It's Not Easy Being Mean Page 9

  “Let’s go.”

  Derrington led Massie through a sun-drenched dining room, past a stone table with chairs made of deer antlers. A long corridor lined with splattered canvases and paintings of Campbell’s Soup cans and melted clocks led to two spiral staircases.

  “Let’s start in the basement.” Derrington gripped the cold metal banister. “It’s soundproof, so I can blast video games while my brother plays the drums. Sometimes he tries to play to the beat of the game and I—”

  “What about your bedroom?”

  Derrington stopped.

  Suddenly, Mini was beside them, dusting a marble chest that, according to the bronze nameplate bolted to its base, had been named A Bust.

  “You should see our new pool table. It’s covered with red felt instead of green.”

  “I wanna see your room.” Massie was all too aware of Mini and didn’t want to sound like a sleaze. “To get decorating ideas for my brother.”

  “You don’t have a brother.”

  “I know, but adopting is so in right now and my birthday is coming up. I already have a puppy and a horse so—”

  “Um, it’s really cold up there,” Derrington mumbled. “The heat is broken.”

  Mini dusted harder.

  “That’s okay, I just wanna look around.”

  “But my mom doesn’t allow guests upstairs.”

  Mini snickered.

  “She’s not home,” Massie murmured, hoping her words might somehow slip by Mini undetected.

  “Can’t we just hang in the basement?”

  Massie wondered if Skye had encountered this much trouble getting in.

  Mini straightened an already straight Jonathan Adler floor vase. “Why do all females want to see inside Derrick’s room?”

  Massie practically exploded like a rattled can of Diet Coke. “What females? I’m going up.” She raced to the second staircase.

  “Wait, you can’t!” Derrington chased after her. “Block, stop!”

  “What are you so afraid of?” Massie rounded the cork-screw staircase, trying her best to fight the dizziness. “Are you hiding Playboys in there?”

  “No.” He reddened.

  “What about pictures of Skye?”

  “What? No!”

  Massie stopped three steps short of the landing. “Then what is it?” she asked sweetly, leaning in to kiss him.

  Derrington closed his eyes.

  Massie ran.

  “Wait!” Derrington reached for her ankles.

  But it was too late.

  She pushed open the red steel door and—

  “Eh. Ma. Gawd!”

  Derrington chuckled nervously as they stood under his doorframe.

  “I tried to stop you.”

  Massie buried her nose in the crook of her elbow. “What is that smell?” Her eyes rolled over a greasy pizza box, a clear bowl of soggy Cookie Crisp cereal, half a moldy sesame bagel, soggy green bath towels, and a heap of sweaty soccer clothes. The sisal rug added an essence of hay to the decomposing-seal-on-a-humid-day stench brought on by everything else. Massie dug inside her white leather bag, grabbed her Chanel No. 5, and sprinkled it around the room like holy water.

  “The rest of your house is so clean. I don’t—”

  “My bed’s not so bad.”

  The carved tin headboard illustrated some Greek myth about angry waves, windblown clouds, and teetering sailboats. His blue comforter was littered with comic books and old sports sections from the New York Times. The desk, which had the same carvings as the headboard, was cluttered with stacks of CDs and DVDs that loomed over his computer like prison watchtowers. Smudged press clippings on the 2006 World Cup covered every square inch of wall.

  Did it look this way for Skye?

  “Do you hate me now?” Derrington slid his arms around Massie’s waist.

  “‘Course nawt.” She slapped his hands away from her clean clothes. “But why don’t I help you tidy?”

  “You don’t have—”

  “Puh-lease.” She slid her fingers under his mattress. “I want to. Grab the other side and on the count of three we’ll slide this off the bed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to bury all your…stuff.”

  “Block?” Derrington beamed. “I like your style.”

  An hour ago, those words would have filled her with frothy warm Jacuzzi bubbles. But now, after seeing—and smelling— his unsanitary living conditions, they slid off her like oily soap scum. The sooner she got the key, the faster she’d be outside, where she could breathe without dry heaving.

  “Ready? One…two…three.” Massie pushed, Derrington pulled, and a second later she was staring at a dusty box spring—a keyless dusty box spring.

