It's Not Easy Being Mean Part 3

"Ready?" Ma.s.sie wrapped her hand around the silver pump handle on the lacquered wood door and mouthed, "One...two...three...Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" "One...two...three...Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" Once the others were whisper-singing along, she pushed the handle and burst into the hall, Alicia on her right, Dylan and Kristen on her left. Once the others were whisper-singing along, she pushed the handle and burst into the hall, Alicia on her right, Dylan and Kristen on her left.

Claire inhaled deeply, fighting the pinch behind her eyes, as she watched her friends take off without her. Maybe Hollywood was the right place for her after all.

After counting to three, she entered the building to the sultry beat in her head. "Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?" "Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Don't cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?"

Once inside, the scent of bitter coffee and Xerox chemicals ambushed Claire, making her momentarily lose her place in the song. She'd forgotten how different the hall smelled on the teachers' side and relished the familiarity of it all.

With every synchronized step Claire took, the louder the pre-morning bell sounds became; overlapping conversations, explosions of laughter, boot heels squeaking, slamming metal locker doors. The moment of truth was upon them.

Ma.s.sie lifted her bronzed arm in the air and snapped twice.

It was time.

They made a sharp right and merged flawlessly with the heavy flow of student traffic.

A mix of flowery perfume, fruity hair products, and sweet bubble gum replaced the stale church smell that hovered around the teachers' section. The water fountains seemed lower and the halls narrower than Claire remembered. But other than that, girls were whizzing and whirling in a mad rush to make it to cla.s.s on time, just like they always had. Claire took in the scene and sigh-smiled. Everything was more or less exactly how she'd left it.

"You guys! They're back!" shouted Allie-Rose Singer, who towered a good foot over every other girl in the seventh grade. The black-haired green-eyed beauty was far too tall to be in the Pretty Committee, according to Ma.s.sie, which was a shame, since her wardrobe was filled with all of the desirables-cashmere cowl-neck sweaters, dark skinny jeans, silk tunics, sweater dresses, and shiny Marc Jacobs flats in every color. But everything was too long to share, rendering Allie-Rose and her fabulous wardrobe useless.

"Welcome!" She dropped the stack of textbooks she had been clutching, smoothed her navy b.u.t.ton-down shirtdress, and clapped.

All of a sudden, everyone in the halls noticed them and joined in the applause.

Like a school of colorful sunfish, the Pretty Committee stopped at the exact same time. Claire, who was still walking to "Don't Cha," stepped on the back of Ma.s.sie's red leather flat, causing her heel to slip out. She felt her cheeks flush in antic.i.p.ation of the stretch-limo-size verbal slap she would undoubtedly get. But like a true professional, Ma.s.sie slipped her foot back inside without so much as a wobble while waving to her devoted public with the grace of a prom queen.

Technically, starting the day greeted by hordes of stylish, adoring fans was a good thing. But for some reason, Claire found the attention overwhelming. What was she supposed to do with her hands? Let them dangle at her sides? Wave? Applaud them them for applauding for applauding her? her? And what about her expression? Should she appear shocked and humbled? Or deserving and proud? The only thing Claire knew for sure was that all of this hooting and hollering made her cheeks burn and her head all light and tingly. Her face felt like a giant red helium balloon and her body a flimsy string. And what about her expression? Should she appear shocked and humbled? Or deserving and proud? The only thing Claire knew for sure was that all of this hooting and hollering made her cheeks burn and her head all light and tingly. Her face felt like a giant red helium balloon and her body a flimsy string.

All she could do was take advantage of her position in the back row and take cover behind the girls.

"Ta-da!" Allie-Rose yanked a string above her head. Dozens of purple balloons fell from a net above her locker.

"Ehmagawd, purple's my favorite color," Ma.s.sie gushed, like it was some sort of coincidence.

"We know," beamed Penelope Rothman, whose dimples dented her freckled cheeks like giant fingernail marks. She pointed to the purple-glitter-soaked "GR8 2 C U" banners with the grace of a seasoned flight attendant.

"Ooooh," squealed Alicia, once she saw the life-size cardboard cutouts of her and Ma.s.sie, taken straight from the glossy pages of Us Weekly Us Weekly. "I heart those!" those!"

