WESTCHESTER, NY
SERENITY SPA
Tuesday, October 13th
4:05 P.M.
“We’re here!” Alicia announced when they arrived at the spa ten minutes later.
Dean opened the limo door. “Just text when you’re ready,” he instructed Alicia, his furry brow knitting together like a caterpillar inching its way across his forehead.
“’Kay.” Alicia marched to the head of the line, narrowing her eyes at the boys as they huddled close the limo, not wanting to go inside. “Come awn,” she ordered, leading their dragging feet to the frosted glass door.
Inside, giant crystal chandeliers cast a shimmering light over the all-white decor. Customers sat at large white marble cubes, their hands outstretched toward their aestheticians. Even though the spa was packed, the only sound came from the rush of the indoor waterfall that spilled over the glass wall at the back of the spa. It was chic times ten. Alicia mentally applauded her choice of venue.
“Miss Rivera!” A striking woman wearing black skinny pants and a ruffled black button-down sashayed across the slick marble floors to greet them. She air-kissed Alicia on both cheeks. “Cómo estás?”
“Muy bien.” Alicia beamed. She turned to the group for introductions. “Soul-M8s, this is Estée. Estée, meet the Soul-M8s.”
Estée smile-nodded, the soft white light from the chandeliers illuminating her perfectly chiseled cheekbones. “Hello, ladies,” she said, before her eyes fell on the boys. “And gentlemen?” she said, her voice lifting in surprise.
Alicia smile-nodded proudly.
The boys reddened.
“There. Are. No. Other. Dudes. Here,” Derrington hissed. Dylan elbowed him playfully.
“Estée, as in Lauder?” Claire marveled.
“Yeah,” Kristen said under her breath. “Estée Lauder’s got nothing better to do than pumice your feet.”
“I want paraffin treatments for the boys,” Alicia announced, pacing back and forth in front of the group. The staccato click-clack of her heels punctured the silence of the spa.
“Parawhat?” Cam whispered in Claire’s ear.
“Hot wax,” Claire whispered back. “I think it’s French for ‘waste of money.’”
Alicia jabbed Claire with her elbow.
Dempsey hitched up his cargo pants. “Will the wax make the soccer ball stick to my feet?”
“No!” Kristen giggled.
“I can’t believe this,” Josh muttered. “Least they have snacks.” He reached for the crystal bowl sitting on a side table in the waiting area. Plunging his hand into it, he stuffed the contents into his mouth.
Claire’s hand flew to her mouth. “Josh!” she whispered. “I think that’s—”
“Gross!” Josh yelled, spitting out a dried rosebud.
“No waaaay!” Cam, Derrington, and Dempsey doubled over laughing while Josh spewed potpourri like a leaf blower.
Estée pursed her plumped lips. A stooped dowager furrowed her goo-covered brows. A technician tapped her French-manied nails on her white workstation and glared.
Alicia turned bright purple but pretended not to notice.
“And for the girls…” Alicia paused briefly in front of Claire, letting her eyes run from the green silk Tea and Honey blouse to the violet ballet flats. “We’ll go with Essie,” she decided. “Cloud Nine.”
“Excellent choice.” Estée nodded her approval as Alicia moved on to Kristen and Dylan, relishing the feeling of being in charge and taken seriously.
“I’m sure you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.” Estée led the Soul-M8s past the marble cubes when Alicia finished making her color choices. The boys sashayed behind Estée, mimicking her hip-swinging walk. Alicia swallowed a reprimand as the old lady customers sharpened their glares.
At the back of the spa, in front of the waterfall, a line of eight white leather massage chairs and eight all-black-wearing pedicurists were waiting. Nestled in the left armrest of each chair was a champagne flute filled with sparkling cider and topped with dark chocolate shavings that looked like confetti. Each glass had different initials gold-stamped on the base.
“Just like I wanted,” Alicia proclaimed with a satisfied nod.
Dylan swiped a truffle off a tray and popped it in her mouth. “Mmm, peanut butter,” she mumbled.
“Sweet!” Derrington held up a pair of white earbuds that had been plugged into the side of the chair. “We can listen to the regional finals!”
“ADD is gonna clean up,” Dempsey said. “Their team is sick this year.”
The guys high-fived, clearly relieved to have a manly activity to distract them from their parafem pedicures.
Alicia found her glass, stamped with the initials AR, and settled between Dylan and Kristen. Dunking her feet into the lavender-scented water, she tilted back her chair and sipped her cider. The moment was perfect. Everything had gone according to plan. Everyone was here, having fun. And, once again, it was all because of her.
“Claire. Cam. Get together.” Alicia pulled a tiny digital camera out of her handbag. The only way to make this moment more perfect was to capture it forever.
“New camera?” Claire asked through her frozen smile.
“Yep.” Alicia lowered her index finger. The camera emitted a tiny click. “I got it for making good grades this year.”
“Puh-lease,” Kristen said into copy of Shape magazine. “We’ve been in school for like a month. You don’t have any grades.”
“Well, I’ve ‘demonstrated exceptional academic promise,’” Alicia air-quoted. “Now do me.” She tossed the camera to Claire and lifted her champagne flute in the air. “I propose a toast,” she announced, pausing long enough to narrow her eyes at the camera.
Claire took the shot, then raised her glass.
“To the Soul-M8s!” Alicia announced.
“To the Soul-M8s!” the girls echoed.
“Cotton bomb!” Derrington lunged forward suddenly, launching a handful of cotton balls in the girls’ direction.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” the girls scream-ducked.
A collective, sharp inhale from the customers around them did nothing to stop Kristen from picking up a giant loofah. She waved it menacingly.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Dempsey challenged.
“I would!” Dylan flicked a nail file down the row, pegging Derrington in the chest.
Claire laughed out loud and chucked a foam toe separator at Cam, as if she didn’t care what the customers in Estée’s fancy spa thought about her or her friends. Alicia’s cheeks burned, and not from the rubbing alcohol–laden cotton ball that had just hit her cheek. A little voice in the back of her head told her this never would have happened if Massie were around. She wouldn’t have allowed it. She’d be too concerned with her reputation and how people wouldn’t regard her as a serious patron of the pampering arts. And the Pretty Committee would have been too scared to cross her. But how could Alicia stop it without seeming uptight and unfun?
Derrington reached for the tray of chocolates. He palmed a dark chocolate truffle and wound up.
“Miss Rivera!” Estée faced all eight chairs, her toned arms crossed over her chest. A wet cotton ball whizzed past her elbow and landed with a splat on the marble floor.
The boys snort-snickered.
Dylan bit her lower lip.
Kristen buried her face in Shape.
Alicia could feel her dark skin fade to a yellowish gray. “Yes?” She blinked rapidly, like it was Morse code for “Please don’t tell my mom.”
“I’m going to have to ask you and your friends to control yourselves, or you will be asked to leave.”
Again, a little tiny disloyal voice popped up in the back of Alicia’s head, and she couldn’t help but wonder how Massie would respond to Estée’s threat. Would she bust out a snappy comeback? Something like “Um, Est, are you Steven Spielberg? Then why are you telling me how to act?” Or would she flat-out deny everything, making Estée think she was having a delusional episode. It was hard to predict. But one thing Alicia knew for sure was that Massie would never, ever—
“I’m sorry,” Alicia mumbled the words before she could stop herself.
Apologize.
Claire, Kristen, and Dylan exchanged a look. Suddenly the smell of lavender was overpowering. Alicia’s eyes burned and she couldn’t get enough air. Her friends’ looks confirmed what Alicia instantly knew to be true: that in the OCDictionary, “I’m sorry” was just another way to say “I’m a beta.”