OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
THE PARKING LOT
Monday, October 19th
7:29 A.M.
Shampoo-yellow sunlight spilled over Massie the second she stepped out of the Range Rover. Eyes closed, she tilted her face slightly toward the sky and let the warm beams ignite her shimmer-dusted cheeks. The fall air was crisp, invigorating, and, most important, boy free. She applied a generous of coat of Mango Magawd Glossip Girl and grinned, feeling like her old self again.
For one thing, Alicia wanting her back made her feel in demand. And for another, now that the boys were safely at Briarwood, the Soul-M8s had been cut in half and were now just 4-Squares. Plus their alpha, Ew-licia, was probably still reeling from Massie’s rejection, and that made them weaker than knock-off perfume. The girls of Octavian Country Day needed guidance more than ever. And Massie and Crew were ready to give it to them, effective immediately.
After a final check in the side-view mirror, Massie couldn’t decide which sparkled more: her future, or her cheekbones.
Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk!
A line of luxury SUVs was starting to form behind her.
“Puh-lease.” She rolled her eyes and saunter-stepped across the pavement, smoothing the pleated ivory sweater dress she wore over textured olive DKNY tights. When the light caught the shimmering Lurex threads in the soft cashmere, her outfit literally glowed. She felt like an animated fairy. If she were sprinkling golden glitter-dust with every step, Walt Disney would have risen from the dead and handed her a contract.
“Heyyyyyy!” Layne was waiting for her on the curb, bouncing in her sneakers and flapping her long arms like a hyperactive chimp. “Hurry up! They’re waiting!”
Massie slowed slightly. Last Friday she’d rented the old overflow trailers from the school, saying she needed a “private study zone” and had them revamped over the weekend. Even though she was dying to see how her new friends looked in their trailers, taking orders from Layne Abeley was like borrowing Claire’s Keds: It just wasn’t going to happen.
Just then, two girls in long black skirts ambled by, the hems collecting leaves and dirt as they trailed across the ground. Massie had to swerve to avoid a head-on LBR collision.
“Ehmagross.” She winced. “FOOD!”
“Huh?” Layne asked, rolling up the sleeves of her navy plaid men’s shirt.
“Fashion Opposite Of Do!” Massie gasped. “They’re everywhere.”
The outfits were bad, but the unwashed hair and makeup-free faces were unacceptable. The girls did less for OCD’s curb appeal than a barbed-wire fence jammed with Taco Bell wrappers and bird feathers. Looking around, Massie noticed that slumped shoulders, glossless lips, and dull hair plagued every student in sight. OCD had been transformed into one big “before” picture, and Massie was the lone “after.” “What’s going awn?”
Layne unwrapped a brick of neon green gum and popped it in her mouth. “The Briarwood guys are gone. ‘Dress to impress’ is just for weekends again.” A girl in SpongeBob pajama pants lumbered toward the main building. “I think it’s liberating,” Layne announced, chomping smugly on her gum.
“I think it’s nauseating.” Massie fought the urge to vom.
“Well, you’re not gonna believe how great our girls look,” Layne gushed as they walked to the back parking lot. She yanked the brim of her navy baseball cap low over her eyes. The phrase DIRECT TO DVD was printed in gray block letters across the foam forehead. “We’ve been rehearsing your talking points and strut formation all morning.”
She and Layne passed the towering, leafy trees that shaded the trailers, and Massie’s stomach flip-flopped.
“Ehmagawd.” Massie gripped Layne’s wrist at the sight of the trailer. The dingy gray rectangular box that loomed in front of them looked like it had been power-sprayed with milky-white pigeon poo. Dents cratered the walls like unsightly acne scars, and rust surrounded the windows and doors.
It was beyond disgusting.
Which made it the beyond perfect hideout. No one in the entire school would think to come anywhere near this pooencrusted, tetanus-inducing sardine can.
“Isn’t it great?” Layne sprinted up the carpeted stairs and threw the door open.
“Totes.” Massie hurried after her, careful not to touch anything.
The inside of the trailer looked exactly like the blueprints she’d drawn up for Willem Rowe, Westchester’s premier set designer. The floor had been carpeted in crimson velvet to make the MAC girls feel like they were walking the red carpet when they stepped inside. Silk-covered director’s chairs were arranged against the far left wall, each girl’s name embroidered in rhinestones on the back, and four rectangular dressing room mirrors hung in front, surrounded by glowing heart-shaped bulbs. Beneath them were four shelves stocked with makeup and hair products to complement each girl’s coloring and hair type. The very back of the trailer served as the costume department: Four clothing racks were filled with items Massie had preapproved and had overnighted from Neiman’s. Behind the racks was a Project Runway–style accessories wall lined with shoes, handbags, and chunky necklaces.
