1.
The BOCD Cafeteria
September 22nd, 12:02 pm
Massie Block picked at her salad. The dark wilted greens combined with the icky sheen of the white china plate looked nasty. She pushed it away in disgust.
"Uh, Massie? Can I go over to Cam's table?" Claire asked from across the table. Massie examined her. Her exuberant blue eyes were rimmed with red, and her normally hygienic hair glistened with oil. And not the good almond-oil treatment kind that Massie regularly got at Bliss.
"Why n-" Massie started.
"No!" Alicia Rivera snapped from across the table. "Would it kill you to be separated from Cam for one second?"
"Stawp! Alicia are you a public toilet?"
"No." Alicia glared at her black two-strap mules. She had just returned from her summer-long trip to Spain. Her style had endured what Massie had coined "the Fannish Trying To Look Spanish Fashion Effect." Or "disaster" for short. Today, she had chosen a way-to-short red & white bandage dress, that when paired with the extreme heels screamed "teenage hoochie mama."
"Then stop acting so pissy! What the hell?" Massie placed her face in her hands, then quickly removed them in fear of oil transfers.
"Sorry. Just… never mind." Alicia's mouth softened and she began playing with the fringe at the bottom of her dress.
Other than Massie's best friends acting strange, the rest of the day seemed just… run of the mill. It was a Thursday, the first week of eighth-grade & people were just settling into the new (B)OCD. Classes were easy, homework was non-existent, the students still looked picture perfect. And like always, the Pretty Committee headed towards Massie's new Porsche Cayenne (Range Rovers were so passé) at exactly 3:02. Isaac knew automatically to head to the mall.
The Westchester was not just your average mall. It was colossal, with wings extending hundreds and hundreds of feet. Anyone could easily get lost in the maze of storefronts and potted palms. But the Pretty Committee knew the mall better than the people who worked there. They knew not to bother with the small area just off the doors, knowing it was filled with stores catering to the lower-middle class. Hot Topic? Wet seal? Cinnabon? Ew.
With just a few click-clacks of their high-heels, the girls were in the good part of the mall. Massie inhaled the sweet-but-not-sickeningly-so scent that emitted from the countless boutiques scattered around the atrium.
"Max Mara first!" Alicia said excitedly.
"Are you sure they'll let you in?" Claire muttered from Alicia's left. Massie covered her mouth to keep from laughing.
"No! Louis Vuitton first. I need a new messenger bag." Kristen argued.
"Yeah, let's do LV." Massie finalized. Alicia's face crumpled for half a second, then she returned to her standard bored-model-with-botox look.
Massie Block loves LV. And Louis Vuitton loves Massie Block. It was the simplest fact of life. Massie owned countless handbags & silk scarves in all the patterns. She regularly purchased items of their ridiculously expensive ready-to-wear line. The brand was classic, and exuded old-money style confidence. Like today, Massie had chosen a mid-thigh length black & gold lace sundress, with Grecian style tie-up gold leather sandals. And her handbag du jour (of the day) was a dark red alligator-skin doctor bag that popped against her tan skin.
Time slipped by as Massie browsed the bags, lifting and examining leather to make sure they were perfect. Finally, she managed to discover a Lumineuse PM in white that didn't have the ugly deformed buckle on the bottom. She rushed to the counter, hoping to claim it quickly. The Lumi was the hottest new bag in Westchester, and countless high-class well groomed were treating the LV boutique like a scavenger hunt, with the sought-after spotless Lumineuse as the prize. Massie had been lucky enough to find the bag tucked between two six-seasons-ago leopard print totes. Most likely, someone had stashed it there, hoping to come back later and purchase it. But, as Massie liked to say; if you don't have the-
Massie was distracted by a shiny black head about ten people in front of her in line. The girl was discretely whispering into her black iPhone, clutching it in one hand, overlapping with her black AMEX.
"No, that won't work!" Alicia hissed, twirling a black strand of hair around her finger. "I don't… just no! Okay, this is serious." Alicia stepped blindly into a pirouette, spinning surprisingly easily on her ugly shoes. Mid way through her twirl, her brown eyes snapped open, quickly finding Massie's face. Her coral fingernail smashed into the phone's screen, ending the call. Her lips spread into a uneven half-smile, and she waved the green Epi leather wallet she planned to purchase.
"Mass! Come cut!" Alicia called, smiling uneasily. Massie moved up the line cautiously. Something was wrong.
And so it begins. You may, or may not, have started forming opinions. Who killed her? Was it Alicia herself? Her dearest boyfriend, Josh? A fed-up Claire? But why? Why did they (myself) snap? Well, honey, I'd prefer it if you didn't use the word snap. I'm not the type of person to just go ahead and snap. Or maybe I am. Confusing? Good.
Here's a small hint. Alicia was less than 72 hours from her death, that day at the Westchester. Did she know? Could she feel it? Or was she undoubtedly clueless? That's another question. Too bad you don't have the answers.
Ciao! Until next, my friends.