Bratfest At Tiffany's

BOCD
THE BOMB SHELTER

Tuesday, September 8th
3:50 P.M.

It didn’t matter one bit that Massie was older and wiser and in the eighth grade. The cold, dimly lit metal staircase that led down to BOCD’s boiler room freaked her out as much as it had in the seventh grade. And the smell of wet cardboard made her head throb. But, like a true alpha, she smiled through her pain.
“Hurry up,” she called to the NPC, who, fused together in a cluster that resembled a well-dressed granola chunk, took each step with extreme caution.
“What are you so ’fraid of?”
“Murderers,” Claire chattered.
“Ghosts,” Alicia whispered.
“BO.” Dylan fanned her sweat-drenched underarms.
“Burns.” Kristen pointed at the low black ceiling, reminding everyone that the principal’s office was directly above them.
“Puh-lease.” Massie waved away their concerns. “We snuck down here all the time last year.”
“It seems scarier today.” Alicia’s searched their dank surroundings, her dark brown eyes glistening with fear.
“So do your boots.” Dylan burst out laughing.
Everyone cracked up, even Alicia, who looked down at her exposed toes and giggled.
It was as if the Spain spell had finally worn off and she was back in fashion reality. Her return was a sign that filled Massie with hope. Maybe by tomorrow everything would be back to normal.
“How awesome will it be to have our own secret room on campus?” Massie tugged the rusty door marked CAUTION! DO NOT ENTER. “No boys, no LBRs, no teachers. Just us. Just the New Pretty Committee!” she shouted, knowing that the clanging and steaming cylinders would drown out their screams. “To the NPC!” Massie lifted her arm and shook her shiny bracelet.
“To the NPC!” they echoed back.
Propelled by renewed excitement, they fearlessly dashed toward the boiler room, clutched the wobbly thin black railing, and made their descent into the school’s bomb shelter. Correction: their bomb shelter. The one that had been handed down to them by Skye Hamilton, last year’s eighth-grade alpha. And the one that they would hand down to the next generation of exceptional girls when they graduated. That is, if there were any exceptional seventh-graders.
“We’re here,” Massie trilled, searching her Be & D silver-and-black bowler bag for the key. Everyone crowded around her, blocking her light. But it hardly mattered. She knew exactly where the keyhole was. She’d imagined this moment at least a billion times over the summer.
“Do you think those racks of designer clothes will still be here?” Kristen asked, bouncing in her red platform Havaianas. “And what about the Starbucks machine Skye left for us?”
“And all of her Hard Candy makeup?” Alicia finger-combed her thick black hair.
“Get me to that buttered-popcorn maker.” Dylan licked her lips.
Everyone glared at her with various expressions of mock doubt.
“What? It’s low-fat.”
“Um, buttered popcorn is to low-fat as Kristen’s shark-tooth necklace is to valuable,” chided Alicia.
“Is to Alicia’s boots are cool,” responded Kristen.
“Is to Claire is happy,” Dylan joked.
“Is to Dylan’s straight hair is natural,” Claire managed.
Everyone cracked up.
Massie stuck her key into the foreboding black door to the bomb shelter.
In no time they’d be pledging their allegiance to the New Pretty Committee and swapping decorating suggestions for their exclusive new lair. They’d spend hours gossiping. Days laughing hysterically over nicknames they’d create for the boys. And months concocting rumors about the LBRs. Carpenters would custom build closets to store their magazines, which they’d pore over every Monday. Outfits would be pre-ordered on Tuesdays. Accessory trades would be ongoing. Anything was possible now that the NPC had a place all their own. And nothing filled Massie with more of a joyful buzz than that. Not fat-free lattes, not Glossip Girl deliveries—not even the new-car smell of a Marc Jacobs bag.
Massie turned the key. The door clicked open.
“We’re in!” she announced.
The stale odor of sweat mixed with duct tape flooded their nostrils.
“Ew! What is that?” Alicia pinched her little ski-jump of a nose.
“Did we forget to clean out the coffee machine before the summer?” Kristen twirled one of her honey-blond braids. Massie kicked the floor switch and the lights popped on. “What hap-pened in here?” Kristen whimpered, while the rest of them stood at the doorway, jaws hanging open, breathing in mouthfuls of thick, sticky air.
A wall of slightly dented steely gray lockers had replaced the racks of designer clothing. The brass Starbucks machine was now a giant Poland Spring water dispenser. All of the Hard Candy makeup had been removed, and in its place was a stack of semi-crumpled sports magazines haphazardly jammed in the faux-wood IKEA shelves. Their pink fuzzy director’s chairs were now aluminum benches that faced a white board covered in X’s and O’s and arrows. And their beloved disco ball was covered with five yellowing jock-straps.
“What is this?” Dylan wrapped her long red hair around her neck like a noose.
Everyone’s eyes were on Massie, waiting for her to fix things. But for once, she had no idea how. This was too much to handle. Even for her.
Feeling faint, she wandered over to the benches just in case. Everyone shuffled lifelessly behind her.
“We should complain.” Dylan straddle-sat on the aluminum slab.
“To who?” Kristen plunked down beside her. “We’re not supposed to be in here, remember?”
“I bet my dad could find a way to sue.” Alicia stood, massaging Massie’s narrow shoulders.
Claire lingered at the white play board and traced her finger over one of the X’s. She sighed, hemorrhaging hope.
Unable to offer a decent solution, Massie felt like her powers had been stripped away. Like Dorothy without her ruby red slippers. Paris Hilton without the paparazzi. Jessica Simpson with dark hair. All she could think about was switching schools. But her friends needed her. And what kind of leader would she be if she bailed?
Gripping the purple Swarovski crystal-covered crown on her charm bracelet, Massie recharged her alpha battery. Seconds later, she was on her feet, ready to take charge.
“I’m guessing Skye came back for all her stuff.” Massie paced alongside the bench. “Which is fine with me. The clothes would be outdated by now anyway, and Starbucks is so seventh grade. I propose a Pinkberry fro-yo dispenser.”
“I heart that!” Alicia jumped up and air-clapped. “That store is in US Weekly more than Lindsay.”
“What about a hair salon station?” Dylan joined her. “We can get a big mirror and a chair with a foot pump. And Jakkob can stop by twice a week for blowouts and straightening sessions.”
“I want a Puma sneaker vending machine,” Kristen added.
“That takes gum wrappers instead of money,” Claire chimed in.
Massie quickly jotted everything down on her iPhone. “I’ll get Inez in here first thing tomorrow to disinfect.”
“Joyce will help,” offered Alicia. “It’s her day off on Wednesdays, so she’s available. She’d love it.”
“You think?” Kristen asked in disbelief.
“Given. Why else would she pick cleaning for her career? Because she hates it?”
“Sounds puuurrrrfect.” Massie beamed. “Brody from RL Home will be here with a notepad and a tape measure by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“Yayyyy,” they cheered.
Even Claire.
“Now, who’s ready to pledge?” Massie stepped up on the bench and held out her wrist, shaking the bracelet so it chimed.
Alicia and Claire stepped up beside her, while Dylan and Kristen took the opposite bench.
“Everyone please join wrists.” Massie held out her arms. Her best friends’ initials glistened, even in the darkest of times. “Now close your eyes. And repeat after me.”
“And repeat after me,” Dylan burped.
Everyone cracked up.
Once they stopped, Massie began the pledge-poem she had spent all of geography and half of Spanish memorizing.
“From this moment awn,” she began.
“From this moment awn,” they all repeated.
Massie smiled with satisfaction and recited the rest of the poem, the New Pretty Committee echoing each line after her.
I pledge the following to you.
To rid my thoughts of boys
Done and done, they are through.

