a Hello Kitty clipboard into her fleshy hip. “Should I prep them for the walk?”

  Massie nodded and turned back to her new friends. “You’ll be synchronizing your walk to the beat of Beyoncé’s ‘Upgrade U.’”

  Layne lifted the bullhorn to her lips. “Places!” she whisper-bellowed. “And action!”

  Checking out the window to make sure no one was around, Massie led MAC out of the trailer to the back door of OCD’s main building, where they gathered in the practiced formation. She took a deep breath. It was time to show her school she was back.

  “Ah five, six, seven, eight!” she murmur-counted, throwing open the doors. The halls were overrun with sloppily dressed, uneven-skinned girls. As painful as it was to look at them, Massie was glad they were there. The more witnesses she had, the better. She strutted one pace ahead of Lilah, Mia, Jasmin, and Kaitlyn, whose heels clacked in perfect rhythm behind her as they made their way down the main hall. The mini hand-fans inside their open handbags tousle-blew their hair, making them look like they were a living, breathing photo shoot. The crowd parted around them, and pre-homeroom chatter was replaced with silent envy-stares.

  And then the moment she had been waiting for arrived.

  Alicia, Kristen, and Dylan turned the corner, heading straight for her. Alicia was wearing chocolate brown leather pants and a slouchy gray off-the-shoulder sweater. To be fair, the outfit rated a 9.2, or at least it had back when she debuted it the third week in September. But now that it was in reruns, it was a 7 at best. Massie didn’t even bother checking out Dylan and Kristen’s outfits. After all, a girl’s outfit was only as good as her alpha’s.

  A few steps more and MAC and the Soul-M8s met in the middle of the hallway, both groups screeching to a halt. The hall went dead silent. Nervous-seeming onlookers pretended to search for their cell phones inside their bags, like they weren’t waiting for a Flavor of Love–style throwdown in the middle of the hall.

  Dylan chewed her bottom lip while Kristen yanked her hair out of its high pony, then re-tied it. Claire was MIA, probably trying her hardest to stay clear of the drama. Or, since she’d refused to ride with Massie or Alicia in the morning in order to stay “neutral,” lying in a ditch under the spinning wheels of her Bratz bike.

  Massie smile-blinked at Alicia, feeling more in control than Spanx. “Um, would you like your egg sunny-side up?”

  “No,” Alicia snapped, surveying the MAC girls warily.

  “Then beat it!” Massie finished triumphantly. Seeing her ex-besties nervous and knowing the MAC girls were just inches behind her made her feel safe.

  But when they stayed silent, she whip-turned toward them.

  “Line!” she whisper-hissed from the corner of her mouth.

  “Oh. Yeah.” Mia giggled, then snapped into character. “I have gossip from the high school paaaartyyyyyyyy we went to!” she bellowed like Oprah, finger combing her blond waves.

  Alicia gasped.

  “How many points?” Lilah asked eagerly, blinking her wide blue eyes.

  “Seven-fifty,” Mia announced. “And I don’t mean seven dollars and fifty cents. I mean seven hundred and fifty.”

  Massie bit the inside of her cheeks and forced herself to let out a that inside joke gets me every time laugh. “Ehmagawd, I forgot he said that!” Massie shook her head at the fake memory. “Now, what’s the gossip?”

  Mia’s face went blank. So did Lilah, Jasmin, and Kaitlyn’s faces.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Massie whisper-snapped.

  But the girls remained silent, their blank stares suddenly melting into wide-eyed panic. They glanced at each other, then at Massie.

  “Juuuuiiicy,” Dylan burped. Kristen and Alicia giggled.

  Massie’s palms were starting to sweat. What was happening? Why weren’t they answering? Was it time for their walk?

  “Ohhhhh.” She drew the word out, nod-hinting for them to follow her lead. “I get it.” She forced a conspiratorial smile. “The gossip’s so hawt, you have to tell me in private. Riiiiight?” Tossing her bag over her shoulder, Massie resisted the urge to tote-smack every single one of them right there in the hallway.

  Riiiiiiiiing.

  The first-period bell never sounded so good.

  “I better go,” she announced. “Have a good morning at International Billionaires’ School, ‘kay?”

  The girls stood firmly amidst the swirling frenzy of girls, bags, slamming lockers, and last minute sips of latte.

  “I want that gossip, so try to sneak out and come back for lunch,” Massie tried. Still they stood there.

  All of a sudden Layne appeared, waving scissors over her head like the town psycho. “Cut!” she called, snipping the air. Massie blushed for Layne and her beyond-embarrassing existence. “Cut, cut, cut!” she call-snipped.

  Thankfully, the hallway was too hectic for anyone but Massie to notice. The MKO look-alikes had resumed polishing the hardwood with their skirts as they hurried to their classrooms.

  “Cuttttttttt,” Layne offered one final snip before slipping into her Spanish class.

