“What?” Claire’s blond eyebrows practically smashed together. “No. Why?”
“You called like three times and I got worried.”
“Oh.” Claire felt an overwhelming need to touch his shoulder. “I just wanted to ask you something.”
He sighed. She could hear his relief.
Massie gave Claire the hurry-up-and-get-on-with-it hand signal.
“Um.” She walked up the steps to the stage. “I was thinking, uh, maybe we could come over tonight.”
“We?”
Claire walked down the steps.
“Yeah.” She looked at Massie, her wide blue eyes screaming for help. “We.”
“Soccer lessons,” Massie mouthed.
Kristen rolled her eyes.
“We want soccer lessons.” She hated lying to him, and wondered if he sensed her blushing. “‘Cause we’re joining the OCD Sirens.”
“Sure.” He laughed. “But I can’t tonight.”
“Why?” Disappointment spread through Claire’s body like a wave of prickly heat. And would rage through Massie’s like a brush fire.
“I have a science test first period tomorrow and if I don’t get a B-plus or higher, I’ll—”
“We’ll only be there for a few minutes,” Claire heard herself whine.
Massie stomped her foot, obviously sensing the outcome. “Make him say yes.”
“How about tomorrow?” Cam asked, sounding hopeful.
“Uhhhh, hold on, I’m losing my signal,” Claire lied again. Once she was by the chapel doors, she said, “That’s better,” much louder than she needed to. Then she turned in toward her phone. “I can’t tomorrow,” she whispered. “I’ll be in Manhattan, meeting with my agent. What about Thursday?”
“Soccer practice.”
“Oh.” Claire bit her thumbnail.
“How about Friday?” he offered.
“Are you sure you can’t do tonight?”
“I wish I could, but—”
“That’s okay, I understand.” Claire didn’t have to look up to know that the Pretty Committee was surrounding her. She could hear them whispering and shushing one another. “See you Friday.”
“Bye.”
Claire said goodbye in her head, but in reality she just hung up the phone.
“Friday?” Massie snapped. “That’s the soonest we can get in there? What if someone else gets there first?” She gestured to the pews where Kaya and Penelope had been hiding.
“He has to study tonight.” Claire’s entire body felt heavy.
“What about tomorrow?”
“Uh, his uncle is visiting.” She lied a third time. But she couldn’t bear the thought of the girls at Cam’s house without her. What if he realized that Massie was cooler than she was? Or that Alicia was prettier? Or that Dylan was funnier? Or that Kristen was a better athlete?
But then again, what if Massie knew that Claire’s insecurities were keeping them from finding the key? Could anything be worse than that? There was no easy way out of this.
All Claire could do was lift her eyes toward the stained-glass dome above her head and pray for the best.
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL OCD/BRIARWOOD SOCCER STADIUM
Tuesday, April 6th
7:03 A.M.
The morning sun reflected off the metal bleachers, creating random puddles of gold light where the Pretty Committee usually sat and flirted with the Briarwood soccer team. Sure, the soccer stadium looked nice enough at this hour, even inspiring, like those motivational sports posters in the guidance counselor’s office about achieving success and not just dreaming about it.
But still, it was insanely early, and Massie couldn’t help feeling disappointed with herself. Yes, she’d promised Principal Burns she’d join the OCD Sirens and learn to become a team player. It was either that or a lifetime of lunching with muffin-money-stealing juvies in public school. But it was only a promise, and Massie Block was a master at weaseling out of those. Yet here she was—chilly, groggy, and wearing cleats.
“Hey, you guys.” Kimmy Rosen ran across the field toward the Pretty Committee. “Where did you get those uniforms?” She pushed her round Arthur the Aardvark glasses up the bridge of her narrow nose when she finally caught up. “I, like, completely want one for my birthday party next weekend.”
Massie puffed out her chest and smiled. “Thanks, I designed them myself.”
“They’re couture.” Alicia stroked her long dark ponytail extension.
“Socc-outure.” Dylan giggled.
Kristen rolled her eyes.
