The DSL Daters giggle-agreed.
“Ehmagawd, that totally explains it!” Dylan blurted.
“’Splains what?” Skye nibbled on her pillowy bottom lip and tilted her head. A mass of perfectly conditioned blond waves swung alongside her jaw.
“How you always get the A-list hawties.”
Skye stopped pacing and stared deep into Dylan’s green eyes. “Um, we’re not exactly ugly.”
Dylan’s cheeks reddened. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“She meant more like how you’re so confident around boys and how you always know the right things to say,” Kristen chimed in.
Skye affectionately tapped the TV screen.
The Pretty Committee leaned closer while Massie’s brain flooded with possibilities, all of which led to her becoming a world-renowned guy expert. She would own a fleet of purple Lexus convertibles with license plates that read BOYS R US.
“Wait.” Her brain suddenly snapped back to reality. “How is a room filled with tacky posters from Spencer’s Gifts gonna teach you about boys?”
“Is this screen kinda like a crystal ball?” Claire made Massie-esque air quotes when she said “crystal ball.”
“Better.” Skye grinned.
“How can it be better?” Alicia squinted suspiciously.
“Because this classroom is where the Briarwood Boys have ESP,” Skye whisper-announced.
“Huh?” asked Alicia.
“Emotional Sensitivity Powwows,” the DSL Daters said at the same time.
“You mean all that Dr. Loni stuff?” Dylan asked, half-jokingly referring to the famous radio PhD who taught “emotionally illiterate men” (and convicts) how to “tune into their thoughts” and “translate them into feelings.”
“Yup.” Skye nodded. “He’s their teacher. He’s been doing it on the DL for five years.”
The Pretty Committee gasped.
“Ehmagawd! My mom has been trying to get him on The Daily Grind forever.” Dylan pulled her mint-green LG Chocolate phone out of her back pocket. “But he won’t do women’s talk shows, only men’s.” She pulled out her phone and began to speed-dial. “Merri-Lee Marvil is nawt going to believe this.”
“Drop it!” grunted Swiss Miss Braids right before she slapped Dylan’s phone away from her ear.
Dylan fumbled to catch it.
“You can’t tell a soul.”
“Shhhh.” Skye lifted a pink-manicured finger to her lips, causing another bracelet avalanche. “The boys agreed to take the class if, and only if, it was kept under wraps. If they ever knew we had a camera in there we’d be…”
She slid her index finger across the center of her long neck, then dangled her tongue from the corner of her mouth, like a thirsty cat.
Massie could hardly sit still. She was being handed a gift that, until now, she’d assumed only gawd had. The ability to know what boys were thinking would guarantee that she’d always say the right thing—no more awkward silent periods when flirting! The fear of getting dumped would be gone, because the Pretty Committee would know all pre-dump signs, so they could do it first. They would never be heartbroken or embarrassed or insecure again. But most of all, Massie Block would finally become the all-knowing boy expert she had always wanted to be, running clinics and seminars on topics like “Understanding Boys,” “Outfits Guys Will Love,” and “Why Asking ‘What’s Wrong?’ Is What’s Wrong.” Everyone would turn to her for the answers, and for the first time ever, she would have them.
“Where’s the camera hidden?” asked Kristen.
“In the Share Bear.” Skye rolled her blue eyes, as if it should have been obvious.
Claire giggled. “My screen name is ClaireBear.”
“ClaireBear,” Dylan burped.
Kristen and Alicia burst out laughing.
“Enough,” Massie snapped, mostly to show Skye she had a tight rein on the Pretty Committee.
They stopped laughing and Skye shot Massie a thank-you nod before continuing. Massie nodded back, relishing the invisible alpha respect waves that flowed between them.
“The Share Bear is a blue-and-white stuffed animal. The guys can only speak if Dr. Loni gives it to them. It’s his thing.”
The girls leaned forward in their fuzzy pink chairs, anxious to hear more.
“Who put the camera in it?” Claire asking, sounding mesmerized.
