BOCD

SOCCER TRAILERS

Monday, September 21st
8:19 A.M.

“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”

Like a supermodel bursting onto a runway amid a cloud of dry ice, Massie led the girls toward the chanting, as if it were all for them. She stepped over Cam’s bike, which lay, wheel still spinning, on a clump of discarded backpacks. All she needed was a snappy one-liner to announce their arrival.

Hmmm . . . Something about going to school in a trailer park . . . or how they’ll need a can opener to get into their new classrooms.

Nope. She didn’t quite have it yet.

“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”

Luckily, the boys were so drawn to the maple tree on their right, they didn’t notice the Pretty Committee standing—

“Ehma—butt!” Massie smacked Alicia’s shoulder. “Look!”

Dylan burst out laughing.

Derrington was perched six feet off the ground, squatting on a branch like an ape, with his Volcom jeans around his knees. He was shaking his Paul Frank boxer briefs in front of the projector lens and casting a butt-shaped shadow on Trailer No. 1. The leaves of the maple shook and his friends acted like amused monkeys.

The LBRs who shared the trailers with the soccer boys ignored him. Instead, they mounted the metal steps to their portable classrooms like court-bound celebrities determined to escape the swarming press.

“Magawd, he’ll do anything to get my attention,” Massie muttered to herself. “What did I ever see in him?”

Alicia shook her ponytail from side to side like she had no idea.

“Thank Gawd I like Dempsey now. Double thank Gawd that he’ll be in the main building with us. And triple thank Gawd that he’s not into soccer.”

“You hardly even know Dempsey.” Kristen kicked a rock with her black moccasin.

“Hey, Claire!” Layne called from an open window in Trailer No. 1. “Look!” She stuck out a red fingerless–gloved hand and pinched Derrington’s butt-shadow. Claire and Dylan cracked up while Massie searched Kristen’s green eyes for an explanation—something that might explain why she was so anti-Dempsey. But Kristen’s lashes fluttered innocently, revealing nothing.

Massie was the first to break. “Um, are you the OCD Sirens’ goalie?”

“No! I’m the captain,” Kristen snapped.

“Then why are you trying to block my shot?”

“I’m nawt.” Kristen side-glanced at Layne, who was now spanking Derrington’s butt-shadow. “It’s just that Dempsey used to be an LBR.”

“So was Leighton Meester.” Massie shrugged. “She was born in jail.”

“He’s friends with Layne,” Kristen tried again.

“So is Kuh-laire.”

“You called him Humpty Dempsey for an entire year. Re-mem-ber?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Massie waved the argument away like the smell of burnt microwave popcorn. “But he was cured of his LBR-thritis.” Her body purred recalling the day she had first beheld Dempsey 2.0.

He had just returned from summering in Africa. Rugged safari-colored clothes clung to his new muscles like a hug, each crease on his distressed leather messenger bag probably representing an orphan he had read to. And confidence seeped from his tanned skin like two thousand–dollar Clive Christian cologne. His caramel blond highlights were natural. His army green eyes were supernatural. And she could feel his smile as if it were inside her belly. Dempsey Solomon was the ultimate comeback story. She was his ultimate comeback prize. And if Kristen had a problem with—

“You always told us LBR-thritis couldn’t be cured, only treated,” Kristen hissed.

“Um, are you forgetting the J.T. clause?” Massie hissed back.

Kristen folded her arms across her gray sweater, turned toward Trailer No. 2, and sighed. “Guess so,” she huffed.

Alicia, Dylan, and Claire were starting to inch toward the boys. A few more seconds and they’d be mingle-flirting without her. This conversation had to end. Now.

“TheJ.T.clauseistheJustinTimberlakeclauseremember?”

Kristen shrugged.

Massie took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, then exhaled slowly. “We never thought Justin was hot until Cameron dated him. And we never thought he was a ten until he dumped her. And now he’s an alpha male for life.”

“So you’re Cameron? Is that what you’re saying?”Kristen folded her arms across her chest.

