“I’m moving up front,” Massie announced. “Alicia, you’re in charge. Make sure the mission is accomplished by the time I get back.”
“Maybe you should stay,” Claire heard herself say.
“Why?” Alicia adjusted the wide brocade collar on her short-sleeved ivory peacoat. “You don’t think I can handle being in charge?” Claire’s heart quickened. “It’s not that. It’s just that…”
She side-glanced at Cam, who was still whooping it up with the boys. He seemed like a total stranger—a typical boy instead of the loyal sweetheart she’d thought he was—and Claire had no idea how to approach him. Or if she even wanted to.
“She’s right,” Kristen chimed in. “We could use some support.” She tilted her head toward Griffin, who was wearing black skinny jeans and a baggy white tee with a picture of a bloody headless Barbie doll on the front. He was leaning against a speaker in the far corner of the roof that was twice his height.
“What’s wrong with me?” whined Alicia.
“Do you know what I should say to Griffin?”
Alicia looked to the back of the room and studied the aloof death-metal maniac. “Point.”
She gripped Massie’s wrist. “Maybe you should stay.”
“I can’t.” Massie wiggled free. “You don’t understand. I have to find Chris.” She mouthed his name so Derrington wouldn’t hear, leading Claire to wonder if she had something to hide.
The bleached-blond beach stud at the podium tapped the microphone and demanded attention. His short-sleeved green-and-beige madras shirt was completely unbuttoned, exposing his well-defined chest, peanut-butter-colored tan, and rugged tangle of shark-tooth necklaces nestled between his collarbones.
“Good luck.” Massie waved and then took off into the crowd.
“Hey. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Dune Baxter, and after five years of surfing the epic North Shore of Hawaii, I’ll be spending the summer on this roof, as an instructor at the Briarwood Surf Camp, or B.S. Camp, as I like to call it.”
The DSL Daters screamed in approval.
He snickered with fake modesty until they stopped.
“But this is not about me. It’s about your new wave pool—” The crowd cut him off with applause. “Which your parents are probably paying tons of money for so you country-club punks can learn how to ride.”
He ran a hand through his beachy, top-heavy hair while the crowd applauded again.
Cam gently shoulder-squeezed his way past Kristen and Alicia so he could stand beside Claire. A powerful magnetic force drew her closer to him (chemistry?), but she managed to resist its pull and stand firm.
“I kinda wish I was staying here this summer.” He rested his elbow on her shoulder.
Claire turned and looked into his eyes for the first time all night. Had she been wrong about him and Nikki? Was this all just one big misunderstanding? Was Cam Fisher the same sweet guy she’d always thought he was? Hopefully. But she needed to be certain before letting down her guard.
“Why do you want to stay here?” She crossed her fingers for luck.
“So I can learn to surf,” he answered, as if it should have been obvious.
“Seriously?” A combination of anger and pain welled up inside Claire. She clenched her fists, but the emotions managed to escape anyway.
“So, you’d give up camp for surfing but not me?”
Cam panic-blinked, and Claire instantly regretted her outburst. Would he write about it in his journal? Tell the guys in ESP? Laugh about it with Nikki? She shook the thoughts from her head, but they wouldn’t leave.
“What are you talking about?” Cam removed his elbow from her shoulder and shoved his hands deep into the side pockets of his jeans.
Unsure of what to say next, Claire bit her bottom lip and focused on Dune. Cam did the same. It was the first time she’d ever played the role of the “needy girlfriend,” and she could tell by his silence he was just as shocked by her response as she was.
“Here to start the flow of water that will fill Briarwood Academy’s brand-new epic rooftop wave pool is none other than five-time world surfing champ Brice Baxter.”
Flashbulbs flashed and the crowd cheered as Brice, a larger, tanner, toner version of his son, appeared from behind the podium. He hiked up his loose gold board shorts and ambled over to the silver faucet at the head of the pool. Hand on the round dial, he lifted his head and smiled with pride for a round of pictures. Then he struggle-turned, an obvious excuse to flex his bulging muscles. Water vomited forth from the nozzle. The crowd cheered and the band of penguins struck up a jazzy version of “Singin’ in the Rain”.
“It’s time,” Alicia informed the girls.