“Can I order one?” Kimmy pulled up her regulation knee-high white socks. “I’m so sick of the whole navy-shorts-and-baggy-yellow-shirt thing.”
“I like them.” Kristen pulled her heel to her butt, stretching a hamstring. She looked to her teammates for support but got none. The gathering Sirens were forming an envy circle around Massie, Alicia, and Dylan to get a closer look at their creations. “Our uniforms are practical. Unlike those.“
“These are more than practical. They’re pract-able.” Massie paused. “Practical and ahdorable.”
“Point.”
It was one thing for Kristen not to wear one of Massie’s special-edition uniforms, but it would be quite another for her to criticize them in public. Especially since Massie, Alicia, and Dylan were the only three girls on the field who actually looked female.
Their navy shorts had been ripped open by Massie’s housekeeper, Inez, and sewn into A-line miniskirts. Cleavage-baring cuts transformed their boyish yellow tops into sexy V-necked tanks. And their boring white knee-highs had been cut into “sweat bangles” and moved to their wrists. Now the girls sported cute little tennis socks with fluffy lemon yellow pom-poms flopping around the heels of their cleats, introducing their harsh black sneakers to this spring’s biggest “it” color. But the pieces de resistance were the numbers on their backs, which Inez had filled in with navy glitter. Massie put a hand on her waist—one foot out, and toes pointed—giving Kimmy and the other Sirens a moment to study the Pretty Committee’s fabulousness. Alicia and Dylan did the same.
“Can I order one?” asked Marta Williams, who was known for wearing a white do-rag over her unruly brown curls.
“Me too,” added Jessi Rowan before crouching to tighten her black laces.
“Everyone give Dylan your sizes and I’ll see what I can do,” Massie announced, with an I-told-you-so smirk aimed at Kristen.
“What happened to Siren pride?” Kristen asked her teammates as they formed a line in front of Dylan.
“What happened to female pride?” Massie answered for them. “The boys are practicing a few yards away.” She pointed to the Briarwood Tomahawks, who were racing up and down the field, caught up in their morning drills. Uneasiness pinched her heart when she saw Derrington snaking around a row of orange pylons. Had he really lip-kissed Skye Hamilton? Quickly, Massie turned away, before full-blown sadness crept in and ruined her day.
Kristen opened her mouth to speak, but Coach Davis beat her to it.
“Line up,” announced the petite blonde in an old 2003 black Juicy Couture sweat suit, white clouds of air puffing from her wide mouth.
Instead of moving, the girls stayed where they were and continued shouting their sizes at Dylan.
“Line!” Her perfectly even teeth practically morphed into fangs. “Now!”
The Sirens scurried into formation, a single row facing her. Massie edged out Kori Gedman, who was jockeying for a place beside Kristen, then grabbed Alicia and Dylan and pulled them beside her.
“How ‘bout a strong Sirens welcome to Massie Block, Alicia Rivera, and Dylan Marvil?” The coach clapped her hands in a rhythmic staccato beat. Massie wondered if she had some sort of weird nerve disorder that prevented her from clapping like a normal, healthy person, until fifteen other girls joined in. Massie found their warm welcome more energizing than her morning Red Bull.
“Thank you,” Massie mouthed.
She glanced over at
the Tomahawks, hoping Derrington would notice the team applauding her. But he was busy inside the net, blocking the hailstorm of balls being kicked at his face.
Alicia nudged her “When should tell the coach I don’t run?”
“I have a feeling she’ll figure it out.” Dylan fake-coughed while she opened a Ziploc baggie stuffed with bagel chips. Coughing again, she popped one in her mouth and held the bag out to her friends. “Carb-loading is the key to endurance.”
“Shhhhh,” Kristen hissed, never taking her eyes off the coach.
“We have high hopes for you girls,” smiled the coach. Her wide green eyes glistened like sparkling sea glass against her bronzed skin. If she’d traded in her vintage sweat suit for a modern Azzedine Alaïa gown, she’d have looked like a red-carpet regular or an E.T. correspondent.