  The actresses finally got the hint and hurried away. Massie smile-waved, pretending not to notice her ex-friends darting side-looks from Layne to Massie to the retreating backs of her crew.

  “Nice meeting your new… friends,” Alicia said suspiciously. The she turned, linking arms with Dylan and Kristen. They headed down the hall, their feet in step, like a choreographed routine. Knowing Alicia, it probably was.

  Massie watched them go: The sound of heels on the parquet felt like gunshots piercing the air, invisible bullets killing her reputation. Slump
ing against a locker, Massie played a silent-solo round of What Would You Rather? Option 1: Have people know she was in cahoots with Layne. Option 2: Have people know she’d hired (stupid times ten) friends.

  After some serious thought Massie chose option 3. She had no clue what it was but knew it couldn’t possibly be worse.

  OCD

  THE MAC ACTOR TRAILER

  Monday, October 19th

  8:34 A.M.

  When the bell rang, signaling the end of first period, Massie sprint-walked toward the actor trailer. She’d spent most of French class seething over the fact that her girls had botched their very first scene. What was she paying for if they couldn’t get it right on the first take? Throwing open the trailer door, Massie ducked inside and slammed the door behind her.

  The MAC girls were hunched over their desks as their tutor, a frumpily dressed woman wearing bifocals and a stretched-out cardigan, stood in front of them. Layne was slouched in her director’s chair, doing the OCD crossword.

  Massie clapped her hands loudly, and everyone’s heads snapped up. “Girls! What happened out there?”

  The tutor narrowed her eyes at Massie. “I’m going to have to ask you to allow the girls to finish their homewo—”

  “Mia,” Massie said, cutting the t-ew-ter off. “Have you been swallowing chicken bones?”

  “No?” Mia squeaked.

  The other girls stared down at the open textbooks in front of them.

  “Then why did you choke?” Massie screeched.

  Lilah snorted. Jasmin and Kaitlyn leaned even closer to their books, their noses almost touching the pages.

  “You asked what the gossip was,” Mia said defiantly, her voice gravelly and bored. “I didn’t have lines for that, so I didn’t say anything.”

  “I told you to prepare for a gossip question.” Layne smacked her palm against her forehead.

  Jasmin stood. “In Mia’s defense, we never got a script and we’re not trained in improv, so—”

  “Plug it, Tampax,” Massie barked, pacing the width of the trailer.

  Layne yanked off her baseball cap and ran her hands through her frizzy brown hair. “Massie, if we expect the crew to know their lines, we need to write them.” She noted something down on her clipboard that looked like a squiggle, then pierced it with a sharp dot. “I have a close friend I like to call Shakespeare”—Layne’s accent turned vaguely British—“and she can help me—”

  “No friends!” Massie snapped.

  “Fine.” Layne shrugged. “I’ll do it myself. We’ll do a table read after school.”

  Massie hesitated. On one hand, she didn’t need Layne thinking she was running the show. On the other hand, she didn’t actually want to write a script. And when in doubt, delegate.

  “Fine,” she told Layne, just as the bell rang, signaling the start of second period. “But I have final approval.”

  Glaring at Mia, she stomped toward the trailer door. She gripped its cool metal handle hoping for a dramatic exit, but it slipped from her sweaty palm. After a quick wipe on her sweater dresss, she tried again. “It better be e-mailed to me by lunch, or you’re all fired.” She pulled the door open, praying to Gawd it wouldn’t come to that. Because when you couldn’t even buy good friends, what hope was there?

  THE NEW GREEN CAFÉ

  TABLE 18

  Monday, October 19th

  12:28 P.M.

  Massie straightened the glitter-swirled RESERVED placard in the very center of table eighteen, then licked the tip of her index finger and pressed it into the tiny mound of fallen violet sparkle.

  “So who are all these new girls I’ve been hearing about?” Claire asked as Massie sprinkled the excess glitter on the floor. Even though it was an Alicia day, she’d walked to lunch with Massie and had obviously stayed at the table to ask this particular question.

  “They go to the International Billionaires’ School,” Massie replied. At the next table over, Kori Gedman and Strawberry McAdams and bunch of seventh graders were hover-whispering about who would be sitting at table eighteen. Massie tried not to smile smugly. She was back where she belonged. “I met them when I was interviewing to transfer there last week and we just clicked.”

  “International Billionaires’ School?” Claire put her elbows on the table, leaving Jergens-scented smears on the perfectly buffed bamboo table. “Never heard of it.”

  “I’m nawt surprised,” Massie said, adjusting the plates of fresh sushi and seaweed salad, interspersed with individual servings of bright pink pickled ginger and low-sodium soy sauce, so they were evenly spaced. “IBS is super exclusive. They only ask a few girls to interview there every year. And only one of those girls gets picked to attend.”

