It's Not Easy Being Mean

by Lisi Harrison

  “Leesh? What about Greer, Lowell, Andy, Oliver, and Liam?”

  “No, no, no, no, and no. But FYI, Lowell sleeps in a tent on an air mattress. He invited me to his camping birthday party. He’s gonna try and set the record for number of beetles caught in an empty peanut-butter jar.”

  Alicia and Dylan looked at Massie, expecting her to say something clever about Lowell’s LBR-ness, but she was too stressed to bother.

  Glossy purple Xs through Geoff, P.J., and Lee’s names were cruel reminders that none of Kristen’s guys had panned out either. If Harris Fisher didn’t have the key, Massie would have to reanalyze Skye’s poem, restrategize the plan, and redeploy her troops. It could take days, and someone else could win. And before they knew it, they’d be begging for invitations to Lowell’s beetle birthday party.

  In the parking lot, an old Eminem song blasted from a car’s speakers, turning everyone’s attention to a dirty black Mustang.

  “Ehmagawd, it’s Harris Fisher.” Alicia propped herself up on her elbows. “I think my crush on him is back.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Dylan pointed at the two girls wearing similar beige trench coats, running toward his car.

  “Since when are Kaya and Penelope all buddy-buddy with Harris Fisher?”

  “They think he has the key,” Massie assumed.

  “They must have the other two CD-ROMs,” Dylan concluded.

  Without a single word, Massie jumped to her feet and took off toward the Mustang. “Come awn!”

  “Wait!” Dylan rolled onto her side, then pushed herself up.

  “Yeah, wait!” Alicia speed-walked behind them.

  Puuuurp. Puuuurp.

  “Stop!” Coach Davis waved her toned arms like she was hailing a cab. “Now!”

  Massie froze.

  The coach jogged to meet them by the fence, eyeing two trails of uprooted grass left behind in Alicia’s wake.

  “What happened to the field?” she gasped.

  Alicia checked the bottoms of her shoes like someone who’d just stepped in dog poo. The metal spikes were covered in mud and weeds.

  “Miss Rivera, you’re wearing cleats, not cross-country skis. The idea is to lift them when you run.”

  “Huh?”

  The coach’s green eyes softened and the crease in her forehead smoothed. “Girls.” She forced a grin. “Do you care about your school?”

  While nodding, Massie snuck a peek at the parking lot. Kaya and Penelope were making small circles with their fists, gesturing for Harris to roll down his window.

  “Do you care about the OCD Sirens?”

  They nodded again.

  “And are you aware that we have a chance to make it to the finals?”

  “Uh-huh,” Massie managed as the competition poked their heads in the open window.

  “Then please, I’m begging you….” The coach put her hands together in prayer position, obviously about to plead for their undying cooperation and dedication.

  Alicia rolled her eyes. Dylan twirled her hair. Massie fought the urge to charge Kaya and Penelope.

  “Please, please, please,” the coach continued, “will you please quit the team?”

  “What?” they all said.

  “I’m sorry if this hurts your feelings. It can be our secret. In fact, I’ll tell Principal Burns you injured your ankles from overexertion.” She zipped her lip and threw away the key. “Just please don’t play Sunday, and stop coming to practice.”

  “Seriously?” Alicia beamed.

  Coach placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Seriously.”

  “Done.” Massie pulled her friends by the arms and dragged them off the field. “Tell Kristen we’ll call her later.”

  The coach responded with a huge smile and a thumbs-up.

  “Don’t you think we should change outfits first?” Alicia freed herself from Massie’s grip. “We can’t talk to Harris like this.” She pinched her baggy Sirens uniform.

  While walking, Massie tied a knot on either side of her shirt, instantly tightening it. She rolled down the elastic waistband on the shorts and pulled off her socks. Wrapping one around her left wrist, she stuffed the other through the mesh fence on her way out.

  Dylan and Alicia did the same.

  Scooting Kaya and Penelope aside, Massie stuck her head in the car’s open window. “Hey, Harris. I’m Massie, Cam’s friend.”

  It took all of Massie’s strength to look at him straight on because a) his green eyes were piercing, and b) Kaya was tugging at her shirt.

  “What brings you to OCD?” she eked out.