Assuming the adoration ran both ways, Massie imagined herself being crowned captain by the end of the week in a torchlight ceremony where they’d present her with a platinum soccer ball for her charm bracelet, or a tiny cleat. Something deep inside her shifted. Maybe she could learn to love a sport. All she’d have to do was score a few goals and then those silver seats would be filled with hundreds of people, shouting her name and cheering her on. And what wasn’t to love about that?
“And I am doubly pleased to announce that our star, Kristen Gregory, is back at OCD after a devastating threeweek expulsion. And that means we finally have a shot at the finals!”
The Sirens lifted Kristen into the air like she had already won the big game. Their cheers were American Idol loud. Much louder than they had been for Massie, Alicia, and Dylan. Of course, this time Derrington and the boys stopped practicing and looked.
Despite her frustration, Massie smiled and laughed so Derrington would think she preferred not to be the one getting carried around like royalty.
When the boys turned away, Massie smoothed out her
mini and whispered to Dylan, “Who knew Kristen was so ‘in’; with the SLBRs?”
“Soccer losers beyond repair?”
Massie nodded, unable to turn away from her Kristen-obsessed teammates.
Each time they lifted their “star,” Massie felt more and more like a foreign-exchange student or a substitute teacher. Forget the platinum ball and the tiny cleat! Soccer, she suddenly decided, was for people who couldn’t afford to shop.
Puuuuuuuuuuur-uuurp!
Coach Davis’s silver whistle put a much-needed end to the ah-nnoying fandemonium.
“Today we’re going to practice dribbling and kicking.” She paced the line, her eyes hardening with every step. “We’re up against the Woodson Meerkats on Sunday. Beat them and we’re off to the finals.” She lifted her palm, blocking their cheers. “Their offense is strong. So this week we are going to focus on—”
Alicia raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“If I want to score a goal, where should I stand?”
Muffled giggles erupted.
The coach glared at Kristen, who had assured her the girls could hold their own on the field. “You’re joking, right?”
Kristen pinched Alicia’s elbow.
“Uh, yeah, totally.”
Everyone laughed.
The coach shook her head, then continued. “I am going to use today’s practice to evaluate our new players, which may mean different positions for some of you, depending on their strengths.”
A few girls groaned.
Massie glanced at Alicia and Dylan, wondering if this whole thing felt like a dream to them too. They were both biting their nails. Evaluate our new players? Different positions? Strengths? Did Coach Davis not understand that the closest Massie had ever come to playing soccer was the time she’d kicked Livvy Collins’s Hello Kitty pencil case into the male teachers’ bathroom? If this was a dream, Massie prayed her clock radio would go off in the next five seconds and JoJo’s new song would wake her before any embarrassing evaluating could begin.
Peeking to her right, Massie saw Cam sprinting, with five other guys. The sight of him made her instantly resent Claire. How hard could it have been to get invited to his house? What had made her settle on Friday, four whole days away? And why didn’t Massie just call him herself?
“Um, I have a question.” Dylan twirled a red ringlet around her finger. “How many calories are burned during a typical practice?” She crunched down on a bagel chip, emitting a cloud of garlic fumes.
Kristen tugged on her yellow Puma wristband.
“Good question, Miss Marvil,” deadpanned the coach.
“Why don’t you run across the field five times and we’ll see if those shorts of yours don’t get a little looser?”
“Actually, it’s a skirt,” Dylan offered.
“You don’t say?” The coach’s eyes softened. A now-why-didn’t-you-tell-me-that-sooner look replaced her scowl. “Come forward and give us a look.”
Dylan threw her hands above her head and twirled.
Kristen chewed the end of her side braid.
“Massie? Alicia?” The coach beckoned.
They stepped forward too.
The Sirens whooped and hollered with delight. Massie blew them kisses. It felt good to have them back.
“Forget about running across the field,” said Coach Davis with a calming grin.
Dylan slapped her heart. “Thank you so mu—”
“See those towels over there by the bench?”
“Uh-oh,” Kristen groaned.
“Take off those ridiculous party outfits, cover up in those towels, and then join our drill. Failure to do so in four minutes will result in this entire team sitting out Sunday’s game.”
