It's Not Easy Being Mean (9 page)

After an initial scan—to make sure Cam wasn't on it—Claire took a closer look. She couldn't believe how many boys Skye had kissed. And that Derrington was one of them.

But if it bothered Massie, she didn't show it. She calmly folded her copy and placed it in her red leather Miu Miu bag and reached for her phone.

MASSIE:
A, where did u get those names?

ALICIA:
Can't reveal. I want 2 b a reporter. Sources r sacred.

Massie rolled her eyes.

ALICIA:
Trust me. It's legit.

MASSIE:
C, did Todd say anything?

CLAIRE:
Swears Skye is in love with him. That's it.

MASSIE:
Did you look under his mattress last night?

Claire felt her cheeks burn. How could she have forgotten?

CLAIRE:
Yeah. Not there.

She pulled a thin blue Paper Mate pen out of her back pocket and wrote a big
T
on the back of her hand so she'd remember to check the minute she got home.

KRISTEN:
Where should we start?

Claire typed quickly.

CLAIRE:
Harris Fisher.

After spending three long weeks in Los Angeles—without Cam—Claire found herself searching for excuses to see him.

CLAIRE:
I can get us in cuz he's Cam's brother.

MASSIE:
2nite?

Claire hesitated, knowing she should probably ask Cam before making plans on his behalf. But Massie was anxious to start looking for the key. And Claire was anxious to help. Getting the Pretty Committee into Harris's bedroom would stop all the Claire's-more-into-the-West-Coast-than-Westchester comments they'd been making behind her back. Plus, it would get her a school-night lip kiss from the cutest boy she'd ever known—the perfect end to a not-so-perfect day.

O
CTAVIAN
C
OUNTRY
D
AY
S
CHOOL
B
EHIND
T
HE
N
ONDENOMINATIONAL
C
HAPEL

Monday, April 5th

4:04
P.M.

“Ew! What
was
that?” Alicia screeched, after accidentally grazing the back of Claire's light blue puffy jacket with her hand. “Can't we puh-lease turn on the lights? I'm scared.”

“Shhhhh,” Massie hissed. “No lights.”

“What are we doing back here?” Dylan insisted.

“Waiting to die.” Alicia sounded on the verge of tears.

Claire was relieved to know she wasn't the only one freaking out. For the last twenty minutes, she hadn't been able to shake the feeling that they were being watched. Not by Principal Burns or even Skye—more like by God or a serial killer.

The back of the chapel was creepy as it was, with the choir's black robes hanging on hooks and the row of narrow, windowless rooms used for meditation and silent prayer. But now, in the dark, with just the bluish glow from their open cell phones to guide them, it was horror-film creepy. It smelled like stale carpet and dusty old books. And all Claire could hear was Massie rattling doorknobs and knocking lightly on walls, obviously searching for the one
thing
they were forbidden to discuss.

“Kuh-laire, did you hear back from Cam yet?” Massie jiggled the last handle.

“I left three messages and still no—”

Distant footsteps distracted her.

“What was
that?
“ Alicia grabbed the back of Claire's jacket.

“Sounded like ballet flats on the chapel floor,” whispered Kristen.

“More like cheap Steve Maddens,” Massie corrected. “Come on.” She held her cell phone in front of her and hurried toward the noise. Claire was in awe of Massie's fearlessness, especially since Alicia, Dylan, Kristen, and her were clutching one another's palms, even though they were sweaty.

“Who's here?” Massie pushed through the blue velvet wings on the side of the stage like a fed-up Broadway actress and flicked on the lights.

Kaya and Penelope ducked behind a pew.

Massie glanced at Dylan and air-scribbled, letting her know to add Kaya and Penelope to the list of girls who got Skye's CD-ROM.

Dylan flashed her the thumbs-up.

“I see you.”

“So?” called Kaya, still crouched like a chipmunk. “It's not a crime to be here.”

“Actually, it is.” Kristen put her hands on her hips. “No one is allowed to be on school property after hours unless accompanied by a member of the faculty. It says so in the OCD handbook.”

“Then why are
you
here?” Penelope straightened up and twirled her curly brown high-pony. As usual, she was dressed like a burglar, in black AG cords and a black turtleneck.

“I lost my keys,” Massie jumped in.

