The loud ringing in Massie's ears made it almost impossible for her to answer everyone's questions … not that she wanted to. If she didn't get out of there immediately, Massie was afraid she'd have a heart attack, or worse, start crying.
“Hold on a minute.” Massie held up her finger and frantically fished through her Prada messenger bag.
The girls watched her with silent curiosity.
Massie pulled out her purple sparkly Motorola, flipped it open, and lifted it to her ear. “Yup … uh-huh … How far away is she? … Can you stall her while we make our escape? … Great.” She snapped the cell phone shut and quickly dropped it in the pocket of her tweed gray-and-orange Nanette Lepore coat.
“We have to get out of here now.” Massie ripped the plug of her DVD player out of the socket and threw her bag over her shoulder. “My lookout team says Principal Burns is on her way here to set up for a meeting she has tonight.”
Layne was about to take a sip of Go-Gurt but immediately lowered the tube. “On a Friday?”
“Guess so,” Massie said.
“Funny, I didn't hear your ring tone,” Olivia said.
“Funny, it's called vibrate,” Massie snapped. “I suggest we split up. A few of you should take the service exits so this looks less ahb-vious. I'll go out the main doors and if I see her, I'll just say I left my headache medicine in here after the Hillary Clinton lecture.”
“That was last year,” Dylan said, sounding concerned.
“Well, I'll say I have a migraine and I really need to find it,” Massie said. She covered the camera lens with her hand and climbed out of the pit. Kristen, Dylan, Alicia, and Claire followed her. “Everyone else, use the other doors. Go, hurry!”
“What about the rest of the lesson?” Alexandra asked from inside the pit. “We leave for Lake Placid on Monday.”
“We'll do it there,” Massie shouted over her shoulder as she led her friends to safety. “I promise.”
And as usual, they believed her.
Massie let out a deep sigh of relief. The fake phone call trick had served its purpose and bought her the time she'd need to retool her lesson plan. She was failing miserably as a kissing teacher, and she knew that the only way to redeem herself was to make out with Derrington before everyone figured out that she was a completely inexperienced wannabe.
It was ahb-vious to Massie that the girls had been less than pleased with their first lesson. And that certainly did not need to be advertised on a video blog. So she went back to her old system of recording State of the Unions on her PalmPilot and keeping them private.
MASSIE BLOCK'S CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
INOUT
Earth tones Ring tones
Field trips with boys Field hockey with girls
Making out Chickening out
THE BLOCK ESTATE MASSIE'S BEDROOM
Sunday, February 22nd 1:16 P.M.
Claire lingered in the potpourri-scented hallway outside Massie's bedroom, trying to work up the nerve to open the door and walk in. Her hands were clammy and the insides of her stomach felt like a scene from that boat-disaster movie The Perfect Storm.
Earlier, when she'd walked across the grassy acre that separated the guesthouse (hers) from the main house (Massie's), Claire had asked herself why she was so nervous about attending the packing meeting and decided it was probably because she had no idea what a packing meeting was.
Claire took a deep breath and gently placed her hand on the glass knob of Massie's door, then quickly removed it, leaving a streak of sweat behind. She was six minutes late and that meant the girls could be bad-mouthing her. Not that she'd done anything wrong, but she was still paranoid. After all, bad memories take longer to heal than bloody wounds.
“One … two … three …” she counted inside her head. When she got to five, Claire would open the door. “Four…”
But a sudden burst of laughter erupted on the other side of the wall and Claire jumped back. She knew they were making fun of her.
Claire pressed her ear against the door.
“Did you get Krazy-Glued to the walls again?” someone behind her said.
Claire quickly lifted her head and turned around. She felt her face turning red.
“Hey, Dyl.” She tried to sound casual. “What's with all the stuff?”
Dylan had bags from every boutique in Westchester hanging off her arms. Her wrists were purple from the rope handles that were digging into her flesh. But she still managed to lift the green straw in her venti Frappuccino to her lips and take a long sip.
“Ow, cold headache,” Dylan squealed, and hunched over. The weight of the bags almost pulled her to the ground. Claire rushed to her side and pushed her back up.
