THE BLOCK ESTATE MASSIE'S BEDROOM

Friday, April 9th

7:51 P.M.

Massie pulled the cap off her purple Sharpie mini. “Yes, I'm calling from the Board of Health. Did you ever make out with Skye Hamilton?” She sat cross-legged in the middle of her purple down-filled duvet. Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen faced her, like preschool kids during story time.

“I wish,” snickered Deron McEvoy before hanging up.

“Ugh!” She crossed another name off her list. “Who's next?”

“Jack Rubell,” Alicia read.

While Massie dialed, Alicia wiggled out of her nylon soccer shorts and slipped into a pair of buttery soft black Splendid sweats.

“Yes, um, I'm calling from the Board of Health. Did you ever make out with Skye Hamilton?” She rolled her eyes, already knowing the answer. It was the same one eleven other guys had already given.

“No.” he paused. “Wait. Sarah, if this is you, I'm telling Dad.”

“Double ugh!” Massie whipped her phone across the room. It landed on one of her fluffy ivory sheepskin area rugs.

“I'll get it this time.” Kristen jumped off the bed and hurried to the rescue.

Massie buried her head in her hands.

One of the girls placed a comforting hand on her curved shoulder while another finger-combed her hair. Bean licked her elbow.

“How about some nice chamomile tea?” Kristen offered, handing her back the phone. “It's very soothing.”

“Ew!” Massie glared at Kristen through the spaces between her fingers. “Chamomile sounds like Cam. And Cam reminds me of Mrs. Fisher kicking us out of her house for making a mess, and making a mess reminds me of the key, and the key reminds me of—”

“Okay, forget it!”

“Sorry.” She sighed. “But we're down to our last guy and something tells me Skye did not kiss Shawn O'Hare.”

“You mean Shawn O'Harelip?” Dylan made a distorted kissy face.

Kristen cackled.

Lifting her Motorola, Massie looked deep into the eyelike camera lens and warned, “Bring me luck, or I'm getting a Samsung.” After a deep, cleansing breath, she dialed the last eleven digits on her list of potential key keepers.

“Hi, Shawn? Um, I'm calling from the Board of Health.

Did you ever make out with Skye Hamilton?”

Beep. Beep.

Call waiting interrupted before he could answer.

“Well, did you?” Massie hurried him along.

“Uhhh, can you call back after my supper?”

Beep. Beep.

“Whatevs.” Massie jammed her thumb into the red End button, then quickly checked her screen. It flashed UNKNOWN CALLER.

“Bet it's Claire, begging for forgiveness because of the whole uncle lie.” Alicia rubbed Crabtree & Evelyn sesame oil on her cuticles.

“I still can't believe she did that,” Dylan huffed.

Kristen shook her head in disbelief. “Me either.”

Tightening the sash on her white chenille robe, Massie stood. It was against her policy to answer UCs. And it was double against her policy to answer if it was Claire. But what if it was a lead? She hit speaker and the girls pressed an ear against her Razr.

“Hullo?”

“I. Have. What. You. Want,” said a computerized voice.

Everyone's eyes widened, silently questioning Massie on her next move.

“Um, can I get your number? I'll call you right back from a landline. My reception is—”

“No. Landline. Talk. Now.”

“What do you want?”

“We. Have. Demands. Do. What. We. Say. And. We. Will. Give. You. The. Key.”

“Reveal your identity or I'm hanging up.”

Alicia gasped.

Massie knew her approach was risky, but what if Skye was testing her? The rules clearly stated she was not to discuss this with anyone. So obviously the way to play this was to act dumb. Dumb and safe. Unless, of course, this was a legitimate caller who really had the key. And if it was, the last thing Massie wanted to do was drive this person toward the competition by not cooperating.

“Ugh, just tell me who you are,” she snapped.

“Do. What. We. Say.”

“Re-veal.”

Alicia bit her fist, Kristen covered her mouth, and Dylan stuffed a cube of Blue Razzberry Bubble Yum in her mouth.

“Do—”

“Reveal,” Massie interrupted.

“Good. Bye.”

The line went dead.

