"Really," she stalled, desperate for a lightbulb moment.

"And why do you you want to get me a graduation present?" want to get me a graduation present?"

And then it hit her.

"Who said it was from me?"

Skye furrowed her blond brows.

"Can I trust you?"

The doubtful expression behind Skye's eyes softened. "Course."

Ma.s.sie signaled her to come closer.

Clearly not into taking orders from a seventh grader, Skye angled her head, giving Ma.s.sie an ear instead.

"Okay." Ma.s.sie looked right. Then left. "But you can't say a word to anyone."

Skye crossed her heart, oblivious to the soaking rain.

Cupping her mouth, Ma.s.sie leaned in toward Skye's ear. "The gift," she whispered, "is from an ah-dorable boy who sent me to find out what you want. That's why I'm here."

"Seriously?" Skye chirped. "Who is it? Who sent you?"

"Guess."

Ma.s.sie's heart thumped in antic.i.p.ation.

"Ehmagawd, is it-?" She quickly cut herself off.

"Who? Who were you going to say?" Ma.s.sie pleaded, feeling certain the answer would lead her straight to the mystery mattress. Who were you going to say?" Ma.s.sie pleaded, feeling certain the answer would lead her straight to the mystery mattress.

Skye's eyes hardened.

"No one."

As if noticing the rain for the first time, Skye shimmied out of her jean jacket and held it above her already drenched head, leaving Ma.s.sie exposed. Something in her had shifted.

"A pony."

"Huh?" Ma.s.sie dried her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Tell him him I want a pony for graduation. And if I don't get one, certain I want a pony for graduation. And if I don't get one, certain other other people won't ever, ever, ever get what they want." She glared deep into Ma.s.sie's eyes. "Know what I mean?" people won't ever, ever, ever get what they want." She glared deep into Ma.s.sie's eyes. "Know what I mean?"

For a split second Ma.s.sie considered playing dumb. But Skye was obviously onto her, and it would have been legitimately legitimately dumb to anger her more. dumb to anger her more.

A dizzying, falling sensation overcame Ma.s.sie. It felt worse than an eyebrow wax. The pain lingered in ways that a.s.sociated with ripping hair out of her face didn't.

"Don't worry, I'll tell him about the pony." Ma.s.sie showed Skye her phone to prove it. "I'll call him as soon as I dry off."

"While you're at it, tell him him to stop sending LISPs to do his dirty work." She put her hands on her hips. "That is, if to stop sending LISPs to do his dirty work." She put her hands on her hips. "That is, if he he even exists." even exists."

Ma.s.sie's ears buzzed. No one had ever called her a Little Insignificant Seventh-grade Pee-on before. No one had ever dared! Standing there, trapped under the hateful gaze of OCD's eighth-grade alpha, Ma.s.sie didn't know whether to defend her honor or run.

If only she could highlight the last ten minutes and delete them. She'd drive straight past Skye's Lord of the Rings Lord of the Rings house and spend every waking moment trying to find subtle yet effective ways to show Skye that she was the opposite of a LISP. And prove that she was a rich, beautiful, clever, stylish comeback queen. But that opportunity was long gone. house and spend every waking moment trying to find subtle yet effective ways to show Skye that she was the opposite of a LISP. And prove that she was a rich, beautiful, clever, stylish comeback queen. But that opportunity was long gone.

"Why are you still here, LISP?"

Fat drops of rain beat down on her like angry punches. "I'm nawt." Lifting her gray Rafe bag above her head, Ma.s.sie dashed down the driveway, unable to stop herself from running like an LBR. She kicked Liam's silver foil across the soaked driveway, then whipped the soggy Dunkin' Donuts bag into the trash bin by the curb. She'd failed in her mission, a mistake so grave it could cost the Pretty Committee the key.

"Tell us everything, and don't leave one thing out," Alicia squealed when Ma.s.sie dove into the backseat. "Did she tell you our dance instructor gave me a star for my pas de bourree last week?"

"She wants us to win, right?" Kristen asked.

"Where's the key?" Dylan burped.

Everyone laughed, except Ma.s.sie, whose mood was further agitated by the sting of the air-conditioning on her wet skin.

"Dylan, is my name Dorothy?"

"Uh, no."

"Then why did you think Munchkins could help me?"

They cracked up again while Ma.s.sie stared out the window at the long wet road ahead, wondering how she was going to buy a pony without her parents finding out.

CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION.

IN.

OUT.

Big mistakes .

Little doughnuts Graduation pony .

Graduation party Stormy Skye .

Sunny skies

THE B BLOCK E ESTATE M MAIN L LAWN.

Tuesday, April 6th 5:40 P.M. P.M.

Claire closed the door of the bronze Ford Taurus as quietly as she could. Judi did the same. They tiptoed across the gravel driveway toward the stone walkway that sliced through the Blocks' lawn and led to the guesthouse.

