hey, guys, (: um i was listening to this song on the bus after school - finals week is killing me - and even though i have so many multichaps i should probably update, i was thinking that i'd write this story and maybe do some monthly updates? i'll focus on this story and the selection (twelve chapters, currently) for the time being!
unbetaread so your eyes might burn um; this is dedicated to rachel (supernovas) bc a while back i was going to write a story for her because of this competition in the hg archive but i could never think of how to develop the idea for that, so i stuck with this? sorry, by the way, about the really long delay, :c
summary - Ever since moving away from Westchester, Massie Block's been reminded of the humiliating night in eighth grade where Derrick Harrington had broken her heart - her father gets a new job offer, and she grasps the opportunity to move to London. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Wrong. One year later, and she's back where she started - you know what they always say, the past always catches up with the future / massiederrick, aliciachris, clairecam, and other pairings
Crying Lightning
prologue
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outside by the cracker factory
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.: dylan :.
There are three types of students who attend Octavian Country Day — children of wealthy, influential families who regularly make donations to the academy, perhaps that being the only reason the students stay there, those few people who attend on an academic, rarely athletic, scholarship, and struggle to maintain their spot in fear of one slip up resulting in them being replaced by another spoiled brat, and children of new money (socialites, among others) that were treated as though the only reason their parents were doing even somewhat well in the world was because of the fact that they had recently won several rigged lotteries, in a row, and had amassed an impressive fortune. For the members of the first group, life at Octavian Country Day was made easier for them; it really didn't matter whether or not they flunked their geometry final, as long as their parents created a new library.
A new library for the side of the school, maybe renovations to the expanding tennis courts or new dance outfits that cost more than an average's person monthly salary, would be given, and punishments would be forgotten. It didn't matter whether the wealthier students had set fire to their teacher's classroom or randomly disappeared into a forest, and nearly got themselves killed on a three-day field trip — as long as the money was paid (and it wasn't even secretive), their punishment would be cleared. Nevertheless, in a world such as this, it pays to be on the top.
Yet the only thing harder than getting in, is staying in — Dylan Marvil has learned that much, by now. She sighs, pulling up the wrappers of LUNA bars from underneath her bed, and burps a little, giggling to herself as she unveils her outfit from a pastel pink mannequin, a gift from Massie, and tugs at the loose-fitting tie as it dangles off the mannequin's bony shoulders, thin and lithe, like the body of a dancer. Dylan fingers the small package, in the shape of a small bow, and dips her hand into a container of melted chocolate, nothing more than a reminder of a summer that was already over.
She reveled in the summer — there were moments when it didn't matter that she wasn't the thinnest girl in the world, and the cameras wouldn't always follow her to the secluded parts of the Hampton's, and it was the only time when the spotlight wasn't shining on her. Instead, the spotlight was on new romances and old money and expensive parties on the Upper East Side.
Dylan's summer life consisted of waking up late, spending quality salon time with her best friends, sipping martinis and cocktails, eating delicate British food from her father in England, and everything that she wished life could be about. Nevertheless, everything good had to come to an end, including summer vacation, and before she knew it, Dylan had found herself getting ready for the first day of Octavian Country Day's refurnished high school.
She stares in front of the mirror, and rips off the skinny jeans from her thighs; Dylan finds herself standing in front of a toilet, telling herself, you can do it, you can be in control of herself, but she can't (and if she can't do something as easy as stick two fingers down her throat, what can she do? Because it's obviously not being able to fit into a size zero skinny jeans or getting honors grades for summer school courses).
There's a buzz on her phone, suddenly - she swears that she sees a flash of a purple limousine (and there's only person that she knows who's rich and crazy enough to get one of those) downstairs, and it's all in a flash of excitement — did you miss me? The text message reads, and Dylan feels as though everything's going to be okay.
She climbs into the limousine, and immediately wraps her chubby arms around Massie, who looks even skinnier than usual, "Massie, what are you doing back? It's great to see you, really, though, but don't think that you're getting off easy on the fact that you left, in the middle of the night, before our plane trip to Australia - thanks for cancelling all the tickets, by the way, 'cause no refunds within forty-eight hours, and Mom told me that I can't ever go on trips with my friends again, at least until I graduate from high school - and more than that, you left without telling your best friends. I mean, at least tell us that you're going to ditch Westchester, so we can hope on a plane with you?"
Dylan tries to pass the words off casually (and fails miserably at that), and Massie can tell that she still hasn't completely forgiven Massie for what she did - someday, Massie thinks to herself, somebody, she'll tell all of her friends the truth, the real truth. Not just the one that she had made up so that her mom would get off her back about not going to social events (date mandatory, obviously).
.: massie :.
"What the hell do you mean we're moving back to New York?"
Massie's standing in the middle of the Blocks' foyer in London, hands on hips, with shopping bags dangling off the sides of them - some things won't change, she thinks - tapping her Loubotins upon the hardwood flooring, not caring whether it makes a dent in her mother's perfect floors, or not. "We're moving back to Westchester, and that's final, Massie. I thought that you'd be overjoyed to hear the news - you were devastated when we moved a year ago —"
"A year ago. Things have changed, dad. You were the one who told me that London was going to be a good place, a fresh start — if we go back to Westchester, I wouldn't be really pushing myself, now would I? And I should always give myself a challenge," Massie begs, with some sort of twisted logic that usually convinces her naïve father to listen to her. "And I have friends here, now, I can't just leave them! They depend on me."
And, it's true. Ever since moving to KISS, Massie had changed the lives of three unfortunate souls, and shaped them into better human beings — if the definition of a better human being was with improved fashion sense and personality changes; and, then there was James. James Webster, the only boy in the world that she could ever fully depend on (besides her father, and her cousins, and that weird uncle that moved to Australia, and tons of other people) but still; he was different, and Massie wasn't ready to let all of her friendships fall apart. Again.
William Block sighs, turning towards his wife in some sort of gesture (which goes completely in vain) for help. "This is about your friends? You don't want to move back to Westchester because of your friends?" Massie knows immediately that she's said the wrong thing, when her father echoes the words, as though they have some sort of negative hidden meaning.
"Oh, and KISS has a better educational system - apparently, we're getting a new library next year and one of those famous scientist guys, Stephen Hawkings, is going to come in and talk to us about physics and electrons and nuclear particles! And, um, there's that field trip to Australia for the history exhibition—"
Her father rolls his eyes, "It's final, Massie. We're going back to Westchester, to our old house, in two weeks, whether you like it or not; I've already booked the tickets and your mother and I believe that it's going to be better for you; and if you're so worried about libraries and the science exhibition," he emphasizes the words as if he knows the real meaning behind them, "—then, I can talk to your new principal about having that for Briarwood-Octavian Country Day."
Massie grinds her heel into the hardwood, hoping to leave a mark. "Thank you so much, father . . . for completely ruining my social life!" She screams, running up the staircase, and falling onto her pillow - it's all very dramatic really, but there isn't a single inkling in her that wants to return back to Westchester, New York; sure, she had grown up there, and there were some good memories of the Pretty Committee and all, but there was also every single heartbreak she had experienced, and all the ink-stained teardrops that had fallen onto her bedsheets.
I don't want to go back, she thinks to herself - Massie won't admit to herself the real reason that she won't go back to Westchester, he's going to be there.
.
(Two weeks later, she's standing at the Westchester airport - there's a faint sound ringing in her ears, and the polluted smell of city fog and all, but it feels like home, nonetheless. Massie picks up her cell phone, checking for new text messages - she feels like a loser (loser beyond repair, she thinks to herself, smiling a little) staring at a blank screen that should be filled with messages and frantic series of missed Facetime calls; hadn't anybody noticed that she had sent a text message to them?)
There's a distant buzz on her alarm clock, and the pounding of a loud empowering song - something from the Billboard Top 100, that Massie wouldn't be embarrassed to listen to in front of the pretty committee (or what was left of them, at least), and she rises out of bed, reluctantly, ignoring the throbbing pain of her heel - her mother had signed her up for some sort of dancing lesson for the gala next week at the Rivera's, and apparently, the only way to learn how to master the dances were to practice them, over and over, with five-inch heels with a partner who was probably five inches shorter than her . . . without the heels.
Still, it was nice to be back home — London didn't have the same polluted feel where she could barely make out the tips of the sun in the morning, sipping tea while lounging on an armchair. Massie smiles at the mannequin which is covered with several different outfits, and rips all of them off, revealing something that's supposed to be a mix between I've been away, but I'm back, for good and pure alpha material. At least, according to Teen Vogue and all. She checks her cellphone, and sighs; none of her friends from KISS had replied to any of her text messages, probably because they were still angry at her for "not trying hard to enough to be able to stay at one of her friend's house" when the truth had been Massie felt as though her time in London, maybe, just maybe, was over. It really hadn't been a good experience, overall.
First days of school shouldn't be this stressful, she thinks to herself, two hours later, taking a deep breath.
Massie stands by the Fountain, a center piece in the school, assuming that the rest of the Pretty Committee will meet up here - she's fallen out of contact with Kristen, who had somehow decided that soccer and education was a lot more important in the real world than popularity (which was most probably true, but still, her decision hurt - Kristen had been Massie's first real friend who hadn't judged her on popularity and the like), but the rest of the clique still depended on her.
Alicia had used Facetime daily to brag about how well her relationship with Josh was going - the sickening adorable pictures and remarks had stopped a few months back, and Massie assumed that was probably due to her own complaints about the matter - and somehow secretly managed to ask for advice without trying to sound too subordinate.
Claire had always complained about how much she missed her best friend, and how things were never going to be the same; Dylan had made insecure remarks about her mother's new television show, ever since the Marvils had temporarily moved to California for the summer break - better camera angles and all, as if green screens just weren't enough anymore - and all.
"Massie?" There's a small tap at her shoulder, and she whirls around, almost falling over on the white stiletto of her Louboutin - if it wasn't for the hours of practiced model runway shoots down the castle's second floor hallway in London, Massie swears that she would have fallen flat on her face and broken her nose (nose jobs weren't her favorite), and that would have made a horrible first impression. Turning around, Massie recognizes the familiar face, and thinks that it's a second impression, and regards Alicia slightly, almost from afar.
She stands aloof, trying to refrain from enveloping one of her best friends in a tight squeeze. "So, Leesh, you're wearing a shimmer quartz Ralph Lauren ensemble, cashmere sweater on top of —"
Alicia moves forward, a quick, swift motion, and hugs Massie in a tight squeeze, and then moves back, as if jerked uncomfortably by some sort of inner reflex or conscience. "I've missed you so much, Mass - I know that we Facetimed and texted, but why didn't your dad let you catch a flight over break - y'know, what?" She changes her tone into something less blaming. "It doesn't matter, because you're here now, and that's all that matters."
Some things haven't changed, Massie thinks to herself, with a smile - the sense of familiarity is always something to hold onto.
She's waiting for the words - you were the one to hold us together, Mass, the glue that kept us best friends. Without you, it was just a struggle, it wasn't the same - but now that you're back, everything's going to be the same again - that she's dreamt about. When Massie had left for London, she had left behind a group of four girls; she regards them, leaning slightly against the oak tree, and thinks that they've gotten even closer - it's as though they've bonded over the experience, and now she's just left out, on the side - it's not a place that she's used to feeling.
Massie had left behind a girl who didn't know how to be an alpha, a girl who wanted anything but to have the power and the control, who would rather take most things for granted - it scared her how much things had changed in twelve months.
And, maybe, some things have changed.
.
The wooden door of the English classroom swings open, and Massie wishes that she hadn't chosen the front and center seat - it wasn't her fault, not really. Front and center was the only way to make sure that the teachers would believe that you were somewhat interested in whatever they were teaching, and so that all of the other students had a perfect angle of your new back to school outfit; it was eighth grade thinking, but there wasn't that much of a difference between eighth grade and high school. The girls wore taller heels, and the boys acted even more immature - if that was even possible to think of.
She directs her attention back to the front of the room, and buries her face inside of a trigonometry textbook, until the teacher calls on her name, "Massie? Though I'm confident that cosine functions are important these days, I'd rather have you turn to Book Twelve of the Odyssey for our summer reading discussion." Her face turns red, and her mind blanks - retorts aren't as easy to come up with these days.
Out of the corner of her eye, Massie notices the blank look on Derrick Harrington's face, and thinks, Well, there goes secrecy. The rest of the hour couldn't go by quicker - they're paired up into small groups, and she looks at him, just for a moment - a gaze signifying nothing more than remember me? Remember the girl that you used to kiss on the forehead when her parents were about to divorce, the girl that you dated in middle school for two years; I helped you with your friend issues, you helped me with soccer - ring a bell? and there's nothing; for once, she doesn't bother to catch up with the rest of her friends after the bell rings; it's a straight line for the exit, with the rest of the rushing students.