Skye shrugged. “All I know is that it’s there, and that you’ll never have to wonder who likes who, why, and for how long again. It’s the best when you’re trying to pick a suitable date for a dance or something. Not that you’re ready for those things yet.”
The DSL Daters snickered.
Massie’s heart quickened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It’s just that the only time we see you with boys is at the soccer games. And even then, you’re more into talking to each other than to them.”
Massie’s cheeks burned with rage and humiliation. Was Skye right? Did everyone at OCD think they were guy-shy? Her mother’s Cosmopolitan magazines always told women to act aloof and play hard-to-get. So that’s how she advised the Pretty Committee. But what if their advice was wrong? Was aloof out? Had she been reading old issues by accident? Or was the whole Cosmo thing just an excuse to avoid embarrassing herself in public? The questions came faster than the answers. All Massie knew for sure was that the Pretty Committee would have to put on a show worthy of the Pussycat Dolls at the next dance.
Skye placed her palm on the black-glitter-infused walls, turned to the side, and pliéd. “Maybe when you get to the eighth grade that will change and you’ll start to really discover guys and—”
“Wait!” Claire interrupted.
“I have a boyfriend.”
“Same!” Massie insisted.
“I’m close,” Alicia lied.
“Anyone else?” Skye scanned the row of fuzzy pink director’s chairs.
Kristen lowered her head, focusing on an imaginary piece of dirt under her perfectly filed pinky nail, and Dylan tugged at her eyelashes as if trying to remove an annoying mascara clump.
“I thought so,” Skye boasted, pointing her left leg front, side, then back. “Anyway, I’m hosting an end-of-year costume party, and the theme is famous couples. Since you’re next in line for the room, you get an automatic invite.”
The Pretty Committee silent-clapped, knowing what an honor this was, while Massie tried to think of the fastest way to spread the news around school. An informative e-mail “accidentally” sent to the wrong person? A casual mention in a crowded bathroom? A detailed note dropped in the middle of an assembly?
“But you all need dates,” Skye warned. “Suitable ones. No Blisters,” she said, pronouncing the term “blisters.”
“Or they can go as the Cheetah Girls,” Ponytail scoffed, and then exchanged a high five with Swiss Miss Braids.
“We have boyfriends,” Dylan shouted above their laughter.
“And even if we broke up with them, we could always find newer, more suitable ones like that,” Alicia snapped. “Thanks to ESP.”
The Pretty Committee squealed with delight.
“Um, reminder.” Skye stepped in from of the screen. “This room isn’t yours until next year. Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen will have to find boyfriends all by themselves.”
“And if we can’t?” Kristen twisted the pink-and-orange terry Puma sweatband around her wrist.
“If you can’t…” Skye wound her thick blond waves into a high ballerina bun and fastened it with one of her gold bangles. “You cute, itty-bitty little seventh-graders will be forced to walk around my party sucking these.” She held out her hand and Thin-Pin, the DSL Dater with ultra-fine straight blond hair, slapped five pink pacifiers in her palm.
Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen gasped.
Massie and Claire exchanged “phew” glances, knowing that their pre-established relationships with Cam and Derrington rendered them automatically immune to the humiliating ultimatum.
“FYI…” Skye slid the paci
fiers onto her fingers, held out her arm, cocked her head, and admired them. “If one of you fails, you all fail.”
“Wait!” Massie heard herself protest aloud. “That’s not fair.”
The Pretty Committee gasped again in a thanks-a-lot sort of way.
“I mean…” Massie giggle-blushed. “This whole thing isn’t fair. Everyone will ah-bviously try to get dates but if for some reason someone falls through at the last minute, you can’t punish all of—”
“Do you all want access to this room next year?”
They nodded.
“Then you will all be treated the same.”
“That’s how it works,” announced Swiss Miss Braids.
“We had the same rules when we were in the seventh grade,” said Ponytail.
The other blondes nodded in agreement.
“No problem.” Massie grinned. “If we got Birkin bags before Mary-Kate and Ashley, we can certainly find a couple of boyfriends.”
“I like your confidence.” Skye smiled, flashing a row of iPod-white, never-needed-braces teeth.
