Kristen. Part 3

But without the excuse of "cla.s.s a.s.signment" 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 Ma.s.sie 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 that rare. rare.

"THE COMMITTEE IS a.s.sEMBLED," 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.) EINSTEIN (Layne Abeley) BILL GATES (Danh Bondok) Disguise: tweed coat, bushy mustache, wiry gray wig Disguise: gla.s.ses, light blue b.u.t.ton-down, dark blue blazer Expertise: physics Expertise: technology OPRAH (Rachel Walker) SHAKESPEARE (Aimee Snyder) Disguise: wavy black wig, gold hoop earrings, pumpkin orange blouse Disguise: gray bald-in-the-front, curly-in-the-back wig, mustache, white collar sticking out of a black cloak Expertise: anthropology (the study of humankind, not the cute and affordable shabby-chic store) Expertise: affairs of the heart and the Romance languages

"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 gla.s.ses and thumb-rubbed his eyes. Behind him was a poster that read MEGABYTE ME! 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 Ma.s.sie. 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 relations.h.i.+ps 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 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 other me," Kristen's cheeks turned red with shame as she suddenly realized the me," Kristen's cheeks turned red with shame as she suddenly realized the other other her was actually the her was actually the real 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 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 hates."

"Then why why did he accept her invitation?" Oprah put her thumb under her chin and leaned forward in antic.i.p.ation of the answer. did he accept her invitation?" Oprah put her thumb under her chin and leaned forward in antic.i.p.ation 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 claims he wants to check out the pool for a prank." 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 Twelfth Night, Orsino loves Olivia. Olivia loves Cesario. And Cesario, who is really Violet dressed as a man, loves Orsino. That's That's a triangle. What you're experiencing is more like a love a triangle. What you're experiencing is more like a love V 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 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 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 Ma.s.sie likes if if she teaches you what Dune likes. Once you understand him better, you'll know if you're true soul mates." 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 gla.s.ses 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 gla.s.ses back on. "And something he he obviously couldn't manage on his own." 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.

THE BAXTER HOUSE.

ROOF.

Monday, July 20 10:45 A.M.

Kristen s.h.i.+mmied her b.u.t.t up the Baxters' gritty sloping roof and repositioned herself in the center of her nubby coral beach towel. Ripple had suggested they spend their study session elevated so they could be closer to the sun's tanning rays. And in the spirit of Oprah's suggestion to compromise, Kristen had agreed. But her sizzling skin, which now matched her bright red bikini, had a different opinion.

Below, Brice was speed-loading his board on top of the Chevy. He'd just gotten a call that the waves on Fire Island were going off, and he was determined to catch the one-thirty ferry.

Dune was already at the skate park-at least, that was what Ripple had told Kristen. For all she knew he was sipping virgin coladas by the pool with alpha soon-to-be-ninth-grader Skye Hamilton, drawing coconut-scented Hawaiian Tropic hearts on her zitless back.

"Next question," Kristen groaned, trying to stay focused, at least while her employer was still within earshot. "In fourteen hundred ninety-two-"

"Ms. Gregory, I do not, not, nawt nawt care about fourteen hundred ninety-two. Ma.s.sie wasn't even care about fourteen hundred ninety-two. Ma.s.sie wasn't even alive alive then." Ripple pursed her Vincent Longo Bronzellacoated lips and rolled over onto her flat belly. The 3-D daisy on the b.u.t.t of her yellow bikini was flattened, and two of its petals were bent. Her fried hair had been over-brushed, causing her spilt ends to stick out like tiny worms trying to warm themselves after a chilly rainfall. "So unless you have a list of fourteen hundred ninety-two ways to become Ma.s.sie, or fourteen hundred ninety-two ways to convince a crush that you're as then." Ripple pursed her Vincent Longo Bronzellacoated lips and rolled over onto her flat belly. The 3-D daisy on the b.u.t.t of her yellow bikini was flattened, and two of its petals were bent. Her fried hair had been over-brushed, causing her spilt ends to stick out like tiny worms trying to warm themselves after a chilly rainfall. "So unless you have a list of fourteen hundred ninety-two ways to become Ma.s.sie, or fourteen hundred ninety-two ways to convince a crush that you're as sophisticated sophisticated as Ma.s.sie, then as Ma.s.sie, then thisss thisss"-she pointed at Kristen, then at herself-"is over."

Down in the driveway Brice s.h.i.+elded his eyes from the sun and looked up. "Be good," he called. Then he waved goodbye and quickly jumped in his truck, like a boy desperate to escape before his mother saddled him with a list of ch.o.r.es.

Once the engine had started and the blue truck was reversing out of the cracked driveway, Kristen snapped the history book shut. "You're totally right." She rolled onto her stomach and turned to Ripple, ignoring the blue textbook as it slid toward the eave. "I was just trying to look professional until your dad left."

"Really?" Ripple raised a blond brow.

"Pinky-swear." Kristen held out her finger.

Ripple practically lunged for it.

"I was thinking. . . ." Kristen summoned Oprah's plan. "The only way for you to truly understand Ma.s.sie is if we go shopping."

"Seriously?" Ripple beamed.

Kristen smiled back. "Yes."

