BOCD
MAIN BUILDING
Monday, October 12th
3:05 P.M.
The grating tick of the second hand echoing in the silent hallway sounded like a judge’s gavel rapping over and over again, sentencing Massie Block to social death. Planting one Prada in front of the other, she hurried toward her locker in a race against time, mentally thanking Mr. Myner for letting her duck out of class before the final bell.
She’d been leaving classes early all day so she wouldn’t have to run into Dylan or Alicia between classes, putting on an “I’m at death’s door but look how brave I am for making education a priority” face for her teachers. And she was only faking a little. Part of her really had died when Alicia left the Socc-Hers to start her own squad. Another part had died when Dylan and Derrington showed up together at her pool-party-slash-slumber party Friday night, only to flaunt their relationship the second she released her hold on Derrington. And an even bigger part of her had bitten the dust when Alicia didn’t even bother to show up.
Being the leader of the Pretty Committee had been Massie’s life. Without them, she’d practically lost her purpose. She was like Mother Teresa without the poor. Angelina without the babies. Paris without the random BFFs.
She was keeping it together for one reason, and one reason only.
Dempsey Solomon.
Crushing on Briarwood’s most adorable do-gooder was the only thing that gave her life meaning now. If it weren’t for Dempsey, Massie probably would have spent most of the morning’s assembly wondering if her former friends were texting about her behind her back. But flirt-glancing at Dempsey and waiting for him to flirt-glance back (which he had, until he’d gotten distracted by Principal Burns’s announcement about Briarwood’s new solar-paneled roof) had temporarily numbed the pain of the PC breakup.
Staring into Dempsey’s sea green eyes was more comforting than her 1500 thread count violet Frette sheets. Soon, she’d be able to stare into those eyes whenever she wanted. Kristen and Dempsey were next-door neighbors, and Kristen had pinky-sworn that she’d talk to him for Massie.
Kristen. When Kristen hadn’t called to update her on the Dempsey situation, Massie had had Isaac drop off a get-well-soon Gossip Girl Complete Collection box set at Kristen’s apartment. So why hadn’t she called to thank her? Did this mean she was siding with Dylan and Alicia? And what about Claire? Massie had texted that morning, demanding Claire make a decision on MAC versus PC within twenty-four hours. And still, nothing.
Remembering her race against the final bell, Massie glanced up at the giant clock hanging at the end of the hallway. Twenty seconds.
Panic-stricken, she deposited her turquoise Kooba bag on the floor and zeroed in on the padlock. Her Chanel Feu de Russie–polished fingertips flew expertly over the lock, blurring in front of her. She had to get out to the parking lot, to the safety of the Range Rover, before the halls were clogged with nosy girls whisper-gossiping about the PC’s breakup. If she didn’t make it, she’d be forced to face them all alone. Which would leave her more exposed than Jen Aniston on the January ’09 cover of GQ.
Twelve seconds.
Massie yanked at the padlock. It held fast.
Ten seconds.
Frantically, she tried the combination again, tugging on the lock with all her weight. Nothing.
Seven seconds.
Puh-lease, Gawd. She tried the combination again, slower this time. The lock snapped open with ease. Ducking into her locker, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the comforting smell of her Chanel No. 19 locker deodorizer. Her signature scent had been the only part of her day that felt familiar. The hints of jasmine and ylang-ylang were perfectly content to play supporting roles to the stronger green floral scent. And why shouldn’t they be? Jasmine and ylangylang would be nothing without their green floral alpha. Just like—
Riiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng.
The piercing ring of the last-period bell sent a shiver down Massie’s spine like acrylic nails on a chalkboard. Just then a fresh burst of Chanel No. 19 exploded from the deodorizer, temporarily blinding her. Tears sprang to her eyes. Great. Now BOCD would think she was nothing but a weepy LBR who couldn’t survive without her friends.
Classroom doors flew open along the hallway and students spilled into the halls. Massie’s stomach twisted into a jumbo pretzel at the slap of ballet flats against the shiny floor, and the metallic clanging of the boys play-shoving each other into the lockers on their way down the hall. Not wanting to face the crowd, she stayed buried in her locker, focusing on her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of her locker door.
