Boys R Us

by Lisi Harrison

Suddenly, the frosted glass doors of the New Café flew open, revealing Massie’s army of alphas. The entire café quieted, as if sensing they were in for a show. Massie’s heart surged with excitement. It was Massie and Crew: take two. With all eyes on them, Lilah, Mia, Jasmin, Kaitlyn, and Layne swished into their scene with perfectly choreographed synchronicity, heading straight for Massie’s table.

  Correction: Lilah, Mia, Jasmin, and Kaitlyn swished in perfectly choreographed synchronicity. Layne just sort of ambled alongside them, moving to a beat that was much more Killers than Beyoncé. She stuck out like a clearance-rack sweater that had accidentally been hung with spring’s newest tanks.

  The entire student body was staring openmouthed, following the girls’ every move with glazed-over stares. Massie pulled her Guerlain pressed-powder compact from her bag and positioned the mirror so she had a perfect view of the Soul-M8s’ table. Even Alicia’s glossy mouth was slightly open.

  As the girls neared her table, Massie side-glanced at Claire. She was leaning forward and squinting hard at the alphas, like she was at the eye doctor and they were the tiny letters marching across the bottom of the sight chart on the wall.

  “The brunette,” Claire murmur-squinted.

  “Who, Jasmin?” Massie said proudly. “Isn’t she ah-dorable?”

  “She looks familiar,” Claire said. “Like I’ve met her before, or something?”

  “Probably ’cause she has one of those faces you’ve always dreamed of having,” Massie snapped quickly. With a single, swift move, she swept Claire’s imitation handbag from the pristine surface of table eighteen, sending it to the floor with a crash-clang that sounded like breaking technology.

  “Hey!” Claire ducked under the table to retrieve her knocked-off knockoff.

  “Oops.” Massie shrugged innocently. She hadn’t counted on anyone recognizing any of the girls. She never should have hired Tampax Sport. What would happen when Claire pegged Jasmin as the goalie who gave 100 percent even on her heavy flow days?

  “Heyyyyyyy,” MAC purred when they reached the table. The glittery lavender Guests of Massie Block pins they wore were not only adorable but also functional. They announced to the student body that these alphas belonged to Massie. In case there was ever any question about who was in charge.

  “’Sup,” Layne said, ruining the perfectly coordinated moment.

  “Hey!” Claire emerged from under the table, looking almost shy. Layne grinned back.

  “Sit,” Massie said crisply, motioning toward the empty seats around her.

  The girls sat. Except for Jasmin who glanced meaningfully between Claire and Massie.

  Claire cocked her head. “Do I look familiar, because you totally—”

  “You’re in her seat, Kuh-laire,” Massie panic-barked. “That’s why she’s looking at you.”

  “Oh, right.” Claire stood. “Sorry.” She kept her gaze fixed on Jasmin as she backed away from the table. “Okay, well, have a good lunch, guys. I should go anyway, since today’s technically an Alicia day. But I’ll be back here every other Tuesday and the third Friday of every mon—”

  “’Kay, see ya,” Massie cut her off again, and with one last glance at Jasmin, Claire slunk away to table eighteen.

  Massie shifted her attention back to her girls and took a long, cooling sip of her frosty green-tea smoothie. “Great entrance,” she whisper-congratulated. “Don’t look, but everyone is very intrigued. This is exactly where we want them.”

  The girls turned.

  “I said don’t look!” Massie snapped.

  “Chill, dude.” Mia, appearing slightly bored, reached for the chopsticks next to her plate and maneuvered them expertly around a giant spicy tuna roll.

  “Did you read the scene?” Layne whisper-asked hopefully as Massie glared at Mia.

  “Not yet.” Massie pushed her smoothie aside. “Before we start the scene,” she said in a low voice, “we have to talk about this party I’m chairing Friday night.” She speed-opened a to-do list on her iPhone. “I want you all there dressed in—”

  “Okay.” Layne pulled a squat orange mini-golf pencil out of her bra and began scribbling on her napkin. “We’re gonna need wardrobe, hair, makeup, a new script, call times, a brief synopsis of the event, attending VIPs, and—”

  “Giveita,” Massie interrupted.

  “Giveita?” Layne lifted her pencil.

