A crisp pre-spring breeze rustled the leaves on the massive tree above their heads, and Massie looked up with feigned interest—anything to avoid his suspicious gaze.
“So, what brings you guys here?” he asked.
Massie lowered her head and side-glanced at Skye, silent-begging her to interject, which, of course, she did.
“J’adore horses.” She lifted the locket to her lips and kissed it. “Simple as that.”
Massie admired her confidence, which made her want access to the secret room and ESP even more. She imagined herself a year from now, standing with Chris and making him sweat and stammer. Not the other way around. Like a super-hero with special powers, Massie Block would become… the Heartless HART-breaker.
“I know what you mean.” Chris kicked the dirt with his black Timberland hiking boots. “I don’t know what I would do without my girl.” He affectionately smacked his horse’s rump. “She’s my one and only.”
“That can’t be true.” Skye smiled, a combination of hope and disappointment clouding her eyes. “Can it?”
“These days it is.” Chris finger-combed Tricky’s mane. “Ever since Fawn and I broke…” His voice trailed off. He shook a memory from his head and then found his way back to a lighthearted smile. “Point is, I’m never gonna let myself get hurt again. I’m over girls.” He slipped his foot into a stirrup and hopped on his horse. “Except for one.” He looked at Massie, but love-tapped Tricky. “I better go.” And with a snap of the reins, they were off. “See ya!” he shouted without looking back.
The girls watched in silence as he disappeared down the trail, leaving them in a cloud of dust and desire.
Skye clutched the locket and shook her head in confusion. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Don’t you want to meet Brownie? She’s white and—”
“Nah.” Skye angled her feet in third position and sulked up the stone path. “If he’s so over girls, why did he give me this locket?”
Massie, having no idea how to answer that question without getting into trouble, placed a reassuring hand on Skye’s sharp shoulder blade and sighed. “Maybe you don’t understand boys as well as you thought you did.”
Skye stopped to consider this. “Impossible.” She lifted her chin. “I bet he was acting that way because you were there. And he didn’t want you to feel left out.”
“Probably,” Massie managed. But she would have said anything, no matter how false, to keep Skye from discovering the truth.
“Well, you seem to know him pretty well,” Skye snipped.
“Not really, I just—”
“Will you make him call me so I can invite him to my party?”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Massie asked as they approached the parking lot. “He’s sworn off girls, remember?”
“Well, get him to swear back on them.”
The level of desperation in Skye’s watery turquoise eyes shocked Massie. She had never seen an alpha act like such a beta before.
And then Massie grinned.
“You’ll do it?” Skye beamed.
“Of course.” She shrugged, like it was no big deal.
Skye threw her arms around her, flooding the air with the heady floral smell of Aveda’s Shampure. It was weird seeing an alpha express her need for help so openly. It was something Massie had never realized alphas were allowed to do.
Skye pulled away but kept a firm grip on Massie’s shoulders.
“You’re the best. I’m so—”
“On one condition.”
Skye’s smile faded, just as a cloud covered the sun. A chill stung the air, and Massie suddenly wished she’d brought her Marc Jacobs cropped denim jacket.
“What’s your condition?” Skye asked suspiciously.
“Give me access to the room this year.” Massie fought to keep her voice measured and calm. “I want ESP ASAP.”
“Impressive.” Skye sized Massie up as if seeing her for the first time. “Nice negotiating skills. You are an alpha.”
Massie couldn’t help herself and grinned with pride.
“Will you make Chris contact me?”
“Will you give me the room?”
“Contact?”
“Room?”
“Contact?”
“Room?”
They stood, inches away from the pine-green Prius, locked in a stare-down.
Skye’s eyes scanned Massie’s Ella Moss dress, landed on her metallic shoes, and then floated back up to her glossy side-part. More than anything, Massie wanted to hand-check her bangs, but she knew the gesture would make her look insecure, so she left them to fate.
Finally, Skye raised her pinky. “Deal.”
Massie’s heart leapt.
“You can have it for forty-five minutes twice a week, when the seventh-graders have their class.”
