“Diiiieeeeeeeeeee, dirty birrrrrrrrrrds!”
Bloated pigeons unclamped their pink talons from rusty bins and panic-flapped to safety.
“Wait for meeee!” Alicia called, her face buried under her black-and-white striped cashmere tunic.
“Over’ere!” Massie whisper-barked once she hit grass, signaling her troops to join her behind the thick trunk of a maple tree. Cautiously lowering her scarf, she nose-sipped the air. “Ahhhhh.” She sighed with relief. “Much better.”
The parmesancheeserottenlettucescatfood smell had dissipated. But the crisp Alpine spring water scent of OCD was hardly back. Something new had taken its place. Something fragrant. Something Christmassy . . . Something . . .
“Ehma-
pine
,” Massie gasped, her eyes lifted to the sky.
Kristen, Alicia, and Dylan stared up in amazement, their glossy lips shaped like Cheerios. Hundreds of green, tree-shaped air-fresheners, the kind sold at gas stations and suburban mini-marts, dangled from the branches of the maple. They twirled and swayed in the breeze, creating small flickering shadows over the girls’ designer footwear.
“Look!” Dylan whipped off her dVbs and widened her emerald green eyes. Her gaze led them to the
ex
–Tiffany box trailers.
“What did they
do
?” Massie’s heart sank to her knees. A moment later it sank to her Mouse flats. Then it sank all the way to China.
Beyond the pine-scented maples were two freshly painted
white
trailers. Both were covered by black tarp canopies that provided enough shade for the—
“Soccer videos?”
Kristen blurted, her eyes darting across the outside of Trailer No. 1, which showed Landon Donovan kicking the ball to Beckham. Trailer No. 2 featured EA’s FIFA 09 video game, which Josh Hotz and Kemp Hurley were playing with fight-to-the-finish intensity.
“Ohhhh!” the spectators roared when Josh blocked Kemp’s shot.
“Seriously?”
Alicia removed her pink crush-cap. “Josh was a total text maniac this weekend and never said a word.” Her dark brown eyes practically filled with little thumping hearts. “Impressive.”
“Who did they hire?” Massie hate-glared at the projectors fastened to the branches of the nearby maple.
“Bill Gates,” Kristen stated confidently, staring at the A/V setup.
“Puh-lease,” Massie snapped. “It’s not
that
impressive.”
“Oh no, I meant—” Kristen stopped and blushed, as if she had accidentally revealed something she shouldn’t have. “I meant Danh Bondok probably did it.”
“
Who
?” Alicia and Massie giggle-asked at the same time.
Kristen finally took her eyes off the Galaxy game and focused on the conversation. “I mean Candy Corn.”
“Candy Corn the LBR?” Alicia looked at Massie, silently asking her if such a thing were possible. “That yellow-toothed guy?”
Massie shrugged.
“The one we just made over?”
“Yes, Candy Corn the yellow-toothed LBR,” Kristen said with a trace of impatience. Or was it defensiveness? “His
real
name is Danh Bondok and he’s a tech genius. He could do this in his sleep.”
“Bonnn-dock,” Dylan burped.
Everyone laughed except Massie. “How do you know him?”
Kristen blushed again. “Um, he’s on scholarship too, so we just kinda met that way, I guess.”
“Whatevs.” Massie sighed, fighting the urge to run home backwards, get into bed, and start the morning all over again.
“Can you believe this?” a familiar voice chirped.
The girls turned to see Claire and Cam coasting toward them on a black Electra bike with thick fat tires and dark green spokes. Legs lifted out in front of them, matching silver helmets tilted left, they smiled brighter than the bike’s reflectors. Their fight was ah-bviously over, and they were back together.
Forever.
If they had been actors in a movie, Massie would have thought they looked enviably ah-dorable. But because Claire was her friend, and clearly way happier than Massie was, Massie wanted to knock them both to the ground.
The day was
nawt
supposed to start like this. Nawt at
awll
. Claire wasn’t supposed to ditch carpool so she could bike to school with Cam. Birds weren’t supposed to destroy their post-boyfast outfits. The soccer boys weren’t supposed to make over the Tiffany box trailers. And the Pretty Committee was nawt, nawt,
nawt
supposed to be impressed.