Almost there, almost out the door . . . just a few more steps, she thinks to herself, clutching her Burberry backpack which hangs loosely from one shoulder; then, somebody taps her shoulder, and she freezes, turning around; her face contorts into what she hopes comes off as a plain, completely uninterested expression. "Well, if it isn't Derrick Harrington? How nice of the Golden Boy to grace my presence."
He looks panicked, "Look, Block—"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Massie interrupts, staring blankly into the cold depths of his amber eyes; she used to be in love with them, all those months earlier. "The bell's going to ring in a few minutes, and chemistry's on the other side of the building, so I probably get going. Nice seeing you, though Harrington." She's almost out of the door another time, before he grasps her arm - she shakes out of the grasp roughly. "What do you want now?"
His scowl is replaced by a traditional, easy-going smile. "Nothing, Block; I just thought that we could walk together, y'know, for old times sake and all, since I have chemistry too."
(She thinks that he's lying - he has to be. There's no way that Derrick Harrington, captain of the soccer team, unofficially declared 'most likely to fail high school' in middle school, was taking the same science course that she is; Massie thinks to herself, a year ago, she wouldn't be taking AP Chemistry either. It would either be some sort of horticulture class of environmental science - whichever one didn't have the frog dissection.) "I have to stop by my locker," she blurts out, confused. "Chemistry is on the other side of the building, and the bell's going to ring in about two minutes, so unless you want to sprint there, you might as well leave me here, since we're going in opposite directions and all."
"I'll walk with you," Derrick says, simply, but Massie knows better. There's nothing simple about Derrick Harrington - every action that he does, he wants something in return, whether it's being a fake date to a family reunion or borrowing soccer equipment for tryouts; there's always a price to pay, always.
She stops, abruptly, on the side of the hallways, away from the array of rushing students and smiling faces - it's all too happy and nothing like the Westchester that she had left (Massie thinks that it's probably different, because she's different, but she's not ready to admit that she's changed - change is always for the worse, her father had taught her). "What do you want Derrick - seriously, what do you want?"
He stands in front of her, leaning against the lockers as though they're two old friends, catching up over a long summer break. "I just wanted to catch up with you," Derrick shrugs his shoulders, casually. "You never replied to any of my calls or my text messages over the summer and I know that's not because you lost my phone number and Dylan told me that you were avoiding me, for a good reason—"
Dylan's a traitor, Massie thinks to herself. "Yeah, well, there is a good reason, Derrick. You broke my heart in eighth grade, and I don't care if that was a year ago - but I just want you to know that you ripped my heart out, and I'm never going to forgive you for that, m'kay? Okay." Massie thinks that she's supposed to feel a lot better after letting it all out, but she only feels Derrick's boring gaze aimed at the back of her head, and feels broken.
.
"Are you a slut—" "Look who's talking, Nina," she enunciates the syllables with a smile, and tilts her head to the side slightly, glorified by the distraught expression on the girl's face. Massie thinks that she should feel good about this, about bringing pain to the so-called enemy but feels more distraught and hopeless than ever; she retreats backward, refraining from putting her hands back in the air, falling sideways onto one of the stools in a center table in the middle of the lunchroom - the one with the premium Glaceau waters and the weird Picasso painting (she thinks that a three-year old could master the impressionistic style, with creativity and the long brushes all loose and immature), and bursts into giggles.
Alicia looks a little hurt at the small encounter, and out of the corner of her mind, Massie remembers how Alicia had always talked about her cousin Nina, cousin from the homeland who was going to move into Westchester as an exchange student in the ninth grade, and remembers how talking about Nina was always treading on dangerous waters; Claire looks at Massie in a mixture of awe and fear, as though she's not sure whether Massie's going to immediately turn and do the same thing to her - it's for the best, Massie thinks to herself, to keep everybody in line. It's the only way that society can function.
The three of them - Claire, Alicia, and Massie - take out their Vera Bradley lunch bags, making small talk among themselves, bursting into fake peals of laughter when eyes bore into the back of their heads (it's a distraction, a good enough distraction for now, Massie thinks); there are uncomfortable silences at times, and Massie thinks to herself that it's different without Dylan, who had suddenly declared in the middle of math class, that she needed to be excused to the nurse's office, and hadn't been seen since, not even in the security cameras of the front office, and Kristen, who Massie hadn't even seen earlier that day. It wasn't her place and her right to inquire, at least not until the five of them were on equal, some slightly subordinate to the others, terms, once more.
She missed their friendship, and how easy everything used to be - high school shouldn't have changed anything with the Pretty Committee, but it had. Massie wasn't quite sure if the change was for the better or the worse, though. "So, I'm going to be leaving in a bit," Claire mutters, distinctively, closing the zipper on her green lunchbox, and staring down at the stainless steel table, at her reflection.
"Where are you going?" Massie replies, trying to keep the conversation casual - her and Claire had been best friends, perhaps even close to sisters, before she had left for London, and it seemed as though there was a cold distance between the two of them. "I mean, it's okay if you have to be somewhere, but—"
"Oh, I have cheerleading practice," Claire admits, staring back into the colder depths of amber eyes, slightly glossed over; she reels back, turning away from the three of them, and picking up her backpack, which is halfway open, closing the zippers, and reopening the pencil box (anything to take her mind off of the fact that Massie looks almost disgusted, and everything Claire's ever done since she moved to Westchester was to try to please Massie Block).
Massie eventually reels back, snapping into focus, "Cheerleading practice? Since when have you been a cheerleader - I thought that Judi and Jay wanted you to focus on your studies and play the flute along with Todd?"
"Todd plays the trumpet, not the flute, Massie. And," Claire ponders the question for a moment, leaning her head forward to sip the straw of her Teavana drink, "It's different now, things have changed since the Blocks' moved out - I mean, you guys practically gave us the whole place to ourselves, but we totally understand that we're going to move out, since Dad just found a new house in Layne's neighborhood - and they've been more . . . understanding. It's for the best, I think."
The brunette shakes her head in confusion, "Still, you got chosen for cheerleading? No offense Claire, but I thought that cheerleading at the Briarwood Academy was reserved for upperclassmen." Massie's not quite sure whether Claire had done something illegal to get her way - which didn't seem like the most likely scenario out of the ones that she had temporarily conjured up in her mind at least until the truth replaced one of them - or if she was getting a little more popular than Massie could manage anymore. "And girls with rich parents who buy the team uniforms."