Massie whipped the sweaty phone onto her bed. Dylan raced to retrieve it.

“Ehmagawd.” Alicia flapped her hands like a baby bird trying to take flight. “Now what? What if they offer it to someone else?”

Taking her phone back, Massie scrolled through her received-calls log. Her hand quaked with a mix of frustration and fear. The only thing worse than losing was being made a fool of, and at the moment, she was at risk for both. She highlighted UNKNOWN CALLER and pressed send with such force her thumb turned white. But the phone wouldn't make the call.

“Ugh!” She whipped it across the room and flopped down on her bed, trying to figure out her next move.

And then, as if by magic, her cell rang.

“Get that!” Massie called.

Kristen darted across the hardwood floor like she was sprinting for soccer drills and pulled the Motorola out from under Massie's purple-faux-fur-covered desk chair. “It's the UC.”

“Hurry.” Massie leaped off the bed and raced to meet her in the middle of the room. Without hesitation, she flipped open the phone and lifted it to her ear. “Hullo?”

A shuffling sound, like someone rubbing their cheek against the speaker, was all she heard.

“Hul-lo?” Massie pleaded again, loudly.

“What is that?” someone on the other end whisper-shouted. “Oh no! Your butt just dialed Massie. Stand up!”

“Kuh-laire, is that you?”

“Quick, press end!”

“I did, nothing happened….”

“Shhh, she can hear us. Say something.”

“Hell. O,” said a girl in a robot voice.

Massie rolled her eyes. “Layne?”

The line went dead.

“Busted!” Alicia punched the air.

Dylan and Kristen burst out laughing. They turned their palms to Massie, who pushed them aside and belly-flopped onto her bed.

“Do you really think they found it?”

“Puh-lease!” Dylan dove beside her, sending puffy duvet waves across the bed. “Claire's just trying to pay us back for kicking her out of the Pretty Committee.”

“Point!” Alicia wiggled across the queen-size mattress and joined them.

“If they found it, why wouldn't they keep it?” Dylan asked.

“Because they know I'll make their lives miserable,” Massie mumbled into a pink satin throw pillow.

“What now?” Kristen sat beside her.

“This.” Massie hit last call received. Someone picked up after the first ring.

“Do you have the key or nawt?”

After some fumbling and frantic whisper-panicking, Layne said, “Yes.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Under Chris Abeley's bed,” Claire chimed in.

“Ehmagawd, Kuh-laire?” Massie felt sick to her stomach. “You're involved in this?”

“Yup,” she replied proudly.

“Well, as the head of the Pretty Committee, I insist you hand it over.” Massie wished she could text her hand to Claire's phone and smack her. “If you don't, you will be charged with treason.”

“You kicked me out, remember?” Claire sounded like she was sticking out her tongue. “Your rules don't apply to me.”

Massie temporarily hated Claire for being right.

“Well, I want proof.”

Layne scraped the key against the phone.

“You should have seen his bedroom,” Claire boasted. “It was the poem.”

She told them about the mini-cologne bottles, the “Glamour-don't” clothes, his love of horses, and, most important, the Hershey's Kisses.

“No way!“ Massie remembered Liam crumpling up the silver foil and tossing it onto Skye's driveway. How could she have missed that? It had been right in front of her face.

“Um, can you hold on a minute?” Massie covered the phone and turned to Alicia. “Why didn't you put Chris Abeley's name on the list?”

“Uh, I—”

Then she turned to Kristen. “Why didn't you tell me Skye was into Hershey's?”

“How was I sup—?”

“And Dylan, I can't believe you let Claire lie to us about Cam's uncle.”

“I didn't know—”

“Kuh-laire, I insist you give me the key ay-sap.”

“We will.” Layne continued scraping. “Once you meet our demands.”

Alicia, Kristen, and Dylan cheered silently. But Massie knew it wasn't going to be that easy.

“Kuh-laire, this is crazy,” Massie hissed. “Whose side are you on?”

“The side of justice.” Claire's voice was steady and confident. “Like she said, we have demands.”

“Fine.” Massie rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”

“We have a list,” Layne grumbled. “Where can we meet?”

