Sealed with a Diss (3 page)

“And even if we broke up with them, we could always find newer, more
suitable
ones like
that
,” Alicia snapped. “Thanks to ESP.”

The Pretty Committee squealed with delight.

“Um, reminder.” Skye stepped in from of the screen. “This room isn’t yours until next year. Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen will have to find boyfriends all by themselves.”

“And if we can’t?” Kristen twisted the pink-and-orange terry Puma sweatband around her wrist.

“If you
can’t
…” Skye wound her thick blond waves into a high ballerina bun and fastened it with one of her gold bangles. “You cute, itty-bitty little seventh-graders will be forced to walk around my party sucking these.” She held out her hand and Thin-Pin, the DSL Dater with ultra-fine straight blond hair, slapped five pink pacifiers in her palm.

Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen gasped.

Massie and Claire exchanged “phew” glances, knowing that their pre-established relationships with Cam and Derrington rendered them automatically immune to the humiliating ultimatum.

“FYI…” Skye slid the pacifiers onto her fingers, held out her arm, cocked her head, and admired them. “If one of you fails, you all fail.”

“Wait!” Massie heard herself protest aloud. “That’s not fair.”

The Pretty Committee gasped again in a thanks-a-lot sort of way.

“I mean…” Massie giggle-blushed. “This whole
thing
isn’t fair. Everyone will ah-bviously
try
to get dates but if for some reason someone falls through at the last minute, you can’t punish all of—”

“Do you
all
want access to this room next year?”

They nodded.

“Then you will
all
be treated the same.”

“That’s how it works,” announced Swiss Miss Braids.

“We had the same rules when we were in the seventh grade,” said Ponytail.

The other blondes nodded in agreement.

“No problem.” Massie grinned. “If we got Birkin bags before Mary-Kate and Ashley, we can certainly find a couple of boyfriends.”

“I like your confidence.” Skye smiled, flashing a row of iPod-white, never-needed-braces teeth.

Massie half-nodded in thanks.

“I just hope you’re right, or your lives are going to
suck
.” Skye wiggled her pacifier fingers again, and the DSL Daters cracked up.

Instantly, the Pretty Committee turned toward Massie, anxious for her to unleash a paralyzing comeback.

But it was best to hold back. If Skye knew they were worried, it would only increase her alpha power and weaken Massie’s own. Instead, she inhaled, yoga style, focusing on the sharpness of her breath until the sensation calmed her. Finally, she managed a cool smile. “Not a problem—we have more options than Match.com.”

“I hope so, because the party’s only three weeks away.”

Skye clapped once, letting everyone know it was time to leave. She pressed her thumb into the remote and flicked off the lights.

And just like
that,
the Pretty Committee’s excitement faded with the image of the TV screen.

CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

W
ESTCHESTER
, NY
S
LICE OF
H
EAVEN
P
IZZA
S
HOP

Monday, April 12th

3:58
P.M.

Outside Slice of Heaven—a windowless brick igloo designed to look like a giant pizza oven—the Pretty Committee re-glossed and finger-combed while Massie twirled her low side-pony and examined their outfits for embarrassing latte stains and outdated accessories.

As she stood in a cluster to the right of the door, Claire couldn’t help wondering if the other girls knew they were going see the boys after school, because their outfits were all 8.5s or higher, and her ensemble—a faded camo long-sleeved waffle shirt, cuffed khaki cargos, and olive-green Keds slip-ons—made her look like a jalapeño pepper.

“Does this kimono dress make me look too wide?” Dylan smoothed the red-and-white satin over her black leggings as if trying to stretch it.

Massie lowered her oversize Chloé sunglasses, peering over the tops of the purple lenses.

“No. Your broad shoulders balance your hips.”

Dylan grinned and then stuck a loose red curl back in her messy updo.

“Are my Seven cutoffs too last year?” Kristen stuffed her hands into the pockets of the denim blazer she wore over one of Alicia’s old white cashmere hoodies.

Massie tapped her chin. “No. You updated them with navy leggings. But good question.”

“Phew.” Kristen wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead.

“Does my lavender Splendid look snowboarderish under this white short-sleeved blouse?” Alicia wondered.

“That’s nawt just a blouse,” Massie corrected. “It’s a Daryl K. And Daryl K can never look snowboarderish. It’s too high style.”

