The Clique (7 page)

When Claire finally got to class, everyone was seated and calm except her.

Vases of colorful flowers lined the window ledges, and bowls of overly buffed fruit filled the shelf along the back wall. The skylights on the ceiling allowed sunny brightness to flood the room, creating a pleasant and cheery environment.

“You look confused, dear. What’s your name?” asked a tall thin man in a navy smock that said, D
ON’T
M
ESS
W
ITH
P
ERFECTION
.

The entire class stared at Claire.

“I’m not confused, I’m just looking for a seat,” Claire answered. She could feel her face turning red.

“And you arrrrrrre?” He tapped his clog impatiently while he waited for an answer.

“I’m Claire.”

“Hello, Claire, I’m Vincent. My likes are swing dancing and must-see TV. My dislikes are … let me think … hmmm … oh, I know—TARDINESS!” he shouted. “So if you would please just grab that seat by the window, I would greatly appreciate it.”

The vacancy was beside Alicia, whose vintage suede blazer was already on the free chair to ward off newcomers.

“This isn’t the changing parlor at Saks, Ms. Rivera,” Vincent said. He batted the air with the side of his hand like he was shooing away a mosquito.

Claire slowly made her way through the maze of easels and stools, scanning the room to see if maybe there was another seat she could claim. Alicia shook her head forebodingly, hoping to prevent Claire from coming any closer. All Claire could do was shrug and hope Alicia understood that she had no choice.

Alicia’s manicured index finger pointed at the empty space in front of Vincent’s desk, but it was too late.

“Claire, I’ve seen paint dry faster,” Vincent said. “Chop chop.”

He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head like he was about to toss out another zinger. But the door burst open and his attention was diverted.

The entire class turned to look at the source of the latest interruption while Claire used the opportunity to settle into her seat.

Kristen stood in front of the room, panting like a dog. Her hair was halfway out of her ponytail and she looked frazzled.

“Sorry, Vincent, I was in the bathroom,” Kristen said.

“Another tardy, Ms. Gregory, and I will personally hack off that precious blond hair of yours and have it spun into paintbrushes.”

Claire was the only one who laughed openly at his threat. Vincent’s narrow, pointy face softened when he heard her giggle, and the twinkle in his eye suggested that he was thankful one of his students finally got his sense of humor.

Kristen twisted the loose strands of hair around her finger. She shot Alicia a confused look.

“Where’s my seat?” Kristen mouthed.

Alicia tilted her head in Vincent’s direction and signaled with her arms that there was nothing she could do about Claire.

“Looks like the only space left is this one,” Vincent said, patting the top of the empty stool in front of his desk. His gold pinky ring made a loud tapping sound every time it hit the wooden seat.

Claire scanned every one of her fingernails looking for something to bite, but she had nothing left.

Vincent pulled an egg timer out of his side pocket and set the dial for fifteen minutes. Then he sashayed over to the podium in the middle of the room and grasped the corner of the sheet that covered it. With a quick flick of the wrist he whisked it away, revealing three bright red tomatoes in a bowl.

“You have exactly fifteen minutes to paint a still life called
Ripe Vine Tomatoes,
” he explained. “Now begin.”

The room was quiet except for the occasional sound of brushes swishing around in water and getting knocked against the sides of cleaning dishes.

Vincent paced up and down the aisles, eyeing everyone’s work with the intense scrutiny of an art critic. His ticking egg timer reminded Claire of Captain Hook from
Peter Pan
. She found it hard to focus.

She figured Alicia was distracted too because she was looking around the room nervously. While Vincent commented on someone’s “erratic brushstrokes,” Alicia turned toward Claire’s desk.

“Can I borrow some of your red? Mine’s a little clumpy,” she said.

“Sure,” Claire said.

Alicia leaned over and dunked her brush. She lost her balance on the way up and was forced to grab on to Claire so she wouldn’t fall down.

“Sorry about that.” Alicia looked slightly embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” Claire asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” Alicia said.

“Problem, ladies?” Vincent asked.

“No,” they answered in unison.

Claire returned to her still life.

