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  OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL THE CAFÉ, TABLE I8

  8 Monday, April 5th

  12:38 P.M.

  The lunch crowd rubbernecked as they passed the Pretty Committee’s prestigious windowside table—which thankfully had been roped off with purple ribbon, thanks to Allie-Rose’s connection in the art department—hoping for a glimpse at OCD’s first real-life celebrities.

  “Hey, Claire,” Kaya Horner gushed as she strolled by, swinging an empty red tray. The petite, tights-obsessed brunette was dressed in a black cashmere turtleneck and a faded pair of tattered cut-off Sevens, which she wore over white-and-gray-striped Hues. Her legs looked like two gangly Slinkys. “I cannot wait to see your moo-vie.”

  Lowering her spaghetti-covered fork for the third time that minute, Claire smiled and kindly said, “Awww, thanks.”

  Massie rolled her eyes. “Gawd, can we puh-lease talk about you-know-what”—she mimed turning a key in a door—”without getting interrupted by LBR FOCs?”

  “Welcome back, Massie,” waved Mindy Baum, head of the student council. As usual, she was wearing an extra-small ocd student body baby tee, this one in hot pink. “We missed you guys.”

  “Thanks.” Massie cupped her chignon. “We ah-dore the colorful confetti on our table. That had to be you guys, right?”

  “Totally.” Mindy blushed.

  Dylan nestled her head in the C-shaped pillow that had been tied to the back of her orange plastic cafeteria chair. “Did you make these too?”

  “I can’t take all the credit.” Mindy motioned for five DIY-loving girls at table 14 to stand. “We had a little help from the Crafts Club.”

  They climbed up on their chairs and bowed, each girl wearing the club’s signature paisley smock over ultra-flared jeans and a vintage-inspired blouse.

  “Thread-heads,” Massie murmured as she applauded their efforts with what looked, to the untrained eye, like absolute sincerity. Then she waved goodbye to Mindy, letting her know in no uncertain terms that it was time for her to leave.

  “I heart the flowers the Shakespeare Club stuck in our poetry books.” Alicia caressed the white rose behind her ear. “They’re so ah-dork-able.”

  “I know.” Massie giggled. “Sweet in a sad way.”

  “Clairenoticeanythingfamiliar?” interrupted Carrie Randolph while tugging at the pink-and-red polka-dot scarf around her neck.

  “Oh, wow!” Claire feigned excitement. “You bought that from Todd, right?”

  “Itcostmethreeweeksallowencebutitwastotallyworthit.”

  “Fast talker!” Dylan sneezed.

  Everyone laughed, but Carrie didn’t seem to notice.

  “UmwhendoesDialLforLosercomeoutcauseIamtotallywearingthistothetheater.”

  “Memorial Day weeke—”

  “Great, Cathy, thanks so much for the visit.” Massie clapped twice.

  “It’s Ca-rrie,” she huffed.

  Massie double-clapped again.

  Carrie turned and stormed off.

  Massie crumpled her white paper napkin and tossed it on her uneaten California rolls. “We totally need a private room.”

  You didn’t have to be so mean, Claire felt like saying. But secretly she was relieved Carrie was gone. Accepting all of this attention and praise over a movie no one had seen felt dishonest, like getting an A on a test she hadn’t taken.

  Massie leaned forward. One second later, the Pretty Committee was nose-to-nose in the center of the table. “So. In the poem? When Skye was talking about Glamour-don’t style? Who do you think she meant?”

  “Derrington,” Kristen offered, with a trace of leftover nobody-wanted-my-autograph jealousy.

  “He does wear shorts in the winter.” Dylan bit into her turkey-bacon burger with low-fat cheddar.

  “Point.”

  “According to the poem, that means she kissed him.” Massie bit her lower lip.

  Claire wanted to ask how Skye and Derrington knew each other and if anyone thought they had been “knowing each other” behind Massie’s back. But she didn’t, for obvious reasons.

  “Do you think he cheated on me?”

  Claire tugged an errant cuticle, Dylan picked a sesame seed off her bun, Alicia checked for split ends, and Kristen folded her napkin into a tiny, tiny rectangle.

  “Ehmagawd!” Massie managed, despite the thumping heart in her throat. “You think he cheated on me?”

  Kristen opened her mouth.

  “Ehmagawd, you do!”