Claire felt a stab of panic in her chest. How could she ask Cam to be her date now?
Luckily, Dylan made the first move. She lifted her arms like a phoenix rising from the ashes and wrapped them around Kemp and Plovert’s shoulders. “Do you guys want to escort me to Skye Hamilton’s costume party Saturday night?”
“Both of us?” Kemp adjusted his orange-and-gray Kangol, which had been accidentally knocked out of place by a passing mermaid.
“As dates?” Plovert removed his glasses and cleaned them with the bottom of his navy-and-yellow plaid button-down.
“Yeah.”
“I’m in.” Kemp grabbed Dylan’s hand, then immediately let go.
“Me too.” Plovert put his glasses back on.
“Done and done.” Dylan winked at Alicia, then pushed through the thick crowd and steered her boyfriends toward the sorbet table by the band.
“Did that just happen?” Josh asked Cam.
Cam shrugged, his green eye and his blue eye still fixed forward.
“Ehmagawd,” Alicia interrupted. “Did you know we’re, like, wearing the same white Polo again?”
“What do you mean, again?” asked Josh.
“Um…” Alicia blushed when she realized she had accidentally hinted at the secret Share Bear camera. “I mean, again and again I am amazed that we are wearing the same shirt.”
“Mine is for boys.” Josh was quick to defend himself.
“I love making people do chores for me,” Alicia blurted, obviously desperate for a new angle.
Josh took off his New York Yankees cap. “Same here!” He peeked over his shoulder, then lowered his voice to a paranoid whisper. “Same here.”
“Really?” Alicia squinted, like she couldn’t believe the coincidence. “That’s so weird.”
“Ehmagawd,” Kristen interrupted by slapping Josh’s arm. “Do you know that guy?” She pointed at the giant speaker in the corner behind them.
He turned. “You mean Griffin?”
Kristen nodded, never taking her eyes off her black-haired, pale-skinned crush.
“Yeah, he’s in my—” Josh caught himself. “He’s in one of my classes.”
“Can you introduce me?”
Josh shrugged.
“Hey, Griff, this is Kristen.” He angled his thumb toward her cheek.
Without waiting for a response, Josh turned back to Alicia.
“Hey.” Griffin waved, each one of his fingers adorned with a different skull ring.
“Do you read?” she shouted above the final chorus of “Singin’ in the Rain.”
Griffin nodded suspiciously.
“Because I am such a sucker for a sad story.”
“What?” he called.
Claire couldn’t take it anymore. ESP wasn’t helping them. It was turning them into a bunch of idiots.
“I feel sick,” she announced, clutching her stomach.
“Huh?” Cam finally turned to face her, but it was too little too late.
“I’ll call you later.” Claire bolted across the dance floor, weaving among rhythmless parents who were twirling each other across the makeshift wood floor as if scouts for Dancing with the Stars had dropped by for an impromptu audition.
“Wait!” he called.
But Claire kept on running.
How could he be so two-faced? Maybe Layne was right. Maybe Cam Fisher was a serial killer.
“Claire, stop!” He grabbed her arm. “Are you mad at me? Because I didn’t mean I’d rather surf than spend the summer with you. I was just saying—”
Unable to speak without sobbing, Claire shook her head no, trying to tell Cam he had it all wrong.
“Headache.” She covered her face with an icy palm. “Maybe this will help,” Cam reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. He opened his palm, revealing a brown leather bracelet with three black-and-white letter blocks in the center. They spelled I U.
Claire stared at it, no longer able to hold back her tears.
“I’m glad you like it.” He beamed, mistaking her watering eyes for joy.
Pinching the leather strap from his palm, Claire studied it CSI-style. Had Nikki touched the worn leather in the same spot she was touching it now? Did it smell like her perfume? Had she made it at camp or bough it at the mall?
“Wanna know how much I like it?” Claire heard her voice shake, the bracelet trembling in her hands.
Cam inched closer, preparing for a thank-you peck. “This much!” She whipped it into the wave pool and stormed off toward any place that was not right there.
“Why’d ya do that?” Cam called, his voice cracking. “What’s wrong?” But Claire kept running toward the Pretty Committee, who were still on the far side of the dance floor, flirting with their potential HARTs.