“Point.” Alicia beamed.

“Now me.” Massie spun, modeling her gray fitted short-sleeved blazer, long turquoise satin cami, and dark DKNY jeans, which were tucked into flat black riding boots. “Do I look
too
cute, or just cute enough?”

“Too cute,” they all answered at once.

“Perf!” Massie clapped silently.

“Now, remember.…” Kristen wrapped a pale hand around the shellacked-dinner-roll door handle outside the restaurant. “Act surprised when you see the guys. If they know we followed them after practice, they’ll call us ‘soccer-stalkers’ for, like, the next ten years.”

Claire’s insides leapt. Cam Fisher was on the other side of the door. There was nothing better than running into her crush on a school night. It was an unexpected treat, like finding five dollars in an old pair of jeans or getting a last-minute dinner at McDonald’s—only better. She cursed herself one last time for looking like a jalapeño and then pushed her insecurities aside. After all, wasn’t love supposed to be blind?

“One more thing.” Massie swatted Kristen’s hand off the hard, glistening dinner roll and pulled the girls aside into a last-minute huddle. “We’re here to find boyfriends.” She half-smiled at Claire. “I mean,
they
are here to find boyfriends. Kuh-laire and I already have them.”

Claire full-smiled back, unable to hide her joy. For once, she had more in common with Massie than the others. And it was nice to be on the enviable side of things.

“Wait until everyone hears we showed up at Skye Hamilton’s eighth-grade graduation party with hawt, suitable guys,” Alicia said to her reflection in Massie’s tinted Chloés. “Our alpha status will be a given until college at least.”

“Calvin Klein will name a perfume after us called Envy,” Dylan announced.

“Gucci already has a perfume called Envy,” Kristen noted.

“Well, then Calvin’s will be called Envy
Us
.”

“Point.” Alicia high-fived her.

“And if you don’t find dates, it’ll be called Sucks 2 B Us,” Massie reminded them.

“Point.” Alicia stuffed her high-five hand into the back pocket of her stretch J Brand jeans.

“Kuh-laire, it’s up to you to show the others how to flirt.” Massie pinched her cheeks rosy.

“No problem,” Claire assured her, while having no clue how to pull this off.

Massie stepped aside to let pass a pregnant woman in a light blue T-shirt that said
IT’S NOT EASY BEING EASY
across the belly. “Since it’s going to be an eighth-grade party, your dates should be mature and cool.”

“You mean like
Derrington
?” Kristen snickered.

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Kristen’s cheeks reddened.

“Tell me.”

“Nothing.”

“Tell!” Massie insisted.

“It’s just that Derrington wiggles his butt when he’s happy, and he wears shorts in the winter.”

“So?”

“So…” Kristen looked to the others for backup but they lowered their heads. “Is that
mature
?”

“No!” Massie threw open the door like she meant it. “It’s ah-dorable!” She marched inside the domed restaurant, which smelled like warm dough and tangy oregano.

Slice of Heaven was the Starbucks of pizza. “Slice Stylists” offered everything from soy crusts to lactose-free cheese, and sauce infusions that promised zit-free skin (pomegranate seeds), higher grades (ginkgo biloba), and weight loss (Hoodia extract). Bright orange flames flickered on the white brick walls, making diners feel like they were inside a massive pizza oven.

“How come we never eat here?” Claire asked, searching the crowded restaurant for Cam.

“If I wanted to fry, I’d go to St. Barts.” Massie fanned her face, the faux fire reflecting in her eyes.

“Point.” Alicia wiggled beside Massie, shoving Claire into a tower made of ceramic takeout boxes, aka the hostess stand.

“Welcome to Slice of Heaven. How many in your party?” asked a willowy blond college-age girl wearing a white tank dress and a headband with a bobbing silvery halo.

“Five,” Dylan announced. “Can you please put us near some ma-tour boys?”

“Um.” The girl tapped the menus against her pointy Reese Witherspoon chin while scanning the pie-shaped tables. “Right now everything is taken.”

“How ’bout back there.” Massie pointed. “By those guys in the soccer uniforms.”

“There aren’t any available—”

“Thanks, Angel.” Massie grabbed the round menus from the hostess’s hand. “We can seat ourselves.”