Pictures of them swimming with Conner Foley in his Malibu Beach pool were plastered on the outside of the girls' lockers alongside blown-up shots of Dylan and her talk-show-host mother Merri-Lee Marvil, taken from an old article from Vanity Fair Vanity Fair about celebrities and their daughters. about celebrities and their daughters.

"Hurry, before the bell rings," announced Paige Winman, who managed to get away with her too-short-even-for-a-boy cut because she was the best abstract painter at OCD. She was leading a swarm of girls armed with Sharpie minis and cell-phone cameras. She forced her way between Dylan and Kristen, red-rover style, waving a color copy of the not-yet-released Dial L for Loser Dial L for Loser movie poster. "Claire will you movie poster. "Claire will you please please sign this? I've had it pressed in my atlas for days, waiting for you to get back." sign this? I've had it pressed in my atlas for days, waiting for you to get back."

Claire giggled when she saw her flawless, airbrushed face. She was posed on a lunch table, legs crossed, in a crowded cafeteria, wearing a skimpy private school uniform and holding a crystal-covered cell phone to her ear, winking in a shhh-don't-tell sort of way. In the background, Conner Foley was kissing Abby Boyd but looking at Claire, longingly. It was perfect.

"How did you get this?"

"I found it on the Internet and made copies," she boasted.

"We all have one," said Erica Lunsky, gesturing to the snaking line of starstruck girls forming behind her. "Will you sign them before cla.s.s?"

Claire didn't want to let her fans down, but she also knew not to be late on her first day back. "Um, sure." She checked her pink Baby G-Shock watch. "If we hurry."

One by one, Claire worked her way through the line, each time signing her name a little differently. She signed Kami Kauffman's like this: [image]

and Dara Sammet's like this: [image]

and Payton Lawrie's like this: [image]

until, finally, she came up with what was sure to be an eBay-worthy autograph: [image]

The five-minute warning bell rang and Claire's heart quickened. She hadn't even taken off her jacket yet, let alone fumbled with her lock and fished out her American history book. Beads of light sweat gathered on her forehead as she forced her hand to sign faster. But the faster she signed, the more she sweated. And the more she sweated, the stringier her bangs became.

"Will you call my older sister and tell her you know me?" asked Olivia Ryan, Alicia's beautiful ex-BFF. A glittery black-and-gold beret was angled atop her blond curls, giving a Parisian spin to her otherwise standard-issue skinny black jeans and simple white Oxford.

"Uh, can I do it after cla.s.s?"

"Call my sister, too," Candace Sheppard begged.

"You don't have a sister." Olivia shoved her orange Nokia in Claire's face, accidentally bashing her nose.

"Ouch!" Claire doubled over.

"Can I take your picture?" asked Emily Kohn, holding a lime green Motorola Pebl directly between Claire's eyes.

"Uh..." Claire glanced at Ma.s.sie, desperate to be saved. But she, Alicia, and Dylan were too busy signing magazine photos, pencil cases, and backpacks to notice. Kristen was the only one free to go to her locker. And while her slow shuffle and dejected pout indicated that she wasn't happy about her lack of attention, Claire found herself almost envying it.

The final bell rang.

"Let's pick this up at lunch," Ma.s.sie called to her groupies. "Table eighteen."

A hurried round of thank-you-sooooo-muches and welcome-backs were fired at the Pretty Committee as everyone scattered.

"Hollywood was fun, but I like Westchester better." Alicia fumbled with her lock. "We're way more famous here."

"Whatevs." Kristen slammed her locker. "I hope you feel famous famous getting a late pa.s.s," she shouted, and then hurried to cla.s.s. getting a late pa.s.s," she shouted, and then hurried to cla.s.s.

"Oh, we will!" Dylan called after her.

"What's her her problem?" Alicia asked on their way to Princ.i.p.al Burns's office. problem?" Alicia asked on their way to Princ.i.p.al Burns's office.

"Not enough FOKs" Ma.s.sie shrugged in a sucks-for-her sort of way.

"Huh?"

"Fans of Kristen."

Dylan giggled.

"I double-dog heart that," Alicia squealed.

Claire sat between Dylan and Alicia on the hard wooden bench outside the princ.i.p.al's door, thinking about the secret pro/con list she had tucked away in her jacket pocket.