Massie half-nodded in thanks.
“I just hope you’re right, or your lives are going to suck.” Skye wiggled her pacifier fingers again, and the DSL Daters cracked up.
Instantly, the Pretty Committee turned toward Massie, anxious for her to unleash a paralyzing comeback.
But it was best to hold back. If Skye knew they were worried, it would only increase her alpha power and weaken Massie’s own. Instead, she inhaled, yoga style, focusing on the sharpness of her breath until the sensation calmed her. Finally, she managed a cool smile. “Not a problem—we have more options than Match.com.”
“I hope so, because the party’s only three weeks away.”
Skye clapped once, letting everyone know it was time to leave. She pressed her thumb into the remote and flicked off the lights.
And just like that, the Pretty Committee’s excitement faded with the image of the TV screen.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
GBS (Gossiping in Bomb Shelters) GBS (Gossiping in Bathroom Stalls)
ESP IM
Sucker practice Soccer practice
WESTCHESTER, NY
SLICE OF HEAVEN PIZZA SHOP
Monday, April 12th
3:58 P.M.
Outside Slice of Heaven—a windowless brick igloo designed to look like a giant pizza oven—the Pretty Committee re-glossed and finger-combed while Massie twirled her low side-pony and examined their outfits for embarrassing latte stains and outdated accessories.
As she stood in a cluster to the right of the door, Claire couldn’t help wondering if the other girls knew they were going see the boys after school, because their outfits were all 8.5s or higher, and her ensemble—a faded camo long-sleeved waffle shirt, cuffed khaki cargos, and olive-green Keds slip-ons—made her look like a jalapeño pepper.
“Does this kimono dress make me look too wide?” Dylan smoothed the red-and-white satin over her black leggings as if trying to stretch it.
Massie lowered her oversize Chloé sunglasses, peering over the tops of the purple lenses.
“No. Your broad shoulders balance your hips.”
Dylan grinned and then stuck a loose red curl back in her messy updo.
“Are my Seven cutoffs too last year?” Kristen stuffed her hands into the pockets of the denim blazer she wore over one of Alicia’s old white cashmere hoodies.
Massie tapped her chin. “No. You updated them with navy leggings. But good question.”
“Phew.” Kristen wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead.
“Does my lavender Splendid look snowboarderish under this white short-sleeved blouse?” Alicia wondered.
“That’s nawt just a blouse,” Massie corrected. “It’s a Daryl K. And Daryl K can never look snowboarderish. It’s too high style.”
“Point.” Alicia beamed.
“Now me.” Massie spun, modeling her gray fitted short-sleeved blazer, long turquoise satin cami, and dark DKNY jeans, which were tucked into flat black riding boots. “Do I look too cute, or just cute enough?”
“Too cute,” they all answered at once.
“Perf!” Massie clapped silently.
“Now, remember.…” Kristen wrapped a pale hand around the shellacked-dinner-roll door handle outside the restaurant. “Act surprised when you see the guys. If they know we followed them after practice, they’ll call us ‘soccer-stalkers’ for, like, the next ten years.”
Claire’s insides leapt. Cam Fisher was on the other side of the door. There was nothing better than running into her crush on a school night. It was an unexpected treat, like finding five dollars in an old pair of jeans or getting a last-minute dinner at McDonald’s—only better. She cursed herself one last time for looking like a jalapeño and then pushed her insecurities aside. After all, wasn’t love supposed to be blind?
“One more thing.” Massie swatted Kristen’s hand off the hard, glistening dinner roll and pulled the girls aside into a last-minute huddle. “We’re here to find boyfriends.” She half-smiled at Claire. “I mean, they are here to find boyfriends. Kuh-laire and I already have them.”
Claire full-smiled back, unable to hide her joy. For once, she had more in common with Massie than the others. And it was nice to be on the enviable side of things.
“Wait until everyone hears we showed up at Skye Hamilton’s eighth-grade graduation party with hawt, suitable guys,” Alicia said to her reflection in Massie’s tinted Chloés. “Our alpha status will be a given until college at least.”
