The Clique: Charmed and Dangerous

by Lisi Harrison

  “Wait…” She released him. “Why would anyone want to sabotage me?”

  “’Scuse me,” called a brunette, sauntering toward them like an actress playing a supermodel. Her black-and-silver dress was Agnès B.’s latest and the perfect choice for a New Year’s party. But what promoted her outfit from a “fashion do” to a “fashion debut” were her black (cashmere?) kneesocks with the gold initial pins fastened to the side. Were they doing that in Japan? Whoever this M. B. was, she had the kind of style that made regular girls try harder.

  “Are you the one who fell?” M. B. asked, stopping at the table. The stranger’s amber eyes held Alicia’s with what felt like horizontal gravity.

  Alicia lowered her gaze. Was this her new identity? “The girl who fell”?

  Len held Alicia back with his arm, like a driver making a sudden stop. “Let me do the talking,” he advised.

  “Are you a witness?”

  “Who isn’t?” The girl half smiled. “Everyone saw it. It’s probably all over the Internet by now.”

  “Great,” Alicia groaned.

  “No, I mean did you see who threw this?” Len presented the bag of evidence. “On the stage?”

  “My charm!” The girl reached for it.

  Len pulled the bag away.

  “Not so fast,” he boomed like a TV detective.

  “What are you doing?” she screeched. “It’s mine!”

  “Did you throw it?” he asked, this time more forcefully.

  “Lennnn,” Alicia whined. “Stop,” she mouthed. It was one thing for her dad to cross-examine crooks in a courtroom. But a “fashion debut” in Agnès B. and cashmere kneesocks? That was criminal. Embarrassed, Alicia turned to her swelling ankle. Maybe if she iced long enough her brain would go numb and she could strike this horrifying day from the record.

  “Answer, please!” Len insisted, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced in front of a sweating cheese and cracker spread.

  “Um, sir,” M. B. managed, with a wicked half-smile. “Do you play for Metallica?”

  Len knit his thick black brows in confusion. “No.”

  M. B. paused while three blue bald men hurried by.

  “So you’re not in Metallica?” she repeated.

  Where was she going with this?

  “No.” Len popped a red grape in his mouth and chewed.

  M. B. put her hands on her narrow hips, then cocked her head slightly right. “Then why are you meddling?”

  Alicia burst out laughing. Then M. B. did too, obviously pleased (or was it shocked?) by Alicia’s reaction.

  “There she is!” said a familiar-looking redhead in a pair of Juicys. It was Dylan Marvil and the blond soccer-jock from school. Together? They were all in the fourth grade at Octavian Country Day but never hung out. Dylan was part of the snobby kids-of-celebs clique, which never gave the time of day to dancers with regular parents. And the blond jock was, well… a jock.

  “You again!” M. B. scanned Dylan’s sweats. “Thank Gawd.” She sighed, tapping her chest with relief. “Those are much more flattering.”

  Dylan smiled. Her hair was half-straight and half-curly. A trend, Alicia prayed, that would die before the New Year. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” asked M. B.

  “You’re the only one who told me the truth about those pants,” Dylan explained, then smiled at Alicia. “You’re lucky to have a friend like her.”

  “Oh, she’s not my friend,” Alicia corrected. “We just met.”

  “Hey.” The blonde waved. Did she realize her leather pants were ripped? “I’m Kristen. I just wanted to give this back to—”

  “Massie.” She smiled. “Massie Block.”

  “I have one too.” Dylan placed a tiny gold pig in Massie’s palm.

  “Ehmagawd, yay!” Massie slid the charms onto the chain, then smiled at the girls. “I’ve been looking for these all night!”

  Alicia, longing to be part of their circle, yanked the Ziploc out of her father’s hand and handed it to Massie. “Here ya go.”

  “Thank you!” Massie opened her arms, welcoming Alicia into the fold. It smelled like Chanel No. 19.

  Energy passed through them, like electric thread stringing needles, binding them together and pulling them close.

  Did they feel it too?

  “Two minutes until midnight!” called a stage manager.

  “Happy New Year!” Dylan burped.

  The girls burst out laughing.

  “Hey, wanna go watch the clutch drop?” Massie tucked her bracelet in the pocket of her dress.

