The Clique_ Charmed And Dangerous_ The Clique Prequel Part 7

"What?" Ahnna practically snorted. She made a goofy face at the other girls, implying Ma.s.sie was crazy.

They goofied back in agreement.

Ma.s.sie turned to Hermia's tent, like it was a customer-service help line and she had a faulty product. Perhaps Hermia could offer a few tips on how this transfer of power might go down. But the only thing Ma.s.sie got was the sudden urge to end this drama and get on with the rest of her royal life.

"This means I have the power now. Just accept it." She pinched the stone between her thumb and index finger and held it under Ahnna's pert nose.

"Stawp!" Ahnna whacked Ma.s.sie's arm away from her face.

The gold charm bracelet flew off Ma.s.sie's wrist and landed by Lana's foot. The lanky brunette scooped it up and let it dangle between Ma.s.sie and Ahnna, unsure of whom to give it to. "Here you go," she finally said, obviously hoping someone would take it.

But Ma.s.sie couldn't move. She was frozen by the realization that she'd just let some celebrity psychic lead her to revolution without a plan, an army, or a chance. Her destiny had never been clearer. Or more grim.

"The only thing I'm going to accept accept," Ahnna finally responded, " "is that your Cracker Jack bracelet is too cheap to stay on your bony wrist." She grabbed it from Lana and began twirling it around her finger. "Maybe my little sister can use it. She's always losing the pieces to our Monopoly game."

Ma.s.sie recalled the joy in her parents' voices when they'd presented her with the bracelet. She pictured Inez outside her door grinning because she'd made it up the stairs in time for the surprise. Then she remembered the Ahnnabees' envious expressions when they first saw the trendsetting piece. And she knew. The bracelet was special. It was more than an accessory. Each charm represented part of her soul. And her soul was worth fighting for.

"Give it back!" Ma.s.sie swiped like a frisky cat, hooking her finger around the gold chain.

Grinning, Ahnna pulled it back.

Scowling, Ma.s.sie pulled it forward.

Squinting, Ahnna pulled it back.

Grunting, Ma.s.sie pulled it forward.

Wincing, Ahnna pulled it back.

And then-pppsht!-it was gone. The chain broke in two and the charms scatter-bounced across the stiletto-stabbed concrete like spilled Tic Tacs and disappeared.

Ahnna-you-dizn't!

Forgetting her pride, her dress, her bare knees, and the densely packed dance floor, Ma.s.sie dropped to the ground. The house DJ began playing "Gone" by N'Sync and the stilettos began to stomp.

On all fours, palming the floor amidst a barrage of spiked heels was so nawt nawt how she wanted to ring in the New Year. Not even close. how she wanted to ring in the New Year. Not even close.

"Will someone please help help?" Ma.s.sie shouted up at the Ahnnabees.

A college-age hipster in a brown leather suit and white Converse high-tops extended his hand. "You hurt?"

Ma.s.sie looked up at his warm smile and teared. "No." She lowered her head, "'M okay."

Finally, Lana and Shauna dropped to their knees. Brianna stood by Ahnna and glared, their faces bloated with superiority.

"How many are we looking for?' Lana asked, like maybe she actually cared.

"Five," Ma.s.sie sniffled, her knees pressing into the cold concrete while everyone above her danced. How would she ever find five charms in this mess of heels and-"Ehmagawd, five five!" she shouted.

"Yeah, we heard you." Lana rolled her eyes.

Ma.s.sie sat back on her b.u.t.t and placed a hand on her forehead. "That's it! Five pieces coming together!"

"Huh?" Shauna pushed her red gla.s.ses up her nose.

"I get it!" Ma.s.sie leaned forward, dabbing her moist eyes with the top of her kneesock. "My charms are the five pieces. First we have to find them, then then we'll come together." we'll come together."

"Stawp, I found two!" Lana dropped the diamond-encrusted bell and the horse into Ma.s.sie's palm.

The horse was slightly scuffed, the bell unharmed. There was hope!

Ma.s.sie scoured with renewed determination, her hands sc.r.a.ping over dust, spilled drinks, and discarded c.o.c.ktail napkins. If it weren't for Hermia's promising prediction, she would have called off this degrading search mission before it even began. But those charms were no longer guilt-tokens from her absent parents. They were magical keys with the power to unlock her destiny. Totally worth a floor crawl.

