her
date
was quite another. Could she make him forget his ex and like a new girl in less than two weeks? And was she willing to lose the room if she couldn’t?
Skye wiggled her pinky again. Massie continued to stare at it, as she silently asked herself a series of hard-hitting and very important questions.
Q: Could she pull this off?
She thought back to the time she’d stopped Claire’s dad from moving the family to Chicago. And when she’d persuaded
Teen Vogue
to do a holiday photo shoot with the Pretty Committee. And when she’d opened a kissing clinic, even though she was a total lip-virgin.
A: Massie Block always found a way to get her way.
Always
.
Q: And if she didn’t?
A: Skye would lock them out of the room and the girls would have to find dates the old-fashioned way.
Q: Then what?
A: They’d be in eighth grade and the room would be theirs anyway.
Q: And that was all that really mattered, right?
A: Right. A private meeting spot, 24/7 ESP access, and membership into the secret alpha club would make the eighth grade the best year ever.
Q: So what was she waiting for?
A: Nuh-
thing
!
Massie thrust her finger toward Skye’s and shook.
Skye reached into her ballerina-pink training bra and pulled out a single gold key. She slapped it in Massie’s palm, then insisted, “Repeat the deal back to me.”
Massie rolled her eyes, letting Skye know she didn’t appreciate being treated like a fifth-grader.
“If Chris is not your date, you’re taking the room back until next year.”
“WRONG!”
“What?”
“For
good
.” Skye tightened her grip. “I’m taking the room back for
good
.”
“Forget it.” Massie yanked her finger away. “No deal.”
“Too late. You shook.”
Massie was tempted to argue but knew Skye was right. A pinky swear was binding. Every alpha knew
that
.
Leaf backed the Prius out of its parking spot and pulled up beside the girls. With a single click, the doors unlocked, and Skye lowered herself onto the front bucket seat. She smiled brightly and Massie tried to do the same. But it was impossible. Even though there hadn’t been any mobsters, and no one had gotten shot, she couldn’t help feeling that life, as she knew it, was over.
O CTAVIAN C OUNTRY D AY S CHOOL
T HE B OMB S HELTER
Monday, April 19th
2:22 P.M.
The Pretty Committee giggle-panted as they scurried barefoot down the cold, dimly lit flight of stairs that led to OCD’s boiler room. Clutching their flats so they wouldn’t make too much noise, their bare feet slapping against the floor, they ran past the huge clanging cylinders that pumped steam or air or water or something into the school, and yanked open the door marked CAUTION: DO NOT ENTER .
“More? Gawd, where
are
we?” Alicia huffed when she saw the narrow gray steps with the wobbly thin black railing. “Are we below sea level yet?”
“Shhhhh!” everyone giggle-hissed.
Massie pointed to the moist dark ceiling, reminding them that Principal Burns’s office was only two floors above. Silently, they followed her down to the basement below the basement, toward the bomb shelter.
Claire scanned the dank halls for faculty, while Massie fumbled with the key. It was nothing short of a miracle that Mr. Myner, their tree-hugging geography teacher, had given his class twenty minutes of unsupervised time to collect mud samples from the garden. To him, the assignment was a clever way of demonstrating to his class how varying degrees of sun exposure can affect the quality of soil, but for the Pretty
Committee it was the perfect opportunity to sneak into The Room.
“Got it!” Massie finally announced, her ivory-yarn-covered hoop earrings swinging as she turned the silver handle. “Let’s move!”
The girls slid their flats back on, hurried inside, and then quickly but quietly shut the black door behind them.
The bitter-rich aroma of fresh coffee mixed with a trace amount of floral perfume welcomed them when they entered.
“Eh,” gushed
date
was quite another. Could she make him forget his ex and like a new girl in less than two weeks? And was she willing to lose the room if she couldn’t?
Skye wiggled her pinky again. Massie continued to stare at it, as she silently asked herself a series of hard-hitting and very important questions.
Q: Could she pull this off?
She thought back to the time she’d stopped Claire’s dad from moving the family to Chicago. And when she’d persuaded
Teen Vogue
to do a holiday photo shoot with the Pretty Committee. And when she’d opened a kissing clinic, even though she was a total lip-virgin.
A: Massie Block always found a way to get her way.
Always
.
Q: And if she didn’t?
A: Skye would lock them out of the room and the girls would have to find dates the old-fashioned way.
Q: Then what?
A: They’d be in eighth grade and the room would be theirs anyway.
Q: And that was all that really mattered, right?
A: Right. A private meeting spot, 24/7 ESP access, and membership into the secret alpha club would make the eighth grade the best year ever.
Q: So what was she waiting for?
A: Nuh-
thing
!
Massie thrust her finger toward Skye’s and shook.
Skye reached into her ballerina-pink training bra and pulled out a single gold key. She slapped it in Massie’s palm, then insisted, “Repeat the deal back to me.”
Massie rolled her eyes, letting Skye know she didn’t appreciate being treated like a fifth-grader.
“If Chris is not your date, you’re taking the room back until next year.”
“WRONG!”
“What?”
“For
good
.” Skye tightened her grip. “I’m taking the room back for
good
.”
“Forget it.” Massie yanked her finger away. “No deal.”
“Too late. You shook.”
Massie was tempted to argue but knew Skye was right. A pinky swear was binding. Every alpha knew
that
.
Leaf backed the Prius out of its parking spot and pulled up beside the girls. With a single click, the doors unlocked, and Skye lowered herself onto the front bucket seat. She smiled brightly and Massie tried to do the same. But it was impossible. Even though there hadn’t been any mobsters, and no one had gotten shot, she couldn’t help feeling that life, as she knew it, was over.
O CTAVIAN C OUNTRY D AY S CHOOL
T HE B OMB S HELTER
Monday, April 19th
2:22 P.M.
The Pretty Committee giggle-panted as they scurried barefoot down the cold, dimly lit flight of stairs that led to OCD’s boiler room. Clutching their flats so they wouldn’t make too much noise, their bare feet slapping against the floor, they ran past the huge clanging cylinders that pumped steam or air or water or something into the school, and yanked open the door marked CAUTION: DO NOT ENTER .
“More? Gawd, where
are
we?” Alicia huffed when she saw the narrow gray steps with the wobbly thin black railing. “Are we below sea level yet?”
“Shhhhh!” everyone giggle-hissed.
Massie pointed to the moist dark ceiling, reminding them that Principal Burns’s office was only two floors above. Silently, they followed her down to the basement below the basement, toward the bomb shelter.
Claire scanned the dank halls for faculty, while Massie fumbled with the key. It was nothing short of a miracle that Mr. Myner, their tree-hugging geography teacher, had given his class twenty minutes of unsupervised time to collect mud samples from the garden. To him, the assignment was a clever way of demonstrating to his class how varying degrees of sun exposure can affect the quality of soil, but for the Pretty
Committee it was the perfect opportunity to sneak into The Room.
“Got it!” Massie finally announced, her ivory-yarn-covered hoop earrings swinging as she turned the silver handle. “Let’s move!”
The girls slid their flats back on, hurried inside, and then quickly but quietly shut the black door behind them.
The bitter-rich aroma of fresh coffee mixed with a trace amount of floral perfume welcomed them when they entered.
“Eh,” gushed
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