  Just then her cell buzzed with a text.

  Layne: Script done & Oscar-wrthy. Run-thru went gr8. Just say “action” and we’ll roll like Pillsbury.

  “Who’s that?” Claire asked, leaning forward.

  Frantically, Massie dropped the cell in her lap. The less Claire knew, the better. “Just Jasmin, one of my new friends.” She surreptitiously texted Layne back.

  Massie: I need to read 1st.

  Layne: I swear. You will luv. Theme = crushes. Totally inspired.

  Massie: e-mail 2 me & i’ll txt my decision

  After this morning, lunch had to be nothing short of perfection. One more public slip-up and she’d be forced to enter the LBR protection program and go into hiding. Which meant she wouldn’t get the chance to debut the new Tory Burch Anamarte wedge sandals she’d ordered last week. Just thinking about banishing the sandals to a life of obscurity made Massie’s blemish-free forehead bead with sweat.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of leaving OCD for IBS, are you?” Claire tugged at her uneven bangs. At the tables around them, girls picked at their food, looking bored and directionless. The café was quieter than usual since the boys weren’t there to raise the noise level with their alphabet burping and food-fighting.

  Massie’s iPhone buzzed again, this time with a new e-mail from Layne, subject: SCREENPLOY. Massie shrugged, wishing IBS were a real place, with real alphas who didn’t need scripts to tell them exactly what to say.

  “So are you?” Claire urged. Just then, Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen strolled into the café and settled at their new table. They hunched together, whispering intently. Suddenly, Alicia’s head jerked toward table eighteen. Massie plastered a giant smiled on her face and pretended not to notice.

  “Am I what?” Massie said, wondering if there was a way to angle her phone so Claire couldn’t see. She was desperate to read the script and make changes before the show went live.

  “Transferring?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. ”I have a few days to think about it.”

  “Do I get a vote?” Claire asked shyly.

  Massie smiled involuntarily. At least Claire sometimes knew the right thing to say. She looked up, glancing into Claire’s light blue eyes. Her expression said: If you leave, how will I know what to wear?

  Massie allowed herself to blink back: You won’t. Her heart filled with warmth as she and Claire stare-gazed at each other. For a split second, Massie remembered the way it used to be, before the PC split.

  A burst of laughter exploded from the Soul-M8s’ table. Claire glanced nervously back and forth between Alicia’s table and Massie’s table, and the moment between them vanished into the soy cheese–scented air. The neck-swivel was simply another reminder that Claire hadn’t chosen Massie. Yet. A twinge of uncertainty buzzed behind her navel. Now would be the perfect time to show up the 4-Squares in front of the entire school. But could she trust Layne’s script? Either way, she had to get Claire out of here. Two minutes with MAC and she’d realize Massie’s new friends were more artificial than Sweet’N Low.

  “Anyway, the MAC girls’ll be at my sleepover Friday night, so you can hang with them then.”

  “This Friday? Isn’t your mom’s charity thing this Friday?”

  Massie froze. She’d be
en so focused on her actors that she’d completely forgotten about Ho Ho Homeless.

  “Uh, yeah,” she said quickly. “They’ll ah-bviously be there for the event, and then they’re sleeping over.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Claire nodded. “Sounds fun. Cam and I are going to Alicia’s couples’ dinner party that night, but maybe—”

  “Couples’ what?” Massie blurted, then mentally smacked herself for acting like she cared.

  Claire reddened slightly. “It’snothingbigjustadinnerparty withIdunnoafewcouplesorsomethingactuallyI’mnotreallysure.”

  Massie’s scented body cream instantly evaporated from her skin, leaving her feeling dry and exposed. In its place, a dark Chanel No. 19–scented cloud hung over her head. If it was nothing, then why wasn’t Claire jumping at the chance to come to her event instead? Since when did alpha status expire like milk and credit cards? Fingers flying over her iPhone keypad, she texted Layne.

  Massie: Action.

  Who cared if she hadn’t read the script? It was time to show OCD who the real alphas were. And if Layne was telling the truth, and the script really was about crushes (probably high school crushes, from the quote-unquote “party” MAC had quote-unquote “gone to” Saturday night), then there’d be no contest. MAC and high school boys were way more alpha than the Soul-M8s and their lame party.

  “Anyway, I could come over when we’re done,” Claire offered, like she was doing Massie a favor.

  “Whatever.” Massie shrugged. She didn’t have any more time to waste on Claire. On top of coordinating MAC’s OCD lunch debut, she now had to plan the most ah-mazing charity function Westchester had ever seen. Ho Ho Homeless would have to be bigger, better, and more Twitter-worthy than Alicia Rivera’s wannabe couples’ dinner party. Times ten. Besides, didn’t “dinner” imply eating and “couples” mean in front of boys? And didn’t Alicia firmly believe the two should never mix?