NEW YORK T-shirt fist-bumped Claire and Layne as she walked by, her tray piled high with crème brulee and French fries.Monday, December 15th
12:41 P.M.
“Kuh-laire,” Layne said in her best Massie voice as she surveyed the scene from the entrance to the New Green Café. Three eighth-graders walked by in slouchy blue, red, and green sweatpants. “Did I authorize a sweatpants parade?”
The girls flashed the C peace sign as they passed.
Claire giggled and led Layne to a table in the middle of the café. Even though she’d gotten almost no sleep the night before—Todd’s newts had clawed around in the gravel all night—she felt like she’d downed an entire case of 5-Hour Energy.
She knew her rally had been a success, but she also knew there was a big difference between what people would say in a parking lot and what they’d actually do when they got back inside the walls of OCD. But a lot of girls had chosen comfort over couture today, making Claire happier than when she was getting a whiff of Cam’s Drakkar Noir. It was the make-under of the century: At least thirty girls had put on sweatpants, stuffed their athletic-socked feet in fUggs, and traded in their contacts for chunky glasses.
But of all the changes at OCD today, the most surprising one was what had happened to Table 18. Since the beginning of time, or at least since before Claire moved to Westchester, Table 18 had belonged to Massie and the PC. No one else would even dare walk too close to it, let alone try to sit there.
But today, on a cold Monday in December, Kori, Strawberry, Heather, and Meena had joined Claire and Layne at the table.
“And then we took the ostrich eggs and turned them into lamps,” Kori said. She was telling a story about visiting her grandmother’s ostrich farm in Texas.
“Will you pass the paisley paper?” Meena asked Heather, who passed her a stack of yellow and blue paper. The girls were folding hundreds of small, silky pieces of paper into cranes. Kori had told Claire that cranes were meant to bring a sick person good health, and the girls were planning to send them to a sick child in Westchester whom they had read about in the newspaper.
“Claire-a!” A seventh-grade girl in an extra-large I NEW YORK T-shirt fist-bumped Claire and Layne as she walked by, her tray piled high with crème brulee and French fries.
“This might be the best day ever,” Claire declared as she finished a metallic red crane. Her toes were comfortable in her gray-and-baby-blue Skechers. She felt loose and un-Lycra’d in her zip-up hoodie. And her cheeks hurt from the grin that had been plastered on her face since she’d arrived at school and seen Meena and Heather in hemp pants.
“One of the lunch ladies told me they can’t keep up with the dessert orders!” Layne said, slurping down her avocado smoothie.
“The rice pudding is amazing!” Olivia exclaimed, eating a large spoonful.
Claire’s smile broadened even further. She reached up and pushed her cheeks toward her lips. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up looking like the Joker.
A girl named Nancy Sims stopped by the table. “Layne, if I live near Five Corners, which bus should I take?”
Layne pulled out her clipboard. “The W24.”
“Thanks!” Nancy said, flashing a C before skipping off.
“Nicely done!” Claire high-fived her friend.
Layne tipped her clipboard toward Claire. “I have fifty ‘I’m on a Bus’ signatures.” In honor of the new Claire-a, Layne had launched an “Eco over Ego” campaign to reduce OCD’s carbon footprint. She wanted to revamp the whole bus experience by promising to provide top-100 mixes to be played during the ride; she was going to petition the school board to map out newly planned bus routes that would take them past the boys’ school. “A lot of the girls said they were going to take public transportation on the weekends, too, so their parents won’t have to drive as much. And Danh Bondak told me he’s going to see if the country club will rent out golf carts to underage drivers, to promote electric cars.”
Becca Wilder and Rachel Walker approached, wearing matching OCD sweatshirts.
“OMG, Claire, you’ve changed my life!” Becca gushed. “I’ve been pretending to not understand algebra all year, because Massie once said that algebras are for algeboobs and who needs math when you have an iPhone. But this morning, I finally admitted that I’m a math genius. I aced my exam!”
“THANK YOU!” Rachel exclaimed, her auburn hair flying forward as she took Claire by the shoulders. She stuck a foot in the air—on it was a bright purple bunny slipper. “Thank you for making it safe to wear comfortable shoes for the first time in my entire life. Alicia said I looked like a deranged school mascot, but I didn’t even care!”
“No problem,” Claire said, waving her own sneakers at Rachel. “Happy to help.”
BAM!
The sound of a door banging open and hitting the wall cut through the air, and the entire café went silent.
“Uh-oh.” Layne pointed. “Here comes trouble.”
In the doorway stood Kristen, Dylan, and Alicia, looking as stunned as Taylor Swift during the 2009 VMAs when Kanye stole her acceptance speech. Kristen put her hands on her skinny-jeaned hips. Alicia crossed her arms over her C-cups.
“Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaos,” Dylan burped, tugging on the ends of her red hair.
“I think… I may faint,” Alicia said, breathing into a paper bag.
Kristen reached out a hand to steady her friend. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re obviously dreaming. In a second we’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal.”
“I don’t think this is a dream,” Dylan said, gawking at the trays of two girls walking past, laden with French fries and chocolate cheesecake.