  “Pickin’ up my brother and his friends after practice.” He cocked his head and squinted, probably wondering why girls had surrounded his car like he was Nick Lachey.

  “Perf!”

  Massie opened the door and slid across the backseat. Alicia and Dylan jammed in beside her.

  “Wait a minute.” Penelope adjusted her skinny double-wire headband. “We were here first.”

  “Back off!” Massie hit the automatic lock. She blew a kiss to Kaya and Penelope as they skulked off toward the bike rack.

  Harris turned. “What’s going on?” He smiled, showing amusement, not concern. His teeth were so white and his eyes so green, Massie had to focus on the distressed collar of his brown leather jacket, to minimize the glare.

  “Cam invited us over after practice, so we thought we’d ride with you because my driver is sick. Is that okay?”

  Quickly she texted Isaac with the change of plans.

  “Sure.” He turned up the stereo, blasting the Eminem song all over again.

  Dylan shouted the lyrics while Harris bobbed to the beat.

  You better lose yourself in the music, the moment—

  “So how was the visit with your uncle?” Massie shouted toward the front seat, hoping conversation might make Harris lower the music.

  “What uncle?” he shouted back.

  “The uncle who visited you on Tuesday.”

  “I don’t have an uncle.”

  Massie shot Alicia a confused glance.

  “Does Cam?” Alicia tried.

  Dylan burst out laughing, but to Massie, the situation was far from funny.

  “Why would Claire lie to me?” she mumbled.

  “Maybe she didn’t want us at Cam’s without her,” Alicia said.

  “Why would we go without—?” Massie stopped, remembering that Tuesday was the night Claire had her meeting in Manhattan.

  “Ehmagawd, how could she jeopardize the future of the Pretty Committee for a boy?”

  “I would never do that,” Alicia gasped.

  “Me either,” Dylan said.

  Massie clenched her fist. “She is so dead to—”

  “Unlock the doors.” Cam pounded the roof of the car. His black hair was matted to his forehead. Both his blue eye and green eye were bright against the pink flush of his sweaty cheeks.

  “What’s the password?” Harris cranked the music.

  One of the boys made a fart sound and everyone burst out laughing.

  “Ew!” Alicia squealed. “Dylan!”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  Let’s go! Massie wanted to scream, hell-bent on getting the key. But instead she smiled and giggled with the rest of them to avoid blowing their cover.

  “Open up!” Derrington, Josh, and Cam smacked the roof, giving Harris even more of a Nick Lachey moment than the one he’d experienced earlier.

  Finally, the locks clicked and the boys piled in. Cam raced to the front seat while Derrington conquered the back.

  “What’s up, soccer sistas?” He wiggled his butt, then dove across the girls, landing with his head on Massie’s lap. There was a time where it would have been funny, even romantic. But all Massie could think of now was his crumb-covered carpet and musty towels.

  Gazing up at her, eyebrows raised, mouth in a barely there pout, Derrington seemed to be silently asking Massie with kind brown eyes why she tore out of his house the other day. Guiltil
y, she turned her attention to the others, as if they were up to something utterly fascinating that she simply could not miss.

  “Ow, get offa me,” Alicia whined when Dylan mashed up against her thigh.

  “It’s Josh’s fault, not mine.”

  “Yeah, right.” Josh giggled, his round brown eyes crinkling.

  A slapping fight broke out among Dylan, Josh, and Alicia, spreading a dry-sweat-meets-grass smell throughout

  the car. Harris turned up the stereo even louder and backed out of the lot.

  You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow—

  “Who’s ready for some soccer lessons?” Cam asked from the front seat.

  Everyone cheered.

  Dylan burped.

  Massie lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled deeply. She would survive this loud, stinky car ride thanks to three things:

  1. Determination

  2. Hope

  3. Chanel No. 5

  WESTCHESTER, NY THE FISHER HOUSE

  Friday, April 9th

  5:55 P.M.

  The metal drawers on Cam’s Pottery Barn locker desk were like his eyes, one green and one blue. They felt cold against Massie’s bare legs. She leaned against them anyway, because they, like everything in his bedroom, were clean.

  “Show us how to do that kick where you fall and score at the same time. Fans love that.”

  “Maybe we should go out back for that.” Cam surveyed his crowded room.

