Sealed with a Diss

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A Sneak Peek of
Bratfest at Tiffany’s

A Sneak Peek of
Pretenders

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For Frankie Boy

O
CTAVIAN
C
OUNTRY
D
AY
S
CHOOL
“T
HE
R
OOM
”

Sunday, April 11th

4:19
P.M.

In the musty basement of Octavian Country Day School, eighth-grade alpha Skye Hamilton stood in front of Massie Block and the rest of the Pretty Committee and lifted her arms ta-da style.

“So? Whaddaya think?” A tinny clang echoed off the dark walls as an avalanche of gold bangles tumbled toward her thin wrists. “Is it everything you ever dreamed of, or is it everything you ever dreamed of?”

Massie Block was speechless.

The last time she’d felt
this
shocked was in the fourth grade. She was innocently flipping though
CosmoGIRL!
, passing time while Jakkob painted caramel-colored highlights in her glossy brown hair, when she discovered that bikini waxes were
not
tacky bathing suit–shaped candles. From that day forward, Massie had devoured every magazine, every month, so she would never be that embarrassingly clueless again. But nothing could have ever prepared her for what she and her best friends were staring at now. Not even
Vogue
.

“Do you luh-v the room or do you luh-v the room?” asked a bubbly blonde with Swiss Miss braids—one of Skye’s four BFFs, known collectively as the DSL Daters because they made super-fast connections with boys.

“Um.” Massie side-glanced at the Pretty Committee, who were staring into the secret room they’d just competed for and won. Their eyes were wide and their mouths hung like Elsa Peretti Open Heart drop earrings.

Kristen Gregory snapped the pink-and-orange terry Puma sweatband around her wrist. Alicia Rivera folded her arms across the black Nanette Lepore shrug that stretched tautly across her C-cups. Dylan Marvil twirled her curly long red hair. And Claire Lyons swiped the white-blond bangs away from her blue eyes.

They had spent weeks fantasizing about this mysterious room and all of the things they would do with it once it was theirs. Secret rendezvous with the Briarwood boys, spa treatments during lunch, an eavesdropper-free place to gossip, a spot to stash spare clothes and makeup. Connie from the Ralph Lauren store was on hold to decorate, and Yuki-San from Zutto was set to deliver sushi on Fridays. But none of that would happen now. Because their private, ultra-luxe eighth-grade retreat had turned out to be a dark cave lit by a single red lightbulb. It smelled like wet toilet paper and dirty fish tank.

Clenching her fists, Massie dug her French-manicured nails into her palms. The sharp stab was painless compared to the rush of humiliation that revved her heart like a massive swig of Red Bull.

How
dare
Skye trick her like that! She’d promised them paradise! This so-called secret campus clubhouse was supposed to give them
status
during their final year at OCD, not night terrors.

Everything blurred. Suddenly, Skye and the four DSL Daters, with their golden hair and matching light gray leggings, looked like a smeared painting of yellow balloons. If word got around OCD that Massie Block had fallen for Skye’s stupid practical joke, she’d be done. D-E-A-D, done!

“Skye, you made us compete
Real World/Road Rules Challenge
style for an entire week to find the key to
this
? Gawd! Alicia’s dad is so gonna sue you for fraud and mental anguish!” Massie wanted to shout. But that would mean losing control in public. And
that
would mean
lame
.

Instead, she flicked the brim on her olive-green army cap, cocked her chin, and applied a fresh coat of Glossip Girl Original Bubble Gum–flavored lip gloss.

The sweet sugary smell calmed her instantly and gave her the courage she needed to attack. She cleared her throat and the Pretty Committee instantly backed up, taking cover in the dank darkness of the school’s basement corridor. They obviously sensed Massie was about to pounce and wanted to give her enough space.

“Skye, are you a Diesel turtleneck poncho?”

Alicia giggled in anticipation. Kristen slapped a hand over her mouth.

“No.” Skye, who was casually stretching her hamstrings beside the open door, lowered her leg. The DSL Daters gathered behind the alpha and exchanged a round of what-is-she-tawking-about glances.

Massie took a confident half-step closer to the eighth-graders.

“Then why are you trying to pull one over on me?”

The Pretty Committee burst into hysterical laughter and high-fived Massie. She slapped them back with pride, not caring one bit if they were disrespecting Skye. After all, Skye had disrespected her first by making them compete for a fake room. And what self-respecting alpha would just roll over and take
that
? The days of kissing Skye’s Lycra-covered butt were more over than Nick and Jessica.

Pushing back the sleeves of her fuzzy pink angora sweater, Skye wore an expression that was oddly peaceful for an alpha who had just been mocked by a group of seventh-graders. Her robin’s-egg-blue eyes looked friendly. Her pillowy lips parted slightly, as though she were too relaxed to even smile.

“Maybe if you had the guts to go inside you wouldn’t feel that way.” “Yeah, go in,” urged the DSL Dater with the pig nose and long blond ponytail.