“I don’t understand you!” he shouted again. This time, the boys heard. Derrington said something to Josh, who said something to Griffin. They quickly waved goodbye to the girls and hurried toward Cam, who was heading for the stairwell.
“Nice going, Claire.” Alicia rested a hand on her shoulder.
Claire felt a wash of relief. At least she had the support of her friends.
“Where did the boys go?” Massie asked Alicia as she squeezed her way back into their tight circle after her latest attempt to force Chris and Skye together. “Mission accomplished or what? Does everyone have a date?”
Alicia lowered her eyes. “It wasn’t my fault,” she whined. “Josh ran over to Cam before I could ask him.”
“Griffin too.”
“Oh.” Claire blinked back the tears that had transformed the well-dressed party guests into blurry blobs. “So that’s what you meant by ‘nice going.’”
“Um, yeah. Did you actually think I was serious?”
“Did Chris ask Skye?” Kristen asked eagerly.
Massie tugged on her charm bracelet and shook her head. “I couldn’t find him for the longest time and then…” She paused, as if the rest were too painful to discuss.
“What? What happened?” asked Alicia, sounding relieved she wasn’t the only one who’d failed.
Massie angled her chin toward the band, where Chris was strumming a guitar, a yellow beak tied to his mouth and a cluster of love-struck blondes dancing at his feet. “So Dylan is the only one with a date?”
“Dates,” Dylan burp-corrected.
The girls nodded shamefacedly as the band transitioned into “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
“Ehmagawd.” Massie sighed. “We’re. So. Done.”
Claire thought of her leather love bracelet at the bottom of the wave pool and knew that once again Massie Block was right.
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
MASSIE’S OAK
Thursday, April 29th
(Two days before Skye’s party)
12:47 P.M.
If ever there was a perfect moment to have 24/7 access to the bomb shelter, it would have been now. The Pretty Committee desperately needed privacy for what they were about to do, something OCD’s crowded front lawn didn’t provide during lunch period. But the Café had a strict no-phone policy, meaning table eighteen wasn’t an option. So there they were, huddled under Massie’s favorite oak. Under a canopy of leaves, sitting on their hands to avoid grass stains and nervously picking at their low-fat turkey wraps.
Clusters of wannabes casually strolled by, side-glancing, hoping to overhear a mere syllable or two of alpha gossip. But Massie saw to it that her girls were seated knee-to-knee in a tight downwind-facing circle.
“Failure to secure a date for Skye’s costume party before next period will result in a two-week suspension from my Friday-night sleepovers. Ah-greed?” Massie held out her pinky.
“Ah-greed.” The girls locked fingers and shook.
“Here we go.” Massie dumped the contents of her Dolce & Gabbana zebra-print tote on the grass. Out came:
• Four loose tubes of Glossip Girl (Cinnabon, Crème Brûlée, Candy Cane, and Original Bubble Gum)
• One pack of Dentyne Fire
• Estate keys on a red Coach picture-frame key ring Bean’s photo on one side and Brownie’s on the other.
• A red-and-brown Coach Hamptons wallet stuffed with yellow Visa receipts.
• A Tiffany silver heart clip ballpoint pen
• A brushed-silver antique business-card holder loaded with the numbers of her favorite store managers
• A 0.25-oz. bottle of Chanel No. 5
• A YSL compact mirror (compliments of Gavin at the YSL counter at Barneys)
• A Red iPod Nano
• Bose noise-reduction earphones
• Oversize black-and-white Prada sunglasses (backup pair)
• A bottle of Evian water
• Evian mineral-water facial spray
• Purple Essie nail polish (#353, Munis Mauve, used mostly for highlighting important sentences in textbooks)
• An Essie Crystal nail file
• Clinique cuticle cream
• Six grape-scented pens (imported from London)
• The Jakkob Salon hairbrush (model #2865)
• Miss Groovy snag-free hair elastics
• Duane Reade bobby pins
• Bumble and Bumble Does It All styling spray
• A silver Motorola Razr
• A Palm Tungsten E2
• Six blue packets of Equal
• A Caramel Nut Brownie Luna Bar
• Skye’s ah-nnoying watch
“Cell phones, please.” Massie jiggled her empty tote in front of their faces.
Claire ripped a chunk of grass from the ground and released it into the breeze.