The hostess called after the Pretty Committee, but they snaked through the tables, giggling all the way to the back of the restaurant.

The space behind Claire’s belly button tingled with nervous excitement as they approached a pack of fifteen boys in burgundy shorts and green shirts. They were seated elbow-to-elbow around four circular tables that had been jammed together, their two coaches keeping a watchful eye from a nearby booth. The whole team seemed to be there—everyone except Cam.

Claire felt a sudden twinge of disappointment in the very place her nervous excitement had just been.

“Ehmagawd, what are you guys doing here?” Kristen shouted, much louder than she needed to. “Look, it’s the Briar-wood Tomahawks. I swear, this is so freaky, isn’t it?”

“Wow, I don’t believe it!” Alicia pressed a hand against her white blouse as though the shock might trigger heart failure.

“Block!” Derrington shouted while jamming a piece of what looked like chocolate-covered pizza in his mouth. Comb tracks through his usually messy blond hair confirmed a post-practice shower.

“Oh, hey there.” Massie raised her waxed brows just high enough to make her surprise seem genuine. Then she turned back to the PC. “Don’t forget the mission. Suitable dates. No blisters. HART guys only,” she reminded them before making her way over to the head of the table where her star goalie of a crush was seated.

“What’s HART?” whispered Claire.

“Hawt, Alpha, Rich, and Toned,” Alicia explained.

“Oh.”

“Ready?” asked Massie, turning toward to the head of the table where Derrington was sitting, wearing a red-and-white-checked napkin as a bib.

They nodded in recognition, then parted ways.

“What are the odds?” Dylan reached over one of Kemp Hurley’s well-defined shoulders and lifted a limp bacon-wrapped mozzarella stick out of a gold metal basket.

“This sugar bun’s a hungry one,” Kemp, the team’s biggest perv, said with a devilish smile.

“Dy-
lan
,” Alicia whisper-hissed. “Put it back.”

“Why?” Dylan lowered the mozzarella stick to the table and swished it around the bowl of ranch dressing.

“Put. It. Back.” Alicia muttered through the side of her mouth. “Chris Plovert is
staring
at you.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Dylan blushed. “Were you about to eat this?”

The perma-tanned brunet shook his head no, then burped. “It’s all you.”

Dylan immediately swallowed a mouthful of air and burped back, “Thanks.”

Plovert’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

“See,” Dylan smirked and then devoured the stick in a single bite. “No one was eating it.”

“It’s not
that
.” Alicia rolled her eyes.

“What then?”

“Kuh-laire, will
you
tell her?”

“Tell her
what
?” Claire knew she sounded impatient, but she was too busy trying to figure out where Cam might be to care.

“That she’s never going to
find
a boy if she
acts
like a boy. A girl shouldn’t eat in front of her crush until they’re married. It’s a turn-awff,” Alicia explained.

“Oh.” Claire immediately thought of the bags of gummy worms and sours that Cam had given her over the last nine months and wondered if she’d been wrong to devour them on the spot.

“That’s so stupid.” Dylan grabbed a half-eaten crust off Kemp’s plate and stuffed it in her mouth. “Are you guys turned off by me?” she asked, sticking out her A-cups ever so slightly.

“
Au contraire,
honey bear.” Kemp winked. Chris shook his head and lifted his frothy chocolate milk shake to his wide mouth.

“Do
you
want to tell Massie you’re blowing the mission, or should
we
?” Alicia grabbed Kristen’s thin wrist and pulled her to the other side of the table.

“No, wait!” Dylan followed them to the head of the table. Suddenly, Claire was alone. She didn’t know if she should follow her friends (follower?), make small talk with the boys (cheating on Cam?), or leave (pathetic!). All she knew for sure was that lurking solo behind the Tomahawks’ table made her a shoo-in for the title of Soccer-Stalker.

“Hey, you,” beckoned a sweet male voice behind her. The familiar citrus-meets-oak smell of Drakkar Noir practically lifted Claire out of her olive-green Keds.

“Hey!” She turned, then blushed at the sight of Cam’s gorgeous blue eye and green eye. She wanted to hug him just for being there. So she did.

From across the table, Massie gave her an approving thumbs-up, then nudged the others to make sure they’d follow Claire’s flirty example.