THE NEW GREEN CAFé
TABLE 18
Monday, October 19th
12:28 P.M.
Massie straightened the glitter-swirled RESERVED placard in the very center of table eighteen, then licked the tip of her index finger and pressed it into the tiny mound of fallen violet sparkle.
“So who are all these new girls I’ve been hearing about?” Claire asked as Massie sprinkled the excess glitter on the floor. Even though it was an Alicia day, she’d walked to lunch with Massie and had obviously stayed at the table to ask this particular question.
“They go to the International Billionaires’ School,” Massie replied. At the next table over, Kori Gedman and Strawberry McAdams and bunch of seventh graders were hover-whispering about who would be sitting at table eighteen. Massie tried not to smile smugly. She was back where she belonged. “I met them when I was interviewing to transfer there last week and we just clicked.”
“International Billionaires’ School?” Claire put her elbows on the table, leaving Jergens-scented smears on the perfectly buffed bamboo table. “Never heard of it.”
“I’m nawt surprised,” Massie said, adjusting the plates of fresh sushi and seaweed salad, interspersed with individual servings of bright pink pickled ginger and low-sodium soy sauce, so they were evenly spaced. “IBS is super exclusive. They only ask a few girls to interview there every year. And only one of those girls gets picked to attend.”
Just then her cell buzzed with a text.
Layne: Script done & Oscar-wrthy. Run-thru went gr8. Just say “action” and we’ll roll like Pillsbury.
“Who’s that?” Claire asked, leaning forward.
Frantically, Massie dropped the cell in her lap. The less Claire knew, the better. “Just Jasmin, one of my new friends.” She surreptitiously texted Layne back.
Massie: I need to read 1st.
Layne: I swear. You will luv. Theme = crushes. Totally inspired.
Massie: e-mail 2 me & i’ll txt my decision
After this morning, lunch had to be nothing short of perfection. One more public slip-up and she’d be forced to enter the LBR protection program and go into hiding. Which meant she wouldn’t get the chance to debut the new Tory Burch Anamarte wedge sandals she’d ordered last week. Just thinking about banishing the sandals to a life of obscurity made Massie’s blemish-free forehead bead with sweat.
“You’re not seriously thinking of leaving OCD for IBS, are you?” Claire tugged at her uneven bangs. At the tables around them, girls picked at their food, looking bored and directionless. The café was quieter than usual since the boys weren’t there to raise the noise level with their alphabet burping and food-fighting.
Massie’s iPhone buzzed again, this time with a new e-mail from Layne, subject: SCREENPLOY. Massie shrugged, wishing IBS were a real place, with real alphas who didn’t need scripts to tell them exactly what to say.
“So are you?” Claire urged. Just then, Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen strolled into the café and settled at their new table. They hunched together, whispering intently. Suddenly, Alicia’s head jerked toward table eighteen. Massie plastered a giant smiled on her face and pretended not to notice.
“Am I what?” Massie said, wondering if there was a way to angle her phone so Claire couldn’t see. She was desperate to read the script and make changes before the show went live.
“Transferring?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. ”I have a few days to think about it.”
“Do I get a vote?” Claire asked shyly.
Massie smiled involuntarily. At least Claire sometimes knew the right thing to say. She looked up, glancing into Claire’s light blue eyes. Her expression said: If you leave, how will I know what to wear?
Massie allowed herself to blink back: You won’t. Her heart filled with warmth as she and Claire stare-gazed at each other. For a split second, Massie remembered the way it used to be, before the PC split.
A burst of laughter exploded from the Soul-M8s’ table. Claire glanced nervously back and forth between Alicia’s table and Massie’s table, and the moment between them vanished into the soy cheese–scented air. The neck-swivel was simply another reminder that Claire hadn’t chosen Massie. Yet. A twinge of uncertainty buzzed behind her navel. Now would be the perfect time to show up the 4-Squares in front of the entire school. But could she trust Layne’s script? Either way, she had to get Claire out of here. Two minutes with MAC and she’d realize Massie’s new friends were more artificial than Sweet’N Low.
“Anyway, the MAC girls’ll be at my sleepover Friday night, so you can hang with them then.”
“This Friday? Isn’t your mom’s charity thing this Friday?”
Massie froze. She’d been so focused on her actors that she’d completely forgotten about Ho Ho Homeless.
“Uh, yeah,” she said quickly. “They’ll ah-bviously be there for the event, and then they’re sleeping over.”
“Oh. Okay.” Claire nodded. “Sounds fun. Cam and I are going to Alicia’s couples’ dinner party that night, but maybe—”
“Couples’ what?” Massie blurted, then mentally smacked herself for acting like she cared.
Claire reddened slightly. “It’snothingbigjustadinnerparty withIdunnoafewcouplesorsomethingactuallyI’mnotreallysure.”