The two girls exchanged a glance.

“In the
chapel
?” Kaya stood beside her partner in crime.

“Yeah. I was praying this morning.” Massie smirked. “But it didn't work. You're still ah-nnoying.”

Kaya gasped.

The Pretty Committee giggled.

“Penelope, are you a big boob?”

“No.” She snorted.

“Then why are you hanging?”

The Pretty Committee burst out laughing.

“You heard her,” Alicia snarled. “Leave!”

Penelope and Kaya stared back defiantly.

“Okay, then.” Massie flipped the power switch on the thin microphone clamped to the side of the altar. She leaned forward and pressed her glossed lips against it. “Kaya peed in her sleeping bag at my third-grade birthday party! And Penelope once sneezed during synchronized swim and—”

“Okay, fine!” Penelope took off faster than the cowardly lion in
The Wizard of Oz.
And Kaya was right behind her.

The girls exploded with laughter until Claire's cell rang.

“Is it Cam?” Massie wiped her tear-soaked cheeks.

“Yup,” Claire said before checking the screen. Her tingling feet were never wrong. “Hullo?” She jumped off the stage.

“Hey.” He sounded like he was jogging or pacing. “What's wrong? Did you make your decision? Are you moving?”

“What?” Claire's blond eyebrows practically smashed together. “No. Why?”

“You called like three times and I got worried.”

“Oh.” Claire felt an overwhelming need to touch his shoulder. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

He sighed. She could hear his relief.

Massie gave Claire the hurry-up-and-get-on-with-it hand signal.

“Um.” She walked up the steps to the stage. “I was thinking, uh, maybe we could come over tonight.”

“We?”

Claire walked down the steps.

“Yeah.” She looked at Massie, her wide blue eyes screaming for help. “
We
.”

“Soccer lessons,” Massie mouthed.

Kristen rolled her eyes.

“We want soccer lessons.” She hated lying to him, and wondered if he sensed her blushing. “‘Cause we're joining the OCD Sirens.”

“Sure.” He laughed. “But I can't tonight.”

“Why?” Disappointment spread through Claire's body like a wave of prickly heat. And would rage through Massie's like a brush fire.

“I have a science test first period tomorrow and if I don't get a B-plus or higher, I'll—”

“We'll only be there for a few minutes,” Claire heard herself whine.

Massie stomped her foot, obviously sensing the outcome. “Make him say yes.”

“How about tomorrow?” Cam asked, sounding hopeful.

“Uhhhh, hold on, I'm losing my signal,” Claire lied again. Once she was by the chapel doors, she said, “That's better,” much louder than she needed to. Then she turned in toward her phone. “I can't tomorrow,” she whispered. “I'll be in Manhattan, meeting with my agent. What about Thursday?”

“Soccer practice.”

“Oh.” Claire bit her thumbnail.

“How about Friday?” he offered.

“Are you sure you can't do tonight?”

“I wish I could, but—”

“That's okay, I understand.” Claire didn't have to look up to know that the Pretty Committee was surrounding her. She could hear them whispering and shushing one another. “See you Friday.”

“Bye.”

Claire said goodbye in her head, but in reality she just hung up the phone.

“Friday?” Massie snapped. “That's the soonest we can get in there? What if someone else gets there first?” She gestured to the pews where Kaya and Penelope had been hiding.

“He has to study tonight.” Claire's entire body felt heavy.

“What about tomorrow?”

“Uh, his uncle is visiting.” She lied a third time. But she couldn't bear the thought of the girls at Cam's house without her. What if he realized that Massie was cooler than she was? Or that Alicia was prettier? Or that Dylan was funnier? Or that Kristen was a better athlete?

But then again, what if Massie knew that Claire's insecurities were keeping them from finding the key? Could anything be worse than that? There was no easy way out of this.

All Claire could do was lift her eyes toward the stained-glass dome above her head and pray for the best.

O
CTAVIAN
C
OUNTRY
D
AY
S
CHOOL
OCD/B
RIARWOOD
S
OCCER
S
TADIUM

Tuesday, April 6th

7:03
A.M.

