RANGE ROVER

EN ROUTE TO ABNER DOUBLEDAY DAY SCHOOL

Tuesday, November 11th

12:25 P.M.

Massie consulted the itinerary on her iPhone for the ninth time since the Range Rover had left OCD property. As long as Isaac didn’t hit lunch-hour traffic or make any unauthorized stops, the PC were right on time. Even so, Massie refused to let herself relax. Her schedule that day was Botox-tight.

6:30 a.m.–6:42 a.m. Deep condition (Ouidad 12 Minute Deep Treatment Intensive Repair). No alpha should head into battle with stressed tresses.

6:42 a.m.–6:44 a.m. Text-remind Kristen to forge excused absence notes w/Layne’s electronic Counter-Forge-It parent note signer.

6:42 a.m.–7:30 a.m. Blowout/makeup by Jakkob. Wardrobe: Alexander Wang leggings, Elizabeth and James Laurent shirt, Marc Jacobs snakeskin flats. (Note for PC: Nothing above a kitten heel, in case of need for speedy on-foot departure.)

7:30 a.m.–7:34 a.m. Range Rover, en route to Dylan’s. GLOSS!!! (Glossip Girl Sweet Revenge Lip Stain)

7:34 a.m.–7:44 a.m. Meet PC in Couture Cemetery. Pick disguises so upgrades don’t detect PC. SOMETHING SHINY to lure Ankle-Bird out of hiding (birds art

shiny things).

7:44 a.m.–7:52 a.m. Range Rover, en route to OCD. Review itinerary w/PC. Rate disguises. Hydrate/energize (Red Bull Sugarfree).

7:52 a.m.–7:59 a.m. Give forged notes to Principal Burns. If she looks skeptical, compliment her hair on looking extra triangular today. Do NAWT laugh while saying it.

12:20 p.m.–12:28 p.m. Range Rover, en route to ADD for “campus tour.” Re-gloss as needed.

“Four minutes out,” Alicia called dutifully, reaching for the fitted gray Priorities blazer she’d draped over the black leather bench.

“Disguises on,” Massie instructed. She re-glossed in less than five seconds, using the tinted divider between the front and back seats for a makeshift mirror. If she’d had any wiggle room in her schedule, she might have stopped to think about how weird it was that Claire had been so MIA for the past couple days. About how the window seat next to the fridge looked strange without the indent from Claire’s Gap denim–covered butt. Or about how her most recent “gummy cramps” excuse was beyond transparent. But there just wasn’t time. One slip-up and Ankle-Bird could fly the coop.

“What kind of bird was it again?” Kristen cinched the knot on her printed Pucci head scarf and adjusted her Tom Ford Samantha sunglasses.

“Hummingbird,” Massie snapped. She tilted the air-conditioning vents in her direction and turned the air on full blast. The icy shot rippled through her tresses, sealing in the shine. As an added bonus, the air cooled her cheeks, which were flushed despite the slight autumn chill that nipped at the Range Rover’s windows. All the planning had left her overheated. Or was it nerves—and the thought of Landon catching her hunting Ankle-Bird in the off-season?

“Do guys in ninth like tattoos?” Dylan chewed her bottom lip. “’Cause my mom says if I ever get one, she’ll cut off my clothes allowance.”

“One of my Spanish cousins has a tattoo of angel wings on her lower back,” Alicia offered, pulling a violet Patricia Underwood cloche over her ears. “It’s kind of cool.”

Dylan lifted her Red Bull Sugarfree can to her lips and tapped the bottom to get the last few drops. “Traaaaaaamp staaaaaaamp,” she belched.

“The point is not whether the tattoo is quote-unquote ‘cool’,” Massie interrupted. “The point is that I am nawt letting some ink-stained ninth-grader steal my crush and cancel our upgrade.” She looped her silver silk Diane von Furstenberg scarf around her head, careful not to ruin her blowout. “Are we clear?”

“Good.” As the Range Rover turned into the ADD front circle, Massie pulled her Gucci aviators from their protective case and cleaned them on the hem of her blouse. The Pretty Committee were suddenly silent. This was it. There was no turning back. She lowered her lids and conjured up a mental image of Landon’s blue-green eyes. If this mission failed, mental images were all she’d have left. It was time to fight.

“Enjoy the informational interviews,” he said, pulling up to the curb. “I’ll be right here when you’re done. And remember, it’s always best to keep an open mind.”

“Thanks, Isaac,” the PC chimed, pursing their glossy lips together to keep from laughing.

Massie opened the door and lowered her black snakeskin flats onto the cracked sidewalk. Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen slid out behind her. Looking like a super-chic special-ops force on a top secret mission, the girls tiptoed across the crunchy, yellowed lawn. Massie tilted her face to the sky so the sun’s bronzing rays could give her an extra boost.

When they reached the doors to the main building, Massie swiveled on the balls of her feet, facing her troops.