  “Yeah!” Kristen clapped.

  “We can hang with my mom,” Dylan offered. “She’ll be at the very top. It’s the best view.”

  Alicia looked at her father, silently asking if she could go. He wink-nodded yes.

  The girls helped Alicia off the table and encouraged her to lean on them for support.

  With their help, she limp-hopped into the party, no longer feeling like the girl who fell. But rather, the one who got back up again.

  MERRI-LEE MARVIL’S NEW YEAR’S YVES PARTY

  SKY PLATFORM

  Friday, December 31st

  11:58 P.M.

  Thanks to Dylan—who told her sisters they looked bloated and should stay away from the cameras—space opened up on the hydraulic platform. It was tight, but Merri-Lee, her two-man crew, and the four girls were all smiles as they rose above the awestruck crowd and through the hole in the roof. They stopped beside the gold-and-black-beaded YSL clutch, surrounded by stars and the navy night sky.

  Frigid wind blew their hair wild, yet no one seemed to mind.

  “Where are your coats?” Merri-Lee asked, pinch-closing the top of her white fur bomber jacket.

  The girls exchanged a why would we ever, in a billion years, wear coats on TV? look, and Massie knew she had found her soul mates. Unlike the Ahnnabees, who entered a black-tie party dressed like bubble-wrapped Easter eggs, these girls had style.

  “Whaddaya mean, the Orlando girl is gone?” Merri-Lee turned away, pressing a finger against her earpiece. “She’s supposed to kiss ThRob in less than a minute!” She looked at her crew and rolled her green eyes. “Her parents took her?… Did you get it on camera?… Great!… Then roll that at midnight!”

  Massie giggled at the thought of some poor girl’s parents dragging her away from the biggest opportunity of her life. “What an LBR,” she muttered.

  “What’s an LBR?” asked Alicia.

  “Loser beyond repair,” Massie stated.

  The girls cracked up. Massie half smiled, unsure whether they were laughing at her or with her.

  “Can I use that?” Alicia’s big brown eyes widened with hope.

  “Me too?” Dylan asked.

  “And me?” Kristen wondered.

  “Sure.” Massie beamed. Ahnna always thought that term was stupid.

  Not that Ahnna mattered anymore. A new year was about to start. And with a new year came new ideas. Ideas from her notebook that Massie resolved to turn into realities. Things like:

  * Weekly sleepovers at my house.

  * Lists about what was in and what was out.

  * Rating systems. Possibly out of ten. To gauge looks and outfit-fabulousness.

  * Award points for gossip.

  * Carpools to school, chauffeured by Isaac.

  * Carpools to the mall, chauffeured by Isaac.

  * Carpools to parties, chauffeured by Isaac.

  * Carpools to spray-tan appointments, chauffeured by Isaac.

  * Carpools to Starbucks, chauffeured by Isaac.

  * What Would You Rather challenges.

  * Boy/girl parties.

  * Wardrobe summits.

  * Hair summits.

  * Makeup summits.

  * Accessory summits.

  * Product summits.

  * School supply summits.

  * Technology summits.

  * Shopping summits.

  * Social invitation acceptance summits.
>
  * Favorite color summits.

  * Favorite snack summits.

  * Favorite celeb summits.

  * Crush summits.

  * Party summits.

  * Hair removal summits.

  * Hair extension summits.

  * Mani-pedi summits.

  * Eyewear summits.

  * A black pug named Bean.

  * Designated lunch table, with me at the head.

  * Walking order, with me in the middle.

  * Headquarters for GLUs (Girls Like Us).

  * Bedroom makeover. Royal purple, please.

  * Loser makeovers.

  * Spa days.

  * Vacation packing lists.

  * Slang that only they would understand, like LBR, GLU, beta, HART, jobby, POTI, POTO, sand-me-down…

  * And of course, NO MORE THAN FOUR.

  “Fifteen seconds until midnight!” Merri-Lee announced.

  The camera operator lifted a giant Sony onto his shoulder and flicked the switch. A red light illuminated on the side of the lens. “We’re live.”

  Below, the crowd was getting anxious, like caged animals sensing a storm.