That morning, the pin-striped Steven Alan boyfriend shirt she’d worn under her shrunken plum Helmut Lang tuxedo jacket had seemed like the perfectly effortless complement to her cigarette pants. The hammered silver bangles on her left wrist had clinked confidently with her every step. And her conscious decision to wear only structured fabrics announced to the world that she had zero interest in incorporating elastic into her wardrobe or her friendships.
But in the harsh, fluorescent light of the hallway, things seemed different. Her shirt looked stiff and uptight, her blazer felt like a straitjacket, and her bangles gleamed like handcuffs. She was a prisoner in her own school.
“D! Go long!”
Massie froze at the sound of Derrington’s voice. Slowly, she swiveled around on the heel of her black ankle boot.
Her ex-crush was holding a plastic baggie of jumbo marshmallows, and Dylan was giggle-jogging backward through the clogged hallway.
“Five seconds left on the play clock!” Derrington yelled, winding up. He was wearing the cutest Diesel jeans, brand-new forest green Pumas, and a dark blue fleece. Massie had never seen any of it before. Was Derrington giving his wardrobe a makeover just for Dylan? “Four, three, two!”
“No!” Dylan shriek-flirted, her sapphire-colored sweater coat billowing around her as she ran, like she was swimming underwater. Massie rolled her eyes. So now they were coordinating outfits? Who did they think they were, Posh and Becks?
“He shoots!” Derrington launched the marshmallow into the air. Dylan bobbed and weaved in the crowd, her mouth open wide. The marshmallow missed her mouth, smacking her on the forehead. She grabbed it before it hit the ground and popped it in her mouth.
“He scores!” Derrington wiggled his butt. “And the crowd goes wiiiiiild!”
Dylan chomped on her marshmallow as Derrington took a bow. A cluster of seventh-grade girls just a few feet from Massie stopped cackling long enough to envy-watch the couple as they paused at Dylan’s locker. The girls were staring in the same way they used to stare at Massie as she walked down the hall. But no one was paying attention to her now.
“Ice ot,” Dylan called, showcasing a mouthful of white, gooey marshmallow. She spotted Massie and her smile faded like a pair of Earnest Sewn Hefner jeans. Finally, the girls who had been watching Dylan turned to focus on Massie too. But instead of envy, their expressions were a mixture of fear, confusion, and awe.
Eyes burning from the thick mist of Chanel, Massie stared back at them, racking her brain for the perfect thing to say or do to show them that she was still on top. But her mind was even emptier than her heart. And it didn’t help when she saw Alicia and Olivia Ryan charging together down the hallway, laughing. Were they laughing at her? Racking up gossip points about her?
Her iPhone buzzed in her Kooba, saving her from her own thoughts, and her hand shot into her bag in record time. A text. She whirled around, turning her back to Alicia, Dylan, and Derrington, like the message was top secret.
Kristen: What r u up 2 after skl?
Massie’s heart pole-vaulted over her rib cage. Kristen hadn’t thanked her yet for the box set, but at least she was still talking to her. Which meant she’d chosen her over Alicia, right?
Then again, her font seemed smaller than usual. More timid. Usually it was a sign that she was nervous about something. But in this case it was probably just the bad sushi.
Massie: I have some options. Trying 2 decide. Feel better?
Kristen: Yeah. Bad sushi.
Massie: Eel made you keel?
Kristen: Tempura made me hurl-a!
Massie: Edamame hurt ur tumme?
Massie burst out laughing. Not only because their exchange was funny times ten. Or because she was glad Kristen was still talking to her. But because Alicia and Dylan were peeking at her. She could feel eyeballs searing the back of her neck. And she needed to prove that life went on without them. Even if that life felt worse than death.
Kristen: Need 2 talk 2 u about Dempsey. Meet in the locker room in 5?
Massie: I thought u were home sick.
Kristen: Soccer practice. C ya in 5.
It was official: Massie’s heart was going to burst out of her intentionally two-sizes-too-small blazer at any second. Not only did Kristen want to be a MAC, but in exactly five minutes, Massie would be getting the news that her crush liked her back.
“You ready, Derrick?”
