THE BLOCK ESTATE MAIN LAWN

Tuesday, April 6th

5:40 P.M.

Claire closed the door of the bronze Ford Taurus as quietly as she could. Judi did the same. They tiptoed across the gravel driveway toward the stone walkway that sliced through the Blocks' lawn and led to the guesthouse.

“Let's go.” Judi held her black Talbots tote bag above her head. “It's dark and raining and—”

“Shhhh,” Claire hissed. “Run ahead if you want, just don't make any noise.”

“Claire, you're being ridiculous.”

“Shhhhh.” Claire ducked down.

“Suit yourself!” Judi scurried toward home, leaving her daughter behind in the rain.

Just as Claire had feared, the lights were on in the horse-shed-turned-spa.

They were in there.

If she could only sneak past the windows undetected. From there it would be a quick sprint and just two flights of stairs to the safety of her bedroom.

An urgent text message vibrated on Claire's cell phone. 911 meeting in GLU headquarters, it said. Which really meant Girls Like Us headquarters, which really really meant the spa.

Pushing her black oversize wannabe-Dior sunglasses up her nose and securing her Faux-ch (fake Coach) plaid bucket hat (thank heavens for Times Square vendors and their cheap designer knockoffs), Claire assumed the crouch'n'dash position. She was about to make a run for it when someone shouted, “Hey, Nicole, I loved you on The Simple Life 4!“

She froze.

“Looks like you're really embracing the whole Hollywood thing.” Dylan snickered. She was wearing a Burberry trench coat and carrying a six-pack of Diet Dr Pepper and a black bag of Smartfood, obviously taken from the pantry in the main house. “Come on.” She tilted her head toward the spa. “Massie's been texting you like crazy. Let's go.”

Wiping her palms on the sides of her wet cargo minidress, Claire followed.

“After you,” Dylan conceded when they reached the rustic barn door.

“Great,” Claire murmured, sliding it open like the door of a minivan.

Inside, dozens of vanilla-scented candles cast a warm orange glow across the leather furniture and created long treadmill shadows against the rustic wood walls. The water-fall in the Zen rock garden trickled while the burning wood in the fireplace popped and crackled. Ceramic pots of bubbling chocolate fondue—surrounded by skewers of strawberries, bananas, and sponge cake—filled the room with a rich, sugary smell that made Claire's mouth water.

It felt more like one of Kendra Block's après-ski parties than a Pretty Committee meeting, until she saw the glass coffee table piled high with empty, gloss-stained Starbucks cups.

Without lifting her head, Massie handed Claire a stack of stapled papers. “Nice of you to show.”

“What's going on?” Claire sat on the ottoman beside Massie's bare, French-pedicured feet. Obviously, no one cared enough to ask how her meeting with Miles had gone.

“Read.”

Claire looked down, wishing she had been bombarded with what-are-you-wearing jokes. Something! But the girls were silent, making the document in her hands the only place Claire could turn.

She scanned the first page. It was a copy of the poem Skye had read on the CD-ROM. The rest was a grid that listed the boys she had kissed and the reasons they might have the key.

FOR PRETTY COMMITTEE EYES ONLY

The boys who sleeps atop the key

Is into the exact same things as me.

He loves all creatures, big and small,

So his age doesn't matter, not at all.

I try not to think about his “glamour-don't” style

By focusing on his kick-butt smile.

Note to self. I've kissed this guy,

But I've kissed them all. How bad am I?

We already node off into the sunset together,

But the next time use do, it will be forever.

Holla!

“Why am I the operative on so many?” Alicia whined.

“Look down,” Massie insisted.

Alicia lowered her head, practically resting her chin on her ample cleavage.

“Oh.”

“If our tactics don't get your into their bedrooms, those will.”

Alicia folded her arms across her chest while Dylan and Kristen cracked up.

Bzzzzzzz.

Massie, Alicia, Dylan, Kristen, and Claire checked their phones.

“It's me.” Claire jiggled her cell. “It's a text message from my agent,” she announced, hoping one of them would ask her how her meeting had gone. Instead, they all returned to their documents. She scrolled down to Miles's message, which said:

Remember, runaways don't eat.

