Sealed with a Diss (24 page)

“Well?” asked Layne, a gleaming smile carved across her cheeks.

“Thank you.” Claire reached around Layne’s back and squeezed. “You’re the best!”

Layne, who was still facing the computer, gripped Claire’s hands and squeezed back. “Cam’s innocent!”

“Innocent!” Claire’s teeth started to chatter.

Layne stood and spit out her Slim Jim, and the girls exchanged a real hug.

Colors and sensations returned to Claire’s previously numb body, as though she had risen from the dead. She was starving.

“How happy are you?”

“So happy.” Claire’s teeth chattered harder. “I mean, he still re-gifted, but at least he’s not cheating on—”

“No.” Layne rolled her narrow green eyes. “You’re missing the whole point.”

Claire knit her light blond eyebrows.

“The bracelet. It’s not from Nikki. It’s from Cam!”

“You’re right!” Claire air-clapped—then stopped when she realized that it no longer mattered. Cam was beyond mad at her. She knocked her head until it hurt. “I knew I shouldn’t have spied. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.”

Layne checked her eyeball-hologram watch. “Gotta go.” She jumped to her feet.

“Wait, you can’t leave. You
have
to help me get Cam back.”

“No can do, that’s up to you.” She giggled at her accidental rhyme. “My brother is going riding at two-thirty, and he wants me to dye his hair back to normal before he goes. A few of the guys were busting on his highlights at Skye’s party, and now he doesn’t want the stable hands to see them.” She snapped on her helmet, pulled her socks up over her pj’s, and lowered her goggles.

“’Kay.” Claire managed an understanding smile. She thought about acting all sad and needy to guilt Layne into staying and helping. But her friend had done so much already. And she knew, despite the ache of loneliness in her body, that it would be unfair to hold her back. So, like Nikki, she swallowed her sorrow and said goodbye.

Once her door was shut, and after she peed, Claire dialed Cam. What she had to say was too important for texting, IM’ing, or e-mailing. It required intimacy. Of course, she couldn’t confess to having watched his ESP class on a monitor, but she would apologize for reading his journal, chalk it up to a moment of insane insecurity, beg for his forgiveness, and promise never to doubt him or invade his privacy again. And she’d mean every word of it.

Hearing Cam’s phone ring filled Claire with renewed hope. It had been weeks since she called him, and it felt good to imagine talking to him again. She was taking control. She would make things right. She had learned from her mistakes and was dying to share that with him. And when she was through explaining, he’d say he was still upset but was glad she called. He’d say he respected her honesty. He’d say he needed a little time to get over it. He’d say he’d call her after supper. And he would.

Claire was feeling better already.

Until she got his voice mail.

She hung up, waited ninety seconds, and then tried again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

After eleven straight attempts, Cam finally answered.

“Stop calling me!” was all he said.

O
CTAVIAN
C
OUNTRY
D
AY
S
CHOOL
T
HE
A
UDITORIUM

Monday, May 3rd

8:33
A.M.

Principal Burns stood at the podium shuffling papers while the OCD girls filed in. The auditorium smelled like wet textbooks, and the bands of colored light streaming through the stained-glass windows drew unfortunate attention to the major amounts of unsettled dust floating toward the dark, domed ceiling.

Once seated, everyone whisper-gossiped about what this impromptu assembly could possibly be about.

But not the Pretty Committee.

Dressed in head-to-toe gray—a sign of mourning—they had more pressing matters to discuss.

Kristen leaned forward, across Dylan, Alicia, and Massie, and gripped Claire’s wrist. “Ehmagawd, I’m still in shock. He really said, ‘Stop calling me!’?”

Claire averted her eyes and nodded yes. “Then he hung up.”

“Well, that’s better than getting your inbox flooded with flash-art pictures of pigs all weekend.” Dylan sneaked a sip of Enviga, the calorie-burning soft drink.

“Well, I haven’t heard a thing from Griffin, and I probably never will again.” Kristen subconsciously rubbed her nail beds, which, despite three rounds of heavy-duty remover and a scrub brush, were still stained with black Bride of Chucky polish.

“What about Derrington?” Alicia asked Massie. “Has he texted you yet?”