Massie looked up to see Dylan tenderly wiping marshmallow dust from the side of Derrick’s mouth with her sleeve. A flash of hot anger surged through Massie’s body. Dylan was rubbing her love for Derrington in Massie’s face like St. Ives vanilla whipped moisturizer. And just like cheap moisturizer, it stank.
She suddenly flashed forward to the couple at ninety. Derrington would be dribbling rice pudding down his shaky lips and Dylan would wipe it away with the nubby sleeve of her puke-colored terry cloth robe. The repulsive image filled Massie with gratitude. She might have been crushless and slightly friendless, but at least her future self wasn’t dabbing up Derrington’s ricey dribble. And knowing that helped her get past this awkward moment.
Derrington stuffed his hands in his pockets, not looking in Massie’s direction as he shuffled down the hallway. Dylan stomp-followed him. Alicia stomp-followed her. Massie’s fists clenched involuntarily at her side. Then she released them, slowly. She couldn’t let everyone get to her like this. It was time to move on. Dylan and Derrington were her past. And Dempsey Solomon, with his piercing green eyes, natural highlights, and eco-friendly wardrobe, was her future.
Speed-heading toward the girls’ locker room, Massie kept her head held high, ignoring the whispers and pity-glances that swelled around her as she faced the seemingly endless stretch of hallway. She desperately needed to regloss. Her naked lips felt as vulnerable as she did. But that was all about to change. With Kristen, Dempsey, and Claire (she’d come around) on her side, she’d be on her way to a comeback. Dylan and Alicia would be sorry.
Finally, she reached the girls’ locker room and shoved through the swinging door. The faint hiss of running showers was the only sound she could hear. Stepping over a mountain of gym bags, she hurried past the rows of sticker-covered yellow lockers. The sound of her heels clacking on the spotless cement floor echoed in her own ears. Past the locker bay, the room opened up into a small dressing area. The chocolaty smell of Bumble and Bumble’s Creme de Coco shampoo flooded the steaming dressing room, reminding Massie of Alicia’s cloying Angel perfume. She swatted the thought away, sending some foggy shower steam with it.
“Kristen?” she coughed, feeling her professionally straightened brown locks beginning to weaken and curl in the humidity. She squinted into the mist, making out rows of polished hardwood benches that faced a rolling chalkboard littered with dusty X’s and O’s.
“Guess again, Lollipop Legs.” A deep, throaty voice wafted to Massie’s ears, along with the shower fog.
Massie recognized the voice immediately. “Layne?” She squinted into the shower mist.
Layne Abeley was seated directly under a fluorescent light. The pale green-gray glow made her skin look even more anemic than usual.
“You talkin’ tuh me?” Layne squint-glared back. “Are you talkin’ tuh me?”
Massie sighed. “Layne, are you a wannabe opera singer?”
“No, why?”
“Then stop trying to be a Soprano.”
Layne snorted. “Good one!”
“What are you doing here?” Massie stepped into the fog. “You’re not coordinated enough to play soccer.” Slowly, she lowered herself onto the edge of the bench, as far away from Layme as possible. Her social stock was down enough as it was.
“I think the better question is, what are you doing here?” Layne yanked the hood of her yellow poly-blend hoodie away from her face, liberating tufts of dark brown hair from their synthetic prison.
Massie glared at her, making it undeniably clear just who asked whom first.
“Waiting for Kristen.” Layne pulled a package of Chile Picante Corn Nuts from her hoodie pocket and ripped open the orange wrapper with her teeth.
“Oh, that’s right. You guys are ‘friends.’” Massie felt a shooting pain in her heart as she remembered the day Layne and Dune, Kristen’s ex-crush, had let slip that Kristen and Layne had a secret, nerdy club called the Witty Committee and that Layne had recruited Kristen to help her snag Dempsey. “But Kristen has other plans. With me.”
“Please, Louise,” Layne said dismissively. “Her plans are with me.”
“Are nawt,” Massie shot back.
“Are too. She just texted and said she needed to talk about Dempsey.” Layne crunched down on a cheesy nut. “She’s obviously gonna tell me he likes me.”
Massie’s deep-conditioned ends curled slightly at the very suggestion. Dempsey couldn’t possibly like Layne more than her, could he? Her stock was down, yes, but news like that would trigger a full-on depression.
