"Check your cell." Ma.s.sie waved her Motorola. "I've been leaving you messages all day and you've been sending me straight to VM like I was some kind of LBR stalker."

Claire opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"I can explain," she finally managed.

"Don't bother." Ma.s.sie rolled her eyes.

"Maybe she's too famous to answer her phone," Alicia suggested.

"Or maybe she can't hear it under that hat," Dylan said.

"Or see it from behind those gla.s.ses," Kristen added.

Claire stood and faced everyone. "Wanna know why I'm wearing this?"

They glared at her.

She tore off her disguise, revealing a head of goth-black hair that looked like it had been cut by the teeth of a wild dog and a dark, bristly five-inch eyebrow.

"That's why."

No one laughed. No one even smiled. All they did was stare.

Swallowing hard, Claire met their eyes and began: "The director wants me to wear this to the audition Friday to show how dedicated I am to the role."

They said nothing. No jokes, no giggles, no screams. Just silence.

"Ehmagawd. Kuh-laire, is that you you?" Ma.s.sie asked as if, after years, the two had just b.u.mped into each other at Sephora.

"Who did you think it was?"

"Hairy Potter." Ma.s.sie burst out laughing. Potter." Ma.s.sie burst out laughing.

BRIARWOOD A ACADEMY B BEHIND M Ma.s.sIE'S F FAVORITE H HEDGE.

Wednesday, April 7th 3:15 P.M. P.M.

The Pretty Committee took cover behind a row of shrubs across the street from Briarwood Academy. Squatting, they scoped their marks.

"I have eyes on Josh." Ma.s.sie racked focus on her ahdorable palm-size camouflage binoculars, shading her lenses from the late-afternoon sun. "He's tying one of his silver Nikes by the army-guy statue. Go! Go! Go!"

Alicia sprang to her feet. After smoothing her wide-legged Ralph Lauren pants, she tucked her cleavage inside the ever expanding borders of her crisp white V-neck.

"Remember, five p.m. at Wrap Star to debrief. First one there gets the booth."

"Given." Alicia saluted. "GL."

"Good luck," they whispered back.

"Gawdspeed," Ma.s.sie muttered as Alicia crossed Brook Street and raced toward her crush.

The thought of losing this contest made her legs weak. She needed to sit but wouldn't have dreamed of putting her gold silk Chanel shorts in contact with the moist gra.s.s. A single green skid mark or mud stain and all confidence would be lost. Instead, Ma.s.sie shifted her weight from one bare knee to the other and prayed this would all be over soon.

"I can't see anything anything." Dylan smacked the manicured cube of leaves in front of them. "These stupid bushes are in the way."

"Kuh-laire, scoot back-your eyebrows are blocking our view."

Everyone burst out laughing.

"Very funny." Claire adjusted the stylish black Stella McCartney sungla.s.ses and matching wide-brimmed chocolate-brown suede hat Ma.s.sie had forced upon her.

"There's Ezra Rosenberg." Kristen lowered her yellow Radio Shack binoculars. "Time to work on my golf swing."

"You may want to get that letter out of your mailbox first." Dylan snickered.

"Oops." Kristen cackled as she pulled the olive-colored James Perse tube dress she wore from between her b.u.t.t cheeks.

"There's Jake!" Ma.s.sie shoved Dylan, knocking her onto the damp gra.s.s.

"Watch it." Dylan stood. "This is organza." She inspected her turquoise tunic for water damage.

"This is about your yellow teeth, not your outfit, remember?" Ma.s.sie huffed. "You're there to talk to his dad about whitening treatments."

"Yup." She licked a lemon gumball and sc.r.a.ped it across her teeth. "Got it. See ya at five."

"Wait up!" Claire hurried to catch up with Dylan and Kristen. "I see Tiny Nathan."

Ma.s.sie lifted her binoculars and scanned the crowded campus, hoping Derrington would emerge soon. Getting caught alone in the bushes with a pair of binoculars could seriously damage a girl's reputation.

It wasn't long before she spotted the s.h.a.ggy-haired blond wiggling his b.u.t.t for a group of amused seventh-grade boys. They high-fived before parting ways on their bikes, them in various shades of tan khakis and him in blue plaid AE shorts.

The traffic light at the top of Brook Street must have turned green, because a row of cars zipped past, blocking Ma.s.sie's view. By the time it cleared, Derrington was gone.

