OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL THE SOCCER FIELD

Friday, April 9th

4:22 P.M.

After a tiring week at school and endless key hunting, the last place Massie wanted to be on Friday afternoon was on a soccer field doing jumping jacks with a team of jumping-jack-loving girls in loose boy shorts and ill-fitting yellow tees.

“This warm-up isn't working.” Alicia rubbed her bare arms. “I'm freezing. It's a day for denim and cashmere, nawt cotton.”

“Ah-greed,” Dylan panted. “If I get sick, can we get your dad to sue the coach?”

“Given.”

“Claire's so lucky,” Massie huffed.

“Why? ‘Cause she has those eyebrows to keep her warm?” Alicia snickered.

“And auditions to get her out of practice?” Dylan offered. “All of the above.” Massie sighed, wondering how Claire could abandon the Pretty Committee—during key season—for a director who wanted her to look like a “before” picture.

Puuuuuuurp. Purrrrrrp.

Instantly, the Sirens stopped jumping.

Coach Davis cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “I want everyone dribbling!”

Dylan turned to Massie and Alicia, a string of saliva dangling off her bottom lip. “How's that?”

The entire team tittered, except for Kristen, who crouched to tie her already tied laces.

“E-nuff!” The coach blew her whistle an inch away from Dylan's wet lips. “Kori!” she yelled. “How ‘bout those balls?”

“She said balls,” Dylan whisper-snickered.

Massie and Alicia burst out laughing.

Despite her swollen knee, Kori was dragging the yellow mesh bag across the field. “Coming!”

The sight of her limping and tugging made the girls laugh even harder.

“What's so funny?” snapped the coach.

“Nothing.” Dylan giggled. “It's just that you said—” She cracked up all over again.

PUUURRRRPPP!

“You three! Drop and give me seventy-five sit-ups.”

Coach Davis hurried toward center field, the bottoms of her coral Juicy sweat suit dragging across the grass. “The rest of you, over here!”

Massie, Alicia, and Dylan lowered themselves onto the cold field.

“Who wears peach in April?” Alicia said once they were alone.

“Your dad.” Dylan giggled.

“Very funny.” Alicia ripped a handful of grass out of the ground and whipped it at Dylan's face.

Massie rolled her eyes, temporarily hating her friends for having fun when they should be obsessing over the key.

After two crunches and a quick check to make sure the coach wasn't looking, she pulled her list of boys' names from her white kneesock and rested it against her thighs.

“I should only have to do fifty of these,” Alicia huffed, barely lifting her shoulders off the grass. “My boobs are like weights.”

Dylan cracked up. “So is my hair.”

“Let's go over this one more time.” Massie curled toward the list.

“We have,” Alicia whined. “Like nine hundred times.”

Massie stopped midcrunch to glare at her.

“Sorry.”

“Quit talking!” Kori shouted from the bench.

“Quit breathing!” Massie shouted back. “Dylan, you checked Cody, Luis, and Billy, right?”

“Right.” Dylan lifted her neck, then lowered it. “The only thing I found was a stack of Sudoku mags under Luis's mattress and an Ashlee Simpson CD under Billy's.”

Massie slid the tube of Glossip Girl Blueberry Pie out from her other sock and drew a purple X through their names.

“Leesh? What about Greer, Lowell, Andy, Oliver, and Liam?”

“No, no, no, no, and no. But FYI, Lowell sleeps in a tent on an air mattress. He invited me to his camping birthday party. He's gonna try and set the record for number of beetles caught in an empty peanut-butter jar.”

Alicia and Dylan looked at Massie, expecting her to say something clever about Lowell's LBR-ness, but she was too stressed to bother.

Glossy purple Xs through Geoff, P.J., and Lee's names were cruel reminders that none of Kristen's guys had panned out either. If Harris Fisher didn't have the key, Massie would have to reanalyze Skye's poem, restrategize the plan, and redeploy her troops. It could take days, and someone else could win. And before they knew it, they'd be begging for invitations to Lowell's beetle birthday party.

In the parking lot, an old Eminem song blasted from a car's speakers, turning everyone's attention to a dirty black Mustang.

“Ehmagawd, it's Harris Fisher.” Alicia propped herself up on her elbows. “I think my crush on him is back.”

“You're not the only one.” Dylan pointed at the two girls wearing similar beige trench coats, running toward his car.

“Since when are Kaya and Penelope all buddy-buddy with Harris Fisher?”

“They think he has the key,” Massie assumed.

“They must have the other two CD-ROMs,” Dylan concluded.

Without a single word, Massie jumped to her feet and took off toward the Mustang. “Come awn!”

“Wait!” Dylan rolled onto her side, then pushed herself up.

“Yeah, wait!” Alicia speed-walked behind them.

Puuuurp. Puuuurp.

“Stop!” Coach Davis waved her toned arms like she was hailing a cab. “Now!”

Massie froze.

The coach jogged to meet them by the fence, eyeing two trails of uprooted grass left behind in Alicia's wake.

“What happened to the field?” she gasped.

Alicia checked the bottoms of her shoes like someone who'd just stepped in dog poo. The metal spikes were covered in mud and weeds.

“Miss Rivera, you're wearing cleats, not cross-country skis. The idea is to lift them when you run.”

“Huh?”

The coach's green eyes softened and the crease in her forehead smoothed. “Girls.” She forced a grin. “Do you care about your school?”