  Derrington tossed a handful of X-Men comics where the key should have been, and an angry dirt cloud, similar to the one on his headboard, emerged.

  “Ehmagawd, what time is it?”

  “Five-fifteen.”

  “I’m late. I have to go.” Massie leaped over a tangle of action figures brought to justice in a web of vegetable lo mein.

  “Want a ride?”

  “No, that’s okay, I’ll call Isaac.”

  “Thought you were conserving.”

  “We are. But this is an emergency.”

  Massie raced down the stairs and back through the smell of meat sauce and lemon Pledge, which suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  IN

  OUT

  Mini’s broom

  Derrington’s room

  Derrington smells like butt.

  Derrington wiggles his butt.

  Dissing Derrington

  Kissing Derrington

  WRAP STAR GOURMET SANDWICH SHOPPE WESTCHESTER, NY

  Wednesday, April 7th

  5:37 P.M.

  “Puh-lease tell me someone found it.” Massie weaved through the 1950s-diner-style tables and sat on the edge of the horseshoe-shaped booth. Her amber eyes were vacant and sad, like she’d just lost something special, something more than the key.

  Holding up two fingers, Massie let Lysa, the waitress, know she wanted her usual—a single scoop of tuna on plain wheat toast.

  “Anyone?” she tried again.

  “Nope.” They shook their heads.

  Massie unfolded her master list and put a purple slash of Glossip Girl Blueberry Pie through the names Jake Shapiro, Derrington, Josh Hotz, Tiny Nathan, and Ezra Rosenberg.

  “I did find this.” Dylan placed a ceramic mold of a buck-toothed mouth on the table. “Ew!” Alicia squealed. “Didn’t we see that at the Museum of Natural History?”

  “Not unless Jake Shapiro donated it.” Dylan pushed back the bell sleeves on her turquoise tunic. “His father made it before his first orthodontist appointment. This was him before the braces.”

  “And you stole it?” Claire lowered her sunglasses to get a better look.

  “I had to.”

  “Well, unless it unlocks that room, I’m not interested.” Massie slouched.

  “I bet it could.” Claire giggled. “Check out that incisor.”

  Everyone burst out laughing, making Claire’s teeth chatter. It was her body’s way of releasing joy—like sweating, but for emotions. She loved how the Pretty Committee was working toward a common goal and that the goal wasn’t “let’s humiliate Claire.” For once, they were all on the same side.

  “In case anyone wants to know, Josh’s room was creepy clean.” Alicia licked raspberry fro yo off her spoon. “Even for a girl.”

  “Derrington’s was creepy-dirty.” Massie dipped a paper napkin in her water glass and scrubbed her hands. “He’s so dead to me.”

  Claire stopped chattering. “Just like that?”

  “Yup.” Massie threw the soaked napkin on the table, where it landed with a soggy splat. “The bedroom is the window to the soul, Kuh-laire, and his soul smells like kitty litter.”

  “Ehmagawd!” Alicia grabbed Massie’s wet palm. �
�Josh’s soul smells like Mr. Clean. Let’s be single together!”

  “What about the double-date movie I was planning?” Claire asked, not entirely believing that Massie could change her mind about Derrington so quickly.

  “Unplan it.”

  “Will someone puh-lease tell me a sad story?” Dylan shoveled a pile of ketchup-covered macaroni salad in her mouth. “I need to lose my appetite.”

  Fire returned to Massie’s amber eyes. “Here’s one. If we don’t get that key, some alt.com loser friend of Layne’s will be the new alpha. Imagine being dominated by a group of girls who look like Kuh-laire does right now. By choice!”

  Claire opened her mouth, ready to remind everyone that she was doing this for a movie. But Massie cut her off.

  “Take off the hat and glasses,” she said to Claire.

  “No,” Claire snapped. She was not going to be made a—

  “They’re mine, remember?” Massie held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Either take them off for a second or give them back for good.”

  Stone-faced, Claire removed her disguise and stared at the mini jukebox on the wall.

  “Do you want eye-bangs to be in next year?”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “Well, they will be if the alt.coms find that key. To them, a good wax is a tall black candle.”

  Alicia shuddered.