One by one, the girls took out their phones and started dialing, no doubt sending an SOS to Massie, who—as Claire had expected—was a no-show. She was probably still standing in front of the closet, staring at the lone pair of overalls. In retrospect, Claire felt a teeny bit bad about leaving her ex-friend nothing to wear. But this was war, and Massie had stolen her room first.
Alicia’s knees started to buckle, and she grabbed onto Kristen for support. “Look,” she yelled, pointing at Kori and the cranes. “There are LBRs at our table.”
Kristen’s mouth fell open. Dylan gasped.
Layne let out a little giggle. “I’m so glad they started selling chocolate-covered popcorn, because I’m going to need it to watch this show.”
The three girls crossed to what had always been their table with the caution of a bunch of lab-coated scientists approaching a family of gorillas. When they got to Table 18, it took Alicia several echems before anyone took notice of them.
“Oh, hello!” Strawberry said brightly, when she finally looked up from folding a crane. “How are you?”
“Um,” Alicia said, her voice cracking. “I’m going to have to have Rosette, my cleaning woman, come disinfect this table. If you get up right now, I won’t bill you for the case of Lysol.”
The girls at the table looked at one another. Claire widened her eyes at Layne, telling her telepathically to give the others a chance to stand up for themselves first.
Then Kori said, “Well, we’re already making great headway into our crane project, and we can’t really move everything now. Why don’t you join in and help?”
“Yes,” Claire agreed, motioning to an empty chair. “Come sit.”
“I don’t want to make a bunch of weird birds out of garbage,” Alicia said, ignoring Claire.
“They’re not weird birds,” Kori explained. “They’re paper cranes.”
“Well, maybe some of your little cranes can lift you up and fly you somewhere else. This is our table, and you’re sitting at it,” Alicia said. Her hands were on her hips and her glossed lips were pursed.
“There’s plenty of room, why don’t you just sit with us?” Strawberry said. A few of the girls moved their things to make room for the PC.
“We could show you how to make them,” Meena said. “And you could have some of my sweet potato fries.”
Dylan started to reach out to take a couple, but Alicia smacked her hand away. “We don’t sit with losers,” she hissed.
“Yeah, we sit on them,” said Dylan, managing to snag a fry.
A moment passed.
“You’re going to sit on us?” Strawberry bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Ouch,” said Kori. “That would probably hurt.”
Dylan whipped the fry at Kori.
Kori took out a spray bottle.
Claire’s stomach clenched. She leaped up. “NOT YET!” she shouted.
But it was too late. Kori spritzed it at Dylan’s soft pink fingernails.
“What the…?” Dylan jumped back. She looked down at her nails and sniffed. “Nail polish remover?” She dropped to the floor and dumped out her purse, searching through a collection of Essie, Chanel, and OPI nail polish containers.
Kristen’s gaze bounced like a bobblehead between Table 18 and Dylan.
“Help me!” Dylan cried. After a beat, Kristen knelt down in her BDG skinnys and shifted through Dylan’s possessions, until she held up the powder pink one that matched her friend’s rapidly deteriorating manicure.
“Hey!” Kori and Strawberry yelled in unison.
Claire watched, speechless, as Alicia lifted Kori and Strawberry’s wooden food trays off the table and dumped them in the trash. She shot them an I dare you to retaliate glare. The entire cafeteria felt silent, watching the spectacle at Table 18 like it was the season finale of American Idol.
As if triggered by some silent cue, Kori, Strawberry, Meena, Heather, and Olivia pulled vials of Jovan Musk out of their handbags.
“Three… two… one!” Strawberry shouted.
Alicia’s mouth parted in horror as a cloud of musk enveloped her white cashmere sweater. She immediately started hacking.
“My eyes!” Dylan shrieked, shutting her eyes and groping to put her polish back in her bag.
“My nostrils!” Kristen yelled.
“Retreat!” Alicia shoved Dylan and Kristen toward the exit. The three girls ran out of the cafeteria, pulling out their cells as they went.
The entire café exploded into applause. And just like that, every single girl in the cafeteria, even the ones still wearing uncomfortable heels and constricting jeans, rushed Table 18.
“Wow,” Layne whispered. “This must have been what our parents felt like when they watched the moon landing.”
“I know.” Claire had never thought she would see the day either. But Kori and the girls had stood their ground.
Layne scrambled onto her chair and took a bow.
Claire applauded along with the others, her pulse skipping through her veins. She couldn’t believe what she’d started.
“Hey, Claire of Arc,” Layne looked down from her chair. “Are you going to join me? You did start this entire movement, after all.”
After another quick glance around for Principal Burns or a teacher, Claire threw caution to the wind and climbed on top of her chair. She made a C, then a muscle, then a peace sign.
“Claire-a, Claire-a,” chanted the girls.
“Take back LBR!” yelled Layne. “Let’s Be Real!”
“Let’s Be Real!” answered the girls. “Let’s Be Real! Let’s Be Real!”
“Let’s Be Real!” Claire yelled along with them. Sally Richards put on her glasses, Allie Rose smiled through her braces. And Kori—aka “The Croissant” because of her curved posture—stood up straight for the very first time.
Claire was on top of the world. Or at least on top of OCD—right where she was determined to stay.