"Can I keep the horse?" Lana asked, nibbling on her beauty mark. "You know, as a reward?"

"Yeah, and can I have the bell?" Shauna asked, squatting like a frog. "For helping?"

"What?" Ma.s.sie snapped. "No!" "No!"

Shauna and Lana exchanged shoulder shrugs and stood.

Turning faster than yogurt in a hot car, they wiped their hands on their Burberry dresses and joined Ahnna and Brianna's condescending stare-circle.

"Who's ready for a live performance from Christina Aguilera?" Merri-Lee shouted from the stage.

"Eeeeeeeeeeee!" The Ahnnabes waved their hands, then rushed the stage with the rest of the guests, never once looking back to see if Ma.s.sie was with them.

The pain of getting ditched like last year's Pucci print seized Ma.s.sie's entire body. Her vision kaleidoscoped. Her limbs hung like an empty dress, her heart a squashed piece of bubble gum on the side of the road. Was she that easy to walk away from? That disposable?

Obviously.

The girls' Burberry plaidclad bodies vanished into the dense crowd. And just like that, the Ahnnabees were gone, like a fading scene in a movie. A movie about a friendless girl desperate to find her missing charms or she would be forever doomed.

WESTCHESTER COUNTY AIRPORTMERRI-LEE MARVIL'S NEW YEAR'S YVES PARTYFriday, December 31st9:07 P.M. P.M.

Spending hours in a dressing room while her swizzle sticksize sisters cursed carbs and saturated fats worked Dylan's appet.i.te into a frenzy. Only this time, she didn't crave food. She craved fun fun.

"I'm going out to watch Christina," she announced to her sisters, who were still in the makeup chairs being preened like it was Fas.h.i.+on Week. It seemed criminal to watch the show on a d.i.n.ky monitor when the performances were right there, just on the other side of the wall.

"Tell the girl she needs to eat," Jaime snarled at the TV. "That genie is gonna slip right out of her bottle."

"Hold still," urged Kali, clamping down on the eyelash curler. "I almost ripped your lashes off."

"OhmiG.o.d, I would club a seal to look like Christina." Ryan dotted iridescent highlighter over her cheekbones. "She's got the whole hungry runaway look down. down."

"I'll let her know." Dylan rolled her eyes, then hurried out, finding it hard to believe they came from the same parents.

Backstage, the air was crackling with energy. On the dance floor it was blazing.

Dylan forced her way to the front of the crowd, just behind the mosh pit. Were people really mos.h.i.+ng to "Come On Over"?

The whirlpool of spastic rain-dance moves looked like it would have been fun if it were a sneakers-and-sweats kind of day. But in YSL wedges, it was all about steering clear of harm and swaying gently with a less explosive bunch.

Dylan inched back a few feet and stood beside the four girls in ill-advised matching Burberry dresses. They were standing in a gossip cl.u.s.ter, threatening to destroy some girl they'd just fought with. Still, Dylan decided they were less dangerous than the pop pit.

s.e.xy servers weaved in and out of the crowd. Their recipe-covered catsuits added an edge to the party that was typical of her mother. Merri-Lee always did it better and bigger than anybody else. The packed house and fourteen-page waiting list proved it.

"Who's ready for a new year?" Christina called into the crowd.

Everyone cheered, especially Dylan, who had spent the last three hundred and sixty-four days playing it safe with the COCs (Children of Celebrities), her press-phobic friends, and was hungry for some action.

"Well, get ready for this this!" Christina unzipped her satin jacket, revealing a black leather tube top, then swan-dived into the crowd. Fans pa.s.sed her between them while the dancers kept the party going onstage. When Christina was ready to sing, the crowd lifted her stiff body back onto the stage as if loading a sarcophagus onto a truck. Now this this was living! was living!

Dylan's insides leapt like popping popcorn kernels. Why had she wasted so much time trapped in a stale dressing room with her sisters when she could have been out here, living la vida loca la vida loca?

Then she remembered...

She didn't have anyone else. The COCs were away on family vacations. And living la vida loca la vida loca solo was like riding a bicycle built for two-alone. What was the point? solo was like riding a bicycle built for two-alone. What was the point?

Thwack!