Claire shrugs, smiling, "I met a lot of new girls at cheerleading camp over summer - Heather and Livvy, and they're varsity captains since they're in their senior year, and apparently, due to my spirit and my attitude towards life and all, they thought that I could be part of them! Looks great on college applications and all; and, y'know, I do have blonde hair and blue eyes," she jokes, trying to diffuse the tension.
"What, did you expect that everything would be the same after you came back?" Alicia interjects suddenly, as though she's been waiting all this time to blame Massie for the so-called predicament that they're in - that high school isn't all that they expected and popularity isn't based upon who's the richest person in the world or who is the most conniving - or maybe something along the lines of there are people who are richer and more conniving than themselves, which is a completely unfathomable thought. "You can't expect that of us, Mass - you moved away in the middle of the night in eighth grade, and then suddenly decide to show up and reclaim your alpha position?"
Massie smiles, slightly, the corners of her mouth curving into a smirk, "If I remember correctly - which of course, I do, I left behind a group of people including you, Alicia, who had no intention of becoming alpha and every intention of stepping down back to a beta, where you belong, of course, as soon as I returned, and now that I have, I assume that I'm the alpha?" There's a bit of tension forming in the air, and Massie thinks that isn't the way that the first day of school was supposed to go - nothing's going according to plan, and she's losing control, something that she can't handle, not even for a moment.
Changing the subject with a slight cough, and sending an unfortunate look of apology over to Claire who just looks slightly disconcerted by the entire matter, "Any cute boys across the pond?" Alicia scoots over, hands resting on her chin, a bit of the nail polish chipping off onto her bronzed skin, snapping Massie out of her revenge reverie, just for a moment.
She smiles, glad for the distraction, "Well, there was Alex — he was okay looking, a big flirt but apparently everybody says that I was the one to tame him - and break his heart, like, y'known, in the movies; we broke off things in a few weeks - he was a sloppy kisser and all, so dating him for much longer would have been a social spiral, downwards. Um, Louis? He was my first—"
"First first - like that sort of first?" Claire looks downright distraught, bits of innocence still plastered onto her cherubic features; her cheeks are flustered in an uncomfortable shade of red, and Massie refrains from bursting into laughter.
"But," Alicia continues, "If you've done something like that - which you have, obviously - there's nothing wrong about that; I mean, tons of the older girls and the upperclassman have done stuff like that, and apparently it makes you even more popular, so once everybody finds out - when I post it in the newsletter next week - our popularity will be back to the top, in no time!" She declares, as if popularity was that simple.
Massie smiles, "Um, no. No, no, no, god no - for the millionth time, no. It's not like that - he was my first . . . my first kiss. Anyway, I broke it off with him after a few months, or rather, he broke it off with me - apparently the Blocks aren't good enough for the hierarchy of the French throne, and he's third in line to the throne, so his parents got him engaged to some other girl in the school, Victoria, and they're happy together, so that's all that really matters, right? Happiness."
"I thought that Derrick Harrington was your first kiss," Claire points out, suddenly bold.
Massie glares back at Claire who doesn't seem to back down, at least not immediately, "Claire, darling, the first kiss isn't the first guy you kiss - it's the first guy that you kiss that counts; I told you, we're not talking about Derrick Harrington - he was in during eighth grade, and now, at least to my knowledge, he's out, so he shouldn't even be discussed now - what were we talking about again?" She twitches her fingers, uncomfortably, "Oh, right. Your wonderful, exuberant lives!" That was totally not awkward, she tells herself as soon of the words spew out of her mouth, foaming; nevertheless, Alicia and Claire seem to get the hint,
"Well, I'm a reporter now," Alicia, states calmly, her eyes gleaming with excitement, "A few weeks ago, over break, I got a letter in the mail that said I'm now the official co-writer of Briarwood Academy, some post that I have to share with somebody named Olivia Manconi, but still, I think that I'll just assign myself to be in charge of the gossip column, so unless you want Nina and her newest man candy to be posted upon the front page of the newsletter - which every single person in the school reads - I hope that you'll come up with something about yourself."
The brunette gives a frown in response, muttering, "Yeah, um, every single person in the school? What, are people forced to read these newsletters in their English class?" Alicia frowns in response, and Massie wishes that she could take back the words - but she can't, and even if she could take back the words, there are worse words that she'd like to take back (and less fortunate ones, like saying 'I love you' to a complete asshole) - and instead continues onwards, as though nothing had happened (fake it until you make it, and the like), "Well, what about your guys' love lives? Or, maybe I could talk about one of the relationship that I had while I was in London - they were certainly . . . interesting —"
"—y'know, your London relationships weren't real relationships," Claire says, tilting her head to the side slightly, "They were more like flings - from the few details that you've told us, or at least me, and the lack of pictures from events and social galas, I would have to say that they were more for keeping up appearances than anything else. Derrick Harrington and you - now, that was a real relationship, something juicy that everybody would love to read about."
"And, you never told us that your relationship ended. Actually, we didn't even know until Derrick Harrington asked for your summer home address in London, and we had to tell him that you had moved away in the middle of the night," Alicia mumbles, tripping over her words, but, confident in them. "First kisses are important, Massie, and they're first kisses for a reason - they're your first kiss, not your first good kiss."
"Alicia, if first kisses were the first guy that a girl ever kissed, my first kiss would be Todd. Claire's little brother," Massie responds, satisfied with the immediate response of silence that follows after the words are uttered - she reminds herself not to tell her darkest and deepest (and ugliest) secrets in common conversation to avoid a certain topic, or in this case, a certain someone, but then again, it was an emergency, honestly.
Claire squirms at the thought of a relationship between one of her best friends and brother, but still continues, "Whatever you say then, Mass. Whatever you say." The bell rings in a few seconds, and the three of them split up into their individual paths, and continue onwards.
.
The limousine picks her up alone at three o' clock after school.
Massie's used to the comfortable levels of chit-chat that had previously filled the Range Rover back in middle school, and stares longingly at the fridge stocked with mini-pretzels and celery sticks with spinach dip, small cupcakes with frosting, trail mix bags, gummy worms, and candy apples, something that should have been shared with the rest of her friends. "You can go now, Isaac; the rest of them are in detention," she lies reluctantly to her driver, who looks slightly reluctant to leave. "What, what is it now?" She questions angrily, trying to ignore the disappointed look on his face.
"There they are, miss," he only says, turning back, and out of the paved circle, and sure enough, there they were; Kristen wasn't dribbling a soccer ball on the field with the Soccer Sisters for their daily after school practices, instead disappearing into one of the abandoned corridors and coming out with a file of papers, her face grim; Dylan, Alicia, and Claire linked arms together like the three besties that everybody knew them to be.