  “No, I—”

  “Stand up, you!” bellowed Kori Gedman as she approached their table. A tight tan sweater accentuated her notoriously bad posture. She looked like a croissant. “I have to see what you’re wearing. Everyone in third period was raving.”

  Her best friend, Strawberry, was beside her, dressed in a dark pink off-the-shoulder sweatshirt that matched her berry-colored hair. “Yeah, let’s see.”

  Massie, Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen pushed back their chairs. A symphony of screeching metal sliced through the buzzing lunchtime chatter, causing a roomful of heads to turn their way.

  One at a time, each girl gave her best supermodel spin.

  “No, I want to see Claire.“ Kori’s arched neck shot forward.

  Claire’s cheeks felt hotter than the Blocks’ Jacuzzi.

  “Yeah,” nodded Strawberry. “We want to see what a real movie star wears.”

  “Ha!” Massie blurted, then quickly covered her mouth, like it had just slipped out.

  “Come on.” Kori shook her tray of Tater Tots. “Show us.”

  Lifting her light blond eyebrows apologetically, Claire tried to remind Massie that she hadn’t asked for any of this.

  Massie fired back a yeah-right glare.

  Ignoring the jealous whispers of her supposed BFFs, Claire stood.

  “Cute top.” Kori bit her thumbnail while she scanned Claire’s pink-and-purple-flowered thermal. “Is it a Marc Jacobs?”

  “No,” Alicia answered for her. “It’s a Marc Down.”

  Giggles erupted from the Pretty Committee.

  Claire sat.

  “How much do you love her?” Kori cooed to no one in particular. “She’s still so down-to-earth.”

  “Look.” Strawberry wiggled her foot. “I’m wearing Keds. You totally got me into them.”

  “Same.” Kori revealed the light blue slip-ons from the Rave line, the same ones Claire had worn on the movie set. They must have seen them in the interviews. “Which ones do you have on?”

  Claire poked her leg out from under the table. “Denim Champion Destroyed.”

  “Love those!”

  “Know what KEDS stands for?” Massie interrupted.

  Kori and Strawberry shook their heads.

  “It means Kuh-laire, E-nuf Discussing Shoes!”

  Claire tried to laugh with everyone else.

  “Can I just ask one thing about your jeans? Is that a light wash or are they naturally faded?” Kori tucked a chunk of butterscotch-colored hair behind one elfin ear.

  “Enough!” Massie slammed her hands on the table. A geyser of pastel confetti shot into the air. “We’re in the middle of something, okay?”

  Kori and Strawberry inched back.

  “She’s right.” Claire smiled sympathetically. “Let’s catch up after school.”

  Strawberry’s cheeks reddened with rage. She grabbed her friend’s arm, pulling her away, but Kori turned and called, “Kristen, see you at soccer practice!”

  “Can’t wait.” She lifted her palm.

  Kori broke away from Strawberry and scurried back to high-five Kristen. “We’re going all the way this season.”

  “How ‘bout you go all the way back to the LBR table?” Massie shooed her away as though she were one of Dylan’s salami burps. “Ugh! I can’t take the constant drive-bys.” She flicked a yellow piece of confetti off her gray kimono dress. “It’s so ah-nnoy—”

  “Welcome back!” Layne Abeley waved. Her index finger was stained bright orange.

  Claire
willed her friend not to stop at table eighteen, but Layne was not one to take a hint, telepathic or otherwise. She dragged a chair from a nearby table, squeezed in between Claire and Kristen, then pulled a bag of Crystal Light On the Go out of her hay-colored World Famous backpack.

  “What are you wearing?“ Claire asked, unable to hide her shock and embarrassment.

  Layne’s suspenders, hiking boots, and red fedora—complete with a built-in water dispenser that reached from the brim to her mouth—were farther from the pages of Teen Vogue than a size-eight model.

  “Is The Sound of Music cool again?” Dylan asked.

  Layne poked her finger into the bag of peach-flavored tea mix. “Excuse me for not wanting to spend my morning walking 2.3 miles in stiletto boots and a prom dress.”

  “Ew, who would wear stiletto boots with a prom dress?” Alicia shook at the thought.

  “You walked to school?” asked Claire.

  “Yeah, Chris wouldn’t give me a ride because he wanted to visit Tricky. It’s her birthday.” She popped open a gold heart-shaped locket around her neck and showed Claire a picture of her brother’s black horse.