Everyone gasped.
You’re jealous of our creativity! You’re a power-hungry failure! You’re just upset you didn’t think of glitter numbers first! Massie wanted to shout. But the coach beat her to it.
“Go!” She set the timer on her black Seiko stopwatch.
As long as all eyes were on her, Massie had to make whatever she was doing seem like the most fun ever, even if it involved public humiliation and a dew-covered soccer field. So she giggle-jogged all the way to the bench. Thankfully, owing to a lifetime of slipping out of wet bathing suits at the beach, the girls were able to strip under their towels without incident.
“Woo-hooo,” Massie yelped when her bare feet touched the cold grass. “Chilllllyyyyy,” she shouted, just loud enough for Derrington to hear.
He stepped out of the net and shielded his eyes from the sun.
“Ew!” Alicia giggled. “What are you looking at?”
“A lot!” Derrington held out his hands like a zombie.
The boys high-fived him.
He wiggled his butt.
“Two minutes,” the coach called.
“Ooops, my towel is slipping,” Dylan joked.
The guys whistled.
“Claire is going to be so upset she missed this.” Massie scraped some navy glitter off her #2 and sprinkled it over her bare collarbone.
“Fifty-three seconds,” shouted the coach.
The boys whistled more.
“My dad is so suing for public humiliation.” Alicia folded her arms across her chest.
“Why?” Dylan shimmied for the boys and got more whistles. “This is great!”
Massie considered racing over to Cam and asking if they could visit sooner, but Coach Davis shouted, “Twenty seconds!” before she had the chance.
“Hurry,” their teammates urged.
“SLBRs,” Massie muttered under her breath.
They scooped up their clothes and padded across the field like starlets at a day spa.
“Make us lose and you’re dead,” Kori hissed as she zipped past them kicking a ball.
“Impossible. You’re already losers,” Massie snapped.
The coach cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Grab a ball and start dribbling!”
Dylan shoved one last bagel chip in her mouth, then dropped the crumb-filled bag on the field.
/> “Hey, Dylan, are you a cat?” asked Massie.
“No.” She chewed.
“Then what’s with the litter?”
Dylan was about to pick up the bag when Kori head-butted a ball toward her stomach. Along came another. Then another.
“Watch it!” Alicia squealed when one skimmed her cheek.
“Oops.” Kori raced past them again, her posture so bad it looked like someone had kicked a ball into her stomach.
“Kori, look out!” Jessi shouted.
But it was too late.
The heel of her cleat came down on the Ziploc and she skidded across the field, landing smack on her kneecap.
“Owwwww!” She rocked back and forth cradling her leg.
“They should call those things Slip-locs.” Massie giggled.
Dylan burst out laughing.
A crowd formed around Kori, and Massie knew it was now or never. “Cover me,” she whisper-shouted.
“Where are you going?” Alicia whisper-shouted back.
“Cam!”
Massie gripped her towel and darted across the field.
It wasn’t long before Kori’s wailing faded and the sound of boys shouting, “Pass!” and “Quit hogging!” got louder. So what if she wasn’t the MVP? Sprinting to the boys’ side, half-nude during practice was sure to earn her a place in the soccer hall of fame.
“Toga party?” asked Cam. Luckily, he was sitting on the sidelines alone, tightening his laces.
“Long story.” Massie blushed, suddenly feeling ten times more naked without her friends. “Listen, I just wanted to make sure Claire spoke to you about soccer lessons.”
“Yeah, Friday night. Right?”
Two guys in matching burgundy shorts and green shirts whizzed past them.
“Right. But as you can see”—she clutched her towel— “we’re not doing so well.”
He snickered.
“So, can we come tonight? You know, after your uncle leaves?”
“My uncle?”
Puuuuuuuuuuur-uuurp! Puuuuuuuuuuur-uuurp!
Massie had no idea if that whistle was for her or Cam. And she didn’t care. All that mattered right now was checking Harris’s mattress as soon as possible.
“Fisher!” roared a stocky bald man in a silver-and-blue Nike track suit. “Let’s go!”
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