Massie shrugged in a “you said it, I didn’t” sort of way.

“Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton! Derr-ing-ton!”

And then it hit her. “He put you up to this, didn’t he? He’s jealous of Dempsey and scared he’ll never get me back and—”

“Dylan! Dylan! Dylannn!”

Massie whip-turned toward the shouting.

Dylan was standing below the maple, poking Massie’s ex-crush’s butt with a stick, like a marshmallow over a campfire. Everyone was laughing, but no one found it funnier than Derrington. Massie searched for Claire and Alicia, wondering why they didn’t have the good sense to stop Dylan. But they were with Cam and Josh, playing some soccer video game on Trailer No. 2, pretending to care about their scores.

“Dylan, stop!” Massie shout-ran toward the stick in Dylan’s hand. “We don’t like him anymore.”

“Ms. Marvil, what are you doing?” shouted an angry female voice that wasn’t Massie’s.

“Getting the stick out of his butt.” Dylan snickered at Derrington’s boxers, ah-bviously not realizing who she was talking to.

The boys burst out laughing while Derrington yanked up his Volcoms.

“Excuse me?” the voice screeched.

“Ms. Dunkel?” Dylan’s cheeks turned so purple they clashed with her red hair. The matronly trailer teacher finger-pushed her big round glasses against the bridge of her nose. Tapping one square-toed, square-heeled pump, she folded her arms across her wheat-colored cardigan and nostril-sighed.

Quickly, the boys began gathering their backpacks. The Pretty Committee raced to Massie’s side. And while Ms. Dunkel’s head was turned, Dylan giggle-poked Derrington one last time. Then . . .

Crack.

Snap.

Thud.

The branch suddenly broke, and Derrington plummeted six feet, landing ankle-first on the yellowing grass. Like in a CSI chalk drawing, his left leg was bent and his right was straight.

Everyone gathered around.

“Give him room!” Ms. Dunkel pleaded.

The concern-furrow in her brow became an anger-furrow. The dent in her forehead was deep enough to store loose change.

“Dylan and Derrick.” The teacher stood, wiping her knees. “You know what else starts with D?” She tapped her chin reflectively.

“Dunkel?” Derrington peeped from the ground.

Dylan cracked up.

“De-tention!” she barked. “Meet me in the faculty parking lot after school for a very special assignment.” The corners of her mouth curled with delight. “Now, the rest of you, get to class.” She checked her silver-plated Fossil watch. “The bell is about to ring.”

The crowd dispersed, and the Pretty Committee made their way back to the main building like famished, blistered supermodels after New York’s Fashion Week.

“Looks like shopping at Dylan’s after school is canceled,” Massie groaned. The Coach BFFWC key chains knocked against the girls’ handbags as they hurried to keep up with Massie’s agitated pace.

Dylan sighed. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I didn’t mean to—”

“Does this mean we get to go to the soccer game?” Claire’s blue eyes widened with hope.

“Opposite of yes,” Massie snapped.

“You can come to my place,” Kristen offered.

“Why?” Massie raised her right eyebrow. “Did you just get five computers?”

“No.” Kristen shifted her weight from one moccasin to the other. “But we can share. It’ll be fun.”

“Cher is something my mom works out to, and it doesn’t look like fun.”

Massie picked up her pace even more as they entered the bird-infested parking lot.

“You never come to my house,” Kristen whined.

“Because it’s nawt a house,” Massie insisted. “It’s a condo.”

Just then another load of fly-arrhea fell from the sky.

“My sleeve!” Kristen gripped her soiled gray sweater.

The girls giggled in spite of themselves.

“Why so sad? Pigeon poo is good luck, right?” Massie smirked.

Kristen lifted her chin and forced a smile. “Right.”

“Good.” Massie triple-patted her on the back. “Maybe that means you’ll get a house soon.”

Kristen gasped. Alicia, Claire, and Dylan glared at Massie like she had gone too far. But so what if she had? All morning, she’d felt her alpha-grip slipping. And when that happened, the only thing to do was force it back into place.

CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION