Sealed with a Diss (7 page)

“Eh,” gushed Alicia.

“Ma,” followed Dylan.

“Gawd!” finished Kristen.

“Now
this
is my idea of a secret room!” Massie’s arched eyebrows were raised, her amber eyes wide.

The girls split up instantly to explore.

“Is this a
real
Starbucks machine?” Claire stroked the shiny brass body of the massive espresso maker that was on the top tier of an elegant rolling tea service, to the right of the entrance. The glass shelf below was piled high with the company’s signature green-and-white cardboard to-go cups; pink, yellow, and blue packets of sweeteners; sugar cubes; and powdered milk for the steamer. She pushed the cart like a baby in a stroller, while following Massie to the monitor.

“I’m all over
this
.” Alicia was still by the entrance, standing in front of a chrome-and-mirrored vanity. The white marble counter space was covered in what had to be every color of nail polish, eyeliner (glitter and plain), gloss, and shadow ever made by Hard Candy. The rubber rings that came on the bottles of polish had been strung like popcorn and draped over the top of the mirror.

“Iss op-orn is ate,” Dylan said, chewing a mouthful of pop-corn she had taken from the movie-theater-size dispenser. “Ust the right amount of utter.”

“ESP, anyone?” Massie sat, kicked off her Tory Burch leopard-print flats, and then dipped her stairwell-dirty feet in a swirling-soapy-bubble-filled foot massager.

“You
have
to see these racks,” Kristen gasped, obviously shocked that such an incredible collection of designer clothes and shoes had been entrusted to them. “They have more than fifteen different Puma track jackets.” She slid the wood hangers across the shiny silver garment pole. “I’ve never seen this green limited-edition one with the peacock feathers, have you?”

“No,” they all gasped with a mix of shock and delight.

Claire bit her pinky nail.

Technically, she was just as excited as the others. But they had been gone for six minutes, and Mr. Myner was probably starting to wonder where they were. She bit down on her nail again. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow. The period is almost over, and none of us have any soil samples.”

Dylan lifted her head out of a picnic basket by the popcorn maker. “There’ll be one in your Jockeys any minute now if you don’t relax.”

Claire ignored the jab while the others cracked up. She put the Starbucks cart aside and began pacing.

“Kuh-laire, what would you rather?” Massie lifted a dripping foot out of the massager and crossed her legs. Bubbles slid off her YSL brick-red polish and landed on the floor with a splat. “A lecture from Mr. Myner about wandering off without permission, or to be renamed the Cheetah Girls because we’ll be the only ones at Skye’s eighth-grade party without HARTs?”

“But I already have a boy—”

“Um, last time I checked we were the Pretty Committee, nawt the Pretty
Claire
.”

“Sorry.” Claire apologized and meant it. “You’re right.”

“As usual.” Massie dipped her toes back in the swirling foot spa.

“Ehmagawd, you guys?” Dylan called, her head back in the basket. “I bet there’s more than fifty different types of seasoning in here. And they’re all for the popcorn.” She snapped off a stiff corner of one of the edible candy snack bags and popped it in her mouth. “And these are de-
lish
.” She lifted her emerald-green eyes to the ceiling and licked her lips while contemplating the bag’s flavor. “Butterscotch?”

“Massie, check out these iridescent eye shadows,” Alicia squealed in delight. “I heard Paris Hilton bought the entire collection.”

“We have all of next year for that.” Massie nodded toward the blank monitor. “Right now we’re on a HART hunt.”

“Point.” Alicia tore herself away from the vanity and made her way, along with Kristen and Dylan, toward the pink faux-fur seats. “Ew!” she mused, stepping over a slew of empty lip-gloss-stained Starbucks venti cups.
Teen Vogue
magazine subscription cards, balled silver gum wrappers, and half-popped popcorn kernels were scattered across the pink shag area rug. “The DSL Daters are even messier than Dylan!”

A kernel smacked against Alicia’s zit-free forehead and Dylan burst out laughing. “Ooops, sorry.”

Alicia picked up a wood coffee stirrer off the floor and poked Dylan’s yellow-and-brown-plaid Western shirt, straight through to her fleshy bicep. “Ouch!”

Dylan tugged Alicia’s low black side-pony and let out a
“toot, toooooot!”
Her impersonation of a ship’s horn was an obvious a reference to Alicia’s navy-and-white-striped boat-neck sailor dress.