They were smiling, happy; happiness is all that really matters, m'kay and Massie's words come back to haunt her hours later. It's as though she hadn't moved back at all. It takes her everything right there not to break down in tears, and lets herself break down an hour later, in the secrecy of her bedroom, her face wrapped between floral designed pillows; Massie lies upon the carpet flooring of her bedroom, afraid to crinkle the light wisteria duvet which already had pink nail polish stains on the side - a fact that she was sure to keep from her mother, who would no doubt call Inez to give her a two hour lecture about how keeping one's room clean was Massie's only responsibility, and honestly, she didn't have time for that, not now.
She paces back and forth for a moment, the click-clack of her heels a slight distraction from the history textbook balanced in her hands, her thin iPhone nestled in between sheets of vocabulary papers. High school wasn't supposed to be like this, she thinks to herself, high school was supposed to be . . . well, perfect.
It was one of those events that she had planned out, from start to finish, with a grand, fashionably late entrance with outfits that didn't clash together; of course, none of her scrapbook dreams had included the move to London or heartbreak. She pulls the scrapbook out of the box beneath her bad, and rips the page apart, angrily, and doesn't feel one bit better.
"Massie?" Her mom calls from the bottom floor through the speakers system installed in the corners of the mansion; Massie ignores her for a moment, focusing on the destruction that had become her room after Claire had stayed there for eleven and a half months - there were nail polish chipped off and dried onto the fluffy white rug and a pair of polka-dotted Keds that had nestled their way between the television wires; a camisole with barbecue stains was lying on top of her bathroom sink with mismatched earrings; sticky notes lined the sides of the room with a few empty walls that had been painted Massie's previous color, white. The color was supposed to symbolize purity and innocence, but it just made the room seem smaller and from afar, it felt as though the room was yet to be lived in. "Massie?"
"Yes, mom?" Massie calls down, standing down, and staring at her reflection in the mirror — her cheeks are a bright red, and her nose stands out from the rest of her face, the edges of it fading into darkness (foundation doesn't cover eye rings as well as it used to, she thinks)
There's silence for a few minutes, and her mother appears in front of her bedroom door, gold lock out of place, hanging off the side of the shower curtain in the opposing room, muttering something about galas and leafy foliage never quite being in place. "Oh, Massie, darling - there's to be a gala tonight. Some sort of social event with one of your friends - what was her name, the one who's good at dancing and soccer?"
"Alicia?" Massie asks, slightly confused. If there was some sort of gala, a major one, at least, shouldn't Alicia have mentioned it over lunch? Or at least through text messages, if she was trying to hide it from the unsuspecting eye - probably a private event with a limited guest list, knowing the Riveras, from their earlier hosted galas - or maybe even from Claire, but it didn't seem to be the case. "Wait, um, I don't have a friend who's good at both of those things."
There was Alicia, and there was Kristen, two completely separate entities - knowing her thoughtless mother, Massie assumed that she probably had meshed them together into one perfect person, who had absolutely no flaws, and a good chance of getting into an Ivy League (without several donations and alumni reunions where one would be introduced to the Dean of Admissions at a young age, so that there would be no doubt that their future would be set up perfectly). "Oh, yes, I remember - they're the Gregory's; apparently, it's the latest talk of the season, that Paul—"
"Paul?" Massie asks, wrinkling her nose. The name sounds like one of those commoners from some of the furthermost suburbs where people would take buses to school and sleep without satin masks, like where Claire was from - Kissimmee, Florida. "Who's that supposed to be?"
Her mother raises her eyebrows, "I thought that you would remember Mr. Gregory. He used to drive Kristen and you to soccer practices all the time, don't you remember?"
"Mom," Massie drawls out the syllable, getting up from the carpeted floor, and immediately missing the heat that it brought to her toes, which turn numb in the frigid ambiance despite the scorching sun which reflects upon the pavement, creating unbearable heat, outside of the air-conditioned mansion. "Kristen and I used to do soccer . . . when we were nine years old. In elementary school. Because it was mandatory."
Kendra smiles in response, "Well, then, I expect that you'll be ready for the gala tonight? Kristen probably can't wait to see you!" She leaves, holding her high-heels in one hand as bare feet fall onto the steps of the butterfly staircase, afraid to make a permanent mark behind.
Massie sits down on her bed, immediately not caring whether or not the duvet would be messed up - after all, there was a reason for having a live-in nanny - and picks up the scrapbook that she had carelessly stashed into a box, and opens up the satin ribbon, turning to a page from earlier years, where things had been a lot less complicated. There's a faded picture of her and Kristen, sitting in a sailboat - a faint memory strikes her mind, and she remembers how her father used to be visiting some of the small town businesses for endorsement commercials and the like each week on the Saturdays, and how Kristen would always walk around the place, staring at the boats as though they were some sort of majestic creature; Massie's dad would always take the two of them out for a ride. She laughs a little, remembering how Kristen would cling to the side of the boat, screaming about how they were all going to die, just like how some new book of hers had turned out to be, but secretly ended up enjoying it by the end.
It was the same cycle, every day, until the two of them attended the same middle school, and became friends - sort-of friends. More like people who had a mutual bond upon one another, and relied on each other's popularity with different social circles to take over the school as though it was a divide-and-conquer military tactic from the times of the Spartans. She walks over to the corner of her closet, and fingers another faded photograph - the Polaroids seem to be scattered across the empty white expanse - and feels the silk material that her mother had packed away in a box, weeks back - it was her grandmother's apparently. Massie had never met the woman, but knowing that her grandmother from her father's side was wealthy enough to start charity foundations for the poor in whichever country that temporarily needed relief, that it had to be a perfect dress.
Just from feeling the material to her foundation covered skin, Massie felt as though this was putting the pieces of a puzzle together - she had worried about high school not being good enough for no reason; after tonight, she thinks to herself, Everything will go back to the way it was.
"Are you heading to the library later, Massie, darling?" Kendra calls from downstairs one more time; there's a slight barking in the distance, and Massie's fondly reminded of Bean, her previous pug companion who had been put down during the stay in London - something along the lines of dog epidemics in scientific terms that she couldn't understand through her tears. For the first two months in London, before school had begun, Bean had been her only companion through the days of solitude and the nights of painful memories.