  “Awwww.”

  “I totally understood, but his girlfriend, Fawn, was pissed!” She removed her finger from the bag, skillfully transferring the anthill of sugar on her finger to her mouth. Then she squeezed her eyes shut. “So tart.”

  “L,” Massie coughed.

  “B,” Alicia sneezed.

  “R,” Dylan yawned.

  Kristen cackled.

  “Listen, Layne, can I call you—”

  “So are you moving to Hollywood or what?”

  “Um, I’m not sure. I’m meeting with my agent tomorrow.” Claire chewed her thumbnail. “You know, about the whole moving thing.”

  “Your parents gonna let you go?”

  “If I’m really serious and it’s a good opportunity, they’ll move with me,” Claire said, ignoring the Pretty Committee’s four-way eye-roll.

  “What about Cam?”

  The mention of his name made Claire’s stomach dip. “Dunno. We’re gonna wait and see what happens.”

  “Hey, Layne?” Massie called.

  “Yeah?”

  Massie slapped a napkin down on the table and slid it toward Layne. It said, in dark green eyeliner, Pretty Committee meeting in session. No Laynes allowed.

  Layne soaked her finger with spit, stuck it inside the bag of Crystal Light, and wrote OK, with a chalky mixture of peach-flavored crystals and saliva.

  Ignoring the chorus of ew!s that followed her message, Layne stood and smiled. “Claire, call me tonight after CSI Miami.”

  “‘Kay.” Claire blushed.

  “Finally.” Massie tossed her plate of California rolls in the trash. “Let’s get started.” She flipped open her Motorola Razr. “Let’s text. For privacy.”

  Claire powered on her rhinestone-encrusted, special-edition Dial L for Loser phone—a gift from Rupert Mann, the film’s director.

  Seconds later, their meeting was in session.

  MASSIE: K, what r Skye’s hobbies?

  KRISTEN: Read her Myspace profile. Luvs mini things. mini-muffins, mini-sharpies, mini-perfume samples, mini-Chicklets…also luvs animals, Hershey’s Kisses, glitter pens & dance.

  Massie’s thumbs scuttled across her keypad.

  MASSIE: D, who else got the CD-ROM?

  DYLAN: Duh-livia Ryan. She’s already wearing a key chain around her neck. Also Layne’s alt.com BFF, Heather. Saw her making a list of boys in math. Researching others.

  MASSIE: A, who has she kissed?

  Alicia slid four sheets of legal-size paper facedown onto the center of the table. She looked over each shoulder, then nodded, letting them know it was safe to take a look. Claire flipped hers over, and like the others, held it close to her chest while she read.

  Skye’s Kiss List

  5th Grade (Beyond ew!) Todd Lyons

  7th Grade Derrington (!)

  Josh (!)

  Chris Plovert

  Kemp Hurley

  Doug Landsman

  Jake Shapiro

  8th Grade Grier Biggs

  Lowell Katz

  Andy Walden

  Oliver Smalls

  Ezra Rosenberg

  Cody Hill

  Geoff Michaels

  Luis Ruiz

  P.J. Jeffries

  Billy Williams

  Lee Chan

  High School Harris Fisher

  Liam Barrett

  Yuri Butterman (aka Yuri Butt-man)

  After an initial scan—to make sure Cam wasn’t on it—Claire took a closer look. She couldn’t believe how many boys Skye had kissed. And that Derrington was one of them.

  But if it bothered Massie, she didn’t show it. She calmly folded her copy and placed it in her red leather Miu Miu bag and reached for her phone.

  MASSIE: A, where did u get those names?

  ALICIA: Can’t reveal. I want 2 b a reporter. Sources r sacred.

  Massie rolled her eyes.

  ALICIA: Trust me. It’s legit.

  MASSIE: C, did Todd say anything?

  CLAIRE: Swears Skye is in love with him. That’s it.

  MASSIE: Did you look under his mattress last night?

  Claire felt her cheeks burn. How could she have forgotten?

  CLAIRE: Yeah. Not there.

  She pulled a thin blue Paper Mate pen out of her back pocket and wrote a big T on the back of her hand so she’d remember to check the minute she got home.

  KRISTEN: Where should we start?

  Claire typed quickly.

  CLAIRE: Harris Fisher.

  After spending three long weeks in Los Angeles—without Cam—Claire found herself searching for excuses to see him.