“Um, not since I checked during the car ride over here,” Massie snapped. “
He
thinks
I’m
immature, remember?” She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of it all.

“At least you have Chris Abeley to fall back on.” Dylan sighed hopelessly. “I remember when I had two.”

“I kinda got rid of him at the party.” Massie lifted the cashmere fold of her gray turtleneck over her chin.

“What?” they all squealed.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Alicia seemed genuinely offended.

Massie shrugged, even though she knew why.

The truth was, she had forgotten all about Chris the minute Derrington told her off. And she had become obsessed with wanting to change his opinion of her. Obsessed with wanting him to like her more than the eighth-grade girls. And obsessed with figuring out the most “mature” way of getting him back. But why admit all that when it was cooler to act like it didn’t mean enough to mention?

“It slipped my mind.”

“How is that even possible?” Alicia’s brown eyes widened. “He’s cute and he drives.”

“I know.” Massie sighed. But he’s such a
downer
.” She borrowed Skye’s word, seeing as it was so appropriate.

“How’d you shake him?” Dylan asked. “He was so into you.”

“I swiped his iPod, found the JoJo song that reminded him of his ex, Fawn, and blasted it. Sent him right back into a full depression.” She smiled with glee.

The girls leaned across one another for a group high-five.

“You know Colleen Campo?” asked Alicia.

The girls shook their heads no.

“Minnie Mouse?”

They nodded.

“I heard she doubled home on the back of Barbie’s Ken’s bike, and Mickey Mouse ended up crashing in Skye’s downstairs bathroom because he was too embarrassed to leave without her.”

“How upset was Barbie?” asked Kristen.

“Ew, puh-lease,
she
didn’t care.” Alicia rolled her eyes as if this should have been obvious. “Ken is her twin brother.”

“I heard Emily Merlino told Rachel Brown that we had the cutest dates there,” Alicia beamed.

“Until they bailed on us,” Dylan whispered as she silently read the nutritional information on the back of her sparkling green tea drink.

“Shhhhh,” Massie hissed, eye-warning her friends about the passing girls and their hunger for all things Pretty Committee–related. “I thought we weren’t going to mention the date-ditch in public.”

“It’s not like people won’t find out,” Claire mumbled, her eyes swollen and red. “Besides, everyone’s been staring at us all morning.”

“Puh-lease, they’re always staring at us.” Alicia lifted her chin.

“I know word will spread, but as long as the Briarwood boys are over there”—Massie pointed south, where the boy’s school was located—“and OCD is over here, we can spin the truth. Call them liars. Spread our own versions of the truth. It’ll be easy.”

“I hope so.” Kristen sighed just as Strawberry, the faux redhead, and Kori, her bad-postured sidekick, walked by their seats, whispering.

“Trust me,” Massie assured them. “Besides, I have a new life plan.” She pulled out her PalmPilot and read her screen, taunting the others with her mysterious new credo.

“What does it say?” asked Alicia.

“Share,” insisted Dylan.

Kristen and Claire leaned across the others to avoid being left out.

“It may not be for everyone,” Massie teased. “It’s probably something I should do on my own.”

“No,” they pleaded.

Allie-Rose and Sydney half-turned their heads to try and eavesdrop.

“Do you mind?” sneered Massie, rolling her eyes at her lack of privacy.

The girls slid down the back of their seats in utter shame. When Massie could no longer see the tops of their heads, she continued.

“As of May third, I—I mean, the Pretty Committee is on a strict boy fast.”

“Ah-greed.” Dylan gave her the thumbs-up. “I gained eight pounds with my crushes. That’s like four pounds each!”

The girls snickered.

“No more thinking about boys,” Massie continued. “No more talking about boys, and no more crushing on boys.” She paused for objections but there were none.

“We must rid our systems of all the boy toxins that are clogging our pores and dulling our complexions. So what if we’re the Cheetah Girls. We don’t need—”

“Um, question.” Alicia raised her hand. “Does this mean I can’t IM Josh tonight while I’m studying?”

“Not if you want to be part of the
New
Pretty Committee.”

Alicia bit her lower lip.

Massie secretly held her breath while Alicia chose between a boy and her friends.

“Okay, I’m in.” She removed Josh’s Yankees cap and placed it gently at her side.

