Sealed with a Diss (8 page)

She knew this sudden show of morality would land her on Massie’s “out” list for at least a week—not that she cared. If Massie hadn’t encouraged her to flirt, she never would have read Cam’s journal. And if she hadn’t read the journal, she never would have skipped class to try and get the Nikki scoop. Not that she’d gotten any. The only thing she
had
gotten was more confusion and guilt.

Claire turned the door handle.

“Maybe Cam should
share
what happened at Slice of Heaven last week,” said one of the boys. It sounded like Derrington.

She whipped her head around. Close-up black-and-white shots of hands passing the Share Bear down the row of seats filled the screen.

“What?” Cam’s voice cracked, in the same desperate way it had when he was begging Claire to turn over the notebook at Slice of Heaven. “Nothing happened.”

Staring at the side of his square jaw and the collar of his worn leather jacket, Claire wondered how someone she knew so well could suddenly feel like such a stranger.

“Looks like someone fell off her high horse.” Dylan snickered when she saw Claire return to her seat.

Claire was too riveted to respond.

All she could do was watch the screen and try to steady her breath while Cam worked up the courage to share his big secret: his love affair with Nikki.

“Would it be easier if you read from your journal?” asked Dr. Loni in his sensitive Southern accent.

“No.” Cam shifted nervously. He lifted his knees to his chest, hugged them, and then lowered his legs in an obvious attempt to find comfort in an uncomfortable situation.

The class waited in silence.

Claire’s palms started to sweat.
What was he so anxious about?

“Just tell him about the cinnamon hearts,” Derrington insisted.

“Dude!” Cam snapped.

Claire grabbed the crystal-covered remote from Massie’s warm grip and turned up the volume.

“Looks like someone is getting
trampled
by her high horse.” Massie smirked.

“Point.” Alicia lifted her finger.

“This doesn’t count.” Claire heard her voice shake. “He’s talking about
my
present. It’s personal.”

“Was there another gift, Cam?” Dr. Loni asked, obviously trying to move the discussion forward.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice dripping with shame.

“What’s wrong with the gifts?” Claire pleaded with the screen, like her mother did when she watched
The Young and the Restless
. “What’s wrong with the
gifts
?”

“I think you mean
re
-gifts,” Derrington joked.

The boys snickered.

The girls gasped.

“Re-gifts?” Claire screeched. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Cam shook his fist at Derrington.

It was the first time Claire had ever seen Cam lose his temper.

“Relax,” Derrington urged. “I’m just trying to help you
share
.” He made air quotes when he said “share.”

Massie giggled, obviously taking pleasure in Derrington’s ability to provoke Cam.

“Why don’t you help
yourself
share.” Cam suddenly whipped the bear at him. A dizzying blur dominated the screen. The girls looked away with a collective moan.

“Why don’t you tell Dr. Loni about your big
issue
with Massie?” they heard Cam say as someone lifted the bear off the floor. The camera settled on a close-up of pale skin and light blond hair.

“Look, it’s Derrington’s thigh.” Dylan giggled.

“Ew!” Alicia covered her brown eyes.

“Quiet!” Massie jumped to her feet, splashing soapy foot-spa water all over the black rubber floor. “He has an
issue
with me?”

“Wait!” Claire shouted. “Go back to the re-gifting thing.”

“What’s the
issue
?” Massie wailed at Derrington’s thigh.

“It’s your turn to share, not mine,” his voice insisted.

“Then why do
you
have the bear?” Cam jeered.

“I don’t!” A speedy pan of blurry faces flashed across the monitor as Derrington chucked the bear across the room. It landed on the floor beside someone’s navy Timbuk2 messenger bag.

“That’s enough!” Dr. Loni clapped twice from somewhere in the room. With a light grunt, he bent down and retrieved the bear. “Would anyone else like to talk about Slice of Heaven before we move on?”

“Move
on
?” Massie and Claire shouted at the same time.

As if hearing their cries, Dr. Loni explained, “We’ll get back to Cam and Derek once they find the courage to face their emotions. Does
anyone
feel brave enough to share?”

“I do.” Chris Plovert slowly lifted his hand.

The girls shut their eyes as the Share Bear made another nauseating journey across the row of seats.