“Kristen invited me here to tell me Dempsey likes me. She invited you here so you could start the healing process.”
“The only thing heeling around here are those snobby designer boots of yours,” Layne snorted. “Because Dempsey and I are perfect together.” She turned to display the back of her homemade hoodie. The words DRAMA QUEEN were bedazzled in crooked script across the shoulders. “We’re both actors, we’re both down to earth… annnnnd… I liked him when he was fat!”
“I’m sure he’d love to know you thought he was fat!” Massie began furiously fake-texting.
“Me?” Layne grabbed Massie’s white iPhone. “You’re the one who called him Humpty Dempsey!”
“Give that back, chubby chaser!” Massie grabbed her hoodied arm.
“If I’m a chubby chaser, then you’re a weight watcher!”
“Ohhh, good one, you gut slu—”
Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrp!
“Time. Out.” Kristen was standing next to the chalkboard. She’d accessorized her chocolate brown Twisted Heart tracksuit with her soccer bag, an oversize khaki Burberry check tote. The captain’s whistle she’d just used swung around her neck.
Massie resisted the urge to tell her friend she was in need of some cheek stain, stat. After all, it wasn’t Kristen’s fault she’d gotten food poisoning. And she had probably used her last bits of strength talking up Massie with Dempsey. So why make her feel insecure?
“Ummmm, thanksforcoming.” Averting her eyes from Massie and Layne, Kristen held a stack of white note cards up to her face and cleared her throat. “What is love, really?” she began awkwardly. Her note cards were shaking so much, Massie could feel a light breeze cross the locker room. “Webster’s dictionary defines love as—” She paused, coughed again, and flipped to the next note card. “Okay. So… love. It’s crazy, right? And when we fall in love, we do crazy things, right?”
Massie cocked her head to one side. What was going on?
“Things we don’t actually want to do. But it’s like we’re under some magic power or something. Like we go totally insane. I think Fergie said it best when she said, ‘Can’t help it, you got me trippin’, stumblin’, flippin’, flumbin’, clumsy ’cause I’m falling in love.’”
“Huh?” Layne paused mid-chew, staring blankly at Kristen.
“And even though we try to fight it?” Kristen was talking faster now, gulping huge breaths of air. “We can’t. We’re totally powerless. It’s like the Jonas Brothers say: ‘Now I’m speechless, over the edge. I’m just breathless, I never thought that I’d catch this love bug.’” She was flipping through her cards at warp speed now. “So even though we never meant to hurt anybody, sometimes we do, because we’re in love and we can’t help it. But like Miley says, ‘Nobody’s perfect, you live and you learn it, and if I mess it up sometimes, nobody’s perfect.’”
She exhaled, looking both relieved and like she might throw up another spicy tuna roll at any second.
Massie and Layne stared dumbly at each other, then slowly shifted their gazes to Kristen.
“English, please?” Layne prompted her.
“I talked to Dempsey.” Kristen sighed.
“Aaaaaand?” Layne grinned smugly.
Massie applied an anticipatory coat of gloss. She wanted her victory smile to shine as brightly as her heart.
“Dempsey likes…” Kristen glanced at Massie, then at Layne.
Then back at Massie.
Then back at Layne.
The crunch of Layne’s Corn Nuts sliced through the air, cutting the tension. Massie rolled her eyes.
“… me,” Kristen muttered, gnawing at her bottom lip.
“Yessssssss!” Massie victory-hissed. Wait. What?
Layne exhaled a cheese and lime–scented gasp.
“I said me,” Kristen repeated.
“And you like him back?” Massie blurted, unable to conceal her shock.
Kristen nodded slowly, like she was admitting to cheating on a test. “I am sooooo sorry,” she said weakly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She clenched the sweaty note cards in her fist, staring down at the ground.
The girls’ locker room suddenly felt hotter than a Bikram yoga studio. Massie’s palms were slick with betrayal sweat, but her mouth was completely dry. How was this happening to her? One by one, each of her friends was betraying her, as if all of Rome, not just Brutus, had stabbed Caesar. Was Claire next?
“You like him?” Layne screeched, spraying chipotle crumbs at Kristen. “I can’t believe this!” She leaped to her feet, her face turning beet red. “I thought we were friends!”
