THE PINEWOOD

KRISTEN’S BEDROOM

Saturday, July 18

10:07 A.M.

Transformation took thirty-four seconds. That was three seconds faster than last time. And it gave Kristen a chance to check her costume in the mirror before they arrived.

“Good morning, Cleopatra,” she greeted her reflection with a proud smile. It was too bad she couldn’t wear the black bob-with-bangs wig in public, because it really brought out the green in her eyes. And the white goddess dress dripping with gold chains showed off her toned shoulders. The creamy blue eye shadow would have looked better had Kristen’s cheeks not been bright red from yesterday’s sunburn. But the gold headband with the snake emblem pulled attention away from her face and drew it up, toward her royal brain. And that was her most important asset. Because Kristen Gregory was the alpha of the ultra-exclusive Witty Committee.

She had founded the secret underground organization last June after her first week of gifted extra-credit summer classes. The Pretty Committee was gone. Soccer was done until September. The New York Times crossword puzzle just wasn’t challenging anymore. And she was so emotional that repeat episodes of The Hills were moving her to tears. She was hovering over that place—right before rock bottom—where she could either rise up and turn her life around or fall flat on her face.

Around the same time, her teacher, Ms. Lobe, asked all five students in the class to write a paper on a gifted person—living or dead—whom they admired most. Kristen had picked the queen of Egypt.

Cleopatra had learned how to speak Egyptian (hard times ten) and was the leader of an empire, the mother of four, and hawt! Not even Angelina Jolie could claim all of that. Her other classmates had picked their favorites, and for the rest of the week they’d had to come to class in costume in order to be their alphas. It was the most fun Kristen had ever had. Even more fun than Massie’s Friday night sleepover where they’d photographed Bean in eight different bikinis and e-mailed the shots to Teen Vogue.

When the exercise had ended and life had returned to normal, a heavy listlessness had weighed on the students like a humid afternoon. Without exchanging a single word or glance with her classmates, Kristen could sense that for them, as for her, a part of them had died.

But without the excuse of “class assignment” or “Halloween costume,” no one dared go out in public dressed as their favorite Gifted, unless of course they wanted their house wrapped in Cottonelle by snickering neighborhood kids. And that was nothing compared to what Massie and the Pretty Committee would do to Kristen if they discovered she enjoyed dressing up with LBRs more than shopping with the PC.

So for now, and probably forever, the Witty Committee would be Kristen’s biggest secret. Biggest savior. And biggest joy. When they were together, money and looks didn’t matter. Brains did. And the only other place on the planet like that was the Genius Bar at the Mac Store. It was that rare.

“THE COMMITTEE IS ASSEMBLED,” announced the computer-generated voice from the speaker on Dylan’s white ex-MacBook.

Kristen hurried away from the mirror, sat on her bed, and propped the computer up on her lap.

The screen was divided into quarters, each quadrant containing one of the members’ faces. (Bill Gates’s idea, obvs.)

“Thank you for gathering,” Kristen told her betas, starting into the eye of her MacBook. “What do we stand for?”

“BOB,” they answered.

“And what does BOB stand for?” Kristen asked.

“Brains over beauty!”

She smile-nodded at each one of them, then proceeded, before they were interrupted and forced to demobilize.

“I’m in crush conflict,” she whispered, leaning in toward the screen.

Bill Gates took off his glasses and thumb-rubbed his eyes. Behind him was a poster that read MEGABYTE ME!

“I tutor-sit a surf girl named Ripple who hired me to teach her math, but only because she wants to know about Massie. I was going to quit, but then I met her brother. And he’s a ten.”

Danh Bondok/Bill Gates started blinking rapidly. His fluttering black lashes revealed a yearlong crush on Kristen. But inter-committee relationships were forbidden, a rule she’d instated last Valentine’s Day after Dahn sent her e-roses and figured out a way to make their sweet smell waft out of her computer.

“He’s a surfer/skater who’s totally down-to-earth and loyal to his friends.”

“Loyalty is an important quality in a mate.” Rachel Walker/Oprah grinned peacefully.

“I know.” Kristen beamed, feeling proud of her boy-choice. “He’s anti-OCDiva, which had me scared at first, but I was doing a good job of showing him the other me,” Kristen’s cheeks turned red with shame as she suddenly realized the other her was actually the real her. “And he was into it, until a blond alpha named Skye Hamilton came along and invited him to hang at the country club. A place he says he hates.”

“Then why did he accept her invitation?” Oprah put her thumb under her chin and leaned forward in anticipation of the answer.

“A chemical we produce called pheromones may be at play here,” explained Layne Abeley/Einstein. “He may not be able to control his attraction. It’s quite possibly physiological.”

Kristen huffed. She didn’t want the case closed so quickly and resented Einstein’s theory.

“I think he may have a crush on her. But he claims he wants to check out the pool for a prank.”

They looked confused.

“He wants to drain it, skate it, then fill it back up with Jell-O,” Kristen explained, and then wished she could take it back. Her crush was coming off as a tool bag, and she didn’t want the Witty Committee to lose respect for her. But if anyone understood fools in love, it would be the girl on the lower right of her screen. “Shakespeare, what should I do? How do I turn this love triangle into a heart?”

Aimee Snyder/Shakespeare cleared her throat and straightened her bald-in-front, curly-in-the-back wig. “Let’s start by clarifying the true nature of a love triangle.”

Everyone rolled their eyes.

“In Twelfth Night, Orsino loves Olivia. Olivia loves Cesario. And Cesario, who is really Violet dressed as a man, loves Orsino. That’s a triangle. What you’re experiencing is more like a love V. Dune is the point in the middle. You are on the left, and Skye is on the right.” She squint-paused. “Actually, maybe it’s a love W. He’s the spike caught between the two of you.”

“Control alt delete!” Bill Gates snapped. “None of this makes sense. Either he likes you or he doesn’t. And if he doesn’t, I suggest you reboot and move on to someone who does.”

“Nonsense,” Oprah snapped. “The universe will give this to you if it’s meant to be. Compromise with Ripple. You teach her what Massie likes if she teaches you what Dune likes. Once you understand him better, you’ll know if you’re true soul mates.”

“In the meantime,” Einstein chimed in, “Bill Gates and I will try to figure out how to make the Jell-O in the pool work. If you can help him pull that off, he’ll probably think you’re pretty cool.”

“It’s a rather uninspired prank if you ask me.” Bill removed his glasses and dabbed his forehead with the gray felt usually used to clean computer screens. “But chilling gallons of sugary water in July will be a fun challenge.” He put his glasses back on. “And something he obviously couldn’t manage on his own.”

“Honnnn-eyyyy, I’m home!” Marsha Gregory called from across the condo. “Costco was a madhouse and I forgot to bring my own bags.”

David Beckham scurried out from under the blue and green polka-dot duvet and Kristen pulled off her wig and stuffed it behind her pillow. “Hi, Mom.”

She turned to dismiss the Witty Committee, but they were already gone.