Dylan tossed in her mint-green LG Chocolate phone.
“You already have a date,” Massie snapped.
“She has two,” Kristen corrected.
“So true.” Dylan stuck her tongue out at Alicia and then removed her phone with an exaggerated grab. “My bad.”
“Kuh-laire. Kristen. Leesh. Phones! Now!” Massie unzipped her steel-blue Stella McCartney one-piece jumper, revealing the top of her white Splendid beater. Something was making her sweat. Maybe the midday sun. Maybe Skye. Probably both.
“Now?” Alicia removed her mauve cardigan (part of her new ultra-girly sweater set) and tied it around her shoulders. “We can’t text them now.”
“Why nawt?” Massie heard the panic in her voice. “The party is in two days. It’s time!” “But it’s so bright out here.” Alicia made a show of squinting and then lowered the brim on Josh’s New York Yankees hat. “The glare will make it hard to read the screens, and we may type the wrong thing by accident.”
“What are you so afraid of? You’re wearing his hat. He ah-bviously likes you.” Kristen took a long swig of Gatorade Fierce, accidentally dribbling blue on her copy of The Notebook. “Shoot!”
“I know he likes me.” Alicia rolled her big brown eyes in a “duh” sort of way. “But it’s not ladylike for a girl to make the first move.”
“Um, Martha Ew-art, what did you do with my friend Alicia?” Dylan bit into a Philly cheese steak sandwich. A glob of cheddar-soaked onions farted out the bottom of her hoagie and splattered onto her faded Lucky Brand denim skirt. She flicked it onto the grass with an L-shaped twig.
“Okay, Pig Newton, what did you do with my friend Dyla
n?”
Massie steamed like an Aveda facial.
“E-nuff!” she shouted. “Last phone in gets traded for a Nokia.”
Seconds later, her Dolce & Gabbana zebra-print tote contained five cell phones.
“Here I go.” She closed her eyes and reached inside.
“No fair,” Alicia blurted. “You know the feel of your own phone. You’re gonna pick yourself last.”
“Alicia, are you a soccer coach for chickens?”
“No.” Alicia lowered the brim of Josh’s black NYY hat.
“Then why are you calling fowl play?”
Kristen and Dylan burst out laughing.
Massie dug her hand into the bag again.
“I’m just saying, you could fix it so that you can feel—”
“Um, my eyes are closed, remember?” Massie snapped, hoping Alicia was too rattled to realize that that didn’t make any sense. “Here I go.” She turned her head away from the bag, reached inside, and pulled out a thin silver cell.
“Alicia!” She grimaced and handed her the secret underground Briarwood Academy directory, a complete list of all the boys’ e-mail addresses, cell numbers, and screen names, compiled by a mysterious source and downloadable for just thirty dollars on J-adoreBboys.com.
“Fine.” Alicia grabbed her phone, then the directory. Her thumbs scuttled across her flat keypad. When she was done, she read her message aloud. “Alicia Rivera is requesting ur company @ a famous couples costume fete sat. nite. U can B Ralph Lauren and I’ll B his wife, Ricky. RSVP ASAP.”
Massie made a fist and stamped the ground. “Ah-pproved.”
“Send.” Alicia dug her French-manicured thumbnail into the keypad, snapped her cell shut, and rested it on her white-linen-clad thigh.
Next, Massie pulled out Kristen’s black Razr (a recent hand-me-down from Massie). After a quick scan of the Briarwood directory, Kristen started dialing. She covered the mouthpiece once she noticed her friends looking at her in curiosity. “He’s a romantic. Talking is more intimate than texts. Trust me.” The side of her jaw twitched as she waited for him to answer.
The Pretty Committee leaned forward in anticipation.
Kristen suddenly finger-combed her blond hair. “Um, hey, Griffin, it’s Kristen.” She paused. “Gregory. You know, from the wave-pool dedication ceremony last night?” She nodded yes. “Right, the one with the reading obsession.” She flashed the girls a triumphant thumbs-up. “Well, I was invited to an eighth-grade costume party Saturday night, and the theme is famous couples. And I thought maybe you’d want to go with me. You can be Noah and I’ll be Allie—you know, from The Notebook? The novel, not the movie, of course.”
Sealed with a Diss Page 13