  Derrington was bouncing a soccer ball on his foot while Dylan slid across the hardwood floors on Cam’s light blue desk chair. Alicia and Josh were perched on the edge of his bed, which doubled as a storage hutch. The bulky oak frame had six cubbyholes stacked above the headboard and overflowing with rows of folded Tshirts. Hundreds of CD booklets were neatly tacked to his navy-painted walls, their jewel cases converted into an intricate maze that twisted and turned along the wood floor in the far corner.

  “I say we do it right here.” Massie emphasized each word, urging Dylan and Alicia to stick to the plan. “We can use the bed as a mat.”

  “Ah-greed.” Alicia jumped to her feet and made a show of trying to pull the mattress onto the floor.

  “Good idea.” Dylan raced over.

  “I still think it would be better if we went outside,” Cam said, while casually sliding a framed a photo of Claire off his night table and into a tiny drawer. It was a close-up of her slurping an orange gummy worm like a piece of spaghetti. The sweet shot filled Massie with bitterness. Why wasn’t Claire with them? Why hadn’t she called to wish them luck? And why, why weren’t there any ahdorable pictures of Massie in Derrington’s room?

  “Outside is so far,” Alicia whined. “All we need is a little padding and we can stay right here.” She stepped away from the bed and stood behind Josh and Dylan. “Ready? One…two…three…pull!”

  They yanked the mattress onto the floor with a thud.

  Cam checked the jewel case maze, which miraculously remained intact.

  As Massie had suspected, the key wasn’t there. It was time for phase two of their plan.

  “Kick-fall!” Derrington took a running dive toward Dylan and gave her a leg-sweep, knocking her face-first onto the mattress.

  “Not with cleats!” pleaded Cam.

  “Get! Off!” Dylan laughed as she fought her way out from under Derrington. “Your pits smell like sour cream and onion chips.”

  Derrington lifted his arm and smeared his post-soccer practice stink in her nose.

  “Ew!” Dylan squirmed frantically.

  And then—”Baaaap“—she burped and blew it in his face.

  Everyone laughed, including Derrington.

  Even though the last thing Massie wanted was Derrington’s sweaty BO near her T-zone, she found herself temporarily hating Dylan for flirting with him.

  “Ehmagawd, did your back just crack?” Massie stood above them, showing no signs of amusement.

  “What?” Dylan giggled. “No, I burp—”

  “No, that crack.” Massie winked at Alicia.

  “Yeah, I heard it too.”

  “Oh yeah,” Dylan blurted, her face suddenly becoming serious. “I think I hurt my lumbar.” With a single buck she managed to throw Derrington off her. “We definitely need more padding.”

  “Good call.” Massie perked up. “Let’s get Harris’s mattress and put it on top of this one.”

  “Heart that!” Alicia clapped. “I’ll help.”

  “Me too.” Dylan smoothed her navy-and-yellow Sirens uniform.

  “Hold it!” Cam held out his palm like a crossing guard.

  “Come awn!” Massie led the charge. She slammed Cam’s bedroom door on her way out, paying little mind to the sound of shattering plastic that must have been the domino effect ripping through his jewel-case maze.

  The girls burst into Harris’s room and locked the door.

  Old movie posters of guys she didn’t recognize hung in what smelled like a Scotch-tape factory.

  “Open up!” Cam pounded.

  “Ehmagawd!” Massie gasped. “Twin beds!”

  Dylan cracked her knuckles. “No problem.”

  Massie dashed to her side. “Ready?”

  Alicia moved quickly (for Alicia) and grabbed a fistful of burgundy comforter.

  “Okay,” Massie grunted. “Ready…set…go!”

  After four shoves, the mattress slid onto the floor.

  A crumpled magazine photo of Pamela Anderson in her red Baywatch swimsuit stared back at them, along with three strands of brown hair and an orange Tic Tac.

  “Let me in!” Cam shouted.

  “We’re trying—the door is stuck.” Dylan jiggled the handle for effect.

  “This is it.” Massie raced over to the bed by the window and dropped to her knees. With an adrenaline-charged push, she flipped the second mattress without any help.

  Dylan and Alicia dashed to her side.