“Four minutes left,” Vincent announced.

Alicia burst out laughing.

“Did I miss something funny on
Leno
last night, Ms. Rivera?” Vincent asked.

“No, Vincent, sorry. I think the smell of the paint is starting to get to me. Maybe I should sit down for a minute.”

“Good idea,” Vincent said as he gently polished one of the model tomatoes with his sleeve.

Claire raced to finish her third tomato but was distracted by another noise. The faint sound of clicking buttons filled her ears and reminded her of the horrible ride to school that morning. They were talking about her again.

KRISTEN:
?

ALICIA:
•

KRISTEN:
???

ALICIA:
•

KRISTEN:
???!!!

ALICIA:
• = CLAIRE GOT HER PERIOD

When Kristen received that final text message, she craned her neck around to sneak a peek at Claire. Sure enough, a big red splotch was on the back of Claire’s white jeans. Alicia held up a paintbrush that had been dipped in red paint and waved it around. Kristen put her hand over her mouth, but no palm could conceal her throaty laugh.

When art was over, Claire got up and headed toward the door. Each girl she passed let out a giggle. Claire wiped her hand across her nose to check for loose boogers but didn’t find anything. She tousled her bangs in case they were doing that weird split-down-the-middle thing she hated. But people still snickered. Claire was halfway out the door when Vincent stopped her.

“Claire, can you please stay behind for a second?” he asked.

Great,
Claire thought.

Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells

And schnitzel with noodles
…

“What, dear?” Vincent asked.

“Nothing,” Claire said. She hadn’t realized she was singing out loud this time.

He scribbled something on a small white notepad and Claire thought he looked like a doctor writing out a prescription.

“I want you to go see the nurse right away,” he said. “Take this slip; it will excuse you for being late to your next class.”

“Why? What is it?” Claire asked.

“I’d rather the nurse deal with it. Now go,” he commanded.

Claire stood and stared at him.

“
Go!
”

Claire raced out of the room but had no idea where she was going. In all of the uncertainty she’d forgotten to ask where the nurse’s office was.

Alicia and Kristen were halfway down the hall. Alicia had been so normal, almost
nice
when she’d borrowed the paint. Maybe it’d be okay to ask them.

“Hey, would you guys mind telling me where I can find the nurse?” Claire asked, trying to sound desperate. Maybe if they thought her appendix was bursting or she was running to get help for a dying teacher or something, they would just give her a straight answer without saying anything to her about the saved seat.

“Ehmagod, sure. Just go down the stairs, make a quick right, and walk all the way down the hall to the very end. The office is the last door on your left.” Kristen pointed.

Claire felt a little rush of relief. Her dramatic plea had worked like a charm.

“Got it, thanks.” Claire took off toward the stairs like she was Dr. Monica Quartermaine on
General Hospital
.

When Claire was out of their sight, she slowed down and walked. Whispers seemed to follow her wherever she went.

On her way down the stairs she felt a light object hit her butt. She immediately thought of her brother and his raisins. Two more objects knocked her back, but she didn’t stop moving. She couldn’t. There was a lot of stairwell traffic behind her and she didn’t want to stop the flow.

The basement was dim and quiet. It smelled like chemicals. She knocked lightly and waited for an answer.

“Hello?” Claire said as she peeked inside. The room was dark except for a red light that glowed in the corner.

“
Close the door!
” someone barked.

“I’m looking for the nurse,” Claire said.

“This is a darkroom!” someone snapped. “The nurse is on the main floor. Next to the art studio.”

“Thanks. Sorry.” Claire closed the door and dashed back to the stairwell. On her way back up she stepped over three crushed tampons that had been trampled on. She assumed they probably fell out of someone’s Louis Vuitton.

“Oh my God, Kristen, how did you ever come up with the plan to give the new girl fake directions? You must be really clever. Oh, wait, I’m sorry. Massie probably gave you the idea. I forgot you don’t come up with anything on your own, do you?” Claire mumbled under her breath. She stomped up the stairs and straight down the hall, back to where she started.

The infirmary smelled like rubbing alcohol despite the vase of fresh pink roses on the reception desk.

“Hello, dear, how can I help you?” the nurse asked. Her voice was soothing and buttery.

“I need to see the nurse.” Claire’s eyes welled up with tears when she heard herself say those words. The morning’s events had really taken a toll on her.

“I’m the nurse. My name’s Adele.” She lifted her index finger to the name embroidered on her lab coat.

Adele had shoulder-length auburn hair and soft green eyes. She looked kind and comforting, the way movie moms do in warm fuzzy flashback scenes.

“Have a seat and tell me what hurts.”

“I’m fine. Honestly. I don’t even know why I’m here.” Claire tried to force a smile. “Vincent told me to come, but he wouldn’t say why.”

“Claire, would you mind standing up for me?” She spoke with confidence, like a detective who was seconds away from cracking a case.

Claire stood up carefully.

“Yup, just as I thought, you got your period,” Adele said.

“No, I didn’t!” Claire insisted.

“Look at the back of your jeans.” Adele opened her desk, pulled out a large hand mirror, and passed it to Claire.

“No way!”

“It’s perfectly natural, nothing at all to be embarrassed about. I’ll get you some pamphlets about menstruation and a pair of new jeans from the lost and found,” Adele said. “Be right back.”

Claire knew this was impossible. She didn’t even have boobs yet. There was no way she’d gotten her period. She rubbed her index finger along the red stain on her pants and realized that it was paint. She rewound her brain and paused on Alicia bumping into her during art.
Wow,
she thought,
what Massie wants, Massie gets
. And then the whole scene played back in front of her, and she was so embarrassed she couldn’t even think straight.

Adele burst through the door pushing a wardrobe rack full of designer clothes.

“This is our lost and found. Don’t worry, everything has been dry-cleaned,” she said. “Go through and pick out something you like.”

“Seriously?” Claire asked.

“Yeah, why not? The girls at this school
hardly
go looking for last year’s clothes.”

“Really?” Claire’s blue eyes widened. “I would have to save for years to afford just one of the things on the rack.”

“Take as much as you want.” Adele smiled. “Getting your period is something to celebrate.”

Claire could feel Adele watching her while she sifted through the Seven jeans, silk print blouses, rhinestone-speckled T-shirts, denim skirts, satin camisoles, cashmere sweaters, suede blazers, and leather pants.

“Are you new here, Claire?” Adele asked.

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“A little,” Adele said. “But in a good way.”

Claire wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by that but was grateful for the compliment. She was more than ready for a little kindness.

Claire thanked the nurse with a hug and promised to come back for a visit.

When Claire walked out of the nurse’s office, she looked like she belonged at OCD. She was wearing a camel-colored cashmere tank top, dark denim flair jeans, and a pair of pointy Steve Madden boots. She felt bad for tossing her favorite white Gap jeans, but they were ruined anyway.

She walked straight to the café, with her toes squished and her head held high.

O
CTAVIAN
C
OUNTRY
DAY
S
CHOOL
T
HE
C
AFÉ

12:26
P.M
. September 2nd

Massie waited for her friends to be seated and organized before she told them her good news. She sat patiently while (1) Dylan pulled the thick foil off her Zone lunch and sniffed the pale grilled chicken breast; (2) Alicia bit off the corners of several mustard packets and squirted them onto her veggie burger (no bun); and (3) Kristen dipped a banana into a styrofoam cup of fro yo.

When they were ready to focus, Massie leaned forward on her elbows and assumed the “gossip position.” The others pushed their lunches to the side and followed.

Once their huddle was complete, Massie spoke.

“I’m looking at a minimum of twenty points for what I’m about to say,” Massie said.

“What?” they all replied.

“I have plans with a Briarwood boy on Saturday,” she said. Their faces lit up and she knew it no longer mattered that she hadn’t been on the Labor Day shopping trip. She was still their hero.

“Why didn’t you tell us in the car?” Alicia asked.

“’ Cause I didn’t want Claire to hear.” Massie lifted her head out of the circle and scanned the room.