Massie exhaled. “Maybe the DSL Daters need boys to make them feel special, but we’re better than that. We’re
already
special. So from now on, the New Pretty Committee is boy-free. No more sadness, no more temptation. No more distractions. It will just be us, all the time, with clear skin, having the best time ever. Ah-greeed?”

“Ah-greed.” They air-clapped.

“Done, done, and done,” Massie nodded at her PalmPilot before shutting it off and dropping it in her gray Versace Madonna bag.

“Simmer down,” grumbled Principal Burns as she bent the microphone closer to her thin lips and focused her beady black crow eyes on the students. “Simmer!”

The murmurs faded to whispers, which faded to a few dry coughs. And then silence.

“In preparation for summer, all lockers should be cleaned out no later than Friday at noon. I want all the stickers, mirrors, photos, and glitter letters scraped off the metal.” She paused, giving way to the inevitable chorus of agitated mumbles. “If, at twelve-oh-one, so much as single shiny fleck catches my eye, everyone in that row will start off their summer break with a weekend detention.”

More mumbles. A few random stares from LBRs looking to see how the Pretty Committee was reacting to the news assured Massie that even if word about the date-ditch had spread, she was still their beloved alpha.

“For those of you
not
spending this summer at five-star camps, yachting through the Mediterranean, or sunning yourselves on a beach in the Hamptons—the extra-credit summer school sign-up sheet is posted outside my office. There are several exciting new math programs to pick from, so take your time reading through the course descriptions before choosing.”

The New Pretty Committee peered over at Kristen, who, thanks to financially challenged parents and a scholarship to uphold, would be all over that sign-up sheet. She kept her eyes forward, though, as if it had no relevance to her whatsoever.

“And now”—Principal Burns tucked her wild gray Albert Einstein bob behind her ears—“I have some terrible news.”

The creaking-wood sounds of girls shifting in their seats echoed throughout the auditorium.

Massie’s heart started to race. She loved a crisis. Loved watching people get all worked up about things. It added excitement into her life, especially when the crisis had no effect on her, which this ah-bviously didn’t. Besides, it would be fun watching someone else in turmoil for a while, because she had certainly had more than her share in the past year.

She had dealt with Claire moving to town, Alicia trying to start her own clique, Nina the big-boobed boy-snatcher visiting from Spain, her first kiss with Derrington, getting expelled from OCD, watching Claire land the starring role in
Dial L for Loser,
searching for the key to a secret bomb shelter, prying it away from Layne, fixing up Chris and Skye, and wondering if Derrington would ever like her again.

And now, finally, with the creation of the New Pretty Committee, it was all behind her.

Principal Burns cleared her throat. “This morning, at three a.m., something devastating happened at our brother school.”

Massie half-smiled. She was right. It had nothing to do with her.

“Somehow, the main water valve that was used to fill the wave pool was punctured.”

Massie’s palms began to itch.

Alicia fanned her face.

Claire bit her nails.

Kristen opened and closed the Velcro straps on her gray-and-black Pumas.

Dylan started chewing on one of her red curls.

And Layne, who was two rows in front of them, slid down in her seat.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand gallons of water gushed onto the roof of Briarwood and the old building.” Principal Burns swallowed. “Well, the old building, she just couldn’t handle the weight.” Tears welled in her eyes. “And she collapsed.”

Everyone gasped.

Principal Burns dabbed her wet, beady eyes with a crumpled tissue she’d plucked from her tweed blazer pocket. “And now the institution no longer stands as a New York State landmark. Instead, it looks like the lost city of Atlantis.”

“We are so dead,” Alicia mumbled.

“If we’re lucky,” Kristen mumbled back. “I’m never lucky,” moped Claire.

“Does that make us dead or not dead?” asked Dylan.

“Shhh,” whisper-warned Massie. “You sound guilty.”

“We
are
,” Kristen insisted.

“No,” Massie muttered from the side of her glossy mouth. “Layne is.”

“Be assured that we are doing everything in our power to find out what caused this tragedy. And we are consulting with several European contractors about building restoration. But it’s a long process, and it could take several years.”

“Ehmagawd,” Massie whisper-panicked.

“Ehmagawd,” the New Pretty Committee whisper-panicked back.