  Noisemakers were buzzing. Streamers were being tossed. Champagne corks were popping.

  Outside the hangar, the less fortunate were already hugging, probably for warmth. Ribbons of air billowed from their frostbitten noses as they lifted their heads in reverence to the giant designer clutch.

  “Here we go!” Merri-Lee shouted into her mic, her voice amplified throughout the party. “Ten!… Nine!…”

  Everyone shout-counted along while the hydraulic platform lowered in perfect time with the sparkling Yves clutch. Massie waved at the crowd below, like a queen overlooking her royal subjects.

  Ehmagawd! This was the moment Hermia was talking about. Massie’s palms tingled with joy. She was finally feeling it! Flanked by fashionable girls and waving at the masses while they literally looked up to her. This was her fate! She was living her destiny. She was…

  The platform lowered a few more inches.

  … WAIT! Would her reign expire once they reached the ground? Was this what she had been working toward her entire life? A ten-second ride beside a giant handbag? Was this it for her it?

  Massie reached into the pocket of her dress and gripped her purple stone, silently asking it if there was any more to this seemingly magical night.

  “Eight!… Seven!… Six!…” Dylan count-shouted at the crowd below.

  Alicia wiped hair out of her lip gloss.

  “Five!… Four!…”

  Kristen covered her exposed butt with her free hand.

  “Three!… Two!…”

  The bag and the platform touched down in the center of the dance floor.

  “One!… HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

  A live performance from ThRob rocked the house via satellite while everyone embraced.

  The girls crammed together again for another four-way hug. They melded together like different-colored metals.

  “Stawp!” demanded a familiar girl’s voice. “Stawp right now!”

  Massie broke away from the group and turned around. Shauna, Briana, and Lana stood behind their plaid leader. Their arms folded across their chests, eyes squinted in contempt. They seemed still compared to the celebratory chaos swirling around them.

  “The Ahnnabees?” Kristen whispered.

  “Kr-isten,” Ahnna hissed.

  Massie gasped. “You know them?”

  “Unfortunately.” Kristen rolled her eyes.

  Alicia giggled. “It’s the Mad Plaider.”

  “If they stood in a line, they’d be a caterplaider,” Kristen joked.

  “Burrrrrr-berrrry!” Dylan burped.

  “Burberry dresses, no punch-backs.” Massie playfully punched her new friends.

  They all cracked up and exchanged high fives.

  “Um, yeah, that’s so funny I forgot to ditch you!” Black eyeliner was smudged under Ahnna’s eyes and her forehead glistened with sweat. She looked like she had just been microwaved. “I wanted to leave you here, but my dad wouldn’t let me.”

  Massie stared at her blankly. Hadn’t they already left her?

  “We’re driving you home tonight, re-mem-ber?”

  “Oh,” Massie mumbled, her spirits falling like the YSL bag. She felt like Cinderella, forced to return to her humdrum life after a night at the ball.

  “My dad can take you home,” Alicia offered.

  “He can?” Massie’s insides jumped up and high-fived each other.

  “Given.” Alicia smiled, looking more beautiful than Ahnna ever could.

  “And what are you gonna do at school?” Ahnna asked. “You know, when you have no friends.”

  Shauna, Lana, and Brianna giggled.

  “She’s transferring to OCD,” Dylan chimed in. “So she can be with us.”

  “We don’t have to wear those ugly plaid uniforms you’re trying to pass off as designer, either,” Alicia added. “We can wear whatever we want.”

  “Personal style is encouraged,” Dylan told Massie.

  Alicia giggle-nodded in agreement.

  Ahnna rolled her eyes while roving cameras captured the hugs and kisses being given out all around the party.

  “Really?” Massie’s mind expanded like an elastic waistband. There would be no end to the clothing combinations she could try. Outfits! Accessories! Boots! Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday! Her life as a weekend wardrobe warrior would be over. She’d finally be able to showcase her flair seven days a week. Bust out of that itchy restrictive PMS uniform like the Incredible Hulk. Let her fashion flag fly!

  “And school doesn’t start for another three weeks, so you have tons of time to shop,” Alicia added.

  Massie dug a silver-polished fingernail into her palm. Was this really happening?