Massie suddenly felt like she was trying to turn a door handle with overmoisturized hands. Her grip was slipping. And she was starting to panic.
“Why are you hiding?” Cam slammed on the brakes.
Claire stepped off the bike, unclipped her helmet, and shook out her blond hair like some Italian supermodel shooting a Vespa ad.
“We’re nawt hiding,” Massie explained to Cam’s one blue eye, which matched his navy sweatshirt in a distracting sort of way. “We were, um, waiting for you guys. This is where we decided to meet. Right, Kuh-laire?”
Luckily Claire nodded, untangling the knot in Massie’s stomach and turning it into a smile. Despite her reconciliation with Cam, she still had Massie’s back.
“If you wouldn’t mind excusing us”—Massie smirked at Cam, this time looking into his green eye, just to show she had no real preference—“we have some Pretty Committee business to take care of.”
“No prob.” Cam saluted, his wheels already angled toward the heated match between Josh and Kemp. “Going to the game tonight?” he asked, mostly to Claire, who was snapping her helmet around his handlebars.
“Soccer?”
He giggle-nodded in a “what else would I be talking about” sort of way. “We’re playing the Maverick School Groundhogs. And MSG plays hard.”
Claire turned to Massie, lifting her blond brows with hope.
“Opposite of yes.” Massie twirled her eighty-four-day-old purple hair streak. “We’re going to Dylan’s to do some online shopping.”
“Sounds fun!” Cam said sarcastically as he high-fived Claire and rode off to greet his friends.
“
Shopping
?” Claire stomped a red Converse All Star, unable to hide her disappointment. “Don’t you want to hang out with Dempsey after school?”
“He’s not into soccer.” Massie swiped her lips with devil’s food cake–flavored Glossip Girl. “He’s an actor,” she said with a trace of a British accent. “And he got a call back for the
Wizard of Claus
. For the Wizard.”
“So you’re still into Dempsey?” Kristen smacked a pine air-freshener.
Massie cocked her head to the side. “Why
wouldn’t
I be?”
“I dunno.” Kristen shrugged. She bit her thumbnail before pressing on. “So how much do you like him? You know, out of ten?”
“Ten,” Massie insisted. “Times ten.”
Just then Layne Abeley and her alt-to-a-fault friend Meena strolled by belting out the song “Popular” from
Wicked.
And for some reason Kristen kind of half smiled at Layne when she passed. It had to be pity, because she was singing about something she’d never experience . . . well, either that or gas.
“So basically you’d be upset if someone else liked him and he liked them back?”
Massie leaned closer, her amber eyes fixed and serious. “Have you heard something?”
“No,” Kristen blurted. “Why, have you?”
“
No!
”
“You know,
she’s
auditioning.” Kristen tilted her head toward Layne. “Doesn’t that tell you something about how
un
the play is?”
“What’s wrong with
Layne
?” Claire snapped.
“Nothing.” Kristen blushed. “It’s just that I . . . I thought maybe it would be cooler if you crushed on a guy who’s into sports, nawt middle-school
theater
.”
Massie squint-looked into Kristen’s green eyes as if trying to read something blurry. Since when had Kristen become so concerned with Massie’s public image? Kristen was her poor friend, not her PR friend. Who had suddenly given her permission to drop those two essential
o
’s?
“Um, are you saying actors are nawt hawt?” Massie hissed.
“Kinda.” Kristen lifted her blond brows in a “truth hurts” sort of way.
“Have you ever heard of Zac?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Hayden?”
“Yeah, b—”
“Hartnett?
“Ye—”
“Chace? Penn—”
“Okay!”
Kristen held up her hand. “It’s just that you said we could
like
boys this week, so I assumed we’d be hanging at the game after school. Not shopping.”
“Point.” Alicia lifted her French-manicured finger as she watched Josh high-five Cam.
“We
do
like boys this week,” Massie insisted. “Just nawt soccer.”
Just then the boys began laugh-chanting her ex-crush’s name.
“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”
Massie immediately blushed. The Pretty Committee was studying her, ah-bviously wondering if she had any last drops of crush left in her, like an upside-down can of Diet Coke that continued to drip soda even when it was empty.