"No, no, no wayyyyyyyyyyy!" Ripple rolled onto her back and bicycled her blond haircovered legs in the air.

"Who knows?" Kristen lowered the brim on the old brown Von Dutch trucker hat she'd found in the back of her closet, something she'd decided to wear BMB (behind Ma.s.sie's back) in case Dune was home. "Maybe you could put a fourth-grade Itty Bitty Pretty Committee together and be their alpha."

Ripple kicked her legs harder.

"Iffff you do one thing for me . . ." you do one thing for me . . ."

Ripple stopped pedaling and lowered her legs.

"What," she said, like it wasn't a question.

"You teach me how to dress to impress a skater, and I'll teach you how to shop like Ma.s.sie."

"Why?" Ripple sat up; this time, her tone was unmistakably full of questions. "Who do you like?"

"No one." Kristen fanned her cheeks. "I have a costume party next weekend and-"

"Is it Jax?" Ripple's light brown eyes were full of insecurity, not cattiness. And for a split second, Kristen took pleasure in the idea that another girl might consider her a threat. Too bad that other girl wasn't Skye.

"It's not Jax."

"Scooter?"

"No."

"Tyler?"

"No."

"Cam?"

"No."

"Plovert?"

"No."

"Josh?"

"Stop!" Kristen shouted. Getting interrogated by a nine-year-old was more humiliating than wearing an old head trend (in poo brown!) to impress a boy who wasn't even home.

Ripple was silent while she considered the other possibilities. "Who else do you know who skates?" And then she slapped her hand against her goopy lips. "Noooo!"

Kristen nodded shyly.

"Ma.s.sie's crush? Derek Harrington?" Ripple widened her narrow eyes as much as she possibly could.

"Gawd, no! It's Dune!" Kristen accidentally blurted. It was all she could do to keep the little wannabe from thinking she'd ever, in a billion years, steal her alpha's crush.

"My brother?" Ripple screeched, as if they had been talking about Shrek.

"Yeah." Kristen peeked down at the driveway to make sure no one had been listening. "Now will you help me?"

"Yeah," Ripple said as she eyed Kristen's pasty legs. "Someone's got to."

ROXY/QUIKSILVER.

WESTCHESTER, NY.

Monday, July 20 11:58 A.M.

The twenty-seven dollars Kristen spent on the cab ride to the new Roxy/Quiksilver store was almost half of what she'd made during her short career as a tutor-sitter. But as she saw it, the money was an investment in her future. A future she could no longer imagine without her CLAM crush.

After a quick sweat swipe with the nubby coral towel, both girls decided their new "thems" couldn't wait for a shower and wardrobe change. They wanted to be transformed immediately. So off they went covered in little more than sarongs and SPF 30.

"Are you sure this is the best place?" Kristen asked Ripple as she clutched the mini-surfboard door handle and stepped inside the Hawaiian-themed boutique. The blast of air-conditioning rendered her red and orange wrap useless and made the blond hair on her arms stand up.

"Trust me." Ripple led her to the back of the store where giant colorful posters of sunny girls with cute braids and sea-sprayed bangs charged giant waves in bright bikinis. Their simple lifestyles suddenly made the pads, cleats, and unflattering kneesocks of soccer seem stinky and un-cute.

"May I help you?" asked a glitter-dusted Asian girl with a perky grin and a pricing gun. She wore faded denim short shorts, a yellow tube top, and a pink lei around her neck, which suddenly seemed ten times more creative and alluring than Kristen's conservative Coach locket. Brightly colored cotton in fun, girly prints swirled all around her, the fabrics looking as light and giddy as the girls they were designed for. And suddenly Kristen longed to be one of them. She longed to be satisfied by a beautiful day at the beach. To be tickled by her whimsical wardrobe. To be riding in a beat-up old car with no AC, her sand-covered, home-polished toes sticking out the windows. She longed to be free. She longed to be Roxy.

"Can you show us your baggy cargo shorts and-"

Kristen snapped back to reality at the sound of Ripple's pinched voice and grabbed her by the wrist. "We're okay, thanks," she told the salesgirl.

"Kewl," said the girl as she gladly punched a SALE SALE sticker on a pair of silver skullcovered board shorts. sticker on a pair of silver skullcovered board shorts.

"Rule number one," Kristen hissed. "If you want to shop like Ma.s.sie, never ask for help. Make them think you're you're the expert." the expert."

Ripple hyper-nodded. "What else?"

Kristen pulled her down onto a bright blue leather couch by the dressing room and leaned in. She was about to reveal Ma.s.sie's trade secrets and couldn't risk being overheard. Not even by the nearby mannequin in the rainbow-striped bikini.

"Rule number two. Never check price tags. Act like you have endless amounts of cash."

"What if you don't?" Ripple squeaked.

Kristen fought the urge to hug the girl, who at that moment could have been a younger version of herself.

"Peek at the price in the dressing room," Kristen whisper-advised. "If it's too expensive, ask for it in a color you know they don't make."

"I thought we weren't supposed to ask for help." Ripple's narrow eyes were wide again.

"That's outside the dressing room. Once you're inside, you should ask for help all the time. Make them work work for you." for you."