At Claire!
Claire shy-grinned, then lowered her head.
Had the entire world gone mad? Were mass-produced canvas bucket hats and overbleached blondes “in” now that the boys had arrived?
Trying to see her friend from Semi-Cute’s perspective, Massie side-glanced at Claire, who did look good. For her.
The straight, shoulder-length white-blond hair that in the winter framed her ghostly complexion like limp spaghetti on a hard-boiled egg looked radiant against her tanned, cashew-colored skin. Her light blue eyes glistened like sea glass, and her waxy ChapStick had been replaced (thanks to Massie) with a frosty shade of Be Rosy lip quencher. Even her outfit was semi-decent: a woven long-sleeved cream-colored cotton shirt, fitted olive-colored knee-length Dâ-Nang cargos, and gold Sigerson Morrison gladiator sandals—a gift from Massie if Claire promised to toss her stinky summer Keds, which of course she had.
“There they are.” Claire pointed to the middle of the crowded lawn.
“What? Who?” Massie’s stomach dip-clenched. Was Derrington in range? Were the soccer guys with him? She had spent months wondering how their first post-breakup encounter would go. Would he beg for forgiveness? Act like nothing had happened? Publicly snub her? There were endless ways for this confrontation to play out. And surprisingly, Massie didn’t feel ready for any of them. And she wouldn’t until …
a)… she was reunited with the Pretty Committee.
b)… she got at least ten ego-boosting compliments.
c)… she applied more peach gloss.
Massie gripped Claire’s thin arm and pulled her close. “Who’s where?” she asked again, this time through a fake smile, in case the boys were watching.
Wiggling out from Massie’s tightening grip, Claire pointed at the massive oak in the center of the lawn. “The girls. They’re under the tree.”
A giddy flutter snaked through Massie’s insides when she saw her best friends. The Pretty Committee hadn’t been united for three whole months. And summering without them had left a lonely, gaping hole behind her abs that all the spicy tuna rolls in Japan couldn’t fill. But seeing them now, standing bare leg to bare leg, comparing tans in their favorite meeting spot, renewed her hope. And made her feel 110 percent again. Together, they would stop this Briarwood virus from spreading. Then they would reboot and come out even stronger. Because that’s what alphas do. And they were true alphas—whether anyone remembered it or not.
BOCD
THE GREAT LAWN
Tuesday, September 8th
7:47 A.M.
“Heyyyyy.” Massie walk-waved as she hurried toward the oak.
“Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” the girls squealed back. They dropped their designer purses on the moist grass, ran to her with open arms, and collided in a forceful group hug, Massie blissfully at its center.
A blend of familiar fruity and exotic perfumes enveloped her, calming her even more. Alicia was still wearing Angel (spicy chocolate), Dylan was dabbling in Missoni (exotic amber notes), Kristen had stayed true to Juicy Couture (crushed leaves meets green apple), and Claire smelled like drugstore-bought vanilla-scented body oil. Or was it marshmallow? Either way, it smelled like cheap.
By the time they separated to scan each other’s outfits, the smile on Massie’s face was 100 percent toothy and 200 percent genuine. Maybe now the new kids would see how deeply she was adored. You couldn’t slap a dollar amount on that kind of advertising.
“Let’s sit.” She linked arms with her BFFs and led them back to the oak with back-and-better-than-ever bounce.
“So, has anyone seen them yet?” Alicia asked in a hushed tone.
A heavy silence followed.
“Not even a distant sighting?” Claire snapped, obviously starving for some word on Cam Fisher.
Everyone shook their heads no.
Massie pressed her high-glossed lips together, fighting back the army of expletives marching up the back of her throat. Why was everyone so obsessed with boys these days? Wasn’t she enough anymore? What had she done to deserve this? And who could she pay to make it all change? She thought of the light blue bag inside her purse and hoped to Gawd its contents would put her back on top—at least with the Pretty Committee.
“Soooo …” Dylan hand-fanned her pits once the girls ducked under the leafy shade of the tree. She pulled out the black hair stick that held her red hair in place. After three quick neck tosses and a rapid finger-comb, she put her hands on her hips and smiled for a camera that wasn’t there. “You like?”
