OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
SAGAMORE HALL
6:45 PM
November 8th
Backstage, the models were panicking. Some had stage fright. Others simply refused to put on their uniforms because they thought they looked fat or they didn't want to change in front of Eli.
Claire stood by the refreshments table and licked chocolate icing off her fingers.
Massie came over to grab a bottle of Smart Water.
“Well, this is it,” Massie said. She looked incredible. Her straight hair was loose and wavy and she looked like a French model in her new outfit, a frilly see-through cap-sleeved shirt with a beige cami underneath and a peach skirt that swished and swayed when she walked. And she was already wearing the black beret they'd promised to save for the show.
Claire saw that exact outfit in Teen Vogue when she was researching design ideas. The skirt alone cost $350.
“You look really good,” Claire said. She looked down at her new red moccasins and wished her mom had let her buy something with a low heel instead.
“Thanks,” Massie said. “What happened to your hand?”
“Doughnuts.” Claire looked embarrassed.
“No, the Band-Aids.” Massie adjusted her beret to give it more of a tilt.
“Oh, I got a few blisters from threading all those needles last night. But it's no big deal. I had fun,” Claire said. “Especially when we did the fashion shoot. I can't wait to e-mail those pictures to my friends back home.”
“Yeah, it was fun.” Massie sounded surprised. “I can't believe we stayed up until four o'clock in the morning. Thank Gawd for espresso machines.”
“And Dylan's farts,” Claire said. “They kept me alert for hours.”
Massie cracked up. Claire laughed too, then rubbed her tired, burning eyes. She felt better than she had in a long time.
“Well, at least they finally forgave me for sending those IMs,” Claire said.
“Yeah, and all you had to do was sew their uniforms and make them popcorn while they watched E! for three hours straight,” Massie said.
“It was worth it.”
“What are you doing here?”
Claire turned to see one of Pia's butt-kissing teacher's assistants approaching. She held a clipboard and had a walkie-talkie clipped to the side of her Sevens. “Why aren't you in hair and makeup?”
“We're not models,” Massie said. “We just happen to look ah-mazing.”
“Well, it says right here that you both signed up for model's robes.” She flipped through the pages on her clipboard.
“We don't want people to see what we're going to be wearing,” Massie said back.
“But you're just presenting.” The assistant sounded confused.
“That's what you think,” Claire said.
Claire and Massie rehearsed their lines one last time, checked in on Kristen and Dylan in the makeup chairs, and then snuck over to the curtain to peek out at the audience.
The DJ was already blasting music to the house. The show was still fifteen minutes away and the seats were already full.
“Opening night of The Producers on Broadway didn't look half this packed,” Massie whispered to Claire, their heads poking through the red velvet curtain. “Look—there are the editors from Teen People. Front row center.”
“God, there are so many photographers.” Claire bit down on her thumbnail.
As impressed as she was by the turnout, Claire really only cared about seeing one person. She searched the audience, looking for the mess of black hair, the slouchy posture, and the brown leather jacket.
“Girls, you should be with your models,” Principal Burns cawed.
Claire had never seen Burns at such close range before. With her pointy hook nose and her tiny eyes she really did look like a buzzard.
“The show is about to start and I need you in your places,” she said. “Now, fly!”
The girls giggled all the way to their places. They couldn't believe the bird lady actually told them to “fly.”
Everyone was lined up according to the order of their appearance onstage. Massie, Dylan, Kristen, and Claire were last.
“I hope people don't fall asleep before our turn,” Dylan whispered.
The hairstylist had glossed each one of her red ringlets individually so they glistened and bounced. Her already piercing green eyes had gotten the smoky treatment from the Bobbi Brown makeup artist. They were glowing.
“Trust me, we're in the best position,” Massie said. “Right after we go, the audience votes. So if we make it into the finals, we'll be fresh in their minds.”
“Wow, we got lucky,” Claire said.
“No, we didn't,” Massie said. “I called Pia last night and asked for this spot.”
“And she just gave it to you?” Kristen kept her neck perfectly still as she talked to keep the tower of blond hair on her head from collapsing.
“Don't forget, this whole contest was my idea,” Massie said. “It was the least she could do.”