“Thanks.” Plovert smiled shyly as he clutched the bear. Its eyes pointed straight at the slight bump on the bridge of his nose, where his round glasses clamped on like a koala. “Um, I just wanted to say something about Dylan Marvil.”

“Ha!” Alicia smacked Dylan’s faded ultra-vintage Levi’s. “I told you not to eat!”

Dylan lips parted in horror but no sound emerged.

“It’s safe,” assured Dr. Loni. “Go on.”

The girls slid out of their chairs and inched closer to the monitor.

“I kinda think she’s cool.” Plovert pushed up his glasses, even though they weren’t slipping.

“Awww, yeah!” Dylan punched the sky. She looked at Massie, then Alicia, then Kristen. But each girl acted as though they hadn’t heard his endearing confession. Claire was the only one who returned her enthusiasm with a halfhearted air-clap.

“I think she’s cool too,” Kemp Hurley chimed in. “She’s like the only chick I’ve ever seen eat. It’s hot.”

“Exactly,” Plovert exclaimed. “She’s fun.”

“Exactly,” agreed Kemp. “Like a guy, but hot.”

“Really hot.”

“Awwww, yeah!” Dylan kicked up her legs.

Alicia and Massie curled their upper lips in disgust and rolled their eyes.

“Mr. Plovert has the bear, not you,” Dr. Loni reminded Kemp.

“Sorry.”

“Ha!” Dylan leaned over and playfully tugged Alicia’s side-pony. “So much for not eating till I’m married.”

“Are you sure they meant you and not me?” Alicia whimpered.

Dylan widened her green eyes in disbelief.

“No offense.” Alicia placed a kind hand on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s just that these guys are usually crushing on me and—”

“And today they’re nawt.” Dylan turned away. “Chew on that! Oops, sorry, I forgot. You don’t
eat
!”

“When I write about her in my journal”—Plovert pushed up his glasses again—“I call her Marvil-ous, you know, ’cause of her last name.”

“Very nice.” Dr. Loni applauded. “That was a very brave admission.”

“Ehmagawd, I have a fan club! I have a fan club!” Dylan jumped to the ground and danced to the beat of her raging excitement.

“I have a crush on Griffin.” Kristen shimmied beside her like Shakira. “How cool will it be to show up at a party with a mysterious pizza heir?”

“What did Derrington mean by re-gifting?” Claire asked, feeling like a stone statue. She could sense the excitement swirling around her insides, but she felt heavy, immovable.

“What did Cam mean by ‘big issue with Massie’?” The alpha stomped her wet bare foot.

“Why didn’t anyone talk about
me
?” Alicia whined. “You’re not going to tell Skye, are you?”

The bell rang.

“Ehmagawd,” they all shouted, and then hurried for the door.

“Hit the lights,” Massie barked.

The room went dark.

“What are we gonna tell Myner?” Claire asked as Massie scrambled to lock the door behind her.

“Bad sushi,” everyone answered at once.

“Fine.” Claire accepted their lame excuse without question. Getting busted by her geography teacher was suddenly at the bottom of the list of things to freak out about. Abandoned moral high horses, a mysterious camp-tramp named Nikki, and re-gifted cinnamon hearts had shot straight to the top.

Not necessarily in that order.

O
CTAVIAN
C
OUNTRY
D
AY
S
CHOOL
T
HE
C
AFÉ

Monday, April 19th

3:48
P.M.

“Sit!” Mr. Myner pointed at table number three with his cleft chin. Positioned between the swinging kitchen doors and the carving station, the dreaded table was plagued by an invisible cloud that still smelled like a mix of soapy metal spoons and rare roast beef, even though the Café had been closed for hours.

“Meat seats,” Dylan coughed.

The girls fought to suppress their giggles as they sat.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m making you serve your detention here, in the Café, and not in my classroom.” Mr. Myner—aka the Brawny Paper Towel Guy—folded his muscular, too-tanned-for-April arms across his log-brown flannel button-down.

The Pretty Committee examined their cuticles.

“Well, for starters, I’m not sure you girls know where my classroom
is
.” He towered above them like a giant redwood tree and stared straight into Massie’s amber eyes.

She fired back dozens of invisible hate daggers, each one Gillette Venus sharp.

“And don’t think I’m going to let you turn this detention into an opportunity to cram for your finals.” The corners of his full, dark lips curled into a “Ha! Take that” smile.