"The library?" Massie questions, the words finally processing through her mind. "Mom, I don't go to the library - I haven't studied at the library since finals in sixth grade when I was failing biology, and that was because it was a mandatory study group session since they were fumigating Kristen's apartments, and Marsha wouldn't let us stay at Cam's place." Boys are dangerous things that will distract you from your studies and your future, Mrs. Gregory had mentioned, keeping Kristen on the right path.
There's a sudden white flash from her computer screen, and Massie walks over, smiling at the familiar IM messaging system - texting was never the same as the social networking site that had brought the Pretty Committee together in the first place. hey what's up , she types to Dylan, making sure to seem casual about the conversation though there's a question plaguing in her mind - actually, tons of them. Like how Dylan Marvil who had been mortified to even set foot on the television reality show after it turned downhill with the supposed bulimia related scenes, had turned into a girl who not only survived, but thrived in the spotlight; not to mention the mysterious disappearances now and then and those unknown phone calls. missed you at lunch, she casually drops in the conversation.
sorry 'bout that, mom had a quick question for the show - i had to miss calc for the beach scene shooting. anyways, you going to the thing tonight? Dylan's reply is three minutes later, as though she has better things in her life to do than converse with her supposed best friend (which, Massie thinks, knowing Dylan's current situation, is probably the case). It's not the first time that a member of the Pretty Committee - what's left of it, at least - had to choose between fame and friendship; though Claire's situation had obviously been different, it still meant the same things. In the end of everything, Claire had chosen her friends and to return to Westchester, whether it meant leaving behind a world of betrayal and obsessive paparazzi, because she loved her friends more than fame. Massie just hoped that Dylan would come to the same realization, pronto.
the gala? yeah, i think so - what about you?
god, no - i wouldn't go to the gala. i'm talking about the a-list party tonight hosted by the upperclassmen at skye's place; i thought that you, out of all people, would be able to score an invite. Even though the two of them are conversing through instant messaging, Massie can almost hear, and imagine Dylan's voice, which would be laced with false sincerity, just like always - pretending to play innocent. That was Claire's job, not Dylan's. It also plagued her that none of the older girls had noticed Massie's rise to popularity, and even if they had watched her every step during Octavian Country Day - especially Skye Hamilton, out of all people - it might have turned out that the sudden move to London was anything but a good idea for her reputation.
yeah, g2g, talk to you later, dyl! Massie immediately signs off and wonders when everybody changed so much that she couldn't even recognize her best friends anymore.
.
Out of the corner of her mind, blurred memories slip into clarifying focus and she vaguely remembers Kristen mumbling about a new stepfather and immediately launching into a lecture about how the only good thing that came out of the marriage - it was the marriage of the year, Massie, you shouldn't have missed it - was the fact that while her new stepbrother was a complete ass, he had some redeeming athletic qualities. Which must have been Derrick.
Mrs. Gregory clears her throat, clearing the slight pause for silence, "Why don't the three of you head up on upstairs? I'm sure that the rest of the girls and boys will be arriving soon - snacks are on the patio, if you're hungry later."
Kristen hangs onto the railing of the staircase, standing out from the posh ambiance with ratty sneakers that are mostly hidden underneath a light white dress that hangs loosely upon her waist and fits tightly upon her broader shoulders, "We'll be upstairs, mom, studying for final exams."
Upon reaching Kristen's room, Massie almost forgets about Derrick's presence, as if he had slipped into the ensconcing shadows. "Final exams, Kris? It's barely been the first week of school - if I'm right, finals are, uh, eight months away, another problem for another day."
Derrick coughs, interjecting, "Yeah, um, I'm just going to leave now - Landon's coming around in a bit—"
"Landon?" Massie asks, her eyes crinkling in confusion and upon hearing the name, her face softens, a fact that doesn't go unnoticed by Derrick. "I thought that he moved away after . . . y'know, the ordeal with Cassidy and the 9/11 incident with the epilepsy seizure and all, y'know what I'm talking about, right?"
Kristen and Derrick look at each other, one slightly more exasperated than the other. "Yeah, leaving now," he motions, walking backwards down the staircase, his pace picking up as he leaves the expanse - Massie looks around for a moment, and thinks how even though the Gregory-Harrington's had only moved in one and a half months prior, the surroundings seem lived in.
There's the faintest traces of cat fur that have shedded off throughout the room, and Massie immediately stands to the right of a pile of the cat fur, which seems to have accumulated next to the fading cobwebs in the corner of the hallway - she wonders what they even use the live-in nanny for if not to clean their ridiculously disgusting home - with homework papers scattered all over Kristen's room; it's a mess, with a calculator lying on the floor, open, ready to be crushed by a soccer ball which is held on a pedestal on top of her mahogany desk, with loose-leaf papers filled with notes pinned to the wall, with words such as schedules and electron orbitals, and the monochromatic color scheme clashes with the bright green bedsheets.
A pounding in her begins, and Massie delicately raises her left eyebrow, glancing over at Kristen, who just merely shrugs her shoulders at the sudden burst of dubstep and electronic sounding music that comes out of the speaker system in what seems to be the neighboring room. "I'm just going to head downstairs - Dylan said that she might be coming to the gala, a little earlier than usual, though —"
"Dylan has to go the filming for the Marvilous Marvils show tonight, with Ryan and Jamie - they're not going to be back until around eleven o' clock at this rate, and I doubt that the Marvils would even come to some small event like this," Kristen says, her tone distasteful. "They're too good for us now." It's a conversation that Massie's not willing to have with anyone at the moment - teenage drama doesn't need to get any worse in her life, she thinks to herself.
Massie sighs. "Anything else that you need, Kristen? Maybe a vodka glass from downstairs with some lemon Coke or one of those imported macaroons?"
"Just, can you get my iPad from the pool table? I swear the boys are gonna break the screen at this rate," Kristen gestures, speaking loudly over the pounding music that comes out of the neighboring game room. Massie thinks to herself that this is probably one of the strangest galas that she's ever been to - galas were meant to be with soft music and elegant dance floors with swirling ballgowns and classy tuxedos, the only sound being the small talk and gossip that spread as quickly as the Bubonic Plague and the clinking of wind glasses; this seemed to be more like a casual . . . hangout?
"Uh huh," Massie replies, setting down the bottle of nail polish upon the sink and blowing her pinky nail slowly as the purple design fades into the lighter pink background successfully. She exits the room and is about to open the gilded doorknob with distorting reflections, upon hearing her name lightly in conversation, instead deciding to press her ear to the door.