Immediately, she speed-dialed.

He answered after one ring.

"Block?"

"Hey." Ma.s.sie glossed up with Glossip Girl Strawberry Milkshake. "Where are you?"

"Riding down Grove Street."

"Oh." Ma.s.sie tried to sound disappointed.

"Why?"

"I'm across from the army guy. I was hoping you could double me." She shoved the tops of her argyle socks into her riding boots, b.u.t.toned her shrunken black blazer, and tugged her mocha Vince tank so that it kissed the white Hermes scarf she'd threaded through her belt loops. Standing, she flipped her hair and tapped her chilly thigh, congratulating herself on an outfit well put together.

"Where's Isaac?" Derrington asked, his voice strangely louder than it had been a second ago.

"Um, we're trying to conserve gas," Ma.s.sie tried. "Not because we're poor, though. It's a green thing."

"Conservation is coooool," someone whispered, right in her ear.

"Ahhhh!" Ma.s.sie whipped her head around to find Der-rington bouncing on his silver BMX bike, laughing.

"Puh-lease, I knew you were there." She rolled her eyes, trying to conceal the Pop Rocks-style explosions she felt in her stomach every time she saw him.

Derrington smiled. "Jump on." He smacked the black seat.

In an effort to avoid lifting her leg like a dog (so gauche!), Ma.s.sie straddled the back tire, then shuffled toward the seat like she had a pair of lacy Cosabellas around her ankles.

Derrington pushed off the curb. "Hold tight."

Ma.s.sie gripped the cold metal bar, feeling like Skye on the back of Liam's Vespa.

Derrington quickly turned his head. "No, hold on to me me."

"Oh." She pinched the back of his gray Briarwood blazer.

"Whoa!" Derrington spun to the left, then the right, then the left again.

"What are you doing doing?"

"You better hold on!"

"You're not scaring me!" she shouted, grateful that he couldn't see the terror in her eyes.

"I'm gonna keep doing this until you hold on!" He made another sharp left.

"Heeeelp!" she squeaked.

A sudden loss of balance-caused by the shifting makeup and books in Ma.s.sie's white Marc Jacobs calfskin tote-made her tip. p.r.i.c.kly, stinging sweat flooded her armpits.

"E-nufff!"

Derrington dragged his black Vans along the street and stopped.

"You okay?"

Hanging off the side, Ma.s.sie dug her fresh manicure into the seat and pulled herself up.

"Uh-huh," she managed, despite how close she'd come to having her face exfoliated by Maple Boulevard.

"You gonna hold on this time or what?"

Ma.s.sie took a deep breath and on the silent count of three wrapped her arms around Derrington's fat-free waist like someone who wasn't the least bit nervous to touch a boy.

"Better." He began pedaling.

They turned onto Oak Lane and Ma.s.sie dropped her shoulders. The lush neighborhood reminded her of Galwaugh Farms with its serene, winding horse trails.

"Hang on!" Derrington tugged on the handlebars and jumped the bike onto the curb.

Ma.s.sie tightened her grip-not because she was scared, but because she wasn't.

By the time they hit Cedar Walk they were practically slow dancing. Ma.s.sie had to remind herself that she was on a mission.

"You live around here, don't you?"

"No," he shouted into the balmy breeze.

"Oh. I can't believe I don't know where you live."

"Yes, you do, you came over two years ago on Halloween, remember? Dylan slipped on a smashed pumpkin and spilled her candy?"

"I don't think I was there," Ma.s.sie lied, remembering dozens of kids descending on the candy while Dylan fought them off with white pebbles from Derrington's garden. "And I hate that I can't picture where you sleep."

Derrington stopped pedaling. "Wanna come over?"

"Sure." Ma.s.sie smiled behind his back.

"'Kay." He turned the bike around.

"So, um, what do you think of Skye Hamilton?" Ma.s.sie asked once they picked up speed.

"She's okay, I guess. Why?"

"I heard a rumor." She held her breath, fearing his response.

"Oh yeah?" he perked up. "What?"

"Just that you lip-kissed her." Ma.s.sie tried to sound casual and unjealous.

"How'd you hear that?"

"So it's true!"

"Are you jealous?"

"Are you admitting it?"

"Jealous?"

"Admitting?"