The music stopped and the houselights fell. The room was surprisingly quiet except for the sounds of people shifting in their seats and folding their programs while they got comfortable. But as soon as Principal Burns took the mike, they exploded with applause. The sound made Claire think of frying bacon.
The pink lights from the runway seeped through the cracks of the curtains and cast bars of color across the girls in the wings. Claire scanned the line, stealing glances at her competition.
Layne and Eli were standing beside each other, swaying back and forth, letting their shoulders gently collide over and over again to an inaudible rhythm that must have been playing inside their heads. Claire couldn't wait to brush shoulders with someone of her own and immediately thought of Cam.
“Good luck,” Layne whispered to Claire when she caught her staring.
“You too,” Claire mouthed back. She meant it. She had missed Layne over the last few days and couldn't wait for Fashion Week to be over so things could go back to normal. Even if it meant wearing something Eli was about to model.
Alicia and Olivia oozed confidence. Olivia's new nose was powdered to perfection and her blond hair was blown stick straight. It touched the small of her back. Her sky blue eyes were surrounded by black liner, which somehow made them look more piercing and focused. And Alicia was the exact opposite. Her dark, rich features looked soft and warm in comparison but equally as powerful. She was even more beautiful than Olivia but in a less obvious way.
Claire watched Kristen and Dylan fussing with each other's hair, fighting gravity to make sure every silky strand was in its proper place. We're going to lose, she thought.
“Welcome to OCD's Fashion Week,” Principal Burns announced. “On behalf of the students who have worked very hard this week, I would like to thank you all for coming.”
Applause.
“Before … ,” she continued, but was forced to wait another second for the applause to die down completely. “Before we get started, I would like to—”
“Awww, awww,” someone shouted from the audience. The heckler was doing his best buzzard imitation.
After a series of short giggles and several terse “shhh's,” Principal Burns picked up where she left off.
“I would like to thank the editors of Teen People for being here tonight. As you know, they will narrow the contestants down to two finalists and then turn the voting over to you, the students of OCD, because you put the u in uniform.”
Roaring applause.
“We …” She paused to throw in a humble chuckle and raised her hand for silence. “We have a professional photographer here to document tonight's show, and with a twenty-dollar donation—”
“Awww, awww.”
Half the audience giggled and the other half shifted nervously in their seats.
She waited.
“I suppose we should just get started. Please turn your cell phones off—”
Claire heard more giggling, but this time it came from Kristen and Dylan.
“What?” Claire mouthed.
“You'll see,” they mouthed back, and smiled.
Claire's entire body started beating wildly, and suddenly something felt very wrong.
I knew I shouldn't have trusted them.
Now that Claire was in danger, the festive atmosphere suddenly felt threatening. The pretty girls looked like clowns in their makeup, the applause sounded like gunfire, and the uniforms looked like they were made by blind kids with no hands. The love was gone.
Claire tried to calm down by focusing on the show.
Ann Marie Blanc was the first to present. She proposed the students wear cashmere sweater sets and taffeta skirts.
“Next.” Massie folded her arms and rolled her eyes. “She's done.”
“Why?” Claire whispered.
“Taffeta's wrinkle potential is off the charts and we'll roast in that cashmere,” she said.
“Oh.”
Mindee Wilson presented her Days of the Week uniform as her five models pranced around the runway, each wearing an unflattering sack dress in a different color with a different day of the week written across the chest. Monday's dress was red and said Monday across the chest, and Tuesday's dress was blue and said Tuesday across the chest, and …
“Cute,” Dylan mumbled. “If you're in K through 2.”
“Yeah, imagine flirting with a Briarwood boy in a pink sack that said Thursday,” Kristen said.
Claire giggled. She thought of Cam.
Livid Altman called her masterpiece Black on Black with a Splash of Black for obvious reasons. She tried to convince the Teen People editors that black was the only real option because it hid dirt so well and therefore required less cleaning. But Claire heard the words funeral, depressing, and unhygienic being uttered among the crowd.
Layne and Eli were next and the audience erupted in a series of supportive “whoo's.”
Claire prayed Massie would like Layne's design. She didn't want her friend to be the subject of ridicule.