“E-mail it,” Massie snapped.

“Where? Can? We? Meet?“ Layne sounded like a frustrated parent who was not going to ask again.

“My house,” Alicia offered. “Dad's home office has a huge conference table, and I know where he keeps his legal pads. Everyone can have one.”

“Fine,” Massie said firmly, hoping to regain some control. “One-thirty at the Riveras'.”

“Done,” said Dylan.

“Done,” said Kristen.

“And done,” said Alicia.

Claire whispered to Layne, something about movie contracts and lawyers.

“How's Sunday?” Layne asked, sounding slightly perturbed.

“Nope, no good,” Massie insisted.

The line went dead.

“Ehmagawd, did they seriously hang up again?” Alicia's brown eyes were wide with disbelief.

This time Massie dialed Claire.

“Hey,” she answered, a trace of shame in her voice.

“Are you a pyromaniac?”

“No, why?” Claire sounded confused.

Alicia, Kristen, and Dylan covered their mouths in anticipation.

“‘Cause you're playing with fire!”

“I-I'm not,” Claire stammered. “It's just that I can't do it tomorrow. I have a meeting with some lawyers.” She paused, obviously waiting for someone to ask why. But Massie wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

Finally, she volunteered, “I got the part.”

A cashmere-coated lump formed in the back of Massie's throat. She knew she should say something, to avoid seeming upset. But she couldn't. The cashmere was spreading into her brain, smothering all thoughts, words, and I'm-so-happy-for-you sounds.

“Well, if you're moving to Hollywood, you won't care when we meet,” Alicia said.

Massie winked, indicating a nice save.

“We want Sunday.” Layne scraped the key against the phone.

“Hummm.” Massie sighed dreamily.

“What?” Layne and Claire asked at the same time.

“I was just wondering.” Massie stood at her bay window, like a queen looking at out her kingdom. “What do you think Skye would do if she knew you were bargaining with her key? I mean, isn't this supposed to be secretive?”

Alicia clapped silently, while Dylan and Kristen urged Massie along with two, enthusiastic, thumbs-up.

“If I were her, and you betrayed me like that,” Massie addressed the forest of oak trees in her backyard, “I'd assign someone to make your eighth-grade life feel like death. Someone, like, oh, I dunno…me!”

“Fine,” Layne blurted. “Alicia's tomorrow at one-thirty.”

“What?” Claire whined. “You can't—”

Once again, the line went dead. This time it was Massie who hung up.

She collapsed on the purple-pillow-covered ledge beneath her window, burying her face again. The future of the Pretty Committee was in the Crystal Light-stained hands of Layne Abeley and Miss Keds “R” Us, Claire Lyons. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Don't worry, we'll get the key.” Alicia crouched and put her arm around Massie. “I've gone to court with my dad a million times. I know how to negotiate.”

“What if she wants us to take her shopping at second-hand stores or—?”

“Relax.” Alicia grabbed Massie's frigid hand and looked her in the eye. “Remember that famous plastic-surgery case last summer?”

Massie shook her head no, even though she did. It was the point that escaped her.

“Was that the one where that cocktail waitress wanted a body like Jessica Simpson's?” Kristen giggled.

Alicia nodded.

“Oh, I remember that one.” Dylan finally peeled off her soccer uniform and slipped into one of Mr. Block's old XL Brooks Brothers shirts. “She got Jessica it, then flew to L.A. and hit on Nick Lachey. When he turned her down, she sued her doctor, claiming that if it'd looked exactly like Jessica's, he would have asked her out.”

“My dad represented her and she won.” Alicia sparkled with pride. “That girl got ten million dollars.”

“Per boob?” Dylan asked.

“P.B.”

“Yeah, but the key is way more important than twenty million dollars,” Massie insisted.

Everyone sighed.

In search of a winning strategy, Massie shut her eyes and practiced yogic breathing—deep inhales and slow, complete exhales. The others waited patiently for her sage words.

After ten high-quality breaths she lifted her head and spoke.

“Blazers. We should definitely wear blazers.”

“Definitely,” they agreed.