But the Pretty Committee was too busy propping their purses like beanbags to notice. Once they lowered themselves onto their designer leather cushions, she tried again.
“Um, thoughts please?” Dylan stroked her new hip-length, professionally straightened hair like a precious chinchilla. “Ay-sap!”
“Ehmagawd,” they gasped in awe.
“I got it done at the spa in Hawaii.”
“Love it!” Massie air-clapped.
The others followed.
Satisfied, Dylan smiled and joined their tight circle.
Two seventh-grade twin girls wearing burgundy OCD baseball caps and ill-fitting white denim J.Crew cuffed capris strolled by. Their heads were cocked as they clearly tried to figure out if the Pretty Committee’s seats were actually real designer purses—and if they were, how they could be allowed to touch the wet grass.
“Um, excuse me,” Massie called sweetly.
They stopped and stood close to each other, their skinny arms hooked for safety.
“Yeah,” answered the prettier girl in the crisp light pink button-down.
“Do you work at the American Airlines ticket counter?”
They exchanged a puzzled glance.
“Then why are you checking our bags?”
The Pretty Committee exploded in laughter and sent the girls speed-walking for the school’s nearest entrance. Massie watched her friends giggle-scan the campus for their ex-crushes. They were ah-bviously hoping the boys would spot them during a moment of extreme fun. But no such luck. The soccer boys were nowhere in sight.
After a final round of high fives, Alicia rubbed a French-manicured finger across Massie’s indigo sparkle shirt. “I heart the shine. It’s pure day-for-night boldness.”
“More day than night, though, right?” Massie pressed, and then hated herself for leaking insecurity.
“Given.” Alicia tapped a reassuring hand on Massie’s charcoal gray satin shorts. Her tanned hands were covered in silver rings she must have picked up in Spain. “If anyone can pull off glitter on a Tuesday morning, you can.”
“Thanks.” Massie beamed, compliments stacking up like gold bangles. “Um, same with your open-toed ankle boots,” she lied in an attempt to start the year off on a positive note. “Are they European?” she asked, knowing how Alicia’s taste in footwear always nose-dived after a visit to her cousin Nina in Spain.
“Sí.” Alicia proudly straightened her legs under her gold knee-length peasant skirt and wiggled her feet. “They have the best shoes over there.” She delighted in her Matador Red toenails as they poked through the otherwise normal sand-colored leather ankle boot.
“Saysyou,” Dylan fake sneezed, sending a mass of straight red hair flying toward her beige gloss–covered lips. “Ugh.” She plucked the strands off her glistening mouth. Without thinking, she wiped her sticky, tinted fingers on the sea green paisley sarong that was cross-tied around her neck and hung mid-thigh across her white leggings.
“Sorry. No one told me today’s wardrobe theme was hotel gift shop.” Alicia flipped her silky black hair.
“This is hardly from the spa.” Dylan smoothed her sarong. “It’s a prezzy from Ilana Slootskyia, my summer BFF.”
“The tennis star?” Claire gushed.
“Tennis the Menace?” Kristen clutched the ivory shark tooth that dangled from a worn brown leather cord around her neck.
“Yup.” Dylan French-twisted her hair and refastened it with her black stick. “Sh
e was staying at the Kapalua. We hung out the entire time. I told you that in my e-mails.”
“I thought you were joking.” Kristen tugged one of her blond side-braids with excitement. “Now tell us everything about her. Don’t leave one thing out. Start with her temper. Is it really as bad as they say it is? Did she really smash her boyfriend in the teeth with a tennis ball because he thanked the stadium soda girl when she handed him a Pepsi?”
Dylan rocked forward into a squat and grabbed her white quilted Chanel tote from under her butt. She unzipped it, pulled out a thick manila envelope, and handed it to Alicia.
“What’s this?” Alicia held her chocolate brown knit cap in place as she leaned forward and grabbed the package. She started to open the seal, but Dylan swatted the envelope out of her hands. It landed beside her on the wet grass. “Why’d you do that?” She giggled.
“Um, I believe it’s addressed to Mr. Rivera, nawt you.”
“Why are you giving this to my dad?” The whites around Alicia’s deep brown eyes shone, thanks to the smudges of dark green that she was now wearing inside her lower lids. Ah-bviously another Spanish trend she’d imported.
“Because he’s a lawyer and that’s a confidentiality agreement.”
“Huh?” everyone asked at once.
“Ilana made me sign a confidentiality agreement so I wouldn’t gossip about her.”
“Not even for ten thousand gossip points?” Massie tried.
“And a ring from ¡I!, the hawt-times-ten Spanish pop star?” Alicia pulled a thick silver band off her left pinky and waved it in front of Dylan’s emerald green cat eyes.
“And a week’s worth of math homework?” Kristen offered.
“And, um …” Claire struggled for something to throw into the mix. “How about a Hello Kitty pencil?” She reached into her new white vinyl Mossimo for Target tote and pulled out a clear pencil case. It was stuffed with colorful new pencils that had all been sharpened to a fine point. “The erasers smell like watermelon.”
“Um, sounds tempting.” Dylan rolled her eyes. “But I can’t. It’s illegal. But I’ll tell you this much.” She paused while they leaned in closer.
Alicia licked her lips.
Massie took off her D&G glasses.
Claire tucked her hair behind her ears.
And Kristen air-clapped in anticipation.
“I’m starting a new diet today.”
“What?” they giggle-shouted, and playfully whipped blades of grass at her professionally straightened hair.
“Who cares about your diet?” Alicia whined. “I want to hear about Ilana.”
“That’s why I need your dad to find a loophole in this ah-nnoying agreement. If he does, I’ll open like an all-night diner.”
“Done, done, and done.” Alicia jammed the documents in her tan leather Marc Jacobs hobo. Massie was relieved to see that between her purse and her black RL cap-sleeved blouse, Alicia still had some taste left.
But someone had obviously gotten to Kristen. Her signature sporty-chic Puma style was out: Roxy Girl was in. She was wearing a pink-and-red striped romper with red platform Havaiana flip-flops, and carrying a canvas tote with a photo of a sun-soaked surfer careening down a sapphire-colored wave. Do-able in the O.C.? Maybe. But at OCD? Not a chance.
“Gawd, Kristen, you spent the summer tutoring. How did this happen?” Massie paused. “Unless that sac is vintage Chloé. Ehmagawd, it is, isn’t it?”
“Nope. It’s H&M. Isn’t it cool?” She admired the photo.
A soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead.
“If I was stuck here all summer while you guys were traveling the world, I’d snap and go to H&M too,” Dylan tried.
“Point.” Alicia lifted her index finger, showing off a stack of thin silver braided rings.
“Snapping,” Massie air-quoted, “is getting pierced at Spencer Gifts. Going full-on surfer girl is an identity crisis. And buying a cheap canvas bag at H&M is a major cry for help.”
“I’m fine, okay?” Kristen assured them. “I hung out with the Baxters this summer and—”
“You mean that surf teacher who was going to run the wave pool at Briarwood?” asked Massie. “The one with that hawt son named Dude?”
“Dune.” Kristen ripped out a chunk of grass and whipped it at her.
The girls cracked up, secretly giggle-searching the campus again.
Kristen smiled. “And Dune and I became friends and he gave me—”
“You don’t have to make up stories so we think you had a fun summer.” Alicia put her arm around Kristen’s sunburned shoulders. “We love you no matter what.”
“I’m nawt making up stories. I swear.”
Rrrrrrrrriiiinnnnggggggg!
The bell sounded across the lawn and sent everyone running up the stone steps to the main entrance. The girls grunted as they took turns pulling each other up to stand.
“Wait, where’s everyone going?” Massie looked up at them, just as a white puffy cloud blocked the sun, casting a chilly shadow across the frenzied campus.
Kristen pointed to the sprawling stone building. “The bell just—”
“Puh-lease.” Massie motioned for them to sit back down beside her.
“What about the welcome-back breakfast?” Dylan pulled the stick out from her hair, letting it fall to her hips.
“What about your diet?” Alicia countered.
“What about coughing up the cash to pay for the rest of those boots?”