Layne took her time walking to the microphone. She cleared her throat before she spoke.
“OCD is committing a crime by forcing developing girls to abandon their identities, especially in these formative years,” Layne said. Eli pranced around the runway in a navy pleated skirt, black Chuck Taylor high-tops, and a long-sleeve T-shirt with a plastic pocket sewn across the front.
“The Teen People editors are probably thinking N-O,” Massie said to Claire.
Claire pretended she hadn't heard.
When Eli got to the front of the stage, he stopped and pulled a stack of index cards out of his book bag. He held them up to the crowd like a magician showing off his “perfectly normal pigeon.”
“Clothes are my way of showing the world how I feel, and this uniform will let us continue doing that even after the school has completely stripped us of our personal style,” Layne said.
That's when Eli slid the cards in the pocket one by one so the audience could read them.
CONFIDENT
CASUAL BUT SEXY
I FEEL FAT TODAY
I JUST BOUGHT THE NEW SEVENS
The crowd laughed.
When Layne's presentation was over, everyone gave her a standing ovation. Even the women from Teen People rose out of their chairs. But they sat back down when they noticed Principal Burns and Pia glaring at them.
Alicia and Olivia were next. The sound of boys leaning forward in their seats filled the room when they took the stage. The photographer started snapping away.
Olivia took off her robe. She walked the runway, swinging her arms back and forth like the models on the Style Network. Theirs was the only campaign that proposed strappy sandals, jeans, and a blazer instead of the cliché schoolgirl skirt, and the crowd ate it up. It was the perfect blend of sexy, sophisticated, and whimsical. While Olivia walked, spun, and strutted, Alicia explained that the blazer was a “nod to Ralph Lauren's Blue Label” and that he had agreed to manufacture the entire line for OCD if they won. She held up poster boards that were checked with different-color swatches so the girls could see “the variety of hues that blended” with the tweed blazer, should they decide to wear this “extremely practical piece” after hours. A man's necktie hung casually from Olivia's belt loops and Alicia explained that groups of girls could wear matching ties to show who their friends were.
Principal Burns jumped out of her seat and yelled, “No way!” but the crowd was too fixated on Alicia and Olivia to notice.
“She got the tie-as-belt idea from me,” Massie hissed. “I wore it to the mall that day we went costume shopping and she complimented me on it.”
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Claire said, trying to sound supportive.
“Yeah, but if that wins this for her, I'll wrap that form of flattery around her neck and strangle her.” Massie folded her arms across her chest.
Claire thought it best to leave it at that.
The audience was already on their feet before Alicia and Olivia took their first bows.
Massie clapped and smiled, but she looked hollow, like a wax museum version of herself.
Claire couldn't believe she had to follow two standing ovations. Kristen and Dylan were obviously worried. They were bouncing up and down on their toes as if trying to burn off their nervous energy. Claire was so nervous she couldn't even move. Not only was she about to go onstage, but she also had to prepare herself for the possibility that this might be the moment when Massie, Dylan, and Kristen decide to humiliate her on a grand scale.
The audience sounded more than ready for the intermission. Parents were chasing their little kids up and down the aisles. People were gathering their belongings in anticipation of the coming break. Claire tugged on her in-between-stage bangs, hoping to inspire a major growth spurt before the show. Massie must have sensed Claire's apprehension because she squeezed her arm and said, “Let's crush 'em!” before leading her team onstage.
The four girls stood beside each other, facing the audience. They were still wearing their robes.
“Take it off,” someone shouted from the audience.
“Oh, we will,” Massie said, putting on her best sultry voice.
When the hollering died down, she began.
“Four girls,” she started. “One redhead, one dark blond, one towhead, and one brunette—” Dylan, Kristen, Claire, and Massie slipped out of their robes and let them fall to the ground. The striptease, as G-rated as it was, captured the boys' attention.
Christina Aguilera's “Dirrty” kicked in and the girls separated, each taking a different corner of the runway. The song choice was their secret homage to the costumes that got them there in the first place.