“Let’s hope we got us the right class schedule.” Massie aimed the pink-Swarovski-crystal-covered remote at the flat-screen TV and pressed
POWER
. “Here we go.”

Claire forced her jittery legs into the chair. Technically, this was worse than journal reading, and she couldn’t help feeling that somehow Cam would sense that she was spying.

The others took their seats just as a black-and-white image appeared on the screen.

“Eh,” said Alicia.

“Ma,” said Dylan.

“Gawd!” said Kristen.

“It works,” whisper-gasped Massie in awe. She shut off the noisy foot massager, letting her feet wade in the sudsy still water.

A semicircle of fifteen desks, each one occupied by a different Briarwood boy, flickered back at them.

Immediately, Claire scanned the room for Cam. He was sitting a few seats away from the window, next to Derrington, listening to some boy with a buzz cut who was in the middle of a rant. She shielded her eyes in case there was any possible way he could see her.

“… It’s like she swears I’m thinking certain things when I’m not thinking anything at all,” said Buzz Cut Boy.

“No way!” Alicia gasped. “That’s Miles Burke, Bella’s crush. She was crying about him today in the bathroom because she said he’s been ignoring her!”

“Shhhhh!” the girls snapped in unison, not taking their eyes off the screen.

“What kinds of things does she think you’re thinking?” boomed a deep, older male voice with a faint Southern accent.

“Ehmagawd, it’s Dr. Loni,” squealed Dylan. “He sounds just like he does on the radio.”

“Shhhhhhhh!” the girls snapped again.

“I dunno.” Miles bit the side of his pencil. “Like, last night I was supposed to call her and I didn’t, so today I get this text that says she thinks I have intimacy issues because my parents just got divorced.”

“Well?” Dr. Loni asked, expectantly.

“Well,
what
?” huffed Miles. “I didn’t call her back because her number was written on the side of my Nikes and my Nikes were in my room.”

“And?” asked the radio host, not quite getting the connection.

“
And
I was in the attic playing Formula One with my brother and our cousin.”

The boys snickered, like they totally understood his position.

“Why didn’t you call her
after
the game?”

“I figured we’d talk today or something. And now she’s mad at me.” Miles shrugged.

“Would you call that a lack of communication?” the man-voice prompted him.

“No, I’d call it psycho.”

Cam laughed with the rest of the boys, giving Claire an instant ache in her stomach, her legs, her temples, and her heart. She would have expected Cam to understand Bella’s point of view, not mock it. Had her seemingly sensitive crush always been such a guy’s guy?

The laughter died and Cam tapped a Bic pen against his Nikki notebook. It was then Claire realized that maybe she’d never really known him at all.

“Let’s move to today’s topic,” boomed Dr. Loni, from somewhere beyond the camera’s reach. “It’s called, ‘You’re Only as Sick as Your Secrets.’”

For the next few seconds, all the girls heard was chalk tapping against the blackboard.

Cam’s eyes were fixed on what must have been the Share Bear, because it looked like he was staring straight at Claire.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is kinda creepy?” she asked.

The Pretty Committee was too mesmerized to respond.

“Why don’t we start with Josh,” suggested Dr. Loni. “Josh, what emotions have been holding you hostage this week?”

Suddenly the camera shook and swayed. Bumpy shots of the cookies-’n’-cream-colored linoleum floor and the white tips of a man’s Reeboks filled the frame. The camera steadied on one of Josh’s wide brown eyes, which, as usual, was shaded by the brim of his New York Yankees hat.

Claire’s heart thumped again, like it was trying to warn her. “Maybe we should rethink this.”

“Easy for you to say,” Massie snapped. “You already have a date for Skye’s party.”

“So do you!”

“Yeah, but
they
don’t.” Massie gestured to Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen, who nodded in agreement. “And Skye said we all have to have dates or we’ll be paci-fired.”

“Paci Block,” Dylan burped.

Everyone burst out laughing except Claire.

“You don’t get it.” She ripped open the Velcro side pocket on her cocoa-colored cargos. “I just think this whole spying thing is wrong. It’s like reading someone’s journal or wiretapping their phone.”

“What’s wrong with
that
?” Dylan asked with sincerity.

“Claire has a point.” Kristen twirled the laces of her green-and-khaki Burton camo sneakers around her finger. “It’s an invasion of privacy.”

Claire smile-thanked her and continued with newfound courage. “How would you like it if someone read your e-mail?”

“Impossible, it’s password-protected,” Dylan replied, oozing “duh.”