  CLAIRE: I can get us in cuz he’s Cam’s brother.

  MASSIE: 2nite?

  Claire hesitated, knowing she should probably ask Cam before making plans on his behalf. But Massie was anxious to start looking for the key. And Claire was anxious to help. Getting the Pretty Committee into Harris’s bedroom would stop all the Claire’s-more-into-the-West-Coast-than-Westchester comments they’d been making behind her back. Plus, it would get her a school-night lip kiss from the cutest boy she’d ever known—the perfect end to a not-so-perfect day.

  OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL BEHIND THE NONDENOMINATIONAL CHAPEL

  Monday, April 5th

  4:04 P.M.

  “Ew! What was that?” Alicia screeched, after accidentally grazing the back of Claire’s light blue puffy jacket with her hand. “Can’t we puh-lease turn on the lights? I’m scared.”

  “Shhhhh,” Massie hissed. “No lights.”

  “What are we doing back here?” Dylan insisted.

  “Waiting to die.” Alicia sounded on the verge of tears.

  Claire was relieved to know she wasn’t the only one freaking out. For the last twenty minutes, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that they were being watched. Not by Principal Burns or even Skye—more like by God or a serial killer.

  The back of the chapel was creepy as it was, with the choir’s black robes hanging on hooks and the row of narrow, windowless rooms used for meditation and silent prayer. But now, in the dark, with just the bluish glow from their open cell phones to guide them, it was horror-film creepy. It smelled like stale carpet and dusty old books. And all Claire could hear was Massie rattling doorknobs and knocking lightly on walls, obviously searching for the one thing they were forbidden to discuss.

  “Kuh-laire, did you hear back from Cam yet?” Massie jiggled the last handle.

  “I left three messages and still no—”

  Distant footsteps distracted her.

  “What was that?“ Alicia grabbed the back of Claire’s jacket.

  “Sounded like ballet flats on the chapel floor,” whispered Kristen.

  “More like cheap Steve Maddens,” Massie corrected. “Come on.” She held her cell phone in front of her and hurried toward the noise. Claire was in awe of Massie�
�s fearlessness, especially since Alicia, Dylan, Kristen, and her were clutching one another’s palms, even though they were sweaty.

  “Who’s here?” Massie pushed through the blue velvet wings on the side of the stage like a fed-up Broadway actress and flicked on the lights.

  Kaya and Penelope ducked behind a pew.

  Massie glanced at Dylan and air-scribbled, letting her know to add Kaya and Penelope to the list of girls who got Skye’s CD-ROM.

  Dylan flashed her the thumbs-up.

  “I see you.”

  “So?” called Kaya, still crouched like a chipmunk. “It’s not a crime to be here.”

  “Actually, it is.” Kristen put her hands on her hips. “No one is allowed to be on school property after hours unless accompanied by a member of the faculty. It says so in the OCD handbook.”

  “Then why are you here?” Penelope straightened up and twirled her curly brown high-pony. As usual, she was dressed like a burglar, in black AG cords and a black turtleneck.

  “I lost my keys,” Massie jumped in.

  The two girls exchanged a glance.

  “In the chapel?” Kaya stood beside her partner in crime.

  “Yeah. I was praying this morning.” Massie smirked. “But it didn’t work. You’re still ah-nnoying.”

  Kaya gasped.

  The Pretty Committee giggled.

  “Penelope, are you a big boob?”

  “No.” She snorted.

  “Then why are you hanging?”

  The Pretty Committee burst out laughing.

  “You heard her,” Alicia snarled. “Leave!”

  Penelope and Kaya stared back defiantly.

  “Okay, then.” Massie flipped the power switch on the thin microphone clamped to the side of the altar. She leaned forward and pressed her glossed lips against it. “Kaya peed in her sleeping bag at my third-grade birthday party! And Penelope once sneezed during synchronized swim and—”

  “Okay, fine!” Penelope took off faster than the cowardly lion in The Wizard of Oz. And Kaya was right behind her.

  The girls exploded with laughter until Claire’s cell rang.

  “Is it Cam?” Massie wiped her tear-soaked cheeks.

  “Yup,” Claire said before checking the screen. Her tingling feet were never wrong. “Hullo?” She jumped off the stage.

  “Hey.” He sounded like he was jogging or pacing. “What’s wrong? Did you make your decision? Are you moving?”