"Let's go." Judi held her black Talbots tote bag above her head. "It's dark and raining and-"

"Shhhh," Claire hissed. "Run ahead if you want, just don't make any noise."

"Claire, you're being ridiculous."

"Shhhhh." Claire ducked down.

"Suit yourself!" Judi scurried toward home, leaving her daughter behind in the rain.

Just as Claire had feared, the lights were on in the horse-shed-turned-spa.

They were in there.

If she could only sneak past the windows undetected. From there it would be a quick sprint and just two flights of stairs to the safety of her bedroom.

An urgent text message vibrated on Claire's cell phone. 911 meeting in GLU headquarters, 911 meeting in GLU headquarters, it said. Which really meant Girls Like Us headquarters, which really really meant the spa. it said. Which really meant Girls Like Us headquarters, which really really meant the spa.

Pushing her black oversize wannabe-Dior sungla.s.ses up her nose and securing her Faux-ch (fake Coach) plaid bucket hat (thank heavens for Times Square vendors and their cheap designer knockoffs), Claire a.s.sumed the crouch'n'dash position. She was about to make a run for it when someone shouted, "Hey, Nicole, I loved you on The Simple Life 4! The Simple Life 4!"

She froze.

"Looks like you're really embracing the whole Hollywood thing." Dylan snickered. She was wearing a Burberry trench coat and carrying a six-pack of Diet Dr Pepper and a black bag of Smartfood, obviously taken from the pantry in the main house. "Come on." She tilted her head toward the spa. "Ma.s.sie's been texting you like crazy. Let's go."

Wiping her palms on the sides of her wet cargo minidress, Claire followed.

"After you," Dylan conceded when they reached the rustic barn door.

"Great," Claire murmured, sliding it open like the door of a minivan.

Inside, dozens of vanilla-scented candles cast a warm orange glow across the leather furniture and created long treadmill shadows against the rustic wood walls. The water-fall in the Zen rock garden trickled while the burning wood in the fireplace popped and crackled. Ceramic pots of bubbling chocolate fondue-surrounded by skewers of strawberries, bananas, and sponge cake-filled the room with a rich, sugary smell that made Claire's mouth water.

It felt more like one of Kendra Block's apres-ski parties than a Pretty Committee meeting, until she saw the gla.s.s coffee table piled high with empty, gloss-stained Starbucks cups.

Without lifting her head, Ma.s.sie handed Claire a stack of stapled papers. "Nice of you to show."

"What's going on?" Claire sat on the ottoman beside Ma.s.sie's bare, French-pedicured feet. Obviously, no one cared enough to ask how her meeting with Miles had gone.

"Read."

Claire looked down, wishing she had been bombarded with what-are-you-wearing jokes. Something! But the girls were silent, making the doc.u.ment in her hands the only place Claire could turn.

She scanned the first page. It was a copy of the poem Skye had read on the CD-ROM. The rest was a grid that listed the boys she had kissed and the reasons they might have the key.

FOR PRETTY COMMITTEE EYES ONLY.

The boys who sleeps atop the key Is into the exact same things as me.

He loves all creatures, big and small, So his age doesn't matter, not at all.

I try not to think about his "glamour-don't" style By focusing on his kick-b.u.t.t smile.

Note to self. I've kissed this guy, But I've kissed them all. How bad am I?

We already node off into the sunset together, But the next time use do, it will be forever.

Holla!

NAME/GRADE.

WHY HIM? WHY HIM?.

OPERATIVE OPERATIVE.

TACTIC TACTIC.

Todd Lyons/5th 1. Skye kissed him. 1. Skye kissed him.

2. "Age doesn't matter."

Claire Claire Home advantage. Go in whenever you can. Right, Kuh-laire???? Home advantage. Go in whenever you can. Right, Kuh-laire????

Tiny Nathan/5th 1. Skye kissed him. 1. Skye kissed him.

2. "Age doesn't matter."

3. "All creatures, big and small" small"-we don't call him Tiny for nuthin'.

Claire Claire You want to see his SpongeBob sheets because Todd loves them and you want to get him some for his birthday. You want to see his SpongeBob sheets because Todd loves them and you want to get him some for his birthday.

Derrington/7th 1. Skye kissed him (but he didn't kiss her back). 1. Skye kissed him (but he didn't kiss her back).

2. "'Glamour-don't' style"-shorts in winter.

Ma.s.sie Ma.s.sie I want to make sure his mattress tag is on because the tag actually says it's illegal to cut it off and I don't want him to get into trouble. I want to make sure his mattress tag is on because the tag actually says it's illegal to cut it off and I don't want him to get into trouble.

Chris Plovert/7th Kori & Strawberry checked. Kori & Strawberry checked.