While nodding, Massie snuck a peek at the parking lot. Kaya and Penelope were making small circles with their fists, gesturing for Harris to roll down his window.

“Do you care about the OCD Sirens?”

They nodded again.

“And are you aware that we have a chance to make it to the finals?”

“Uh-huh,” Massie managed as the competition poked their heads in the open window.

“Then please, I'm begging you….” The coach put her hands together in prayer position, obviously about to plead for their undying cooperation and dedication.

Alicia rolled her eyes. Dylan twirled her hair. Massie fought the urge to charge Kaya and Penelope.

“Please, please, please,” the coach continued, “will you please quit the team?”

“What?” they all said.

“I'm sorry if this hurts your feelings. It can be our secret. In fact, I'll tell Principal Burns you injured your ankles from overexertion.” She zipped her lip and threw away the key. “Just please don't play Sunday, and stop coming to practice.”

“Seriously?” Alicia beamed.

Coach placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Seriously.”

“Done.” Massie pulled her friends by the arms and dragged them off the field. “Tell Kristen we'll call her later.”

The coach responded with a huge smile and a thumbs-up.

“Don't you think we should change outfits first?” Alicia freed herself from Massie's grip. “We can't talk to Harris like this.” She pinched her baggy Sirens uniform.

While walking, Massie tied a knot on either side of her shirt, instantly tightening it. She rolled down the elastic waistband on the shorts and pulled off her socks. Wrapping one around her left wrist, she stuffed the other through the mesh fence on her way out.

Dylan and Alicia did the same.

Scooting Kaya and Penelope aside, Massie stuck her head in the car's open window. “Hey, Harris. I'm Massie, Cam's friend.”

It took all of Massie's strength to look at him straight on because a) his green eyes were piercing, and b) Kaya was tugging at her shirt.

“What brings you to OCD?” she eked out.

“Pickin' up my brother and his friends after practice.” He cocked his head and squinted, probably wondering why girls had surrounded his car like he was Nick Lachey.

“Perf!”

Massie opened the door and slid across the backseat. Alicia and Dylan jammed in beside her.

“Wait a minute.” Penelope adjusted her skinny double-wire headband. “We were here first.”

“Back off!” Massie hit the automatic lock. She blew a kiss to Kaya and Penelope as they skulked off toward the bike rack.

Harris turned. “What's going on?” He smiled, showing amusement, not concern. His teeth were so white and his eyes so green, Massie had to focus on the distressed collar of his brown leather jacket, to minimize the glare.

“Cam invited us over after practice, so we thought we'd ride with you because my driver is sick. Is that okay?”

Quickly she texted Isaac with the change of plans.

“Sure.” He turned up the stereo, blasting the Eminem song all over again.

Dylan shouted the lyrics while Harris bobbed to the beat.

You better lose yourself in the music, the moment—

“So how was the visit with your uncle?” Massie shouted toward the front seat, hoping conversation might make Harris lower the music.

“What uncle?” he shouted back.

“The uncle who visited you on Tuesday.”

“I don't have an uncle.”

Massie shot Alicia a confused glance.

“Does Cam?” Alicia tried.

Dylan burst out laughing, but to Massie, the situation was far from funny.

“Why would Claire lie to me?” she mumbled.

“Maybe she didn't want us at Cam's without her,” Alicia said.

“Why would we go without—?” Massie stopped, remembering that Tuesday was the night Claire had her meeting in Manhattan.

“Ehmagawd, how could she jeopardize the future of the Pretty Committee for a boy?”

“I would never do that,” Alicia gasped.

“Me either,” Dylan said.

Massie clenched her fist. “She is so dead to—”

“Unlock the doors.” Cam pounded the roof of the car. His black hair was matted to his forehead. Both his blue eye and green eye were bright against the pink flush of his sweaty cheeks.

“What's the password?” Harris cranked the music.

One of the boys made a fart sound and everyone burst out laughing.

“Ew!” Alicia squealed. “Dylan!”

“It wasn't me.”

Let's go! Massie wanted to scream, hell-bent on getting the key. But instead she smiled and giggled with the rest of them to avoid blowing their cover.

“Open up!” Derrington, Josh, and Cam smacked the roof, giving Harris even more of a Nick Lachey moment than the one he'd experienced earlier.

Finally, the locks clicked and the boys piled in. Cam raced to the front seat while Derrington conquered the back.

“What's up, soccer sistas?” He wiggled his butt, then dove across the girls, landing with his head on Massie's lap. There was a time where it would have been funny, even romantic. But all Massie could think of now was his crumb-covered carpet and musty towels.

Gazing up at her, eyebrows raised, mouth in a barely there pout, Derrington seemed to be silently asking Massie with kind brown eyes why she tore out of his house the other day. Guiltily, she turned her attention to the others, as if they were up to something utterly fascinating that she simply could not miss.

“Ow, get offa me,” Alicia whined when Dylan mashed up against her thigh.

“It's Josh's fault, not mine.”

“Yeah, right.” Josh giggled, his round brown eyes crinkling.

A slapping fight broke out among Dylan, Josh, and Alicia, spreading a dry-sweat-meets-grass smell throughout

the car. Harris turned up the stereo even louder and backed out of the lot.

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow—

“Who's ready for some soccer lessons?” Cam asked from the front seat.

Everyone cheered.

Dylan burped.

Massie lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled deeply. She would survive this loud, stinky car ride thanks to three things:

1. Determination

2. Hope

3. Chanel No. 5