The morning sun reflected off the metal bleachers, creating random puddles of gold light where the Pretty Committee usually sat and flirted with the Briarwood soccer team. Sure, the soccer stadium looked nice enough at this hour, even inspiring, like those motivational sports posters in the guidance counselor's office about
achieving
success and not just dreaming about it.

But still, it was insanely early, and Massie couldn't help feeling disappointed with herself. Yes, she'd
promised
Principal Burns she'd join the OCD Sirens and learn to become a team player. It was either that or a lifetime of lunching with muffin-money-stealing juvies in public school. But it was only a
promise
, and Massie Block was a master at weaseling out of
those
. Yet here she was—chilly, groggy, and wearing cleats.

“Hey, you guys.” Kimmy Rosen ran across the field toward the Pretty Committee. “Where did you get those uniforms?” She pushed her round Arthur the Aardvark glasses up the bridge of her narrow nose when she finally caught up. “I, like, completely want one for my birthday party next weekend.”

Massie puffed out her chest and smiled. “Thanks, I designed them myself.”

“They're couture.” Alicia stroked her long dark ponytail extension.

“Socc-outure.” Dylan giggled.

Kristen rolled her eyes.

“Can I order one?” Kimmy pulled up her regulation knee-high white socks. “I'm so sick of the whole navy-shorts-and-baggy-yellow-shirt thing.”

“I
like
them.” Kristen pulled her heel to her butt, stretching a hamstring. She looked to her teammates for support but got none. The gathering Sirens were forming an envy circle around Massie, Alicia, and Dylan to get a closer look at their creations. “Our uniforms are practical. Unlike
those.
“

“These are more than practical. They're pract-
able
.” Massie paused. “Practical and ah-dorable.”

“Point.”

It was one thing for Kristen not to wear one of Massie's special-edition uniforms, but it would be quite another for her to criticize them in public. Especially since Massie, Alicia, and Dylan were the only three girls on the field who actually looked female.

Their navy shorts had been ripped open by Massie's housekeeper, Inez, and sewn into A-line miniskirts. Cleavage-baring cuts transformed their boyish yellow tops into sexy V-necked tanks. And their boring white knee-highs had been cut into “sweat bangles” and moved to their wrists. Now the girls sported cute little tennis socks with fluffy lemon yellow pom-poms flopping around the heels of their cleats, introducing their harsh black sneakers to this spring's biggest “it” color. But the pieces de resistance were the numbers on their backs, which Inez had filled in with navy glitter. Massie put a hand on her waist—one foot out, and toes pointed—giving Kimmy and the other Sirens a moment to study the Pretty Committee's fabulousness. Alicia and Dylan did the same.

“Can I order one?” asked Marta Williams, who was known for wearing a white do-rag over her unruly brown curls.

“Me too,” added Jessi Rowan before crouching to tighten her black laces.

“Everyone give Dylan your sizes and I'll see what I can do,” Massie announced, with an I-told-you-so smirk aimed at Kristen.

“What happened to Siren pride?” Kristen asked her teammates as they formed a line in front of Dylan.

“What happened to
female
pride?” Massie answered for them. “The boys are practicing a few yards away.” She pointed to the Briarwood Tomahawks, who were racing up and down the field, caught up in their morning drills. Uneasiness pinched her heart when she saw Derrington snaking around a row of orange pylons. Had he really lip-kissed Skye Hamilton? Quickly, Massie turned away, before full-blown sadness crept in and ruined her day.

Kristen opened her mouth to speak, but Coach Davis beat her to it.

“Line up,” announced the petite blonde in an old 2003 black Juicy Couture sweat suit, white clouds of air puffing from her wide mouth.

Instead of moving, the girls stayed where they were and continued shouting their sizes at Dylan.

“Line!” Her perfectly even teeth practically morphed into fangs. “Now!”

The Sirens scurried into formation, a single row facing her. Massie edged out Kori Gedman, who was jockeying for a place beside Kristen, then grabbed Alicia and Dylan and pulled them beside her.

“How ‘bout a strong Sirens welcome to Massie Block, Alicia Rivera, and Dylan Marvil?” The coach clapped her hands in a rhythmic staccato beat. Massie wondered if she had some sort of weird nerve disorder that prevented her from clapping like a normal, healthy person, until fifteen other girls joined in. Massie found their warm welcome more energizing than her morning Red Bull.