Massie’s scented body cream instantly evaporated from her skin, leaving her feeling dry and exposed. In its place, a dark Chanel No. 19–scented cloud hung over her head. If it was nothing, then why wasn’t Claire jumping at the chance to come to her event instead? Since when did alpha status expire like milk and credit cards? Fingers flying over her iPhone keypad, she texted Layne.
Massie: Action.
Who cared if she hadn’t read the script? It was time to show OCD who the real alphas were. And if Layne was telling the truth, and the script really was about crushes (probably high school crushes, from the quote-unquote “party” MAC had quote-unquote “gone to” Saturday night), then there’d be no contest. MAC and high school boys were way more alpha than the Soul-M8s and their lame party.
“Anyway, I could come over when we’re done,” Claire offered, like she was doing Massie a favor.
“Whatever.” Massie shrugged. She didn’t have any more time to waste on Claire. On top of coordinating MAC’s OCD lunch debut, she now had to plan the most ah-mazing charity function Westchester had ever seen. Ho Ho Homeless would have to be bigger, better, and more Twitter-worthy than Alicia Rivera’s wannabe couples’ dinner party. Times ten. Besides, didn’t “dinner” imply eating and “couples” mean in front of boys? And didn’t Alicia firmly believe the two should never mix?
Suddenly, the frosted glass doors of the New Café flew open, revealing Massie’s army of alphas. The entire café quieted, as if sensing they were in for a show. Massie’s heart surged with excitement. It was Massie and Crew: take two. With all eyes on them, Lilah, Mia, Jasmin, Kaitlyn, and Layne swished into their scene with perfectly choreographed synchronicity, heading straight for Massie’s table.
Correction: Lilah, Mia, Jasmin, and Kaitlyn swished in perfectly choreographed synchronicity. Layne just sort of ambled alongside them, moving to a beat that was much more Killers than Beyoncé. She stuck out like a clearance-rack sweater that had accidentally been hung with spring’s newest tanks.
The entire student body was staring openmouthed, following the girls’ every move with glazed-over stares. Massie pulled her Guerlain pressed-powder compact from her bag and positioned the mirror so she had a perfect view of the Soul-M8s’ table. Even Alicia’s glossy mouth was slightly open.
As the girls neared her table, Massie side-glanced at Claire. She was leaning forward and squinting hard at the alphas, like she was at the eye doctor and they were the tiny letters marching across the bottom of the sight chart on the wall.
“The brunette,” Claire murmur-squinted.
“Who, Jasmin?” Massie said proudly. “Isn’t she ah-dorable?”
“She looks familiar,” Claire said. “Like I’ve met her before, or something?”
“Probably ’cause she has one of those faces you’ve always dreamed of having,” Massie snapped quickly. With a single, swift move, she swept Claire’s imitation handbag from the pristine surface of table eighteen, sending it to the floor with a crash-clang that sounded like breaking technology.
“Hey!” Claire ducked under the table to retrieve her knocked-off knockoff.
“Oops.” Massie shrugged innocently. She hadn’t counted on anyone recognizing any of the girls. She never should have hired Tampax Sport. What would happen when Claire pegged Jasmin as the goalie who gave 100 percent even on her heavy flow days?
“Heyyyyyyy,” MAC purred when they reached the table. The glittery lavender Guests of Massie Block pins they wore were not only adorable but also functional. They announced to the student body that these alphas belonged to Massie. In case there was ever any question about who was in charge.
“’Sup,” Layne said, ruining the perfectly coordinated moment.
“Hey!” Claire emerged from under the table, looking almost shy. Layne grinned back.
“Sit,” Massie said crisply, motioning toward the empty seats around her.
The girls sat. Except for Jasmin who glanced meaningfully between Claire and Massie.
Claire cocked her head. “Do I look familiar, because you totally—”
“You’re in her seat, Kuh-laire,” Massie panic-barked. “That’s why she’s looking at you.”
“Oh, right.” Claire stood. “Sorry.” She kept her gaze fixed on Jasmin as she backed away from the table. “Okay, well, have a good lunch, guys. I should go anyway, since today’s technically an Alicia day. But I’ll be back here every other Tuesday and the third Friday of every mon—”
“’Kay, see ya,” Massie cut her off again, and with one last glance at Jasmin, Claire slunk away to table eighteen.
Massie shifted her attention back to her girls and took a long, cooling sip of her frosty green-tea smoothie. “Great entrance,” she whisper-congratulated. “Don’t look, but everyone is very intrigued. This is exactly where we want them.”
The girls turned.
“I said don’t look!” Massie snapped.
“Chill, dude.” Mia, appearing slightly bored, reached for the chopsticks next to her plate and maneuvered them expertly around a giant spicy tuna roll.
“Did you read the scene?” Layne whisper-asked hopefully as Massie glared at Mia.
“Not yet.” Massie pushed her smoothie aside. “Before we start the scene,” she said in a low voice, “we have to talk about this party I’m chairing Friday night.” She speed-opened a to-do list on her iPhone. “I want you all there dressed in—”
“Okay.” Layne pulled a squat orange mini-golf pencil out of her bra and began scribbling on her napkin. “We’re gonna need wardrobe, hair, makeup, a new script, call times, a brief synopsis of the event, attending VIPs, and—”
“Giveita,” Massie interrupted.