  “Ehmagawd,” they all said, staring down at the white web of cotton that coated the box spring.

  There, reflecting the last glimmer of golden light the day had to offer, was a shiny silver…dime.

  WESTCHESTER, NY THE ABELEY HOUSE

  Friday, April 9th

  7:12 P.M.

  “Whoa! What happened?” gasped Layne when she opened her front door and saw Claire on her porch, alone in the cold, starless night. Tears streamed from beneath her oversize glasses, blazing salty trails through the beige foundation on her cheeks.

  “Are you in trouble with the law?” Layne’s tongue was Crystal Light purple.

  Sobbing, Claire turned and waved, letting her mother know it was okay to leave.

  The headlights on the Lyonses’ bronze Ford Taurus lit the front of the Abeleys’ redbrick house as Judi backed out of the driveway, illuminating their WOW, Nice Underwear straw doormat.

  “Is it the audition?” Layne twirled one of the seven braids in her hair. “Was Bernard Sinrod mean to you? Did he beat you?” She made a move to pull off her best friend’s glasses, but Claire jumped back.

  “He punched you in the eye, didn’t he?”

  Claire shook her head no. It felt puffy and full. She sniffed back the snot bubble that grew and shrank every time she blubbered.

  “Don’t worry. Rejection is part of the biz.” Layne placed

  a well-meaning hand on Claire’s shoulder, which was bare and cold thanks to the tattered black tube top Miles had suggested she wear. “Wait till your movie comes out next month. You’ll be turning down more scripts than Lindsay.”

  It was funny getting career advice from someone in Chococat baby-doll pajamas and headgear, but Claire couldn’t bring herself to smile.

  “Come inside. My brother is upstairs listening to Ne-Yo’s ‘So Sick’ on repeat. He can cry about Fawn and you can cry about not getting the part and—”

  “I did get it.” Claire sniffed. “The lawyers will be at my house tomorrow to look over the contract.”

  “Brava!” Layne unclipped her headg
ear and tossed it in the air like a graduation cap. “When do you start shooting?”

  “Summer.”

  “Did you meet Cole Sprouse?”

  “Next week, when we read the script.”

  “Is Bernard nice?”

  “Totally.” Claire sighed. “He gave me roses. My mom has them.” Her vision blurred all over again and the backs of her eyes pinched.

  “Then what is it?” Layne picked her headgear off the Oriental carpet and clipped it around her neck. The two spiked ends pointed straight at her jugular and gave Claire an uneasy feeling.

  “It’s complicated.” Claire stepped into the small square receiving room, just beyond the front door. The walls on either side of her were covered in mirrors, creating the illusion of a thousand Claires. There was “friend Claire” and “actress Claire” and “Cam’s Claire” and “Pretty Committee Claire” and “sister Claire” and “daughter Claire” and “student Claire” and “Orlando Claire” and “Westchester Claire.” They went on and on.

  Most days, each one was a part of her, making her whole. But tonight the Claires felt like strangers with different sets of plans.

  Without thinking, Claire removed her sunglasses and tossed her hat onto the black lacquer table beside the Oriental screen.

  Layne squinted. Her thin, light brows arched above her narrow green eyes. “Wha—?”

  “Oh.” Claire suddenly realized what she had done but decided to go with it. She was an actress. And with that came sacrifices. Sooner or later, everyone would have to accept it. Herself included. “I had to do this for my audition.”

  “Well, can you tell me why you’re crying?” Layne sighed. “Or are you too bushed?” She tried to contain her laughter, then snorted instead.

  “Sounds like you’ve been hanging around Massie.”

  “Ehmagawd, rea-lly?” Layne gushed, offering her best Pretty Committee impersonation.

  Claire couldn’t help smiling as she followed her one-of-a-kind friend up the ruby-red-carpeted staircase.

  “So what happened?” Layne asked again from the top of the stairs.

  Claire took a deep breath.

  “I went to Cam’s after the audition because everyone was going there after school to look for the—” She caught herself just in time. “Uh, to look for soccer tips. And Mrs. Fisher told me she sent Massie, Alicia, and Dylan home because they destroyed Cam’s and Harris’s bedrooms. When I asked to see Cam she told me I couldn’t ‘cause he was grounded for letting them do that to her house.”