“Deal!” Massie couldn’t wait to tell the Pretty Committee how she’d manipulated Skye and gotten them access to the room months ahead of schedule. She reached for Skye’s baby finger.
“Not so fast.”
“Why?” Massie’s pinky hung in the air.
“If Chris isn’t my date for the party—”
“Wait, you said contact, nawt date.”
But Skye didn’t seem too concerned with semantics. “If Chris isn’t my actual d-a-t-e for the party, I’m taking the room back. Deal?”
She wiggled her pinky.
Massie stared at it.
Slipping Skye a necklace “from Chris” was one thing, but actually making him go to Sky’s own costume party as her date was quite another. Could she make him forget his ex and like a new girl in less than two weeks? And was she willing to lose the room if she couldn’t?
Skye wiggled her pinky again. Massie continued to stare at it, as she silently asked herself a series of hard-hitting and very important questions.
Q: Could she pull this off?
She thought back to the time she’d stopped Claire’s dad from moving the family to Chicago. And when she’d persuaded Teen Vogue to do a holiday photo shoot with the Pretty Committee. And when she’d opened a kissing clinic, even though she was a total lip-virgin.
A: Massie Block always found a way to get her way. Always.
Q: And if she didn’t?
A: Skye would lock them out of the room and the girls would have to find dates the old-fashioned way.
Q: Then what?
A: They’d be in eighth grade and the room would be theirs anyway.
Q: And that was all that really mattered, right?
A: Right. A private meeting spot, 24/7 ESP access, and membership into the secret alpha club would make the eighth grade the best year ever.
Q: So what was she waiting for?
A: Nuh-thing!
Massie thrust her finger toward Skye’s and shook.
Skye reached into her ballerina-pink training bra and pulled out a single gold key. She slapped it in Massie’s palm, then insisted, “Repeat the deal back to me.”
Massie rolled her eyes, letting Skye know she didn’t appreciate being treated like a fifth-grader.
“If Chris is not your date, you’re taking the room back until next year.”
“WRONG!”
“What?”
“For good.” Skye tightened her grip. “I’m taking the room back for good.”
“Forget it.” Massie yanked her finger away. “No deal.”
“Too late. You shook.”
Massie was tempted to argue but knew Skye was right. A pinky swear was binding. Every alpha knew that.
Leaf backed the Prius out of its parking spot and pulled up beside the girls. With a single click, the doors unlocked, and Skye lowered herself onto the front bucket seat. She smiled brightly and Massie tried to do the same. But it was impossible. Even though there hadn’t been any mobsters, and no one had gotten shot, she couldn’t help feeling that life, as she knew it, was over.
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
THE BOMB SHELTER
Monday, Apr
il 19th
2:22 P.M.
The Pretty Committee giggle-panted as they scurried barefoot down the cold, dimly lit flight of stairs that led to OCD’s boiler room. Clutching their flats so they wouldn’t make too much noise, their bare feet slapping against the floor, they ran past the huge clanging cylinders that pumped steam or air or water or something into the school, and yanked open the door marked CAUTION: DO NOT ENTER.
“More? Gawd, where are we?” Alicia huffed when she saw the narrow gray steps with the wobbly thin black railing. “Are we below sea level yet?”
“Shhhhh!” everyone giggle-hissed.
Massie pointed to the moist dark ceiling, reminding them that Principal Burns’s office was only two floors above. Silently, they followed her down to the basement below the basement, toward the bomb shelter.
Claire scanned the dank halls for faculty, while Massie fumbled with the key. It was nothing short of a miracle that Mr. Myner, their tree-hugging geography teacher, had given his class twenty minutes of unsupervised time to collect mud samples from the garden. To him, the assignment was a clever way of demonstrating to his class how varying degrees of sun exposure can affect the quality of soil, but for the Pretty
Committee it was the perfect opportunity to sneak into The Room.
“Got it!” Massie finally announced, her ivory-yarn-covered hoop earrings swinging as she turned the silver handle. “Let’s move!”
