THE BLOCK ESTATE
THE BACKYARD
Friday, October 23rd
7:11 P.M.
Two minutes later, Claire and her friends were making their way across the yard. She could tell Alicia was beyond mad by the way she was smiling that toothy smile. When Alicia was angry, she pouted. And when she was really, really mad, she oversmiled. Claire had only seen her furious hypergrin once: last year, when Skye Hamilton had beat her out for the big solo at a Body Alive dance recital.
And this smile was ten times bigger.
But right now, Claire couldn’t care less that Alicia was grinning like an idiot. She could patch things up with her later. Right now, all she cared about was getting the Pretty Committee back together. And she was so close.
In fact, she was closer than close. Just a few feet away, actually. Inches from where the Soul-M8s stood was a thick red velvet rope blocking off the Blocks’ backyard. And just beyond the velvet rope, the party was in full swing. Hundreds of guests in haute couture filled the seats around the clear plastic over-the-pool runway, and waiters in wet suits weaved in and out of the standing crowd, serving sushi, calamari, and seaweed salad.
“Just so we’re clear,” Dylan said, fixing her gaze on the runway, “I’m doing this for Hervé. Not Massie.”
“Point.” Alicia’s smile seemed slightly more genuine that time.
“And I’m doing it for Eli,” Derrington said.
“Right on.” Without looking away from the runway, Dylan lifted her palm, and Derrington smacked it.
Claire followed Dylan’s gaze. On the pool-slash-catwalk, the pretty brunette Claire had recognized in the New Café sashayed toward them, dressed in a black silk jersey halter dress and jeweled sandals. Shimmering aqua and teal spotlights swung overhead, making her look like she was walking underwater. On either side of the runway, flashbulbs popped from the front row seats. Claire would have been totally mesmerized by the party’s atmosphere if she hadn’t been so busy trying to figure out where she’d seen the girl before. Last she checked, Claire didn’t know any billionaires. So why did Massie’s new IBS BFF look so familiar?
“Guess we have to go around front.” She sighed, still staring at the model. Orlando? Photography class? Candy store? Nope, nope, and nope.
“Let’s just cut through.” Cam lifted the rope, in a ladies-first sort of way.
Claire shook her head. “We shouldn’t. Let’s just walk around.”
“It’s for charity,” Dempsey protested good-naturedly. “Nobody’ll care.”
“Right?” Kristen nod-agreed, and the couple fist-bumped.
Claire shook her head no again. She was already nervous enough about trying to reunite the Pretty Committee, when the only plan she had was to get everybody in the same backyard and hope for the best. She didn’t need to worry about getting in trouble for sneaking in the back way, too.
“’Kay.” Cam released the rope. “You’re the boss.”
“Opposite of true,” Alicia muttered under her breath, pursing her glossy lips together.
Claire breathed a tiny sigh of relief. At least the faux smile was gone and the real Alicia was back. The Alicia who wanted to be in charge. But right now, if the Pretty Committee stood any chance of getting back together, it was up to Claire.
“Let’s go, guys.” Claire gripped the top of her gown to keep it from slipping and led the way around the perimeter of the Blocks’ yard. As they neared the front of the house, guests turned and stared. Tired of feeling like a guest in her own home, Claire wanted to shout above the thumping music, “I live here!” But tonight, she couldn’t blame them. In their poorly fitting evening wear, jeans, and hoodies, they didn’t exactly fit the profile of VIP donors.
A reporter lingering behind the back row turned and snapped their picture.
“Leesh! Real paparazzi!” Dylan grinned.
Alicia rolled her eyes. “It’s just local.”
“I wonder if Eli signs autographs.” Josh rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and untucked it. He squinted into the seated crowd beyond the rope, looking for the quarterback. “Lost him,” he muttered.
Alicia huffed her annoyance.
At the Blocks’ front door two men wearing tuxedos with shimmering aqua bow ties, dark Dior shades, and tiny plastic earpieces stood like statues. The one on the left was holding a clipboard.
“Uh, hey,” Claire said nervously, reaching for the doorknob. “’Scuze us.”
“Name?” Clipboard stepped in front of the door, his mouth set in a thin, stern line. Claire took a step back.
“Nice shades,” Derrington called from the back of the Soul-M8s huddle.
Dylan giggle-shushed him. Derrington giggle-shushed her back.
Clipboard’s sidekick looked at them both. He was probably glaring, but the shades made it hard to tell.
“Name?” Clipboard repeated.
Claire took a shaky breath. She felt like she was being called to Principal Burns’s office when she hadn’t done anything wrong. “ClaireLyonsCamFisherDylanMarvilDerrick HerringtonorDerringtoneitheroneKristenGregoryDempsey SolomonandJoshHotz,” she exhaled.
“Did you say Claire Lyons?” Clipboard asked.
Claire nodded.
“You’re in. The rest of you…” He shook his head once to the left, once to the right.