The trailer was perfect. Only one thing was missing: the actors.
“Okay!” Massie whisper-barked. “Coast’s clear. You can come out.”
One by one, the MAC girls popped up from inside their dressing room cubbies.
“Excuuuse me,” Lilah said, smoothing her pixie cut. “My call time was, like, forty minutes ago. Even Cameron Crowe didn’t make me wait around this long.”
Jasmin, aka Tampax Sport, widened her chocolate brown eyes. “You worked with Cameron Crowe?”
The tiny hairs on the back of Massie’s neck bristled, but before she could put the actresses in their places, Layne interrupted.
“This was how you wanted it, right?” Layne tapped the white dry-erase board at the front of the room, which had been transformed into a storyboard. She had used colorful markers—lavender for Lilah, magenta for Mia, jet-black for Jasmin, and kale green for Kaitlyn—to chart each girl’s story line, blocking, and call times for the day. On Saturday morning, Massie had e-mailed Layne GABs—General Areas of BSing—so the girls would know the following “facts:”
A) The crew of MAC attends the International Billionaires’ School
B) Went to awesome high school party on Saturday
C) Gossip points awarded for best intel
“Yes.” Massie nodded briskly, then quickly scanned over the actresses’ outfits to make sure they were costumed according to her specifications. She pulled out her iPhone and cross-referenced her list against her new A-list friends. “Mia, step forward.”
Mia gave her Fergie-inspired center-parted locks a shake. “This trailer is bananas.” She wore a belted black DVF maxi-dress and giant Bulgari sunglasses.
“Check,” Massie said, accepting the compliment with a satisfied smile. “Kaitlyn?”
She stepped forward, spinning around to show off the cream-colored Nanette Lepore minidress. It popped beautifully against her dark, glowing skin. Massie nodded at her approvingly, then quickly checked off Jasmin’s Stella voile shirtdress and Lilah’s bronze Miu Miu shorts and crème Dodo + Angelika knit top.
Satisfied that the MAC girls looked better than acceptable, she allowed herself a full five seconds to bask in the glory of her accomplishment. Finally, she had friends who went along with exactly what she wanted. It was more refreshing than Pinkberry pomegranate fro-yo. And then she got to work.
“Listen up!” she said crisply, basking in the warmth of all the eyes on her. “We have exactly four minutes before you make your OCD entrance. I cannawt stress this enough: This first scene is cuh-rucial. It sets the tone and establishes the mood. And if the mood isn’t total envy, we—by which I mean you—have failed.” She pinched a piece of platinum hair off Mia’s shoulder and flicked it to the ground. “Visible foundation lines, static cling, or frizz will get you cut faster than a dangling nose hair. So I suggest you start acting like best friends and check over each other’s outfits before we go public.”
Layne jumped down from her director’s chair and stood next to Massie, digging a Hello Kitty clipboard into her fleshy hip. “Should I prep them for the walk?”
Massie nodded and turned back to her new friends. “You’ll be synchronizing your walk to the beat of Beyoncé’s ‘Upgrade U.’”
Layne lifted the bullhorn to her lips. “Places!” she whisper-bellowed. “And action!”
Checking out the window to make sure no one was around, Massie led MAC out of the trailer to the back door of OCD’s main building, where they gathered in the practiced formation. She took a deep breath. It was time to show her school she was back.
“Ah five, six, seven, eight!” she murmur-counted, throwing open the doors. The halls were overrun with sloppily dressed, uneven-skinned girls. As painful as it was to look at them, Massie was glad they were there. The more witnesses she had, the better. She strutted one pace ahead of Lilah, Mia, Jasmin, and Kaitlyn, whose heels clacked in perfect rhythm behind her as they made their way down the main hall. The mini hand-fans inside their open handbags tousle-blew their hair, making them look like they were a living, breathing photo shoot. The crowd parted around them, and pre-homeroom chatter was replaced with silent envy-stares.
And then the moment she had been waiting for arrived.