  “Or the school could be run by Duh-livia Ryan.” Massie crossed her eyes and poked her tongue through her teeth like an electroshock-therapy patient.

  Dylan squirted another dollop of ketchup on her noodles. “I said a sad story, not a scary one.” She popped a forkful of macaroni in her mouth.

  Claire bit into her Say Cheese wrap. An orange glob of cheddar oozed out, stretching toward the waxed paper, reminding her of Cam’s grape gum. Ahhhh, Cam…with his adorable green eye and blue eye…his Drakkar Noir-drenched neck…his beat-up leather jacket…his—

  Her cell phone buzzed.

  She put her sandwich down. It was another text message from Miles.

  Runaways are thin.

  Freaked out by his timing and suspicious that he might be spying, Claire reluctantly hooked her finger around the gooey cheese and yanked it out.

  “C to the L to the A to the I to the R U kidding me?” someone shouted from the front of the restaurant. “What are you doing here?”

  “Layne?”

  Claire put on her glasses.

  “Here comes our new alpha,” Massie snipped, “dressed in yellow low tops, pink-and-orange-striped kneesocks, denim cutoffs, and a tuxedo blazer.”

  Everyone snickered.

  “What are you doing here?” Claire asked.

  “He’s depressed.” She pointed to the takeout counter, where her brother, Chris, was lightly kicking the base of a stool.

  His signature scruffy brown hair was messed to perfection. But torn jeans and a ripped black tee were an unflattering look for the otherwise preppy all-American.

  “From J. Crew to Mötley Crüe,” Massie muttered, obviously shocked by the sudden transformation in her old crush.

  “Point.”

  Layne leaned closer and quickly explained. “Fawn dumpedhim. She said he spends too muchtimewithhishorse. So she spreadarumor that heputswigsonTrickyandpretends she’ shisgirlfriend. Everyoneatschoolhasbeencallinghimthe HorseWhisperer and he’s depressed. We’re here to get his favorite meal. Number 27. The Phillycheesesteakwrap.”

  Claire’s mouth watered.

  “Ohhh, I love his horse, Tricky.” Massie gathered her hair and tossed it to one side of her neck. “How could she dump him for wanting to be with her? If I don’t visit my horse every week, I get—”

  “Ehmagawd, didn’t you used to have a crush on Chris?” Dylan asked.

  “Ouch!”

  Obviously, Massie had kicked her under the table with her riding boots.

  “Oww-ch!”

  Twice.

  “Wait! Now you’re both available,” Kristen added. “And now that you’re done with Derrington—”

  “You’re done with Derrington?” Layne asked.

  “Hold awn,” Alicia whined. “I thought we were gonna be single together.”

  “We are.” Silently Massie urged Alicia to shut up.

  “Anyway, my brother isn’t available to date,” said Layne. “My mom thinks he should stay single for a year.” She glanced at Chris, who was reading the family’s order off his hand. “It takes the wound that long to close.”

  “Her mom’s a psychologist,” Claire felt the need to explain.

  “Sounds like a smart woman.” Massie fake-smiled. “Now about you.” She tapped the open space on the edge of the padded red booth. “Sit. Let’s catch up.”

  Layne stood.

  Claire took a bite of her dry, cheeseless turkey wrap and did her best to swallow.

  “So?” Massie squinted as if trying to read Layne’s thoughts.

  “So.”

  “So, deliver any more balloons lately?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Maybe.”

  They locked eyes. Finally, Layne broke the silence.

  “Why are you so interested?”

  “No reason.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Hmmmm.” Layne stroked her chin.

  “Hmmmm.” Massie squinted.

  Chris appeared behind Layne carrying two brown bags in his arms.

  “Hey, Chris.” Claire smiled kindly.

  “Hey.”

  “How’s tricks?” Dylan asked.

  “Very funny!” He stormed off, bashing into one of those we’re-so-in-love-we-can’t-stop-giggling-and-kissing high school couples on his way out.

  “Nice one!” Layne chased after him.

  “What?” Dylan’s cheeks reddened. “What’d I say?”

  “His horse is named Tricky.” Massie fought a smile. “He thought you were making fun of him.”