  “Yeah.” Massie reached for the napkin and crumpled it into a ball. “Giveitarest!”

  The MAC girls glanced at Massie, then burst out laughing. Even Layne smiled.

  Massie’s insides flooded with warmth. So her new girls were capable of acting like normal friends, even without a script. They just needed time to grow into their roles as MAC girls. Massie felt the last bit of uncertainty melt away.

  Layne gnawed at a pungent rope of beef jerky while the other girls dipped their chopsticks daintily into their seaweed salad sides. Except for Lilah, who reglossed while her food sat untouched.

  “Moving awn,” Massie said, deciding the party could wait. MAC needed to strike now, while they had a captive audience. She leaned in close. “Layne says you guys are ready to do the lunch scene.”

  The MAC girls nodded.

  “And you get that screwing this scene up in front of the entire café is nawt an option?” she said, eyeing Mia pointedly.

  The girls nodded again, looking like perfectly made-up bobbleheads.

  “Okay.” Massie exhaled. “Layne? Any last minute notes?”

  Layne shook her head, slipping on the lensless glasses she’d worn in the city. “Nope. All set.”

  Massie glanced one last time at the Soul-M8s’ table. Alicia, Kristen, Dylan, and Claire were all still staring. Perfect.

  “Action!” Layne whispered. Then, as Massie looked on aghast, Layne collapsed into a heap on top of the bamboo table. “I JUST DON’T GET IT,” she faux-sobbed-yelled. “I THOUGHT DEMPSEY LIKED ME FOR ME! WHAT HAPPENED?” Whipping her head around so her face was visible to the entire café, she screwed up her eyes, letting a tiny tear slip down her cheek.

  The entire café fell silent.

  “I KNOW, RIGHT?” Lilah slap-patted Layne’s shaking shoulders. “IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE! WHY WOULDN’T DEMPSEY GO FOR YOU?”

  Massie’s spicy tuna roll made a beeline from her stomach to the back of her throat. “Cut!” she ordered. This scene was supposed to be about MAC and their high school crushes, not Layne and her Dempsey obsession! But somehow, the scene kept rolling.

  “AH-GREED.” Kaitlyn broadcasted a sympathetic pout across the room. “YOU’RE TOTALLY UNIQUE. YOU’RE LIKE A BREATH OF FRESH AIR COMPARED TO EVERYONE ELSE AROUND HERE.”

  Kori and Strawberry were starting to snicker. Massie stole a panicked glance at Alicia, who was giggling behind a Smartwater bottle and elbowing Dylan. Claire was still staring at Jasmin. Massie had to put a stop to this. Now.

  Layne took a deep, shuddering breath. “I KNOOOOOOO—”

  “CUT!” Massie snapped again, careful to keep her voice low. Her grip tightened around her smoothie glass.

  “What?” Layne looked up, sounding irritated.

  “You were great.” Lilah patted Layne’s hand.

  “You really went deep,” Jasmin added.

  “I almost cried,” Mia deadpanned.

  “Seriously?” Layne beamed. “You should hear my monologue on page—”

  “Layne,” Massie barked as, thank Gawd, the noise level in the café rose to normal again and everyone returned to their gossip sessions and tofu.

  “What?” Layne exhaled an indignant corn-scented protest.

  “I’m hiring a new writer,” Massie announced.

  “Who?” Layne’s hazel eyes bulged in horror.

  “Me.” Massie folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. “I’ll send it out tonight.”

  “But—” Layne started.

  “The rest of you, start learning your lines as soon as you get the script,” she whisper-instructed.
“We’ll do a run-through after school tomorrow.” She paused, making brief eye contact with every girl at the table. “Screw this up and you’ll be doing community theater until you’re old enough for adult diaper commercials.”

  The MAC girls gasped.

  “Um…” Mia blinked as she tucked a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. “Isn’t this community theater?”

  The table went silent.

  Massie felt her pores tighten. She lifted her smoothie to her forehead in a desperate attempt to freeze her angry thoughts until they broke off like icicles and fell away. But the chill just gave her even more brain pain. Mia obviously wasn’t MAC material. And Massie, with a script to write, a charity event to plan, and a dinner party to ignore, simply didn’t have time to mold her.