“We invite you to ask yourself,” Massie continued, “‘What color palette is right for me?’ Is your hair brown or black? And does your skin tone range from ivory to deep brown? If so, then you're a ‘Massie’ and your uniform should be pure white and green,” Claire said. As she spoke, Massie paraded around the runway, making sharp turns and waving to her adoring fans. She wore a dark green suede skirt that was an exact replica of the one Todd had destroyed with grape juice—soft, short, and A-line. It had a purple rhinestone holster clipped to the side for her cell phone. Right when the explosive chorus in the song hit, Massie took off her matching green blazer, complete with a big yellow flower pinned to the lapel, and hung it over her shoulder. The black beret made her look like the charming French model she always knew she could be.
Applause.
A white strapless silk top with the letter M stitched in the upper left corner was underneath. Purple-rhinestone-covered platform Keds with black knee-high socks rounded out the look.
Roaring applause.
“Or maybe you're a ‘Kristen,’” Claire said, giving Kristen the cue to start walking. “Your hair ranges from brown to blond and your skin has golden tones. Sound familiar? If it does, your uniform will be soft white, red, and turquoise.” Kristen wore the same outfit as Massie, only her suede skirt and blazer were red, her flower was turquoise, the rhinestones on her cell phone holder and Keds were white, and the letter on her white sleeveless top was a K. She twirled her beret on her finger because it refused to balance on her updo.
Once she completed her lap, Claire handed the microphone to Massie, who continued the presentation.
“Do you burn in the sun and look positively sickly in beige?” Massie asked. “If you do, then you're a ‘Claire’ and you're all pastels. … Hey, someone's gotta wear those Easter egg shades, right?”
The audience laughed.
Claire skipped around the runway, holding her beret in place so it wouldn't slip. She wore a baby blue suede skirt and blazer and a pink flower on her lapel and the letter C was stitched on her top. Her black-rhinestone-covered cell phone holder was empty. But for the first time in weeks her Keds were full.
“Fiery redheads, you're a ‘Dylan.’ Your uniform will be ivory and lavender,” Massie said as Dylan walked, “the perfect shades to accentuate your rosy tones.
“And of course, no uniform is complete without a version designed for woman's best friend.” Massie blew into the Tiffany whistle that hung from a silver chain around her neck. Right on cue, Bean appeared from the wings of the stage and ran straight for her owner. She wore a green suede skirt and a white T-shirt with a B across the back. A tiny black beret sat between her pointy ears.
The audience was on their feet and Bean barked for joy. Massie, Claire, Dylan, and Kristen joined hands and bowed. They killed!
The bright lights were shining right in Claire's eyes, making it hard for her to spot her parents. But one face in the third row was crystal clear. It was Cam's. He was slouched down in his seat. Claire thought he looked like he was being swallowed by his leather jacket. The instant he locked eyes with her, Claire's heart jumped. He offered up a big smile and a small wave, which made all of the noise in the room sound dull and muted, like her head was in a fishbowl.
Claire raised her hand without lifting her arm and waved, one finger at a time. Cam's face lit up when he saw her wave and she beamed right back at him. She couldn't believe this was happening. She turned to Massie, desperate for a witness, but what she saw made her blood freeze up like dog pee on a cold sidewalk.
There was Massie, amber eyes shining, lip gloss glistening, and brown hair shimmering, waving to Cam.
Claire was mortified.
Cam likes Massie! Not me. How many people saw me wave to him? Did he see? What am I supposed to do with my hands now? THIS SKIRT HAS NO POCKETS!
Claire would have taken public humiliation at the hands of Kristen and Dylan over this any day.
Principal Burns reclaimed the stage and called all of the competitors out to join her. They huddled together in tight clusters while they waited for the Teen People editors to decide on the finalists.
When Principal Burns had the envelope in her claws, she made the announcement.
“You all received a thimble from our helpful ushers, and you'll need that now for voting. There are two clear boxes in the hall with the pictures of our two finalists on them. Please drop your thimble in the box of the candidate you wish to vote for and we will have your results after intermission,” she explained.
“Awww, awww,” said the heckler.
Mild laughter.
“And the finalists are … Alicia Rivera and Olivia Ryan and Massie Block, Claire Lyons, Dylan Marvil, and Kristen Gregory.”
She continued by congratulating all of the other girls on their hard work, but no one was listening. They were already halfway out the door and eager to cast their votes.