The girls slid their flats back on, hurried inside, and then quickly but quietly shut the black door behind them.
The bitter-rich aroma of fresh coffee mixed with a trace amount of floral perfume welcomed them when they entered.
“Eh,” gushed Alicia.
“Ma,” followed Dylan.
“Gawd!” finished Kristen.
“Now this is my idea of a secret room!” Massie’s arched eyebrows were raised, her amber eyes wide.
The girls split up instantly to explore.
“Is this a real Starbucks machine?” Claire stroked the shiny brass body of the massive espresso maker that was on the top tier of an elegant rolling tea service, to the right of the entrance. The glass shelf below was piled high with the company’s signature green-and-white cardboard to-go cups; pink, yellow, and blue packets of sweeteners; sugar cubes; and powdered milk for the steamer. She pushed the cart like a baby in a stroller, while following Massie to the monitor.
“I’m all over this.” Alicia was still by the entrance, standing in front of a chrome-and-mirrored vanity. The white marble counter space was covered in what had to be every color of nail polish, eyeliner (glitter and plain), gloss, and shadow ever made by Hard Candy. The rubber rings that came on the bottles of polish had been strung like popcorn and draped over the top of the mirror.
“Iss op-orn is ate,” Dylan said, chewing a mouthful of popcorn she had taken from the movie-theater-size dispenser. “Ust the right amount of utter.”
“ESP, anyone?” Massie sat, kicked off her Tory Burch leopard-print flats, and then dipped her stairwell-dirty feet in a swirling-soapy-bubble-filled foot massager.
“You have to see these racks,” Kristen gasped, obviously shocked that such an incredible collection of designer clothes and shoes had been entrusted to them. “They have more than fifteen different Puma track jackets.” She slid the wood hangers across the shiny silver garment pole. “I’ve never seen this green limited-edition one with the peacock feathers, have you?”
“No,” they all gasped with a mix of shock and delight.
Claire bit her pinky nail.
Technically, she was just as excited as the others. But they had been gone for six minutes, and Mr. Myner was probably starting to wonder where they were. She bit down on her nail again. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow. The period is almost over, and none of us have any soil samples.”
Dylan lifted her head out of a picnic basket by the popcorn maker. “There’ll be one in your Jockeys any minute now if you don’t relax.”
Claire ignored the jab while the others cracked up. She put the Starbucks cart aside and began pacing.
“Kuh-laire, what would you rather?” Massie lifted a dripping foot out of the massager and crossed her legs. Bubbles slid off her YSL brick-red polish and landed on the floor with a splat. “A lecture from Mr. Myner about wandering off without permission, or to be renamed the Cheetah Girls because we’ll be the only ones at Skye’s eighth-grade party without HARTs?”
“But I already have a boy—”
“Um, last time I checked we were the Pretty Committee, nawt the Pretty Claire.”
“Sorry.” Claire apologized and meant it. “You’re right.”
“As usual.” Massie dipped her toes back in the swirling foot spa.
“Ehmagawd, you guys?” Dylan called, her head back in the basket. “I bet there’s more than fifty different types of seasoning in here. And they’re all for the popcorn.” She snapped off a stiff corner of one of the edible candy snack bags and popped it in her mouth. “And these are de-lish.” She lifted her emerald-green eyes to the ceiling and licked her lips while contemplating the bag’s flavor. “Butterscotch?”
“Massie, check out these iridescent eye shadows,” Alicia squealed in delight. “I heard Paris Hilton bought the entire collection.”
“We have all of next year for that.” Massie nodded toward the blank monitor. “Right now we’re on a HART hunt.”
“Point.” Alicia tore herself away from the vanity and made her way, along with Kristen and Dylan, toward the pink faux-fur seats. “Ew!” she mused, stepping over a slew of empty lip-gloss-stained Starbucks venti cups. Teen Vogue magazine subscription cards, balled silver gum wrappers, and half-popped popcorn kernels were scattered across the pink shag area rug. “The DSL Daters are even messier than Dylan!”
