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 Dylan?”

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 Briar-wood 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.”

Kristen’s aqua-blue eyes darted from side to side while she listened. “Um, no, the costumes aren’t supposed to be boring. Why?”

The girls covered their mouths and giggled. Kristen kicked them. Dylan grabbed her leg and pulled off one of her orange-and-turquoise Pumas and whipped it across the lawn. Everyone burst into muffled hysterics, even mopey Claire.

“Oh. I see.” Kristen covered her left ear, trying her hardest to stay focused. “Yeah, that sounds great. I would love to go as the Bride of Chucky. And you’ll be…” She paused. “Sure, of course. You’ll be Chucky. Makes perfect sense. Okay, well, I’ll call you Saturday with the details.… Oh, texting is fine? Great. Works for me. Okay, ’bye.” She snapped her phone shut and buried her blushing face in her black Prada messenger bag. “No one say a word,” she moaned.

Everyone cracked up.

“Moving awn,” Massie announced, once the laughter died. She pulled out Dylan’s green cell and tossed it at her. “Stop wasting my time—you’re already done.”

Claire bit her thumbnail, knowing she was next.

“Here you go.” Massie handed her the red Swarovski crystal-covered Dial L for Loser phone she’d gotten as a gift from Rupert Mann, the film’s director.

Kristen sat back up and joined their tight circle, obviously thrilled that it was someone else’s turn to make a fool of herself and that her moment had passed.

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I tossed the love bracelet Cam gave me in the wave pool last night, and we haven’t talked since. How am I supposed to explain that?”

“Bad sushi,” everyone said at once.

Claire giggle-sighed.

“It’s not like he bought the bracelet. It was re-gifted,” Alicia offered, trying to be helpful. “So you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Um, thanks for reminding me.” Claire pushed her paper plate aside. Her turkey wrap rolled onto the grass, but she ignored it.

“Ehmagawd!” Alicia waved her phone. “It’s vibrating! What if it’s Josh?” She fanned her cheeks like a Southern belle.

“What does it say?” Dylan reached for the phone, but Alicia pulled it away.

“It says yes.” Alicia tightened her mouth into an O, obviously trying to hide her budding smile.

Everyone applauded and cheered.

Alicia turned to Claire with newfound confidence. “Come awn, text Cam. It’s easy.”

Claire chewed her bottom lip. “Fine.”

They waited patiently while she typed.

Suddenly, the inside of Massie’s D&G bag dinged. “Eh-magawd, it’s a text from Chris Abeley.”

“Read it!” everyone urged, slapping their thighs excitedly.

Massie’s mouth suddenly went dry. She licked her lips, tasting the minty remnants of Candy Cane Glossip Girl.

“Uh-oh…” She read the message. “He wants me to go to the horse show with him Saturday night at Madison Square Garden.”

The girls squealed with delight.

“No, you don’t get it.” Massie wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “He needs to be at Skye’s party Saturday night.”

“Point.” Alicia lifted her finger.

Massie exhaled and typed back.

“What are you gonna say?” Kristen leaned toward Massie’s tiny screen.

“I’m inviting him to be my date for the party,” she replied matter-of-factly.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the leaves above their heads, delivering a sudden chill to the air.

“What about Skye?” Alicia untied the mauve cardigan around her neck and slid it back on.

“And Derrington?” Dylan burped.

“And the bomb shelter?” Kristen added.

Claire bit her thumbnail.

“Puh-lease. I have a plan.”

“What is it?” Alicia asked.

“Yup.” Massie giggled.

No one laughed.

“Relax, I’ll figure it out.”

She texted Chris. SKYE’S PARTY. INTERESTED? was all she sent. He responded back immediately.

“He said yes.” She waved her phone, temporarily forgetting that this was hardly a victory. After all, Chris should have been going with Skye. Not her.

Another text followed immediately. Massie read it aloud.

“‘How ’bout I go as Romeo and U B Juliet. Not the Shakespeare ones, the Baz Luhrmann ones with Claire Danes and Leo DiCaprio. U wear angel wings and I’ll wear a bloody shirt like Leo when he screamed, “I am fortune’s fooooool.”’”

SOUNDS GR8, she texted back with an eye roll.

“Chris should be the new model for Calvin Klein’s Obsession.” Alicia giggled.

Everyone high-fived her but Massie, who knew this situation was messed up and far from funny. Normally Chris’s infatuation with her would be flattering times twenty, but in this case, it was a supermodel-size obstacle that was standing in the way of her alpha dreams. And despite Chris’s ah-dorable haircut and ah-mazing blue eyes, she was starting to resent him.

“Now, Kuh-laire…” Massie checked the time on her cell phone. Six more minutes until the bell rang. “Are you going to text Cam or what?”

Claire looked up as if waking from a deep sleep. “I did. It says, Sorry I took off. I 8 bad sushi and didn’t want you 2 C me hurl—”

They giggled.

“Be my D8 at costume party Saturday nite and I’ll make it up 2 U. U can B Adam and I’ll B Eve, the 1st couple on earth.”

A round of applause followed, bringing a much-needed smile to Claire’s face.

Massie nodded with approval. “Send.”

Claire did what she was told, then fell back onto the grass, hid her face in the crook of her elbow, and mumbled to herself.

Massie’s cell dinged again.

“Chris again?” Alicia’s brown eyes were wide with disbelief and envy.

“Ehmagawd, no!” Massie shouted at her screen. “It’s Derrington.”

Everyone leaned in.

Massie’s head started to throb. She slid on her purple-lensed Chloé sunglasses, despite the shade, and read the text aloud. “‘R u inviting me to that costume party or what? Everyone else is going.’”

“Ehmagawd.” Dylan speed-clapped. “We’ll both have two dates. Two dates will be the new one date.”

“I can’t have two dates.” Massie rubbed her temples. “Chris needs to end up with Skye.”

Claire lifted her phone above her head and muttered, “Cam said yes.”

“What’d he write?” Alicia asked.

“‘Forgiven. I’ll bring the fig leaves.’”

“Cute!” Dylan put an arm around Claire and affectionately pulled her close. “Whatever.” Claire rolled onto her side, her abandoned turkey wrap staring her straight in the eye.

“We better get to class.” Kristen stood and brushed the grass off her navy Puma sweats. “We have two minutes.”

“Wait! What am I going to tell Derrington?” Massie grabbed her ankle.

“Tell him you were just about to ask him,” Kristen urged.

Massie exhaled sharply through her nose. Nothing said “rock bottom” like an alpha begging for boy advice. But then again, Skye had begged her for help at Galwaugh Farms.

The realization forced Massie to reevaluate: Is emotional honesty in and fake confidence out? Before she had a chance to fully contemplate this, she spotted Claire dabbing her bleeding cuticles with a leaf. And suddenly the answer was clear. Fake confidence was far more attractive.

And with that, Massie put the whole “issue thing” with Derrington aside (for now!) and texted him, asking if he would like to be David Beckham to her Victoria.

“Great costume idea.” Kristen oozed jealousy.

“Seriously.” Alicia stood, leaving her uneaten lunch behind for the birds. “Derrington thinks so.” Massie wagged her phone facetiously.

With a tired sigh, Claire forced herself onto all fours and gathered the trash.

“One question.” Dylan held out her hands and let Kristen pull her up.

“How are you going to fit angel wings under a tight Victoria Beckham shirt?”

“Puh-lease.” Massie scooped up her loose belongings and dumped them into her tote. “That’s the least of my problems.”