“What?” Claire balked. “Can you check again?” Secretly, she wasn’t surprised that Massie had left the others off the list, but she was hoping Clipboard would chalk it up to an oversight and let them all in.
“Don’t need to,” Clipboard said. “They’re not on the list.”
“This was a bad idea,” Kristen muttered.
“But we’re the Ho Ho Homeless?” Dylan tried, mussing her hair so it fell in front of her face. “This whole party is for us.”
Claire and Cam couldn’t help giggling.
Derrington held out his palm like he was begging for change.
Kristen rubbed her flat belly like she was hungry.
Josh squinted and looked around—mouth agape, expression dazed—like he had never seen a house with a roof before.
Dempsey, who volunteered to feed the homeless over Thanksgiving looked away, slightly amused, but mostly embarrassed.
“How tragic.” Sidekick dropped a nickel in Derrington’s palm.
“Thank you, seh,” Derrington said with an Oliver Twist–inspired accent.
Claire giggled again.
“You’re quite welcome.” Sidekick’s thin lips hinted at a smile. “But you’re still not getting in.” He opened the door for Claire.
She hesitated, not knowing the right thing to do. Part of her felt giddy that Massie had put her on the guest list. She’d probably never get to go to this kind of event again in her life (at least until the Blocks threw the next one). But leaving her friends and crush behind wouldn’t get her any closer to reuniting her old group. Or bonding with her new one.
“Just go,” Cam offered, as if he knew exactly what she was trying to do. “We’ll go back to the dinner party and—”
“Uhhh, I don’t think I can make it all the way back to the guesthouse,” Derrington said, leaning against Dylan as if he was too weak to stand. “Haven’t eaten in hours.”
Dempsey nodded, obviously not wanting to be sentenced to return to the dinner party. “Honestly, that little girl with the mic creeps me out.”
Josh laughed out loud. Alicia looked like she couldn’t decide whether to join him or shush him.
Suddenly, Claire had an idea.
“’Kay,” she told Clipboard. “I’m going in.”
He nodded and crossed her off the list.
“Really?” Dylan started. “You’re just gonna Tom?”
“What?” Cam jealousy-panicked.
“Cruise,” Kristen explained.
Claire power-winked, signaling that she wasn’t just cruising, she had a plan.
“What’s up with your eye, Lyons?” Derrington snickered. He began imitating her wink but looked more like someone holding a knife in a light socket.
Dylan elbowed him.
“Oww-chh!”
Claire hurried through the door before the party police could change their minds. She kept her head down as she wove past pockets of maki-munching adults. The last thing she wanted was for her parents to see her and waste precious minutes talking to her. She had to get back outside before everyone returned to Alicia’s dinner party. Once she got a good look at the backyard setup, she’d find a place for the Soul-M8s to sneak in. The rest was up to fate.
Slipping through the back doors, she scanned the backyard. Her eyes landed on the giant white tent across the yard. Red velvet rope surrounded it like a noose. She pulled her cell from her Anya Hindmarch for Target clutch and fired off a text to Dylan and Kristen.
Claire: Evry1 meet behind the white tent.
She hurried behind the rows of fish-filled chairs and made a wide arc around the catwalk, which stretched from the back of the main house into the yard. The crowd was clapping for a platinum blonde with choppy locks strutting down the catwalk in vintage Dior.
Claire wished she could enjoy the scenery: the body-painted acrobats swinging from jewel-toned ribbons above the runway, the glowing lanterns hanging from the trees, the photographers huddled at the foot of the runway, snapping shots of the models. She paused for a second as a statuesque girl with a short, angled bob, escorted by a cute-in-a-quirky-sort-of-way blond guy, stepped into the spotlight. She was wearing a gorgeous, emerald green silk gown. It looked exactly like the one Massie’s mom had worn to the Blocks’ annual Christmas party. For the first time since Kendra and Massie had announced the event, Claire found herself wondering what a homeless person would do with a gown like that. Why not donate food, or warm clothing, or something useful?
The model and her escort paused at the end of the catwalk. Dylan would have rocked that gown. Plus, she would have had so much fun doing the fashion show. The whole Pretty Committee would have. Claire felt the beginnings of anger gnawing in the pit of her stomach, spurring her toward the tent. This whole fight was ridiculous. The Pretty Committee belonged together. So why was she the only one who seemed to get that?
“I NEED LANDON CRANE FOR A TOUCH-UP, NOW!” a bald guy wearing all black yelled the second Claire lifted the white silk flap and stepped inside the tent. “YOU WALK WITH MASSIE IN THREE!”
Claire jumped back as a pack of brush-wielding makeup artists crisscrossed the tent. All around her, girls were primping in front of makeup mirrors and changing behind giant white screens. Hairdryers were buzzing, flatirons were sizzling, and a massive, ozone-destroying cloud of hair spray made the air inside the tent hazy. It was chaos.
Perfect.
She slipped to the very back of the tent, ducked around a rolling rack of hand-me-down couture, and crouched. Suddenly, a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
Busted.