  Alicia and Kristen giggled.

  “Oh no, I feel terrible.” Dylan pushed her plate aside.

  After a long pause she beamed.

  “Hey, look! I feel terrible!” She pushed her plate even farther away to prove her point. “If I can stay depressed for a few days, I’ll lose two pounds by Friday. Then I can wear my skinny jeans to Cam’s.”

  Claire’s stomach dipped when she heard his name.

  “No,” Alicia whined. “I was going to wear my skinny jeans.”

  It dipped again at thought of her friends wearing skinny jeans to his house. Then it dipped a third time because Claire knew she wouldn’t be there.

  She pinched the hardening gob of discarded cheddar off the waxed paper and dropped it in her mouth. Unfortunately for Miles, depression had the opposite effect on her.

  OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL THE SOCCER FIELD

  Friday, April 9th

  4:22 P.M.

  After a tiring week at school and endless key hunting, the last place Massie wanted to be on Friday afternoon was on a soccer field doing jumping jacks with a team of jumping-jack-loving girls in loose boy shorts and ill-fitting yellow tees.

  “This warm-up isn’t working.” Alicia rubbed her bare arms. “I’m freezing. It’s a day for denim and cashmere, nawt cotton.”

  “Ah-greed,” Dylan panted. “If I get sick, can we get your dad to sue the coach?”

  “Given.”

  “Claire’s so lucky,” Massie huffed.

  “Why? ‘Cause she has those eyebrows to keep her warm?” Alicia snickered.

  “And auditions to get her out of practice?” Dylan offered. “All of the above.” Massie sighed, wondering how Claire could abandon the Pretty Committee—during key season—for a director who wanted her to look like a “before” picture.

  Puuuuuuurp. Purrrrrrp.

  Instantly, the Sirens stopped jumping.

  Coach Davis cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “I want everyone dribbling!”

  Dylan turned to Massie and Ali
cia, a string of saliva dangling off her bottom lip. “How’s that?”

  The entire team tittered, except for Kristen, who crouched to tie her already tied laces.

  “E-nuff!” The coach blew her whistle an inch away from Dylan’s wet lips. “Kori!” she yelled. “How ‘bout those balls?”

  “She said balls,” Dylan whisper-snickered.

  Massie and Alicia burst out laughing.

  Despite her swollen knee, Kori was dragging the yellow mesh bag across the field. “Coming!”

  The sight of her limping and tugging made the girls laugh even harder.

  “What’s so funny?” snapped the coach.

  “Nothing.” Dylan giggled. “It’s just that you said—” She cracked up all over again.

  PUUURRRRPPP!

  “You three! Drop and give me seventy-five sit-ups.”

  Coach Davis hurried toward center field, the bottoms of her coral Juicy sweat suit dragging across the grass. “The rest of you, over here!”

  Massie, Alicia, and Dylan lowered themselves onto the cold field.

  “Who wears peach in April?” Alicia said once they were alone.

  “Your dad.” Dylan giggled.

  “Very funny.” Alicia ripped a handful of grass out of the ground and whipped it at Dylan’s face.

  Massie rolled her eyes, temporarily hating her friends for having fun when they should be obsessing over the key.

  After two crunches and a quick check to make sure the coach wasn’t looking, she pulled her list of boys’ names from her white kneesock and rested it against her thighs.

  “I should only have to do fifty of these,” Alicia huffed, barely lifting her shoulders off the grass. “My boobs are like weights.”

  Dylan cracked up. “So is my hair.”

  “Let’s go over this one more time.” Massie curled toward the list.

  “We have,” Alicia whined. “Like nine hundred times.”

  Massie stopped midcrunch to glare at her.

  “Sorry.”

  “Quit talking!” Kori shouted from the bench.

  “Quit breathing!” Massie shouted back. “Dylan, you checked Cody, Luis, and Billy, right?”

  “Right.” Dylan lifted her neck, then lowered it. “The only thing I found was a stack of Sudoku mags under Luis’s mattress and an Ashlee Simpson CD under Billy’s.”

  Massie slid the tube of Glossip Girl Blueberry Pie out from her other sock and drew a purple X through their names.