“Giveita?” Layne lifted her pencil.
“Yeah.” Massie reached for the napkin and crumpled it into a ball. “Giveitarest!”
The MAC girls glanced at Massie, then burst out laughing. Even Layne smiled.
Massie’s insides flooded with warmth. So her new girls were capable of acting like normal friends, even without a script. They just needed time to grow into their roles as MAC girls. Massie felt the last bit of uncertainty melt away.
Layne gnawed at a pungent rope of beef jerky while the other girls dipped their chopsticks daintily into their seaweed salad sides. Except for Lilah, who reglossed while her food sat untouched.
“Moving awn,” Massie said, deciding the party could wait. MAC needed to strike now, while they had a captive audience. She leaned in close. “Layne says you guys are ready to do the lunch scene.”
The MAC girls nodded.
“And you get that screwing this scene up in front of the entire café is nawt an option?” she said, eyeing Mia pointedly.
The girls nodded again, looking like perfectly made-up bobbleheads.
“Okay.” Massie exhaled. “Layne? Any last minute notes?”
Layne shook her head, slipping on the lensless glasses she’d worn in the city. “Nope. All set.”
Massie glanced one last time at the Soul-M8s’ table. Alicia, Kristen, Dylan, and Claire were all still staring. Perfect.
“Action!” Layne whispered. Then, as Massie looked on aghast, Layne collapsed into a heap on top of the bamboo table. “I JUST DON’T GET IT,” she faux-sobbed-yelled. “I THOUGHT DEMPSEY LIKED ME FOR ME! WHAT HAPPENED?” Whipping her head around so her face was visible to the entire café, she screwed up her eyes, letting a tiny tear slip down her cheek.
The entire café fell silent.
“I KNOW, RIGHT?” Lilah slap-patted Layne’s shaking shoulders. “IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE! WHY WOULDN’T DEMPSEY GO FOR YOU?”
Massie’s spicy tuna roll made a beeline from her stomach to the back of her throat. “Cut!” she ordered. This scene was supposed to be about MAC and their high school crushes, not Layne and her Dempsey obsession! But somehow, the scene kept rolling.
“AH-GREED.” Kaitlyn broadcasted a sympathetic pout across the room. “YOU’RE TOTALLY UNIQUE. YOU’RE LIKE A BREATH OF FRESH AIR COMPARED TO EVERYONE ELSE AROUND HERE.”
Kori and Strawberry were starting to snicker. Massie stole a panicked glance at Alicia, who was giggling behind a Smartwater bottle and elbowing Dylan. Claire was still staring at Jasmin. Massie had to put a stop to this. Now.
Layne took a deep, shuddering breath. “I KNOOOOOOO—”
“CUT!” Massie snapped again, careful to keep her voice low. Her grip tightened around her smoothie glass.
“What?” Layne looked up, sounding irritated.
“You were great.” Lilah patted Layne’s hand.
“You really went deep,” Jasmin added.
“I almost cried,” Mia deadpanned.
“Seriously?” Layne beamed. “You should hear my monologue on page—”
“Layne,” Massie barked as, thank Gawd, the noise level in the café rose to normal again and everyone returned to their gossip sessions and tofu.
“What?” Layne exhaled an indignant corn-scented protest.
“I’m hiring a new writer,” Massie announced.
“Who?” Layne’s hazel eyes bulged in horror.
“Me.” Massie folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. “I’ll send it out tonight.”
“But—” Layne started.
“The rest of you, start learning your lines as soon as you get the script,” she whisper-instructed. “We’ll do a run-through after school tomorrow.” She paused, making brief eye contact with every girl at the table. “Screw this up and you’ll be doing community theater until you’re old enough for adult diaper commercials.”
The MAC girls gasped.
“Um…” Mia blinked as she tucked a strand of wavy hair behind her ear. “Isn’t this community theater?”
The table went silent.
Massie felt her pores tighten. She lifted her smoothie to her forehead in a desperate attempt to freeze her angry thoughts until they broke off like icicles and fell away. But the chill just gave her even more brain pain. Mia obviously wasn’t MAC material. And Massie, with a script to write, a charity event to plan, and a dinner party to ignore, simply didn’t have time to mold her.
“Mia, are you Madonna’s arms?” Massie asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you so cut?” Massie slammed her smoothie glass on the table.
“What?” Mia’s gold shimmer–glossed lower lip dropped.
“You’re fiy-ered,” Massie said slowly, like she was speaking to a two-year-old. “And don’t try to stuff anything from wardrobe in your two-seasons-ago purse on your way out.”
As the rest of the table stared wide-eyed at her, Massie shoved her chair back and threw her bag over her shoulder. Rehearsals were over. It was time to act.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
IBS OCD
Block parties Dinner parties
M.I.A. Mia