“Thanks.” Dylan's green eyes looked relaxed and playful. The red curls piled on top of her head were messy and slightly unkempt. She looked like a casual, weekend version of herself. Her jeans were loose and belt-free and the hood of her lime green sweatshirt hung down the back of her faded black Marc Jacobs blazer.
Suddenly, Claire felt some of her anxiety melt away. She liked it when the girls in the Pretty Committee looked their age—or, more precisely, her age.
“You saved me from getting crushed by my new wardrobe.”
“Well, if you want to repay me, don't ask why I had my ear pressed against the door,” Claire said without a hint of playfulness. “And don't tell.”
“Done.” Dylan pointed at the door with her BCBG bag and Claire opened it without hesitation. It was always easier walking in with someone else.
Claire gasped when she stepped inside. She knew Massie never did anything unless it was headlineworthy, but this time she had outdone herself. The neat and orderly iPad had been completely transformed into an outdoor campsite. Kristen, Alicia, and Massie were sitting cross-legged on sleeping bags, staring at a stack of plastic logs that reflected flickering orange light off their faces. Marshmallows, chocolate squares, and graham crackers were being passed back and forth. The lights had been dimmed and hundreds of glow-in-the-dark stars had been stuck to Massie's ceiling. A sound effects CD supplied the greatest hits of the forest in surround sound, complete with howling wolf and babbling brook noises. An incense cone burned by Massie's bay window, filling the room with the sweet scent of pine.
Bean, Massie's small black pug, wore a pink, gray, and yellow flannel shirt and was curled up in a small stuffed canoe by the faux fire. The rest of the girls wore jeans, neutral-colored turtleneck sweaters, and red hunting caps. There was a cap laid out for Claire and one for Dylan on the two empty sleeping bags beside Kristen.
“This is awesome!” Claire knew awesome didn't begin to explain how cool she thought Massie's room looked, but she was too overwhelmed to think of a better description.
“Heyyyy.” Dylan yanked her clump of bags through the door frame. “Sorry I'm late—I had to buy a whole new wardrobe.” She said it the way most people would say, “I had to get my warts removed.”
“Why?” Massie asked. It was obvious from her devilish half-smile that she already knew the answer.
“I lost ten pounds from the flu.” Dylan sounded surprised that Massie didn't already know this.
“Oh, cool,” Massie responded casually.
Kristen and Alicia looked down at their glowing PalmPilots and tried not to laugh.
“It's not funny.” Dylan stomped her foot. “I can't believe you can't tell.” She unbuttoned her blazer and opened it like a pervy trench-coat-wearing flasher.
“We can tell.” Alicia rolled her eyes. “It's just that you were never fat to begin with, so it's hard for us to get all psyched.”
“Especially when you talk about it all the time,” Massie added.
Claire sat down on her sleeping bag, picked up her hunting hat, and pretended to be very interested in the washing instructions printed on the inside—anything to stay out of the potential fight that was brewing.
“Sorry, okay?” Dylan whined. “It's just that losing weight had been my obsession for s
o long, and now that I did it, I have nothing to think about. I have no goals. I feel like I have lost my thing. I'm thingless.”
“Come sit down” Massie waved her PalmPilot in the air. “We just started working on our packing lists. You can help us envision woodsy-chic outfits that boys will like.”
“Okay.” Dylan dropped her bags and raced over to the empty spot beside Kristen. “Wha'd I miss?”
Alicia tapped the screen of her Palm with the stylus pen and read her notes. “So far we've agreed on a muted color palette for tops.” She tapped again. “Khakis, chocolate browns, and greens—but no limes or pastels, ahb-viously.”
“I say no Juicy Couture sweats.” Massie pushed up the sleeves of her chocolate brown Juicy sweatshirt. “They're so not sexy.”
“But Juicy Couture jeans are okay, right?” Dylan asked.
“Dark wash only.” Alicia pointed to the new dark pair of True Religions she was wearing.
Dylan crawled over her Saks Fifth Avenue bag and frantically pulled out clumps of white tissue paper. “Phew,” she sighed. “I just got the new low-rise rhinestone Juicy jeans and I forgot what color the denim was.”