Alicia, Kristen, and Dylan turned the corner, heading straight for her. Alicia was wearing chocolate brown leather pants and a slouchy gray off-the-shoulder sweater. To be fair, the outfit rated a 9.2, or at least it had back when she debuted it the third week in September. But now that it was in reruns, it was a 7 at best. Massie didn’t even bother checking out Dylan and Kristen’s outfits. After all, a girl’s outfit was only as good as her alpha’s.
A few steps more and MAC and the Soul-M8s met in the middle of the hallway, both groups screeching to a halt. The hall went dead silent. Nervous-seeming onlookers pretended to search for their cell phones inside their bags, like they weren’t waiting for a Flavor of Love–style throwdown in the middle of the hall.
Dylan chewed her bottom lip while Kristen yanked her hair out of its high pony, then re-tied it. Claire was MIA, probably trying her hardest to stay clear of the drama. Or, since she’d refused to ride with Massie or Alicia in the morning in order to stay “neutral,” lying in a ditch under the spinning wheels of her Bratz bike.
Massie smile-blinked at Alicia, feeling more in control than Spanx. “Um, would you like your egg sunny-side up?”
“No,” Alicia snapped, surveying the MAC girls warily.
“Then beat it!” Massie finished triumphantly. Seeing her ex-besties nervous and knowing the MAC girls were just inches behind her made her feel safe.
But when they stayed silent, she whip-turned toward them.
“Line!” she whisper-hissed from the corner of her mouth.
“Oh. Yeah.” Mia giggled, then snapped into character. “I have gossip from the high school paaaartyyyyyyyy we went to!” she bellowed like Oprah, finger combing her blond waves.
Alicia gasped.
“How many points?” Lilah asked eagerly, blinking her wide blue eyes.
“Seven-fifty,” Mia announced. “And I don’t mean seven dollars and fifty cents. I mean seven hundred and fifty.”
Massie bit the inside of her cheeks and forced herself to let out a that inside joke gets me every time laugh. “Ehmagawd, I forgot he said that!” Massie shook her head at the fake memory. “Now, what’s the gossip?”
Mia’s face went blank. So did Lilah, Jasmin, and Kaitlyn’s faces.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Massie whisper-snapped.
But the girls remained silent, their blank stares suddenly melting into wide-eyed panic. They glanced at each other, then at Massie.
“Juuuuiiicy,” Dylan burped. Kristen and Alicia giggled.
Massie’s palms were starting to sweat. What was happening? Why weren’t they answering? Was it time for their walk?
“Ohhhhh.” She drew the word out, nod-hinting for them to follow her lead. “I get it.” She forced a conspiratorial smile. “The gossip’s so hawt, you have to tell me in private. Riiiiight?” Tossing her bag over her shoulder, Massie resisted the urge to tote-smack every single one of them right there in the hallway.
Riiiiiiiiing.
The first-period bell never sounded so good.
“I better go,” she announced. “Have a good morning at International Billionaires’ School, ‘kay?”
The girls stood firmly amidst the swirling frenzy of girls, bags, slamming lockers, and last minute sips of latte.
“I want that gossip, so try to sneak out and come back for lunch,” Massie tried. Still they stood there.
All of a sudden Layne appeared, waving scissors over her head like the town psycho. “Cut!” she called, snipping the air. Massie blushed for Layne and her beyond-embarrassing existence. “Cut, cut, cut!” she call-snipped.
Thankfully, the hallway was too hectic for anyone but Massie to notice. The MKO look-alikes had resumed polishing the hardwood with their skirts as they hurried to their classrooms.
“Cuttttttttt,” Layne offered one final snip before slipping into her Spanish class.
The actresses finally got the hint and hurried away. Massie smile-waved, pretending not to notice her ex-friends darting side-looks from Layne to Massie to the retreating backs of her crew.
“Nice meeting your new… friends,” Alicia said suspiciously. The she turned, linking arms with Dylan and Kristen. They headed down the hall, their feet in step, like a choreographed routine. Knowing Alicia, it probably was.
Massie watched them go: The sound of heels on the parquet felt like gunshots piercing the air, invisible bullets killing her reputation. Slumping against a locker, Massie played a silent-solo round of What Would You Rather? Option 1: Have people know she was in cahoots with Layne. Option 2: Have people know she’d hired (stupid times ten) friends.
After some serious thought Massie chose option 3. She had no clue what it was but knew it couldn’t possibly be worse.