2 MOVE OR NOT 2 MOVE?.

CALIFORNI-YAY.

CALIFORNI-NAY.

Photography is my favorite hobby.[image] But acting is my second. But acting is my second.[image][image] And I'll get to star in movies and play the kind of girls everyone wants to be. And I'll get to star in movies and play the kind of girls everyone wants to be.[image][image][image]

BONUS: If I ever come back, I'll automatically get the lead in the school play (unless it's a musical).[image]

Leaving Cam. Leaving Cam.[image]

Again.[image] [image]

I will possibly meet and have sleepovers with Dakota Fanning.[image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image]

Leaving the Pretty Committee and Layne. Leaving the Pretty Committee and Layne.[image]

I'll make millions of dollars. Maybe enough to buy my mom a silver Porsche convertible.[image][image][image][image]

Moving to a new city again. Moving to a new city again.[image] Starting over again. Starting over again.[image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image][image]

I will have a stylist who will make me look like a 9.8 every day.[image][image][image]

I have fans in Westchester. Possibly more than Ma.s.sie???? (Not that I would ever say that to her.) I have fans in Westchester. Possibly more than Ma.s.sie???? (Not that I would ever say that to her.) No more puffy jackets.[image][image] Warm weather, palm trees, beaches, and flip-flops all year round. Warm weather, palm trees, beaches, and flip-flops all year round.[image][image][image][image][image][image]

The fall is kind of nice. I like when the leaves change colors. I will miss that. The fall is kind of nice. I like when the leaves change colors. I will miss that.[image]

"Send in the delinquents," squawked a familiar old lady's voice from behind the beveled gla.s.s door. "One. At. A. Time."

At that moment, if someone had asked Claire which she would prefer: (a) to be a nonfamous n.o.body again or (b) to get mobbed by tons of fans and then have to ask Princ.i.p.al Burns for a late slip, she would have picked (a) in a second.

The revelation shocked her. She used to lie awake at night making arrangements with G.o.d, like that if he made the girls at OCD like her, she'd fold her clothes the way her mother asked instead of stuffing them behind her armoire. But now that Claire was front-page news, she surprised herself by wanting out of this divine deal and made a mental note to delete "I have fans in Westchester" from her 2 Move or Not 2 Move list. It was creepy watching people buy her clothes and boring spending her Sunday choosing crowd-pleasing outfits. She didn't want to strut to the beat of a s.l.u.tty song. She didn't want to worry how her sweaty bangs might look in cell-phones pictures. And she really really didn't want to be late for cla.s.s. didn't want to be late for cla.s.s.

"Ms. Block!" Princ.i.p.al Burns shouted. "Enter!"

Flashing her friends a she-so-doesn't-scare-me eye-roll, Ma.s.sie rose. "Did you see how many people wanted our autographs?" she leaned in and whispered, like that somehow made it all worth it. "I think I saw a few eighth graders there too. Hopefully they'll tell Skye we-"

"Now!"

Snickering, Ma.s.sie raced toward the princ.i.p.al's office, gently closing the door behind her.

Claire sat on her shaking hands, wondering how Ma.s.sie handled it all-the attention, the pressure, the jacketless winters....Or maybe the better questions was, why did she want want to? to?

OCTAVIAN C COUNTRY D DAY S SCHOOL T THE C CAFe, TABLE I8.

8 Monday, April 5th 12:38 P.M. P.M.

The lunch crowd rubbernecked as they pa.s.sed 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 pet.i.te, 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 wait to see your moo-vie." to see your moo-vie."

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

Ma.s.sie 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, Ma.s.sie," waved Mindy Baum, head of the student council. As usual, she was wearing an extra-small ocd student body ocd student body baby tee, this one in hot pink. "We missed you guys." baby tee, this one in hot pink. "We missed you guys."

"Thanks." Ma.s.sie 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," Ma.s.sie 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." Ma.s.sie 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?"

"Itcostmethreeweeksallowencebut.i.twastotallyworthit."

"Fast talker!" Dylan sneezed.

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

"UmwhendoesDialLforLosercomeoutcauseIamtotallywearingthistothetheater."

"Memorial Day weeke-"