A kernel smacked against Alicia’s zit-free forehead and Dylan burst out laughing. “Ooops, sorry.”
Alicia picked up a wood coffee stirrer off the floor and poked Dylan’s yellow-and-brown-plaid Western shirt, straight through to her fleshy bicep. “Ouch!”
Dylan tugged Alicia’s low black side-pony and let out a “toot, toooooot!” Her impersonation of a ship’s horn was an obvious a reference to Alicia’s navy-and-white-striped boatneck sailor dress.
“Let’s hope we got us the right class schedule.” Massie aimed the pink-Swarovski-crystal-covered remote at the flat-screen TV and pressed POWER. “Here we go.”
Claire forced her jittery legs into the chair. Technically, this was worse than journal reading, and she couldn’t help feeling that somehow Cam would sense that she was spying.
The others took their seats just as a black-and-white image appeared on the screen.
“Eh,” said Alicia.
“Ma,” said Dylan.
“Gawd!” said Kristen.
“It works,” whisper-gasped Massie in awe. She shut off the noisy foot massager, letting her feet wade in the sudsy still water.
A semicircle of fifteen desks, each one occupied by a different Briarwood boy, flickered back at them.
Immediately, Claire scanned the room for Cam. He was sitting a few seats away from the window, next to Derrington, listening to some boy with a buzz cut who was in the middle of a rant. She shielded her eyes in case there was any possible way he could see her.
“… It’s like she swears I’m thinking certain things when I’m not thinking anything at all,” said Buzz Cut Boy.
“No way!” Alicia gasped. “That’s Miles Burke, Bella’s crush. She was crying about him today in the bathroom because she said he’s been ignoring her!”
“Shhhhh!” the girls snapped in unison, not taking their eyes off the screen.
“What kinds of things does she think you’re thinking?” boomed a deep, older male voice with a faint Southern accent.
“Ehmagawd, it’s Dr. Loni,” squealed Dylan. “He sounds just like he does on the radio.”
“Shhhhhhhh!” the girls snapped again.
“I dunno.” Miles bit the side of h
is pencil. “Like, last night I was supposed to call her and I didn’t, so today I get this text that says she thinks I have intimacy issues because my parents just got divorced.”
“Well?” Dr. Loni asked, expectantly.
“Well, what?” huffed Miles. “I didn’t call her back because her number was written on the side of my Nikes and my Nikes were in my room.”
“And?” asked the radio host, not quite getting the connection.
“And I was in the attic playing Formula One with my brother and our cousin.”
The boys snickered, like they totally understood his position.
“Why didn’t you call her after the game?”
“I figured we’d talk today or something. And now she’s mad at me.” Miles shrugged.
“Would you call that a lack of communication?” the man-voice prompted him.
“No, I’d call it psycho.”
Cam laughed with the rest of the boys, giving Claire an instant ache in her stomach, her legs, her temples, and her heart. She would have expected Cam to understand Bella’s point of view, not mock it. Had her seemingly sensitive crush always been such a guy’s guy?
The laughter died and Cam tapped a Bic pen against his Nikki notebook. It was then Claire realized that maybe she’d never really known him at all.
“Let’s move to today’s topic,” boomed Dr. Loni, from somewhere beyond the camera’s reach. “It’s called, ‘You’re Only as Sick as Your Secrets.’”
For the next few seconds, all the girls heard was chalk tapping against the blackboard.
Cam’s eyes were fixed on what must have been the Share Bear, because it looked like he was staring straight at Claire.
“Am I the only one who thinks this is kinda creepy?” she asked.
The Pretty Committee was too mesmerized to respond.
“Why don’t we start with Josh,” suggested Dr. Loni. “Josh, what emotions have been holding you hostage this week?”
Suddenly the camera shook and swayed. Bumpy shots of the cookies-’n’-cream-colored linoleum floor and the white tips of a man’s Reeboks filled the frame. The camera steadied on one of Josh’s wide brown eyes, which, as usual, was shaded by the brim of his New York Yankees hat.
Sealed with a Diss Page 5