It was the fifth one she'd gotten from him in the last three hours.

After another moment of fake reading, Claire worked up the nerve to suggest the unsuggestable. “So, um, here's an idea.” Adjusting her black oversize sunglasses, she gazed into the distance as if considering this for the very first time. “Maybe we should bump the Harris Fisher visit to next week.”

“Why would we make Harris later?“ Massie countered. “If anything, we'd want to go there sooner.”

“Uh, you know, so we can check out some of these other guys first.” She shook the list for effect.

Everyone giggled.

“Kuh-laire, you must be poor.”

“Why?”

“Cuz you're not making any cents.”

Dylan spit out a mouthful of Diet Dr Pepper.

Kristen cackled. “I love that one!”

“Me too.” Alicia smacked the gray-and-aubergine Indian wool blanket around her legs. Surrounded by the Blocks' rustic-chic leather furniture and lit by the orange glow of the fire, all she needed was a huge turquoise necklace to look like an exotic model in a Ralph Lauren catalogue.

Claire clenched her fists, resisiting the urge to beat herself senseless. She had rehearsed her argument a million times on the car ride back from Manhattan. Why did she have to say the one thing that defied all logic?

“Kuh-laire, what's this really about?” Massie finally looked at her. “Is something bothering you?” She sounded like a concerned friend. And Claire couldn't help wondering if this was Massie's way of apologizing for not asking about her meeting with Miles. Maybe she had heard the pain in Claire's voice and opted to put their friendship before this stupid key contest. And if that was the case, the least Claire could do was return the gesture with a little honesty.

“I have an audition Friday night.”

“For what?” Dylan stuffed a handful of Smartfood in her mouth. “Nicole Richie's understudy?”

“Yeah, what's with that getup?” Alicia giggled.

“Wait.” Massie held up her palm, obviously ordering them to let Claire finish. “Go awn.”

“Bernard Sinrod wants me to star in his new movie, Princess Nobody, with guess who?”

No one said a word.

“Give up?” Claire tried.

Still they were silent.

“Cole Sprouse!”

She waited for their screams.

“Whatevs. Dylan's cuter,” said Dylan.

“They're identical twins,” Kristen insisted.

“Well, his name is cuter.”

What is wrong with you guys? I'm up for a major movie and all you care about is which Sprouse is cuter? Claire wanted to shout. Instead, she fell back on the couch and lowered the brim of her plaid hat.

“So you're saying you want us to change our plans with Cam, the ones you set up, so you can go to your movie audition?” Massie bobbed her bare feet in anger.

“Yeah,” Claire tried.

“Puh-lease! When are you going to realize this has nothing to do with you and Cam and everything to do with our eighth-grade alphaness?”

Nervously, Claire folded the hem of her camo skirt. “I—”

“It's chaos out there, Kul-laire. Kay-aw-ssss!” Massie pointed to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “While you were lunching with Planet Hollywood, every girl in our grade has been trying to score an invite to Cam's.”

“Who?” Claire shot forward. “Why didn't anyone tell me?”

“Check your cell.” Massie waved her Motorola. “I've been leaving you messages all day and you've been sending me straight to VM like I was some kind of LBR stalker.”

Claire opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“I can explain,” she finally managed.

“Don't bother.” Massie rolled her eyes.

“Maybe she's too famous to answer her phone,” Alicia suggested.

“Or maybe she can't hear it under that hat,” Dylan said.

“Or see it from behind those glasses,” Kristen added.

Claire stood and faced everyone. “Wanna know why I'm wearing this?”

They glared at her.

She tore off her disguise, revealing a head of goth-black hair that looked like it had been cut by the teeth of a wild dog and a dark, bristly five-inch eyebrow.

“That's why.”

No one laughed. No one even smiled. All they did was stare.

Swallowing hard, Claire met their eyes and began: “The director wants me to wear this to the audition Friday to show how dedicated I am to the role.”

They said nothing. No jokes, no giggles, no screams. Just silence.

“Ehmagawd. Kuh-laire, is that you?” Massie asked as if, after years, the two had just bumped into each other at Sephora.

“Who did you think it was?”

“Hairy Potter.” Massie burst out laughing.