“Well?” Alicia asked.
“I'm good.” Dylan fanned her flushed face. “Thank Gawd. My new butt looks ah-dorable in them.”
Claire lifted a purple pen off of Massie's desk and tore a sheet of paper from her “A Moment in the Life of Massie Block” pad.
“Do you mind?” She gestured to Massie.
Massie shook her head and slapped the air with her palm, letting Claire know she could help herself to more if she needed it.
“Thanks.” Claire sat down on her sleeping bag, wishing she had a PalmPilot. She immediately put on her red cap so no one would stare at her bangs and tried to write down everything they had just said—dark jeans, neutral tops.
“Kristen, does this mean you're going to Lake Placid?” Dylan asked.
“No.” She sighed.
Claire wanted to ask why she'd bothered showing up, but she already knew the answer. Missing one of Massie's get-togethers meant spending a sleepless night tossing and turning, wondering if you were missing anything good and wondering if anyone was saying anything about you behind your back. And nothing was worth that kind of torture.
“Hey, did anyone sign up for your memory class?” Claire tried to sound optimistic.
Kristen shook her head and looked into the faux fire.
“Maybe no one remembered,” Massie tried to say with a straight face. But she lost it when everyone burst out laughing.
“Very funny.” Kristen adjusted one of the many rhinestone-covered bobby pins in her hair. She was clearly trying to work with the in-between stages of her unfortunate boy cut, but the shiny stones were just drawing attention to the problem. Claire discreetly slid off her pink, glittery, stone-covered Keds and placed them behind her, just in case anyone thought the same thing about her shoes.
Claire hoped Massie would approve of them now that Mischa Barton was modeling them in all of the magazines. But why take the chance?
“Just let us pay for you,” Alicia insisted.
“No, I'm fine,” Kristen said through her teeth. “I think it will be fun staying here during the break. I'll get ahead on my reading, I be able to run soccer drills two times a day, and think of all the Presidents' Day sales I'll be able to hit.” She stuffed a marshmallow in her mouth.
“Kristen, why didn't you send me a postcard from Morocco?” Massie asked.
“Huh?” Kristen sounded confused.
“It sounds like you were just in de-Nile,” Massie said.
“Very funny,” Kristen said. “Oh, and FYI, the Nile is in Egypt, not Morocco. I've been memorizing the globe.”
“Then where's Make-out City?” Massie asked.
“Lake Placid,” Dylan and Alicia shouted back.
Everyone cracked up and high-fived each other except Claire and Kristen. If Cam had responded to the poem she sent him on Thursday, Claire would have been as excited as the rest of the girls. But since he hadn't, she'd be better off spending the week with Kristen.
Suddenly the yapping sound of a small dog barking outside Massie's window drowned out the coyote calls on her sound effects CD.
Bean lifted her head, then stood up. The stuffed canoe wobbled from her sudden movement, but she managed to jump out and run straight to Massie's bay window before it tipped.
“Did you get another puppy?” Dylan held a marshmallow to her mouth, paused, then stuffed it back in the bag.
“No,” Massie said. “Maybe it's a stray.”
Bean was jumping as high as she could, hoping to get a look at the competition.
“Hold on, Bean, Mommy's coming.” Massie pushed herself up and hurried over to her dog. She scooped Bean up in her arms and held her in front of the window so she could size up her competition. “Kuh-laire, what is your brother doing?”
Claire felt her cheeks turning red. Todd never failed to embarrass her.
Bean was squirming, trying to free herself from Massie's grip. Claire sighed and joined Massie by the window. But she didn't have to look to know what was going on.
“Oh.” She giggled to herself, trying to make the scene seem less mortifying than it actually was. “It's just Todd training his new robot dog, Aibo.”
“In his underwear?” Massie squealed.
Alicia, Kristen, and Dylan raced over to the window. They burst out laughing when they saw Claire's skinny ten-year-old brother running around the backyard chasing a black plastic mechanical puppy. His blue terry-cloth robe had blown open, revealing knee-high gray sweat socks and a pair of loose tighty-whities.