I’ll focus on fashion
Study new trends in beauty
Strengthen my friendships
And tighten my booty.

You won’t find me flirting
Or talking to guys
No texting, IMing
No batting my eyes.

I’m above that now
Been there done that
Time for the LBRs
To have their turn at bat

Let them wear tight clothes
And watch boring soccer (no offense, Kristen!)
Let them laugh at fart jokes
Let them be the stalkers!

It’s BFF time
No boys, not ever.
Because BFF has a new meaning
And that’s Boyfast Forever!

“You may open your eyes.,” Massie purred with post-yoga calmness.
Alicia hopped off the bench, and the girls released their wrist-grips.
“We’re nawt finished yet,” snapped Massie.
“Oops, sorry.” Alicia stepped up. “Go awn.”
Massie held out her arms again, only this time she kept her eyes wide open.
“Fail the fast and fail the group. Fail the group and lose the bracelet. Lose the bracelet and lose your membership to the NPC.”
“I am so ready for this!” Dylan air-clapped.
The others gasped.
“Does that mean we can’t even talk to a boy?” Alicia sounded more afraid than curious.
Claire bit her thumbnail. Kristen squeezed the shark tooth around her neck.
“Put it this way: Treat the boys like you would treat your brother. You can ask for help or favors or money, but no flirting, crushing, texting, or dressing to impress. Done?”
“Done!” Dylan bellowed.
She was the only one.
“Done?” Massie asked a second time.
“Done,” everyone replied.
“Good. Now, to start things off I figured we would—”
Massie was interrupted by the click of the door. They dropped each other’s wrists and jumped off the benches.
“You were right, Mass,” Kristen muttered. “We are done.”