It's a familiar voice, with a slight Californian accent that she makes out to be Plovert; there's a small slit in the door, and Massie makes out the ruffled mop of red hair and jaded green eyes. "So, anything going on between you and Kris's friend?"
Derrick chokes on his glass of water - quite literally; Massie has to dig her nails into her left alarm to refrain from bursting into the room - before shrugging his shoulders. "Massie Block? Dude, no, that was eighth grade, and this is high school - mistakes stay in the past."
"So, just to make sure, you have no interest in her, whatsoever, and you never had any interest in her?" Chris asks, a little too exuberant in his questioning, Massie thinks, trying to ignore the tugging of her heartstrings at Derrick's confession. There's the ring of a doorbell downstairs, and she briefly detracts her attention and bored her eyes into the smiling faces, how everybody seems so comfortable with one another; the last gala that she had gone to (at least in Westchester), was full of people fawning over a newcomer from the homeland with the children staying on one side of the mansion, older people on the other, never purposely interfering with one another.
It felt as though they were all a tight-knit family now, and it wasn't the only thing that made Massie want to crack her knuckles open and mercilessly attack the wall. "Yeah, no - do I really need to repeat the spiel? She was just a game, one of those bets that the upperclassman had made for admittance into varsity soccer, nothing more; Massie was nothing special, not really. She's not even that hot if you think about it - dead weight that was holding me back."
"So, you wouldn't mind if I asked her out?" Chris interjects into the conversation, smoothly. "I mean, you might be out of her league, but I think that she's a pretty cool chick - Heather's talked about her, loads." And there's that name again, Heather.
There's a sudden creak of the doorway, and Massie wipes away the barely forming tears that form in the corner of her eyes; she won't give Derrick the pleasure of letting her break down, least of all in front of him, and she'll give herself the pleasure of keeping up another pretense, like she doesn't give a damn about him. Which she doesn't - which she shouldn't. "Hey, guys," she breezes in, locating the target of Kristen's iPad, which thankfully hasn't been shattered - not yet, at least.
Two faces then turn towards her, one slightly more horrified than the other. "Hey, Massie," Plovert greets with an awkward wave. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
She refuses to look Derrick in the eye, and smiles instead. "Yeah, I think I did." She found out the truth, and no matter how bitter and acid metallic tasting it might be, it's still the truth.
.
.: claire :.
"C'mon, Todd, let's go upstairs," she says wearily, yanking on the short arm of her younger brother who clings adamantly to the bottom of the staircase. "You can bring your homework upstairs." There's another yell in the distance, and Claire yanks a little harder. "Todd!"
He finally agrees, not willingly, of course, as she tosses him over her shoulder onto their shared bedroom floor. "You're doing it again," he says blankly. Claire wonders when the relationship with her brother had become so strained, and thinks that maybe it was because of Westchester; the town changed people, whether it was for the better or for the worse; it was almost like the theory from Darwin, that people were forced to adapt and change themselves under certain situations, just in order to merely survive. So that would explain why she had slightly changed - to survive. (But she wanted more than to survive, of course.)
"Doing what, Todd? You know, honestly now, I don't have time for this - Alicia's going to come over in a bit with her parents for the gala, and she can't walk into . . . well, this." It's a mess of a house that the Lyons' share, nothing compared to the previous cleanliness of the guesthouse that the Blocks' had loaned out to them two and a half years before the current date.
"You're trying to protect me. I hate it when you do that, okay? I'm just one year younger than you and I don't need for you to pretend like you care, like you'd rather be at home instead of partying it up and sneaking out the window at night—"
"That was once," Claire says, trying to defend herself. "And don't pretend that I like this easier. Because I don't, okay? I really don't."
Todd shrugs his shoulder, trying to pass it off as casual. "Whatever. Y'know, it doesn't really matter. Because one day you're going to sneak back into your bedroom in the morning, and you're going to come down to an empty room with a pile of papers." He turns and storms out the door, banging it behind him.
Claire buries her head in her hands, and curls into a small ball on the floor before standing up and furiously wiping the tears away as they fall onto the satin dress - the gala, she remembers, and Alicia. There's unexpected silence downstairs (as opposed to the typical symphony of cacophonous screams and yells), and Claire smooths down her clothes, and creeps out of the back door, almost falling upon the rose bushes, and stands out front, her so-called parents nowhere to be seen. Maybe it's for the best, she thinks; they weren't exactly in any position and mood to end up at a social event.
"Hey, Leesh!" She calls out to the limousine that's put on park mode on the Lyons' small driveway; Alicia lets the tinted windows roll down, and tilts her head out the window. "Look, I don't think that I'll be able to make it to the gala —"
"Don't you dare do this to me, Claire Lyons. You're the only friend that I have there, anyways." The fact warms Claire's heart, but she frantically brushes it aside, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. "Kristen is going to be there, and Josh and I aren't exactly at a good place now. We haven't been good, actually, ever since she came back; you have to come, though. Seriously, I don't know what I' going to do without you."
"You know what," Claire begins, and then casts a glance back at the house and Todd's words (they shouldn't have made an impression upon her, they really shouldn't have, but they did). "I think that I'm just going to stay in tonight — Mom and Dad are out, shopping for a housewarming gift, I think, and Todd needs somebody to look after him."
Alicia rolls her eyes, "Claire, darling, Todd is fifteen years old, he's a big boy now - I think that he can take care of himself. Anyway, if you want, I can call the babysitter - few weeks back, Heather sent out a mass e-mail to everybody in the neighborhood that she could do some babysitting, as if anybody would actually hire a fifteen year old, inexperienced person and give them the responsibility of their own children, but y'know, if there are dire circumstances, I'm sure that Heather would be available." And in an undertone, she adds, "Or, I'll just cancel her plans and make her available."
"No, you know what Alicia? I have a lot of homework to get back to and this massive project that I have to do with Hurley, so if I don't get a head start on it now, there's no way that I'll be able to finish it by next week; plus, one B and I can't go to Homecoming, so this is better in the long run, don't you think?" It's more of a pleading statement, but Alicia slowly nods her head, getting the message.
Claire walks back to the house, placing her hands over one another, and opening the gilded doorknob, closing it behind her - the blinds are wide open, and the last bit of a sunset is still visible; there's the scuffle of somebody putting on shoes in the distance, and she walks back into the house, to the back door by the kitchen - there's the smell of something burning on the stove, and she sees a bag of popcorn in the microwave. Todd collects it, storing it inside one of those plastic container boxes that come for free with a purchase from one of the local drive-in restaurants in New York City, and places it in a soccer bag, throwing it over his shoulder. "Just where do you think you're going, Todd? There's a talk that I need to have with you."