“Bathroom first,” she whisper-ordered. “Then we’ll hit the girls’ locker room, the cafeteria, and the auditorium. Questions?”

Ehmagawd. How could Dylan possibly think about food, when the entire upgrade was in jeopardy? “No idea,” Massie said impatiently. “Now. Are there any mission-related questions?”

“Good. Now, let’s go.” With a determined flourish, Massie threw open the door and slid inside.

ADD’s deserted main hallway smelled like a combination of old tuna fish and pencil erasers. Massie lifted her Chanel-spritzed wrist to her nose to stave off the odor. The chipped paint jobs on the lockers looked at least two semesters old, and the linoleum flooring was a dingy shade of brownish gray. She’d definitely do a better job appreciating OCD when she made it back. If she made it back.

“Ehmagawd, this lighting is the opposite of flattering,” Alicia lifted her hand to shield her face from the flickering fluorescents overhead. “I am so nawt coming here,” she announced, as if she’d actually been considering it.

Nearby, a girl in track shorts and a hoodie shoved a wrinkled dollar bill into a vending machine.

Massie glanced down at the girl’s ankles. Apart from an ugly gold imitation anklet, the girl’s ankles were free and clear.

“This place is, like, on the verge of collapse.” Kristen hopped over a linoleum square that was curling up at the edges. “I don’t know how the boys do it.”

“Agreed,” Massie nodded. The fact that Landon was rugged enough to withstand such hazardous learning conditions just made him hotter. She spotted the girls’ bathroom at the end of the hall and motioned for the girls to pick up the pace.

“So then I’m like, ‘Look, if you want to take a break, fine. Just don’t expect me to be here when you’ve gotten blondes out of your system.’” A girl wearing low-rise jeans and a plaid men’s shirt was leaning over the sink in the bathroom, applying thick, dark liner to her lids. A wallet chain dripped from her back pocket like a shiny snake. She didn’t even turn when the Pretty Committee walked in. “I am so over high school boys.”

On any other day, Massie would have braved the hazy, Glade-scented bathroom to take notes on high school conversation topics for research. Today, she had more important things to do. She signal-nodded, and each member of the PC crouched in front of one of the four stalls.

Massie checked her stall: ripped gray denim rolled up at the cuffs and a scuffed pair of black Converse sneakers. No tattoo. Pressing her hands against her thighs, she pushed herself to standing and glanced at the other girls.

Just then, the gray metal door leading to Dylan’s stall swung open, smacking her in the forehead.

A girl in a shapeless yellow sweater dress and flats peered out from the other side of the doorway. “What the—”

“Abort! Abort!” Massie squealed, checking the girl’s ankles before she rushed out behind Alicia and Kristen. They stumbled into the hallway, doubled over.

“Ehmagawd,” Alicia gasped, removing her sunglasses to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Did you see the look on that girl’s face?”

The bathroom door flew open. Lips pursed tight, Dylan crossed her arms over her chest. A giant red welt was starting to form on her forehead. “Can we go now?” she grumbled, lifting her fingers gingerly to her rapidly swelling skin.

Kristen consulted her watch. “If we don’t get out of here soon, we’re gonna be late.”

“If we each take five tables, it won’t take long.” Massie insisted. But her gloss, along with her resolve, was starting to fade. It had been more than seven hours since she’d chased her Dulce de Leche Luna Bar with a protein smoothie, and the fluorescent lighting and old tuna smell was starting to make her feel light-headed.

“Speaking of the cafeteria…” Dylan glanced down at her belly. It growled in response.

“If we check the cafeteria, the boys’ll see us for sure,” Alicia said warily.

“Fine. We’ll check the locker rooms and then get out of here.” Beneath her scarf, Massie’s scalp was starting to sweat. Panicked, she fanned her hairline. Sweaty scalp led to oily tresses. Which led to breakouts. Which led to social isolation, which led to LBRdom. If she didn’t find Ankle-Bird soon, she risked losing more than her crush. She risked losing her alpha status.

“I dunno.” Kristen checked her watch again. “What if we get in trouble for being late and I lose my scholarshi—”

“The only thing making us late is your chitchat!” Massie hissed. “Now come awn!” She charged past a faded yellow bulletin board sprouting flyers for the spring musical, the French club, and yearbook picture day.

Silently, the PC hurried alongside her, the buzzing fluorescent lights making them look more washed-out than the Olsen twins. No wonder ADD girls bronzed as often as Massie glossed.

“Anybody know any bird calls?” Kristen muttered at her navy flats. “That’d speed this thing up.”

Massie pretended not to hear. Giving in to distractions could rob her of the element of surprise, giving Ankle-Bird the upper wing. The only option was to stay focused on the maroon doors at the end of the hallway, which were barricaded with piles of nylon gym bags. Bingo.

She kicked the gym bags out of the way when she reached the door. Once the path was clear, she handed out assignments.