They watched Todd dangle a round slab of bologna in front of Aibo in an effort to make him jump.
“Show ’em how it's done, Bean.” Massie placed her on the floor and opened her bedroom door. They cheered when Bean raced outside. “This is gonna be good.”
The girls turned back to the window and waited.
Claire tried to think of an excuse that would let her get outside to warn Todd, but it was too late. Bean was already tearing across the lawn and heading straight for Aibo. She had spent days hating that fake dog: its mechanical bark, the grinding sounds its gears made when it moved its legs, and the way its eyes would light up red when it was “awake.” But now that Aibo was in danger, Claire wanted to take it all back. The dog kept Todd occupied and out of her business and that was something to celebrate, not destroy.
Within seconds, Bean swiped the bologna from Todd's fingers, devoured it, and then tore into Aibo. She grabbed him by his thin plastic tail and shook him back and forth. Todd was screaming for Bean to stop but she wouldn't.
“Massie, you should do something,” Claire urged.
But Massie ignored her. She was having too much fun watching her flannel-clad puppy defend her turf. “We're in the wild now. Remember? We have to let nature take its course.” It was obvious to Claire where the pug got her ferocious survival instincts.
It wasn't long before Aibo's lights went out and his body went flying across the yard.
Todd started chasing Bean around the yard.
Massie threw open her window and shouted, “Come, baby, hurry back to Mommy!”
The dog lifted her black face and raced into the house. A few seconds later, she was back in her canoe, curled up in a ball, happily chewing on Aibo's plastic tail.
“Show's over.” Massie closed her window and the girls returned to their sleeping bags by the campfire.
Claire had a pit in her stomach. Part of her wanted to race to her brother's side, but she didn't dare leave the room for fear of them laughing at her while she was gone. She stuffed a few squares of chocolate in her mouth. Maybe the sugar would make her feel better.
“Okay, we have to get back to our lists. We leave tomorrow morning and I still have to pack and do a full cosmetics run,” Massie said as she wheeled her mannequin into the middle of their circle. “As you can see, I dressed her for inspiration.”<
br />
Claire watched the girls study the Massie-size mannequin as if they had been commissioned to paint its portrait. They tapped away at their PalmPilots as the wolves howled in the background. Even Kristen took notes, and she wasn't going, so Claire figured she should probably jot a few things down on her scrap paper.
THE OUTFIT ON THE MANNEQUIN
• Low-waisted cargo pants, army green
• Double belt thing—looks like two brown belts, but I think it's just one wrapped around twice.
• Beige, fuzzy, tight V-neck sweater. (Looks itchy.)
• Tons of tangled necklaces
• Brown fluffy moccasin boots
Deep down inside, Claire knew she wouldn't look anything like the Massie-size mannequin. Her suitcase would be filled with long johns and thick socks, and sweatshirts in forbidden pastel colors. At least this time she'd know what she was doing wrong.
For the next twenty-five minutes, Massie sat in front of her Mac typing up a list of acceptable clothing. The girls stayed close to the fire and offered up their suggestions.
“Let's start with outerwear,” Massie said.
“Cropped bomber jackets with furry hoods,” Dylan shouted.
“Agreed,” Alicia said. “Nothing past the knees.”
“Wool and cashmere coats for nights,” Massie added as she typed.
“Given,” Alicia said.
“Okay, footwear,” Massie announced. “What are we thinking?”
“Wait,” Claire said. “What about hats and gloves?” Everyone looked at her as though she'd insisted they spend the week naked. “You know, for warmth?”
“Fine.” Massie looked over her shoulder at Claire while she typed. “But no ski hats or waterproof gloves. They have to be cute, feminine, and matching.”
Claire sighed. “What about these red hunting caps?” She pointed to her head.
“Those are just for this meeting,” Massie explained. “They're so not cute enough for the trip. I'll lend you something.”
Claire's stomach leapt at the thought. She loved borrowing Massie's clothes. It was like wearing a bulletproof vest that protected her from teasing, dirty looks, and Gap jokes.
The Pretty Committee Strikes Back Page 5