  “Mia, are you Madonna’s arms?” Massie asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you so cut?” Massie slammed her smoothie glass on the table.

  “What?” Mia’s gold shimmer–glossed lower lip dropped.

  “You’re fiy-ered,” Massie said slowly, like she was speaking to a two-year-old. “And don’t try to stuff anything from wardrobe in your two-seasons-ago purse on your way out.”

  As the rest of the table stared wide-eyed at her, Massie shoved her chair back and threw her bag over her shoulder. Rehearsals were over. It was time to act.

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  IN OUT

  IBS OCD

  Block parties Dinner parties

  M.I.A. Mia

  OCD

  THE RADIO BOOTH

  Tuesday, October 20th

  12:01 P.M.

  Once inside the radio booth, Alicia leaned against the soundproof steel door with all her weight, forcing it to close faster. She was desperate for the dim, recessed lighting, flickering control panel, and nubby gray-carpeted walls. The space was hers, and nothing from the outside world could take that away.

  Everywhere Massie and her new friends went these days, people stared. And without Josh and the boys around to distract her, she had nothing to do but watch MAC steal her spotlight.

  But inside the radio booth, at exactly 12:05 p.m., Alicia was the star.

  “Ehhhhhhmagawd.” She sighed when the door finally closed. She locked it, the click soothing her like Norah Jones. Then she reached for the yellow folder that held the day’s news brief and speed-fanned herself with it, resisting the urge to sneak a peek. She never read the announcements until she was on the air. It was good practice for her career as a live television journalist. It taught her how to think on her heels.

  At 12:04, she slipped on the giant headphones, pulled the announcements from their paper sleeve, and got ready to do what she did best. Her fingers flew across the glittery panel of lights, flipping switches and turning dials. Soon, the ON THE AIR sign flashed red overhead.

  “Good afternoon, OCD, and welcome to your lunchtime update.” Alicia’s signature opener rolled smoothly off her tongue. “Next week marks the start of Yes, We Canned!, OCD’s first annual canned food drive.” Alicia rolled her eyes to the ceiling at the sound of the corny name that had obviously been Principal Burns’s idea. “Remember to bring two unopened canned goods to school by next Friday.”

  After a brief, transitional pause, she continued. “And now onto other, more important news,” she read from her script. “For a limited time, tickets are on sale for Ho Ho Homeless, a beyond fabulous charity event to be held this Friday at 8 p.m.” She wrinkled her nose, wondering who would choose to waste their Friday night on charity work. “The catered, circus-themed event of the season will include a fashion show featuring today’s most popular model-slash-actresses, plus a VIP after-party with a band too hot to even mention.”

  Alicia’s journalistic curiosity was starting to get the best of her. She read faster. “The ultra-exclusive platinum ticket package comes with backstage passes, plus the chance to be a guest model in the fashion show.”

  Alicia’s heart was starting to race under her Robert Rodriguez embellished tank. How could OCD’s most trusted journalist and gossip not know about an event like this? How could she be so in the dark? Steadying her voice, she finished the announcement. “For more information, contact head board member Massie Blo—”

  Suddenly, the air in the booth seem stale and hard to swallow. Somehow, Massie had managed to invade the only sacred space she had left. “ThisisAliciaRiverasigningoffand sayingIheartyou,” she gasp-finished. Ripping off her headphones, she swirled around in her chair and yanked the door open. Her mind flooded with a million thoughts at once, each worse than the next. Had Claire known about this all along? What else was she keeping from Alicia? What if the rest of the Soul-M8s would rather go to Massie’s party than hers? And what if no one showed up but Josh, and he decided she was nothing but an LBR whose only redeeming qualities were an amazing wardrobe and the trays of mini crab cakes she’d have left over from her no-show dinner party? Why not donate them to the homeless, along with the rest of her friends?

  Alicia speed-walked down the hall toward the New Café. Her heart was thundering in her ears. The muffled sound reminded her of her visits to Spain and her cousin’s stereo blasting through the thin walls. She could barely hear herself think.

  When she reached the entrance, she stopped to finger-comb her hair. She’d never give Massie Block the satisfaction of seeing her this disheveled. Pressing her sweaty forehead against the smoky glass doors, she squinted hard, trying to figure out what was happening on the other side. But she couldn’t see a thing. She was totally clueless. For all she knew, Dylan could be charging three tickets to Massie’s bash on Merri-Lee’s AmEx black.

