KRISTEN’S ROOM
Thursday, July 23
11:55 A.M.
“What are you doing here?” Kristen quickly closed her MacBook, pulled the Cleopatra wig off her head, and jammed it under her green and blue duvet. Her sweat-drenched hair had dried into what probably looked like Donald Trump in a windstorm. And she was wearing the same Greek goddess dress he’d seen her in last night. But she would never compromise the Witty Committee for love again, not even when her looks were at stake. So she grabbed her mint green satin VS robe off the floor and casually slipped it on to avoid questions.
“I came to say goodbye.” Dune hooked his thumbs under the straps of his red Gravis backpack.
Kristen’s stomach pitched. Hope was gone.
“I thought you already said goodbye at the country club,” she said coolly. Inside her mind, a soccer stadium–size crowd jumped out of their seats and cheered for her quick retort and iron resolve.
Dune lowered his black fedora, then stuffed his hands in the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts. A tattered white beater showed off his defined, tanned shoulders, which happened to be slumped forward in shame. “Yeah, about that . . .”
“Whatevs.” Kristen twirled her finger around her locket, channeling Massie and her strength. “So, where are you going?”
Despite the somber moment, he couldn’t help smiling. “Tavarua. It’s an island in Fiji. Totally exclusive, with one of the best breaks in the world.”
“Is this because of last night?”
Dune chuckled. He dropped his bag on the floor and hurried over. Unsure of what to do when a CLAM got that close to her and her bed, Kristen slid onto her blue shag area rug, her back resting against a green and white sham. He immediately sat down beside her, smelling like coconuts and sunshine.
“Nah. Earlier this summer I booked a commercial for Billabong.” He beamed. “We shoot on the island for a week, and then Dad, Ripple, and I are going to camp on the beach and surf until my tour starts.”
“Good luck.” Kristen stood.
“Wait.” He pulled her back down.
The warmth of his hand melted the ice behind her eyes. Tears were imminent and only a matter of time. Kristen glanced toward her window as if something life altering was about to happen beyond the pane.
“I thought maybe you could tell me how you did the whole Jell-O thing. It’ll go over huge with the guys on tour.”
She pulled her hand away. “That’s why you came?”
Dune blinked several times, as if his lashes were slapping his face for saying something so stupid.
And then he shook his head no.
“Then why are you here?” Kristen’s voice shook. She wasn’t sure if she was offended, heartbroken, or angry. All she knew was that Dune looked like he was gearing up to say something worth e-mailing to her friends, and she could hardly wait a second longer. “Tell me!”
He looked up, his eyes a darker shade of brown than she remembered. “I came to tell you I’m sorry I left you last night. And that I’m sorry I’m leaving you this summer. And that I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to get to know you better.”
David Beckham jumped onto Dune’s lap and purred for both of them.
Kristen ran a hand through her matted hair and smiled in a way that told him all was forgiven. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know who you are.” He shifted to face her.
Kristen giggled at his question. It sounded like a stolen line from one of those corny Lifetime movies her mother watched. But his expression remained fixed and she knew he meant it.
And that was one of the many things she ah-dored about him.
“I’m a lot of things, I guess.” She tied the green satin tie on her robe in mini knots while she contemplated.
With the Pretty Committee she was:
A) Popular times ten.
B) Stylish.
C) Snobby.
D) Smarter then the rest of them, but not as smart as she really was.
E) A soccer star.
F) Waxed.
G) Fake-rich.
H) A beta.
I) Insecure.
F) Loyal.
H) All of the above.
With the Witty Committee she was:
A) An alpha.
B) Intellectually gifted.
C) An LBR lover.
D) CC (Closet Cleopatra).
E) Loyal.
F) Proud.
G) Confident.
H) All of the above.
With her mother she was:
A) Studious.
B) Obedient.
C) Modest.
D) Frumpy.
E) Middle class.
F) Proud.
G) Independent.
H) A future president.
I) Hairy-legged.
J) All of the above.
The truth was, Kristen Gregory was so many things, she had no idea how to answer his question.
“I dunno,” was all she could manage.
Dune lifted his arms and reached behind his head. “Why don’t you think about it while I’m gone.” He unhooked his leather-tied shark tooth necklace, leaned forward, and fastened it around her neck.
“What are you doing?” she asked, praying her question wouldn’t change his mind. “Isn’t this important to you?”
“It is.” He grinned. “That’s why you better be here when I get back in October.”
“October?” Kristen gasped.
“Everything okay in here?” Marsha poked her head inside the open doorway. Kristen quickly shimmied away from Dune.
“Yeah, why?” Her cheeks burned.
“I thought I heard you calling for me,” Marsha said convincingly, even though they all knew she was lying.
“Nope, wasn’t me.” Kristen glared at her.
“Ooops, sorry.” Marsha turned, “accidentally” elbow-knocking the door open a little bit more.
Kristen eye-rolled an apology on her mother’s behalf. Dune smirked that he understood.
Then she lifted her hand and clutched the necklace just to make sure this was really happening. The worn leather . . . the smooth surface of the tooth . . . the sharp tip. The different textures felt so rugged against the smooth contours of her Coach locket and its delicate gold chain. It was clear just from holding them that the two pendants were never intended to be worn together—something Massie would inevitably point out. One was so elegant and pristine, while the other was gritty and real. Yet she understood them both. But she knew that once school started, when style mattered more than substance, one of them would have to go.
Dune stood. “I better jet. Dad’s waiting for me outside.”
Kristen stood too, waves of sadness, relief, and excitement crashing inside her like the perfect storm.
“I can’t wait to see you when I get back.” Dune looked toward the open door, thought for a second, then pulled her in for a hug.
“Me too.” She hugged him back, wondering which Kristen Gregory would be there to greet him when he returned.
Now that you know Kristen’s summer secret, you’re another step closer to being IN. In the know, that is. . . .
SUMMER STATE OF THE UNION
| IN | OUT |
|---|---|
| Purple hair
streaks |
Summer secrets |
| Confidentiality
contracts |
|
| Euro pop stars |
|
| Shark-tooth
necklaces |
|
| Massie & Claire in Orlando |
Five girls. Five stories. One ah-mazing summer.
THE CLIQUE
SUMMER COLLECTION
BY LISI HARRISON
Turn the page for a sneak peek of Claire’s story. . . .