Massie shrugged her off. “Then you and Dylan can split up the locker bays. Kristen, scope out the bathroom stalls. And I’ll check the changing area. If you have a sighting, text ANKLBRD.” She paused for a quick Purell break before flinging open the locker room doors. Immediately, the overpowering smell of sweat and ripe sneakers laced with fruity body spray rushed over her, yanking her stomach to the back of her throat.

“Yechhhh.” Dylan pushed her sunglasses down her nose, pinning her nostrils together.

Scarves wilting and shades fogging from the sweat steam hovering in the air, the Pretty Committee barreled down the narrow, maroon-painted cinderblock hallway, which led to several empty rows of dented half-lockers. The only sound was the slow drip of a faucet somewhere nearby.

Massie’s shoulders fell. “Where id eberybuddy?” she muttered, refusing to breathe through her nose.

“Comin’ through.” A muscular, ruddy-faced brunette wrapped in a threadbare mini-towel bowled past the PC’s huddle, headed for a corner locker. Massie crossed her fingers. If this was Ankle-Bird, she could relax and call it a day.

Her eyes slid past the girl’s it’s-obviously-been-three-days-since-I-shaved knees. Around her left ankle was a bluish-black vine tattoo. But no bird.

“Doh-buddy’s eben here,” Dylan whisper-whined, blinking over the tops of her sunglasses. “Cad we just go back?”

Massie opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the thundering sound of soccer cleats tromping down the hall toward them. The Pretty Committee’s eyes widened like deer in headlights. Before they could duck out of the way, a wall of uniform-clad, ponytailed soccer players rushed the lockers.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” The Pretty Committee stumbled back on their flats as the sweat-drenched girls rushed by, threatening them with death by cleat.

“Ex-cuh-USE US!” Taking an elbow to the navel, Massie dove out of the way, colliding with the cold metal of the nearest locker. Ignoring the debilitating pain, she surveyed the passing ankles. They were all covered in shin guards and knee socks. What if the Ankle-Bird was trapped beneath an acrylic fabric cage?

Even in the humid locker room, the clang of the ADD bell sent shivers down Massie’s spine. Feeling woozy from the sweat stench and lack of breathable air, she nodded at the Pretty Committee to evacuate the premises.

“Okay, now can we go?” Kristen asked when they burst into the brimming hallway. She massaged her left shoulder and winced.

“Seriously!” Dylan shouted over the deafening roar in the halls. “I think I’m gonna faint!” She made a beeline down the hall for the vending machine near the front doors, extending her elbows to her sides so she could power her way through the crowd.

“Dylan!” Massie ripped off her sunglasses and shoved them in her tote, cradling it close to her torso. “We are nawt done here!” She stomped in Dylan’s wake, ignoring the stares. Alicia and Kristen followed.

Dylan jammed a ten-dollar bill in the machine and pressed six different buttons. Seconds later, she was cradling a Dasani bottle and seven packs of neon orange cheese crackers. She deposited six packs into her purse and tore the last one open. She cracked the bottle open and downed half its contents in a single gulp. Then she went for the crackers.

“Okay, now we reeeeally have to go.” Kristen bounced up and down like she hadn’t peed in years.

Massie’s jaw clenched. Maybe the other girls weren’t ready to upgrade. This was the price she paid for being ten times more mature than the rest of her—

“Oops.” A girl in skinny jeans and a shrunken leather blazer bumped into Massie on her way to the vending machine. A vanilla-colored envelope fell from her back pocket. A paw print was stamped on the back flap.

Massie froze. The paw print was exactly like the one on the invitation she’d seen Ankle-Bird give Landon in his room. Her head snapped toward the girl’s denim-disguised ankles. Had fate intervened? Was this the girl she’d been looking for all along? There was only one way to find out.

She fake-stumbled into Dylan, sending the open Dasani bottle flying. It hit the linoleum floor, soaking the girl’s feet.

“Ehmagawd, she is soooo sorry,” Massie gushed, yanking Dylan’s scarf out of her hair.

“No. Seriously.” Massie knelt to the floor, patting the girl’s feet dry. Lifting the hem of her jeans, she checked the ankles. Nothing.

“Um, you really don’t have to do that.” The girl was starting to look weirded out. She jammed her change into the vending machine, retrieved her snack, and hurried down the hall.

“There has gawt to be an easier way to do this,” Alicia sighed, kicking the fallen envelope out of her path. It slid toward the gap underneath the vending machine.

Massie lowered her ballet flat onto the paw printed flap just in time. Then she crouched down and picked up the envelope, unfolding the invitation inside as carefully as if it were an ancient treasure map.

The tension throbbing in Massie’s body began to ease instantly. Maybe fate really had intervened. Now she knew exactly where to find her target. And if Ankle-Bird wouldn’t come to her, well, then she’d go to Ankle-Bird.