“Yeah,” echoed the others. “Go on.”

Someone tried to shove Massie forward, but she planted the heels of her mocha suede Miu Miu clogs on the graying linoleum and stood firm. Claire stood on her tiptoes and peeked through the narrow space between Dylan’s and Alicia’s heads.

“What
is
this place?” she whimpered, looking into the dark, musty-smelling room.

“It’s OCD’s bomb shelter,” Skye announced with the enthusiasm of a Disney World tour guide. “It’s in the basement, and then even lower. Two stories below Principal Burns’s office. Isn’t it better than the best?”

“Opposite of yes.” Alicia tossed her thick mascara-black hair. “I’d rather get blown up.” “Take a look inside,” Skye insisted.

The Pretty Committee instantly huddled together a few feet back from the door. Alicia reached for Massie, who shook her off, refusing to give Skye the satisfaction of knowing she was utterly creeped out.

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” Alicia whispered. “I think I saw the floor move.”

“What? Lemme see.” Dylan extended her neck. “Ehmagawd! That’s not the floor moving—it’s snakes!” She hid her face in Kristen’s post–soccer game armpit.

“Shut up!” Alicia squeezed past Claire, hiding behind the snickering DSL Daters.

Dylan stuffed her hands in the deep side pockets of her stylishly baggy Earnest Sewn denim overalls. “I think I just heard a tiger.”

“Same,” agreed the others.

The DSL Daters giggled.

“It’s so pathetic.” Skye sighed.

Sensing the beginning of a challenge, Massie stiffened. “What is?”

“So many girls fought to win this room. And now you don’t even want it.” Skye finger-combed her buttery blond waves. “Your fickleness makes me think of those haters who buy pet bunnies and then abandon them when they realize that their pweshious widdle wabbits are wild animals that chew leather flats and leave poo pellets all over their beds.”

Massie felt as though a Marc Jacobs wedge-heel boot had stomped down on her Pilates-toned abs. “Are you comparing me to an animal abandoner?” Skye shrugged.

Massie gasped.

“Puh-lease! I so boycotted Burberry when they started using fur.”

“It’s true.” Kristen stepped forward. “She did.”

“Yeah!” Dylan cracked her knuckles. “Who do you think made all the
WHEN PLAID GOES BAD
signs around school?”

“Allie-Rose Singer,” blurted Skye as she straightened up from a demi-plié.

“True,” Alicia admitted. “But guess who forced her to make them?”

Massie grinned triumphantly.

“Well, if you really loved all creatures as much as I do, you wouldn’t be afraid of a few snakes and you’d go in that room.”

The prickly sting of adrenaline spread through Massie’s entire body. A challenge had been declared. Without a second thought, she reached for Alicia’s wrist. Alicia grabbed Kristen’s. Kristen grabbed Claire’s. And Claire grabbed Dylan’s. Like a group of first-graders crossing a busy intersection, the Pretty Committee held hands as Massie dragged them into the glowing red room with its low black ceilings and bone-chilling dampness.

The door slammed shut behind them.

“Ahhhhhh!” As if caught in a swarm of bees, Massie, Kristen, Dylan, and Claire hand-fanned the air with spastic urgency.

“Call 911!” Alicia shrieked.

“What’s the number?” Dylan screamed back.

“Ahhhhhh!” Massie ran straight into a sticky spiderweb that stretched all the way from the black stucco ceiling to the snake-covered floor. She batted it off her head but couldn’t escape its menacing tickle. It was on her cheek, her arms, and her neck.

Whooooohooooohooooo. Stayyyy outtt offf myyyy rooooommm.

“Ehmagawd, a ghost!” Kristen shouted.

Claire buried her face inside her Forever 21 kelly-green sweater coat.

“Get out of my rooooooooom. GET OUT OF MY ROOOOOOM!” the ghost moaned again.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” The girls raced to the door and pounded and kicked and scratched. “Let! Us! Out!”

All of a sudden, what felt like clumps of slithery, slimy insects dropped from the ceiling, landing in the girls’ deep-conditioned hair, on their shoulders and the tips of their designer shoes.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Scorpions!” Dylan bear-hugged Massie.

“Roaches!” Kristen frantically mussed her sweaty blond hair.

“Locusts!” Claire covered her eyes and jogged in place.

“Ewwww!” Alicia ran in tight circles.

Massie’s lifelong credo—to remain cool under any and all circumstances—no longer applied. Snakes, spiderwebs, ghost moans, red bulbs, and tiger snarls made “cool” a nonoption.

“Let us out of here,” she panic-begged. “Claire can’t breathe!”

“What?” Claire palmed the black walls in search of the exit.

“Re-laxxx!” cackled Skye as she yanked open the heavy black door.

She flipped a switch by the floor, and suddenly the room was flooded with warm golden light. The ceilings were low and the walls were a rich pearly black infused with winking glitter. A mirrored disco ball began spinning above their heads, casting shimmering squares across the hot-dog-shaped room.