  Alicia shook the thought from her head, her glossy black hair whipping over her shoulders. Reaching into her slouchy Prada Mordore bag, she gripped the worn pink New York Yankees cap Josh had given her at the beginning of the year. Ever since Josh had left for Briarwood, she’d carried it everywhere. She even slept with it under her pillow. It reminded her that there was more to life than Massie Block. And she needed that reminder now more than ever.

  With a deep breath, Alicia threw open the doors… and slammed right into Massie, who was bolting through from the other side.

  “Hey!” Alicia smile-blurted, forgetting for a split second that they were in a fight. “Oh,” she quickly corrected, her expression and stomach sinking at the same time.

  Massie rolled her eyes, adjusting her purple Envi drape top. “Thanks for the advertising.” She smirked. “But I hope you’re not here for tickets. We just sold out.”

  Alicia ignored her, stuffing her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking. “I wouldn’t go to your fund-raiser if you paid me,” she said, looking Massie directly in the eye.

  “What are you trying to say?” Massie squinted her amber eyes.

  “I’m saying I already have plans.”

  “I heard.” Massie pursed her lips. “Dinner. In your dining room. With your parents in the next room.”

  Tiny beads of sweat were starting to form beneath the underwire of Alicia’s bra. How did Massie know about her party?

  “Maybe I don’t have a band or models,” Alicia finally managed, knowing her face was turning a deeper shade of crimson by the second, “but I have something you won’t have.”

  “What?” Massie sneered. “Tapas?”

  “No!” Alicia shouted, not caring that half the New Café had stopped mid-chew to watch them. “A date with an ah-dorable eighth-grade boy!” She plunged her hand into her purse, gripping the Yankees cap so tight it made her fingers tingle.

  “You’re right.” Massie blinked but didn’t miss a beat. “I won’t have an eighth-grade boy. I’ll have a high school one. So will all the models, because they’ll be escorting us down the runway.”

  Alicia’s throat tightened, and she ducked into the hallway, slamming the frosted door in Massie’s face. That was it. No more letting Massie make her look like an LBR in front of the whole school. If Massie was throwing the party of the season,
Alicia would throw the party of the year. She had no idea how she was going to beat models and high school boys, but she’d Tim Gunn it somehow. And if that didn’t work, she’d consider transferring to IBS. Wherever that was.

  OCD

  THE MAC ACTOR TRAILER

  Tuesday, October 20th

  3:45 P.M.

  Massie crossed her arms over her black silk tank and tapped her foot rapidly on the red-carpeted floor. “Lah-ane!”

  “For the last time, I don’t know anything!” Layne jabbed at the air with her empty Powerade bottle for emphasis. Blue liquid dribbled down her wrist. “All Peace said was that she’s sending one of her top clients.” She launched the bottle toward the white plastic trash can next to the door. It dropped neatly into the can.

  “Score!” Kaitlyn pouted as her makeup artist, a wiry redhead with smoky eyes and a slicked-back ponytail, hovered over her with a lip brush. Each of the MAC girls was perched in her makeup chair, going through a hair and makeup dry run so Massie could approve or reject possible runway looks before the big show.

  “Close ’em,” the makeup artist instructed. Kaitlyn pursed her lips dutifully.

  “One of her top clients?” Massie settled into the director’s chair next to Layne’s.

  Layne threw her arms in the air. She had a hole in the pit of her SAVE A TREE, EAT A BEAVER T-shirt. “One of her top clients, her top client—what’s the difference?”

  Massie glared at Layne in disbelief. The difference was beyond obvious. Having the very best models strut her runway on Friday night would mean two things: one, that she’d pulled off yet another amazing event, and two, that she’d outdone Alicia. The party had to be over-the-top, which was why she’d decided on a circus theme.

  “Anyway, I have no idea who it is. Swearsville.” Layne wiped her sticky Mountain Blast fingers on her camo leggings. “But if my aunt is handpicking her, she’ll be good.”

  “Your aunt picked Mia, re-mem-ber?” Massie reminded her. “And look how that turned out.”

  “You picked Mia,” Layne snorted good-naturedly. “Re-mem-ber?”