He raises his eyebrows, slinging the bag over his right shoulder, keeping it balance for a few more seconds. "Look, I'm sort of busy now - I'm heading out, and I'll be back in a few hours, before curfew and before Mom and Dad get home, so just, can this wait?"
"Todd, this is important —"
"Yeah, well so is this." So, he storms out of the door, and Claire wonders just when her life had turned into a teenage reality series.
.
.: massie :.
"It's a rotating system," Kristen explains, when the two of them are standing downstairs an hour later. "Mr. Harrington - dad - came up with it; two families would step in with one child from a different family and be seated—
Massie coughs, "Y'know, Kristen, I'm not actually that interested in the ways of your parent's dining table."
"Let's just eat, okay," Derrick mumbles, dragging down a few of his so-called friends behind him - Massie recognizes the somewhat familiar faces of guys with slight amounts of stubble and unshaven faces, crooked smiles that turn into upward smirks, all donning matching suits and if it wasn't for the oddly differentiation of their hair color, she could have grouped them into the same group as always - the Briarwood Tomahawks. "What's for dinner - pizza? Sandwiches?" He grumbles, and Massie wonders how she had ever fallen for this guy in the first place (she was much more stupid and naïve then, nonetheless).
His step-mother, Marsha, raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "Dearie—"
"It's Derrick," he corrects, moving forward, and grabbing a salty pita chip from inside of the fridge, leaning back in to grab a frozen pizza. "And, the guys and I are going to head out soon - Coach heard of this pizza place downtown, Slice of Heaven, and we gotta check it out before varsity tryouts next week, okay? Good."
He's just about to leave the room - Massie wonders how Marsha even tolerates this behavior in the first place; eleven and a half months ago, she had remembered Kristen's mother to be one of the strictest, most overprotective parents in the world; that her daughter couldn't dress in clothes that weren't covering every bit of skin from her chin to her ankles, that if she was found associating with boys it would be Goodbye Westchester, Hello Boarding School in Boston! or worse. Therefore, nobody could blame Massie for seeming the least bit surprised to see Marsha Gregory backing down to a sixteen year old boy.
Maybe there was something difficult about the divorce of the Harrington's - after all, as far as Massie could remember, there was always tension between the trophy wife and the business workaholic who would apparently come home late every night, smelling like lavender and Claire de La Lune perfumes. There wasn't much that could go to the imagination, she had assumed. Yet, the Harrington's always stuck together, just for the sake of their children - Sammi had gone off to medical school, and somebody needed to pay the fees (Mrs. Harrington never worked, so a single paycheck family was out of the question, at least until now). So, what had happened while she had been in London? Apparently, everything had changed. "What happened with them?" Massie mutters in Kristen's ear, who turns sharply, almost afraid of the question.
"It's a long story - I'll tell you later, 'kay?" Kristen looks almost worried at the situation that plays out in front of her. "Derrick, just come back - you can check out Slice of Heaven and drink with your friends later; just come here, and pretend like you care. And if you don't, I'll just tell everybody about what you were murmuring last night in your sleep - it's not like it's a secret, but still, it's reputation ruinable worthy." It's not as though she says the words loudly, but loudly enough for Derrick to get the insistent message, roll his eyes, and plop himself down at the far right end of the dinner table.
"Fine," he calmly, agrees. "Guys," Derrick turns to his friends who look at him as though he's being controlled by his step-sister, which in a way, he is. "We can check out Slice of Heaven later - might as well eat here, since the car's at the repair shop." The other guys seem to get the message, and roll their eyes, walking towards the front door and letting themselves leave, bare feet and all in their high school glory. "Well, dinner?" Derrick questions, raising his eyebrows.
The seven of them sit down - the Blocks' and the Gregory-Harrington combined, slightly messed up and erratic looking, family - and eat in amicable silence, occasionally mentioning about how tall you've grown and how was London? I've heard that the weather's great around this time of year and the usual small talk that Massie had expected at the Gala. Of course, the circumstances would have been different, but still. "So, how was London?" Derrick asks; for the first time of the night, he directly speaks towards her.
"It was good, y'know, better than Westchester, but I still missed home," Massie admits, truthfully. Derrick slurps a piece of spaghetti, and opens his mouth; out of habit, perhaps, she rolls her eyes in response. "Derrick, don't talk with your mouth open - it's an absolutely disgusting habit that you've got going on there. Don't be rude."
"Well, you know Block, at least I didn't run off like a scared little girl all the way across the Pond. At least I'm braver than you'll ever be." That escalated quickly, she momentarily thinks, not even trying to mask the pain, anymore. It's enough to spark a small reaction out of her — in a way, Massie's sort of done with fighting with Derrick, because he's not worth it anymore, none of it's worth it the way that her heartstrings tighten, and she feels like she's suffocating under the intensity of his hateful glare. Maybe it's not the words that set her off, but it's probably just him - the very presence of Derrick Harrington makes Massie want to rip her own throat out. She rips the napkin off her neck, sets it down on the table, nods quickly to the Gregory-Harrington's and her own parents (who seem naively oblivious to the entirety of the situation), mutters something about fresh air and leaves the premises faster than Derrick Harrington could have said, just kidding.
There's the sound of a front door closing abruptly, and then, "God, Derrick, you're suck a dick," Kristen mumbles, running up to her bedroom, and causing a few glances around the dinner table. There's silence for a moment as Derrick exits swiftly, pushing his chair back into the table, and leaving out of the front door, barely glancing to see if it's okay that he leaves the gala, and all that's left are five blank pairs of eyes.
"Anybody want more pasta?"
.
well, that was longer than i expected, (: the chapters will probably be about this length since i'm only going to update about twice a month - this was an introduction filler thing, which filled up massie's life in london, the move back to westchester, and the first half of the first day of school (this is a huge au from the original story, so kristen and derrick are step-siblings, and derrick broke massie's heart in eighth grade - that'll be explained a lot more in future chapters - so hopefully it's not too confusing)
what female side characters do you want me to show in the next chapter (in replacement of claire and dylan)? is it weird that i base off preprologue massiederrick off of s2 teen wolf lydiajackson and the brothersister relationship between todd and claire off of early s1 jeremy and elena from the vampire diaries? by the way, did anybody catch the sherlock reference (s3 spoilers, though)?
if you want a sneak peak for the next chapter, please leave a review!
xx clara