“Calvin Klein will name a perfume after us called Envy,” Dylan announced.
“Gucci already has a perfume called Envy,” Kristen noted.
“Well, then Calvin’s will be called Envy Us.”
“Point.” Alicia highfived her.
“And if you don’t find dates, it’ll be called Sucks 2 B Us,” Massie reminded them.
“Point.” Alicia stuffed her highfive hand into the back pocket of her stretch J Brand jeans.
“Kuh-laire, it’s up to you to show the others how to flirt.” Massie pinched her cheeks rosy.
“No problem,” Claire assured her, while having no clue how to pull this off.
Massie stepped aside to let pass a pregnant woman in a light blue T-shirt that said IT’S NOT EASY BEING EASY across the belly. “Since it’s going to be an eighth-grade party, your dates should be mature and cool.”
“You mean like Derrington?” Kristen snickered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Kristen’s cheeks reddened.
“Tell me.”
“Nothing.”
“Tell!” Massie insisted.
“It’s just that Derrington wiggles his butt when he’s happy, and he wears shorts in the winter.”
“So?”
“So…” Kristen looked to the others for backup but they lowered their heads. “Is that mature?”
“No!” Massie threw open the door like she meant it. “It’s ah-dorable!” She marched inside the domed restaurant, which smelled like warm dough and tangy oregano.
Slice of Heaven was the Starbucks of pizza. “Slice Stylists” offered everything from soy crusts to lactose-free cheese, and sauce infusions that promised zit-free skin (pomegranate seeds), higher grades (ginkgo biloba), and weight loss (Hoodia extract). Bright orange flames flickered on the white brick walls, making diners feel like they were inside a massive pizza oven.
“How come we never eat here?” Claire asked, searching the crowded restaurant for Cam.
“If I wanted to fry, I’d go to St. Barts.” Massie fanned her face, the faux fire reflecting in her eyes.
“Point.” Alicia wiggled beside Massie, shoving Claire into a tower made of ceramic takeout boxes, aka the hostess stand.
“Welcome to Slice of Heaven. How many in your party?” asked a willowy blond college-age girl wearing a white tank dress and a headband with a bobbing silvery halo.
“Um.” The girl tapped the menus against her pointy Reese Witherspoon chin while scanning the pie-shaped tables. “Right now everything is taken.”
“How ’bout back there.” Massie pointed. “By those guys in the soccer uniforms.”
“There aren’t any available—”
“Thanks, Angel.” Massie grabbed the round menus from the hostess’s hand. “We can seat ourselves.”
The hostess called after the Pretty Committee, but they snaked through the tables, giggling all the way to the back of the restaurant.
The space behind Claire’s belly button tingled with nervous excitement as they approached a pack of fifteen boys in burgundy shorts and green shirts. They were seated elbow-to-elbow around four circular tables that had been jammed together, their two coaches keeping a watchful eye from a nearby booth. The whole team seemed to be there—everyone except Cam.
Claire felt a sudden twinge of disappointment in the very place her nervous excitement had just been.
“Ehmagawd, what are you guys doing here?” Kristen shouted, much louder than she needed to. “Look, it’s the Briarwood Tomahawks. I swear, this is so freaky, isn’t it?”
“Wow, I don’t believe it!” Alicia pressed a hand against her white blouse as though the shock might trigger heart failure.
“Block!” Derrington shouted while jamming a piece of what looked like chocolate-covered pizza in his mouth. Comb tracks through his usually messy blond hair confirmed a post-practice shower.
“Oh, hey there.” Massie raised her waxed brows just high enough to make her surprise seem genuine. Then she turned back to the PC. “Don’t forget the mission. Suitable dates. No blisters. HART guys only,” she reminded them before making her way over to the head of the table where her star goalie of a crush was seated.
“What’s HART?” whispered Claire.
“Hawt, Alpha, Rich, and Toned,” Alicia explained.
“Oh.”
“Ready?” asked Massie, turning toward to the head of the table where Derrington was sitting, wearing a red-and-white-checked napkin as a bib.
Sealed with a Diss Page 2