  “Me and V can go with you if you want?” Dylan made two V’s with her fingers.

  “Who’s V?” Massie asked, hoping it wasn’t Dylan’s BFF. These girls were too good to share.

  “Visa.” Dylan shrugged matter-of-factly, her emerald green eyes shimmering like sun on the Caribbean Sea.

  “I’ll bring…” Alicia struggled to make an A and an X with her fingers. She looked like a break-dancer trying to master sign language. “AmEx.”

  “I can help you with the school application,” Kristen offered.

  “Really?” Massie asked, searching their eyes for glimpses of insincerity and finding none. Instead, she saw three girls smile-nodding. They seemed as genuinely grateful to have met her as she was to have met them. “I’m in!” she shouted over the sounds of blowers, kisses, and laughter.

  “Yayyyy!” The girls hugged again.

  Lana, Briana, Shauna, and Ahnna’s jaws hung slack, like they were watching a movie about skinned kittens. A movie that needed to end.

  “Um, Ahnna, are you a piñata?” Massie asked.

  “No,” Ahnna scoffed.

  “Then, um, why are you hanging around?”

  Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen burst out laughing.

  “That’s it!” gasped Ahnna. “Your PMS days are over!” The Ahnnabees stormed off in a plaid fury. Angry and out of sync with the celebration, they fought their way toward the exit, vanishing like a toxic fart in a lily-scented summer breeze.

  “Thank Gawd.” Massie beamed, turning her back on them, this time for good.

  “You know,” she mused, linking arms with her new friends, “we should have a sleepover every Friday night at my house, to honor the night we first met.”

  “Done,” Alicia said.

  “Done,” Dylan said.

  “And done,” Kristen said.

  For the first time in her life, Massie felt complete. No more trying to sell good ideas to bad people. From now on she would be heard, respected, revered. She had attracted the necessary pieces and was finally feeling it! She would start fresh at a new school and transform her girls into the stuff legendary cliques are made of. Hermia had b
een right about everything….

  Almost.

  Only four pieces had come together, not five. But Massie decided to let that go. She had bigger things to worry about. Like what to name their group. But she’d worry about that tomorrow. Tonight all she wanted to think about was the endless amounts of fun that lay ahead. No fights. No stress. No pressure. No joiners!

  Arms still linked, Massie led her new friends into the heart of the party. Like a human charm bracelet they all moved as one, each girl linked to the next. Each girl a valuable piece of gold.

  KISSIMMEE, FL

  THE LYONS RESIDENCE

  Saturday, January 1st

  12:07 A.M.

  After seven minutes of fussing with the timer on the digital camera, the flash went off.

  “Cheese.” Claire tried to smile. But it was too late. Her commemorative New Year’s Eve photo had been taken. Instead of being surrounded by her best friends, donning homemade crowns and sugar-induced grins, she was alone on her bed. Glitter was sprinkled everywhere. Her Hello Kitty boom box was totaled. Discarded costumes lay in heaps like land mines. Sugar snacks hardened like unwanted candy on a movie theater floor. And scraps of paper, scissors, and different-colored glue sticks were strewn across her white shag rug. This was how Claire had left her room when they snuck out. Back when she had hope. Back when she was happy. Back when she was a winner.

  The sound of the local news playing and replaying the clip of her being dragged away by her parents seeped through her lime green bedroom walls.

  “Oh, that poor girl,” snickered Carmen Ballucci, Kissimmee’s famed anchorwoman-slash-1992-pageant-winner. “Let’s watch that again, shall we?”

  “You are so bad,” chided her coanchor, Benton Newmarket.

  “I can’t help it.” She giggled. “It’s so—”

  “Hilarious?” offered Benton.

  “Yes.” She beamed. “Roll the clip! Last time, I promise.”

  “Ugh!” Claire smacked her daisy-covered duvet in frustration. She could practically see Carmen’s goofy smile. Her fake white teeth horsing forward. Her heavily shadowed lids fluttering with delight. Her flipped blond bangs bouncing with glee.

  Claire covered her head with a pillow, but it didn’t matter. She could still hear everything. The humiliating scene marked her brain like a giant skull-and-crossbones tattoo.