Massie looked away, refusing to give the cocky Birken-stalker the satisfaction of seeing her asphyxiate on lemon-scented cow fumes.

It was the first time she had seen the Café empty. Usually she was holding court at table eighteen, all the way in the far corner by the windows. And this unfamiliar perspective—without the lively chatter or pop-hiss of opening soda cans—made her feel strangely vulnerable and out of place.

“Now.” Mr. Myner sat on the edge of their table and crossed his thick log legs. “Who would like to explain why you missed today’s soil sampling?”

The girls giggled at his choice of words.

“Anyone?”

“Bad sushi,” they answered.

He folded his muscular arms across his chest and squinted in disbelief.

“I know it sounds
fishy
.” Massie smirked. “But it’s true.”

“Well, you missed out on a lot this afternoon,” he responded sternly, in a way that was meant to fill them with regret.

“My gardener can always fill me in,” Alicia said, with the wide-eyed faux sincerity that teachers and parents always bought.

“Joke all you want, Miss Rivera, but if you continue to take Mother Nature for granted she—”

“Um, s’cuse me, but we so do nawt take her for granted,” Dylan interrupted. “If we did, why would we pay extra for Sonya Dakar’s
plant
-based moisturizers and toners?”

“Great.” He rubbed his palms together like someone who was rarin’ to go. “Then you won’t mind spending the next two hours
feeding
the earth, as a thank-you for all those expensive moisturizers and toners.”

The girls stared at him blankly.

“Follow me.” Mr. Myner stood.

“Kumbaya,” Alicia sneezed as they followed him into the sterile kitchen.

The instant they entered the stainless-steel jungle, Massie reached for her purple-lensed Chloé sunglasses. “This place needs a shot of color, ay-sap.”

“Point.” Alicia lowered her bamboo-framed Calvin Klein glasses from the top of her head. “It’s all white and metal-y. I feel like I’m trapped in a giant iPod.”

Kristen, Dylan, and Claire snickered.

“Enough!” snapped Mr. Myner, the hum of the gigantic dishwashers forcing him to raise his voice above its usual groovy late-night-DJ purr. “Remove your sunglasses and feast your eyes on
this
.”

He stopped in front of a long stainless-steel table that held five black plastic bins stuffed with rotting food scraps.

“Ew.” Dylan scratched the side of her leg with the tip of a mocha-brown suede cowboy boot.

The rest of the girls tried to escape the fermenting-garbage smell by burying their noses inside their shirts and inhaling their perfumes.

“
Au contraire
, Miss Marvil.” Mr. Myner reached into a small white cardboard box next to the bins and pulled out five hairnets. “What you are smelling is the cycle of life.” He inhaled deeply. “Isn’t it powerful?” He exhaled with a satis-fied moan.

“Sure is.” Claire’s eyes watered.

“Please put on the nets and rubber gloves and join me behind these bins.” Mr. Myner demonstrated by stuffing his wavy black hair inside the webbed cap. “Any questions so far?”

Massie raised her gloved hand. “Um, why do we
have
to wear these?” She tilted her net like a beret. “It’s nawt like it matters if we get hair in the food. No one’s gonna eat
this
.” She turned away from the rank bin of eggshells, coffee grounds, banana peels, and vegetable scraps.

“The earth will be eating it, and trust me, she has no tolerance for your mousse, sprays, and fruit-scented gels.” Mr. Myner pushed open the side door, letting in a gust of cold but refreshing air. “Behold, OCD’s compost.”

The Pretty Committee stared in shock at a roofless, outhouse-shaped structure surrounded by piles of mud.

“The workmen who renovated our cabana had to use one of those,” Alicia announced, “because my mom didn’t want them going
numero dos
in our house.”

“There’s no way I’m going in there.” Dylan pulled off her gloves. “You can expel me again if you want.”

“Relax.” Mr. Myner snickered. “No one has to go in. It’s a
compost
.”

“Given.” Dylan slowly put her gloves back on, her baffled expression making it obvious she had no clue what a compost was.

“Compost is one of nature’s best mulches,” Mr. Myner explained. “You can use it instead of fertilizer. All you have to do is dump the good stuff in and watch as bacteria, fungi, worms, and insects gather. What remains after these organisms break down the soil is a delicious earthy substance your garden will love.”

The girls stared back at him, frozen in disbelief.