Claire’s heart revved. She whipped around, ready to beg for mercy.
“Oh,” she heaved, fanning away the sting of adrenaline. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” said a cute, dark-haired guy in a perfectly fitted Armani tux. His untied lavender silk bow tie hung loosely around his neck. “Lose something?”
“Sort of.” Claire sighed.
The boy smiled an adorable, one-dimpled grin. “I’m Landon.”
“Landon Crane?” Claire smiled back. “The Landon Crane who’s on in three?”
“More like one and a half now.” Landon said to the screen on his black Samsung. “And you are?” His eyes were a sea blue-green. The colors swirled together, like a perfect storm. Claire had to remind herself that she had a crush who was waiting for her on the other side of the white canvas wall. And he had some pretty great eyes of his own, thank you very much.
“I’m Claire. I live in the Blocks’ guesthouse. And I’m kind of trying to sneak the rest of my—” Claire stopped herself. “The rest of Massie’s friends into the party.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. “There was sort of a mix-up with the list and I know she’s busy, so I thought I’d—”
“Oh, you know May-see?” Landon’s smile deepened.
Claire giggled at his mispronunciation but decided to let it go uncorrected. It was obviously an inside joke they shared. Suddenly, envy nipped her behind the belly. It had taken Claire more than a year to feel comfortable in the Pretty Committee. How had Massie been able to slap together a new group of friends, a fashion show, and a had-to-be-there nickname with a cute-times-ten boy in less than a month?
“So could you, like, keep a lookout, for just a sec?” Claire asked, embarrassed to sound like she’d stepped off the set of a second-rate crime drama.
“Sure.” Landon shrugged. “Better than getting my touchup.” He stood up and dragged the clothing rack a little to the left, shielding Claire from view.
Lifting up the bottom edge of the white wall, Claire stuck her head out the other side. “Dylan?” she whisper-yelled. “Kristen?” The thumping beat of the music coming from the runway swallowed her voice.
“Took you long enough,” Dylan grumbled from behind the velvet rope that skimmed the back edge of the tent. The rest of the Soul-M8s were huddled behind her.
“Sorry,” Claire whispered. She looked straight at Alicia when she said it, but Alicia refused to meet her gaze.
One by one, her friends ducked under the rope and into the tent. When everyone was inside, Claire released the fabric to the ground and stood up.
“Okay,” she called over the sound of whining models and shouting makeup artists. “Now all we’ve gotta do is—”
“Hey, man, what’re you doing?” Landon’s voice rose over the commotion.
Suddenly, the rack of clothes that protected them was yanked out of the way.
Claire’s heart leaped into her throat at the sight of the same two security guards who had manned the front door.
Clipboard hovered over them, pressing his earpiece into his ear. “We’ve got a code Soul-M8 on the south side of the tent, Massie. Repeat, code Soul-M8.”
Through the hair spray haze, Claire spotted Massie on the other side of the tent. She was barking into a headset, but Claire couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“Seriously?” Kristen scrunched her nose in disbelief.
“Should’ve stayed at my dinner party,” Alicia sang.
“Copy that.” Clipboard was saying. “All right. Miss Block says she wants everybody out.”
“Run!” Dylan bellowed, red-rovering straight into the clothes rack. She bounced off the couture and landed on her butt.
Everybody cracked up as the clothes swung back and forth, shaking off the impact.
“At least I tried something,” she mumbled.
“Okay, let’s go.” Clipboard glared down at Claire and Landon. “All of you.”
“Me?” Claire’s jaw dropped. “But I live here! And I’m on the list!”
“And I’m on in—” Landon checked his Samsung again. “Now!”
“The only thing you’re on is my security report,” Clipboard barked. “Now follow me.”
The Soul-M8s and Landon tromped through the tent, escorted by the security guards. Claire’s cheeks burned as everyone turned to stare. Behind her, Dylan, Kristen, and Alicia were cursing Massie to a lifetime of visible pores, static cling, and a few other things she couldn’t quite make out. Claire tried to catch Massie’s eye on her way out, so she could glance-beg for mercy. But Massie was getting her hair shellacked by Jakkob, and she didn’t notice.
“May-see!” Landon called as the guards herded them outside. But Massie still didn’t turn.
“I’m supposed to walk with her. I don’t want her to have to go out alone.” Landon’s shoulders slumped as they followed the guards around the spotlit runway and toward the house. “Now what’s she gonna do?”
“Beats me.” Tears stung Claire’s eyes. “This is all my fault,” she told Landon. And it was. Her plan had backfired. Now everybody was mad. And the odds of getting the Pretty Committee back together ever again were getting slimmer and slimmer.
Kuh-laire. Kuh-laire.
Scrambling for her phone, Claire felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe Massie had realized she’d made a mistake. Maybe she was ready to make up and move on.
She checked her text.
Massie: told u u can’t have both.
Then again, maybe not.