Massie giggled. She had missed their playful put-downs.
“What are we waiting for?” Claire asked. “What about getting to our table and—”
“We need to make an entrance, like we always do. If we file in with the masses, we’ll be part of the audience. But if we go in late …”
“… we’ll steal the show.” Alicia re-puffed her purse and sat. Dylan, Kristen, and Claire immediately followed.
“Ex-actly.” Massie grinned like a proud teacher.
“Besides, I have something for you.” She unzipped her bowler bag and pulled out five robin’s egg blue Tiffany & Co. boxes. Each was tied with a white satin bow.
They gasped.
Suddenly, the campus was remarkably empty and silent. There was only the sound of a few chirping birds and the squeak of the school bus hiss-parking in the back lot. But Massie could have sworn she heard the thumping heartbeats of her friends as they stared excitedly at the little boxes on her lap. She silently counted to ten to heighten the drama—and then began to explain.
“From this moment awn, ‘BFF’ will have a new meaning.”
They exchanged confused glances.
“Starting now, it will stand for ‘Best Friends FIRST.’”
The Pretty Committee collectively nodded in agreement.
“This year is going to be all about us,” Massie continued. “And only us. Boys. Are. Out.”
Dylan held on to her smile, while Claire, Alicia, and Kristen shifted uncomfortably on their bags. Massie ignored their hesitation and forged ahead, knowing that the most convincing part of her speech was coming up.
“Boys make girls act like LBRs. Remember how lame we all acted last year?” She lifted her right brow and glared into each of their eyes. One by one they lowered their heads in shame. “I called Derrington immature. Meanwhile, I was the one kissing Skye Hamilton’s butt so we could spy on Briarwood’s sensitivity-training class. How immature was that?”
Everyone nodded with a mix of support and understanding.
It was the first time Massie had ever admitted she was wrong about anything. But doing so was necessary for her plan to succeed.
“Now, who would like to go next?”
The cloud passed. And sunshine returned, doling out its dwindling supply of summer warmth through the spaces between the leaves.
“Claire, how about you?”
“Huh?” She bit a cuticle on her thumbnail.
“How did a boy make you act like an LBR last year?”
She blushed.
“I guess spying on Cam in sensitivity-training class and then getting the wrong idea and accusing him of cheating on me with a camp tramp named Nikki was pretty bad.” She giggled nervously. “He hasn’t returned a single one of my calls all summer.”
“Are you ready to give up boys in the pursuit of fabulousness?”
Claire squinted up at the bright sky for a moment, then met Massie’s gaze. “I guess?”
“You guess?”
“I mean, yeah. Yes. Yes, I am.” Claire sat up tall.
Massie led the girls in a round of supportive applause, then placed a light blue box on Claire’s lap. Holding up a palm, she made it clear that the gift was not to be opened yet.
“Dylan?”
“I pretty much turned into Shrek.” The redhead burst out laughing when she remembered how much she’d eaten—and burped—just to show Plovert and Kemp how “down-to-earth” she was.
“Are you ready to give up boys and focus on yourself and your friends?”
“Yup.” Dylan beamed. “No guy is worth ten pounds. Even when it’s two guys.”
“Congratulations.” Massie handed her a blue box.
“Kristen?”
“Easy.” She smile-blushed. “I pretended to love romance novels and black nail polish because I thought Griffin Hastings would like me better.”
“And what happened?” asked Massie, trying to suppress her victory smile.
“He dumped me.” She giggle-shrugged. “Shocker, huh?”
The girls laughed with her.
“Are you ready to give up boys and focus on your friends?”
“Uh-huh.” Kristen squeezed the shark tooth.
Massie held out her hand and wiggled her fingers.
“What?” asked Kristen.
“Isn’t that from Dune?”
Kristen’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Well, he’s a boy, isn’t he?”
The soft breeze blew again, offering temporary relief to the heated moment.
“Isn’t he?”
Everyone stared at Kristen expectantly, wondering what she would do next.
“Yeah,” she finally said. “But the necklace is from his sister Ripple.”
“I thought you said it was from Dune.” Alicia’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed.
Bratfest at Tiffany's Page 2