OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
THE HALLS

11:15 AM

November 4th

Massie raced through the halls, past the Models Wanted signs and the high-gloss Fashion Week at OCD posters. Someone had taken a deep red lipstick and changed a few of them to Fashion WEAK at OCD. But Massie had no time to appreciate the “clever” work of activists. She was in a hurry to find Alicia, who for some reason was not answering her phone.

Massie picked up her pace and raced even faster. All she had to do was confirm that Cam liked her as more than a friend so she could finally start getting some of that valuable “experience with boys” Alicia had been bragging about lately. But Alicia was nowhere to be found.

After ten frantic minutes Massie decided to put her search on hold. She didn't want to be late for the FIT (Fashion Inspiration Trip) of the day or she would miss the chance to see Cynthia Rowley's design studio. Massie ran outside to the parking lot and charged onto the bus. It smelled like leftover tuna sandwiches.

Massie quickly made her way toward Kristen.

Her old denim skirt had bunched up around her legs and she quickly straightened it out when no one was looking. The suede pocket she had sewn on that morning was holding up nicely. She got six compliments on it. She'd even made up a few fake Web site names when people asked where she bought it. Only she knew the pockets were pieces of the skirt Todd soaked with grape juice.

“Kristen,” Massie panted. “Do you know where Alicia is? She's not answering her phone.”

“No.” Kristen checked her Coach watch, just like she always did when she was asked a question she couldn't answer. “I don't think she's back from the sample sale yet.”

“Didn't she go at like eight in the morning?”

“Yeah, but Olivia wasn't in math, so I guess they're still in the city, looking for uniform ideas,” Kristen said.

“She went into the city with Olivia?” Massie asked.

“Yeah, I thought you knew that.”

Massie shook her head.

Everything around her felt still and a rush of heat burst through her body like fireworks exploding. She usually knew where Alicia was at all times. Now the only thing she knew was that she didn't know anything.

Even though her ears were ringing, Massie heard a frantic voice say, “Has anyone seen Massie Block?” The voice sounded really upset. “It's an emergency.”

Massie could not believe that she was seconds away from dealing with an “emergency.”

“This year sucks,” she said to Kristen.

“Yeah, well, it's about to get worse,” Kristen said. “Look who it is.”

“You're not going to believe this.” Claire stopped in front of Massie's seat. She didn't seem to mind that everyone was waiting for her to get off the bus so they could leave.

“What?” Massie rolled her eyes and tried to look bored. She stole a quick glance at herself in the rearview mirror. She looked good and was glad she had applied a fresh coat of gloss before she got there.

“Our uniforms are gone!” Claire cried. A bubble of saliva formed between her lips when she spoke.

“What do you mean, gone?” Massie pulled Claire into an empty seat so they could have some privacy.

“IwantedtoshowmyuniformtomymomthismorningsoIwenttogetmytrashbagand—”

“Slow down,” Massie snapped. “I can't understand you.”

“Inez threw them out! She thought they were trash.”

“What? NO! Why?”

“'Cause they were in trash bags!” Claire shouted. “Remember, you didn't trust me. You thought I would peek at your masterpiece. Well, now your masterpiece is probably on its way to a furnace to in Peekskill burn up.”

Massie caught herself wondering how Claire, a girl from Orlando, knew that trash in Westchester went to a furnace in Peekskill, but she was too upset to ask.

Her chance to become famous for leading a style revolution at OCD was gone.

Massie suddenly felt sorry for the white tennis skirt she spent half the night sewing. It was probably in the back of a smelly trash truck buried in rotten eggs and poo-covered diapers, wondering how it got there. The more she thought about it, the more Massie felt sad for everyone: her mother, who took her shopping after school for the material; her proud father, who couldn't wait to see his daughter's masterpiece; Bean, who sacrificed her nightly walk; and even her mannequin, which stood by her all night while she worked. She considered feeling sorry for Claire, but there just wasn't room. She was full.

Claire sniffed and wiped her palm across her moist nose. “It was the first thing I ever made. And it was pretty good.”

“Well, I was on my way to making history,” Massie said, as if her loss was ten times bigger than Claire's.

“You sew pretty fast,” Claire said. “You could probably get something together by Saturday night.”

“That's in four days! Do I look like I'm from Moscow?”

“No.”

“Then why do you think I'd be into Russian?”

Claire laughed. Massie smiled back. She had tried the joke before on Dylan and Kristen and they didn't get it.

“Maybe if we do it together, we could—”

“Not a chance,” Massie interrupted. “I want to go down in history alone.”

“Hmmm,” Claire said.

“What?” Massie gathered her hair in a ponytail and then let it drop back to her shoulders.

“I was just thinking. Nah, forget it. You'd never go for it.”

“WHAT?” Massie snapped.

“Wouldn't you love to stand onstage in front of the Teen People editors in a brand-new outfit when you present the school with your, I mean our, new creation?”

“Kuh-laire, I am so not doing this with—” Massie paused. She leaned closer and whispered, “Are you saying you'll call off the bet if I let you partner with me?”

Just then Massie noticed Claire was a full inch taller than she was. She looked down at her feet and noticed the girl was wearing a pair of high-heeled black Capezio dance shoes with white sweat socks. At that moment Massie actually found herself missing the Keds.

“Yup,” Claire said. “The bet will be over.” She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. “But you'd have to really partner with me this time. Not like you did for the Halloween party. This time you have to mean it.”

“Hmmm.” Massie tapped her French-manicured finger-nail against her bottom lip. “Let. Me. See.”

Claire let out an impatient sigh.

“'Kay, I'll do it!”

Claire's face lit up.

“But I'm only doing this for fashion,” Massie added. “And for our mothers, of course.”

“Really?” Claire turned on her high heels and made her way toward the front of the bus. “'Cause I'm doing it to win.”

Claire pushed her way through the aisle and bounced down the steps of the bus. She ran all the way back to class on her tiptoes to keep from spraining her ankle. Her blond hair whipped across her face, but she never stopped to fix or tie it back. She didn't seem to care.

Massie watched Claire at that moment as if it were the first time she had ever seen her. And in a way, it was.