“Ew, puh
-
lease!”
Massie rolled her eyes and snorted like a sleepy piglet. “I’m over him times ten times
twenty
!”
“Good.” Alicia began walking. “Then let’s go see what that’s all about.”
“Hold!” Massie swiped more Glossip Girl across her lips, then licked. Sugary sweetness coated her tongue and instantly lifted her mood. “Focus! I have an announcement to make.”
The Pretty Committee formed a tight circle under the pine-scented maple, each girl resisting the urge to peek at the boys.
“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”
Massie cleared her throat, even though it was already clear. “Last week I declared a boyfast and it almost tore us apart.” Her voice was somber.
The girls nodded in agreement.
“And you know why it didn’t work?”
“Because Alicia hung out with Josh behind our backs?” Dylan blurted.
“Go
flush
yourself, Cottonelle!” Alicia snapped.
Dylan folded her arms across her brown-stained henley and huff-turned to face the boys.
“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”
Everyone else turned too, except Massie. Her ex was ah-bviously doing
something
silly to get her attention, and she refused to fall for the childish trick.
“The
maaaain
reason boyfast didn’t work,” she half yelled to recapture her friends’ attention, “is because we’re hawt times ten! We have ah-mazing personalities! And
most
of us have incredible style!” She lifted her eyebrow at Claire, who looked at her primary-red sneakers in shame. “And it was wrong for me to think that boys could resist us. They’re only human, after all.”
The girls nodded in agreement once again.
“So I have prepared a pledge poem that will put us back on the right path.” She reached into her winter white Juicy tote and pulled out five platinum Coach key chains. Each one had five purple patent-leather letters dangling off the end: BFFWC. Massie thumbed open the dog-leash clip and hooked it onto the strap of her bag, then handed them out, waiting while everyone else did the same.
“I know I promised you bracelets, but I saw Strawberry and Kori at the mall buying you-know-whats. So I switched it up at the last minute.” She smirked, then tapped the screen of her new iPhone 3G. “Now check your texts.”
The girls quickly reached inside their bags, their BFFWC charms swinging about.
“Does everyone have the new pledge poem?”
They consulted their in-boxes and nodded.
“Good.” Massie grinned. “Then grab your charms and let’s recite together in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
The girls began:
We swore off boys for ten whole days,
But it didn’t work so well.
We acted like backstabbing clichés—
Ehmagawd! Boyfast was hell.
But we forgave one another;
Now we’re back in the groove.
Sisters, lock up your brothers,
Because we’re on the move!
This time we’ll do it right:
Our friendships come first.
PC support, day or night,
Or that member will be cursed.
So I hereby decree,
As my open heart gushes,
We are now BFFWC,
Best Friends Forever With Crushes!
“Yayyyyyyyy!” the girls giggle-shouted, then exchanged a round of hugs, with Massie in the center.
Everything felt right again. Their bond was Teflon-strong.
“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”
“Who’s ready to find out what all the chanting is about?”
“Meeeee!” Five hands shot into the pine-scented air.
Massie smiled proudly, ready to introduce her new leather leggings to the opposite sex.
This time the Pretty Committee would do it right. This time they would have it all.
SOCCER TRAILERS
Monday, September 21st
8:19 A.M.
“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”
Like a supermodel bursting onto a runway amid a cloud of dry ice, Massie led the girls toward the chanting, as if it were all for them. She stepped over Cam’s bike, which lay, wheel still spinning, on a clump of discarded backpacks. All she needed was a snappy one-liner to announce their arrival.
Hmmm . . . Something about going to school in a trailer park . . . or how they’ll need a can opener to get into their new classrooms.
Nope. She didn’t quite have it yet.
“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”
Luckily, the boys were so drawn to the maple tree on their right, they didn’t notice the Pretty Committee standing—
“Ehma—
butt
!” Massie smacked Alicia’s shoulder. “Look!”
Dylan burst out laughing.
Derrington was perched six feet off the ground, squatting on a branch like an ape, with his Volcom jeans around his knees. He was shaking his Paul Frank boxer briefs in front of the projector lens and casting a butt-shaped shadow on Trailer No. 1. The leaves of the maple shook and his friends acted like amused monkeys.