A sharp object pegged Dylan's left ear. She looked up, suspecting a loose bead from the Yves. But the ceiling hadn't retracted yet, so any clutch-related fallout would have landed on the roof.

Thunk!

Owie! Dylan rubbed the right side of her neck. A crispy wonton lay lifeless by her shoe, dead like a bee after stinging. Either there was a disgruntled waitress in their midst or the universe was urging her to eat more. Dylan rubbed the right side of her neck. A crispy wonton lay lifeless by her shoe, dead like a bee after stinging. Either there was a disgruntled waitress in their midst or the universe was urging her to eat more.

Thwack!

Another wonton nailed her cheek. She eyed the Burberry girls, wondering if this had anything to do with their recent fight. But, engaged in a battle all their own, they continued close-talking, oblivious to the WMDs (wontons of ma.s.s destruction).

Dylan whipped around.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Three more WMDs. .h.i.t her square in the face.

Ouch!

Two boys about her age, standing ten feet away, turned toward the stage and bit their bottom lips. Their shoulders shook with erupting laughter.

Flirting much?

Bending down while holding the snap on her pants closed just in case, Dylan scooped up the fallen WMDs. On her way up, more popcorn popped inside her. This had total fun potential!

The COCs would have dropped the wontons on the closest server's tray, wiped their hands of unwanted grease, and breathed a spearmint-scented sigh of disgust. But Dylan pulled back her arm, twisted her torso, and unleashed the apps like a softball pitcher on scout day. Two hit the s.h.a.ggy blond and one pegged the brunette.

Ha! Not bad for a skinny girl!

They quickly searched the floor, hoping to fire back, but the wontons were squashed by a gaggle of Carrie Bradshaw wannabes teetering their way to the front of the crowd in last season's Manolos.

"Now what?" Dylan called, in love with her own bravado.

"Now we dump these these"-the blond one held up a pack of Pop Rocks-"in the mango salsa." He wiggled his little b.u.t.t like a happy puppy.

Dylan giggled. "What's your name?"

The boys exchanged a playful glance. They were both cute, but in different ways.

"I'm d.i.c.k Hurtz," snickered s.h.a.ggy.

"And I'm d.i.c.k Burns," grinned the pretty boy who, at closer look, had one green eye and one blue eye. He was definitely more movie star handsome than the other one. Still, Dylan was more drawn to d.i.c.k Hurtz, for his pranking genius.

"Nice to meet you," Dylan said to the Canine Chorus name tags pinned to their oxfords. d.i.c.k Hurtz was "Derrick." d.i.c.k Burns was "Cam." "My name is Harriett Weiner." She smirked. "But most people call me Harri."

They all cracked up together, completely unaware that Christina had finished her set and Merri-Lee was promising an introduction to her daughters after a few more songs from the DJ.

"Cool hair, Harri," Cam told her genuinely.

Dylan felt her red do, remembering that she was rolling with the half-curly half-straight, thanks to her needy sisters. "I didn't want to commit."

"Kinda like my eyes." Cam smiled.

Dylan smile-giggled.

"So, Harri Harri, how'd you get into this party?" asked Derrick, dumping some Pop Rocks into his mouth. They crackled with delight, like his mischievous brown eyes.

Cam handed him a can of c.o.ke. Derrick took a big sip. When his head didn't explode, they shrugged and turned their attention back to Dylan.

"Um, I came with some friends," she lied, fearing the pranks would stop if they knew she was related to the hostess. "What about you?"

"We're kind of working here." Cam smiled sweetly. "Our moms are volunteer trainers for the Canine Chorus. So we're kinda helping out."

"Doing what what?" Dylan joked, as Derrick casually released a pinch of Pop Rocks into a pa.s.sing woman's champagne flute. Veuve fizzed over the brim and trickled down her white-gloved arm. She screeched. They laughed.

"Pop Rockkkkkss!" Derrick burped.

"Dude." Cam blushed and then turned to Dylan. His blue and his green eye looked brighter. "He's not around girls very much. We go to Briarwood."

"OCD," Dylan groaned, as if admitting she went to an all-girls school would make him feel better.

"OC-DEEEEEEEEEEE," Derrick burped.

A Britney look-alike, dancing to Q-Tip's "Vivrant Thing," waved the air, then pulled her boyfriend away.