“We are!” Kristen yelped, her features twisting in pain.
“No,” Layne spat. “We’re not. Not anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I almost wish it was Massie who stole him from me,” she said.
Ditto, Massie thought.
“At least that way, I wouldn’t be getting stabbed in the back by a friend!” Layne finished.
“I’m sorry!” Kristen started pacing in front of the benches, speed-reading through her note cards. “Butthere’smoreI wasn’tevensickfrombadsushiIjustsaidthatsoIcouldstayhome ’causeIfeltsoguilty,” she heaved, pulling a purple plastic bottle of Propel from her bag and downing half of it in a single gulp.“WhichshowshowmuchIloveyouguyssinceIshouldbekeep ingmygradesupformyscholarship.” She stared expectantly at Massie and Layne. “I tried not to like him. I even started to make a list of bad things about him. But I couldn’t come up with anything!”
“Kristen,” Massie said evenly, “is my birthday October eleventh?”
“No.” Kristen lowered her eyes.
“Then stop treating me like I was born yesterday!” In under a minute, Kristen had shattered Massie’s monthlong dream of adopting five to nine orphans with Dempsey Solomon. By the time he and Kristen broke up, the trend would be over. And she would have missed her chance to have a multiculti family.
“I’m nawt!” Kristen insisted. Her eyes were bright. “It’s just… I can’t help how I feel.”
“Ahembullahem,” Layne cough-accused.
Kristen blinked down at her last note card, her voice cracking. “‘I fell so fast, can’t hold myself back—’”
“Don’t you dare bring the Jonas Brothers into this,” Layne hissed.
Massie closed her eyes. The sweet stench of fruity bath gel and chocolaty shampoo was making her blood curdle. Or was her heart responsible?
“Try to understand,” Kristen pleaded, biting her lip.
“Oh, I understand.” Massie stood up and marched toward the door. “It isn’t enough that you borrow my clothes, sleep at my house, and share my lattes. Now you’re Apple-C’ing my crush! Gawd, too bad I didn’t like Edward Cullen. Then you could have stolen him and you two would have been perfect together.” Her trembling voice bounced off the sweaty tile walls.
“Why?” Kristen managed, wiping her salt-stained cheeks.
“Because you both suck!” Massie whirled around on her heel and stormed through the misty shower fog. She shoved past two girls in towels, not even caring that they were gawking at her as she passed. Hot tears filled her eyes. But this time, she couldn’t blame Chanel. This time, it was Kristen’s fault.
By the time she reached the parking lot, salty tears were spilling down her cheeks. She’d given everything to the Pretty Committee: fashion advice, crush advice, clothing, and every second of her free time. All to make them better alphas. And what had they done? Betrayed her, without giving it a second thought.
Forget the homeless. Massie Block was Westchester’s newest, saddest charity case. It would probably take years before she could get back on her feet again. And that was only if she dedicated every waking moment to her comeback.
She fired off a quick text to her mother.
Massie: Too much homework. I have to pass on the ho ho ho.
Her iPhone vibrated almost immediately.
Kendra: No no no! You made a commitment.
Massie dug her nail into the end button. Since when did the people in her life honor their commitments? Alicia and Dylan had pledged their loyalty to the Pretty Committee and they were gone. Kristen had promised to help Massie get Dempsey, and now the only thing she was committed to was Dempsey!
“I said, wait up!”
Massie whirled around to see Layne rushing toward her, her Chucks, one red and one yellow, shuffling over the pavement.
“What do you want?” Massie snapped, scanning the emptying parking lot for Isaac.
“Can you believe her?” Layne huffed. “That was a Shakespearian-size betrayal. We can’t let her get away with this.” She tilted her bag of Corn Nuts toward Massie. “You want? They’re super-cheesy.”
So are you, Massie wanted to say. But she held back, hardly in the position to send away one of the only people still talking to her. Instead, as a sign of solidarity, she allowed Layne to dump a spice-dusted mound of pellets in her palm. For once, she actually agreed with the LBR. Kristen could not get away with this.
Despite the calories and the blatant grossness, Massie popped the nuts in her mouth and chewed. They were hard and salty, with a hint of sweetness.
Just like revenge.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
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Abeley Gregory
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