“Hey, are you guys super-tall jockeys?” Massie asked.

Claire and Kristen shook their heads no.

“Then get off your high horses.”

Dylan and Alicia jumped down from their chairs to highfive Massie.

The Share Bear shifted in Josh’s grip, revealing a quick shot of Griffin Hastings. Black choppy hair flopped over his eyes as he secretly read a mysterious paperback under his desk.

“Ehmagawd.” Kristen rushed to the monitor and practically flattened her nose against the screen. “Was that my busboy?”

“Yup,” Massie, Dylan, and Alicia confirmed.

“Was he
reading
in class?”

“Yup,” they answered.

Claire’s mouth dried up. She was about to lose her only ally.

“I’m so calling dibs on him.” Kristen opened her arms, hugged the sides of the TV, and kissed it, leaving behind a glossy lip-print. “Invasion-of-privacy issues are
so
three minutes ago.”

“Great. Kristen is done.” Massie tapped a note into her PalmPilot. “Alicia and Dylan, I need you to focus. Think ‘alpha male.’”

Alicia pulled out her hair elastic and shot it at Kristen’s back. “Move! Josh is about to share.”

Claire lowered her head into her hands, vowing to keep herself shrouded in darkness until this crime against morality was over. She caught a glimpse of her pink Baby G-Shock watch. The bell was about to ring. Mr. Myner
had
to be wondering where they were by now.

“Since when do you care about
Josh
?” Dylan ran a hand along one of her thick red braids. “Back when we were searching under boys’ mattresses for the key to this bomb shelter, you said his bedroom was freaky clean in a turnoff sort of way.”

“It is,” Alicia agreed. “But a secret’s a secret. I don’t care
who
it belongs to, my ears wanna hear it. Besides, I’ve been low on gossip points this month.”

“Go ahead,” urged Dr. Loni’s voice from the flat-screen’s surround sound. “It’s safe.”

The sudden, high-pitched screech of metal probably meant the boys were shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Claire spread her fingers, just enough to get a narrow peek at the TV screen.

“Well…” Josh paused, his finger circling the eye of the Share Bear and blocking their view. “Sometimes I boss my sister around when my parents aren’t home.”

Dr. Loni cleared his throat. “And by this you mean…”

“I mean I kidnap her Bratz dolls and dangle them over the disposal until she does my chores.” He stopped circling the eye and lowered his head in shame. “Stuff like that.”

“Geeeenius!” Derrington leaned across Cam to high-five Josh.

“Nice shorts.” Massie rolled her eyes when she saw his tiger-striped surf trunks. “Gawd, why can’t he ever be serious?”

“Derek!” snapped Dr. Loni, who finally appeared in the shot. A rectangle of sunlight cut across his bald head like a giant Band-Aid. He had skinny legs and a thick midsection, which he tried to cover with a loose velour tracksuit. “You’re eroding our fortress of trust.” He stroked his close-cut goatee, stomped out of the frame, and disappeared.

“Sorry.” Derrington made a show of lifting his butt and sitting on his naughty hand. He knocked his bare knees together like a hyperactive child.

“Josh,” continued Dr. Loni, “how does it make you feel when your sister does your chores?” Josh’s head stayed down. “Good at first, ’cause, you know, my chores are done and I didn’t have to do them.”

“Good, good. And then?”

“And then kinda bad, ’cause while I’m playing Xbox, she’s upstairs cleaning my room.”

“Do you think next time you could resist the urge to kidnap, and do the chores yourself?” asked Dr. Loni.

Josh shrugged, like he was seriously contemplating this.

“Ehmagawd,
she
cleans his room!” Alicia bobbed in her seat. “He’s nawt freakishly clean—
she
is. My crush is back.”

Massie stamped her fist on the arm of her pink chair. “Ah-pproved.”

“Wait,” Claire couldn’t help interjecting. “Doesn’t it bother you that he’s so mean to his sister? Do you think Skye would find that
suitable
?”

“Point,” Alicia sighed.

Massie highlighted something on her PalmPilot and hit
DELETE
. “Thanks a lot,” she mouthed to Claire.

“Would anyone else like to share?” asked Dr. Loni.

“I have a question.” Kemp Hurley raised his hand. “If girls don’t want to hook up, why do they dress like they do?”

The boys whooped and hollered.

Claire checked her pink Baby G-Shock watch again. “I’m gonna get some soil.”