ORLANDO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
GATE 93
9:26 AM
JUNE 29, 2013
The first things Claire noticed when she dismounted the plane were the palm trees. They were everywhere, in pots scattered across the airport, outside, sprouting from the ground, on the little buttons the staff were wearing. She took a deep breath, inhaling the sharp scent of healthy green leaves.
"It's good to be home," Judi sighed, grinning. No one heard her.
Todd had run off with Claire's loaner carry-on: a sky-blue Coach number made of real, expensive leather. So she'd snatched the pillow her mother had brought for the plane and sprinted after him, ready to bop him one on the head.
Jay was already strolling off toward the conveyor belt to collect the rest of their luggage, and the kids still hadn't returned.
Judi sighed again, but more out of annoyance than nonstalgia. She wasn't particularly worried about her children, who knew the airport like the back of their hands, as they were here all the time for Sunday School community service. But she was a little ticked off. This was supposed to be a family vacation for the Lyons to enjoy together. And already they had split up.
She followed her husband toward the Baggage Carousel. In one hand, she carried her no-name multi-colored purse; with the other, she wiped her sweaty forehead. She passed Claire and Todd, who both ignored her as they dashed past, one stomping on her foot, another accidentally punching her in the back. That set her off. "Claire Stacey Lyons! Todd Lucas Lyons! Get back here!" she roared, attracting more than a few bemused stares.
Guiltily, they turned around. Todd was still hopping from one foot to the other, eager to continue the chase.
On the other hand, Claire's face burned so red she could feel it. She was supposed to be a mature 11-year-old, not a bratty little baby who ran after her younger brother through an airport. She couldn't even imagine what Massie would say if she ever found out about this. "Sorry," she mumured, standing up straighter.
"You should be," Judi reprimanded sternly. "Todd?"
"Sure, Mom, whatever," he mumbled, still focusing on holding the bag out of his sister's reach.
"Todd!"
"I said sure!"
"That wasn't what I asked. I am expecting an apology!" She was fighting to keep her voice down, but she knew that people were wondering what was going on.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jay standing there with four bags in each hand, obviously wondering what had gone down while he had been absent. She ignored him.
"Sorry, Mom." Then there was a loud thwack.
Claire squealed, gripping her thigh. She advanced three steps toward Todd and smacked him. The sound rang through the terminal. His hand flew to his cheek as he began to cry.
"What is happening here?" Jay demanded, setting the suitcases on the floor.
"Todd took my bag and made me run after him all over the place to get it back! In heels! And then he hit me with it!" she whined.
"She slapped me!" Todd countered.
"Only cuz you hit me!"
"Guys!" Jay placed a comforting hand on each of their shoulders. They glanced up. "This is going to be a fun trip, okay? Relax, breathe, understood? As soon as we get to our resort, you can go visit your friends, alright, honey?" He looked at Claire. "And Todd, I told you we could go to Disney for a half day. And the sooner we get home, the more time we can spend there."
"I'm too old for Disney," he pouted.
"Oh, come on now," Jay pleaded. "You don't want to go on Space Mountain? And Tower of Terror? I think you're old enough!" he sang.
"Maybe." A small smile tugged at his lips as he brushed his dark hair away from his eyes.
"Let's go already," Claire said sourly, rolling her eyes. She averted her gaze from Todd as she marched out the door toward the rental car facility, followed by the rest of her family.
She still wasn't talking to her family by the time they retrieved their shiny white Toyota Prius. So she was beyond grateful when her phone lit up and choked out For The Girls by Auburn.
MASSIEKUR: So how's OrlandEW?
CLAIREBEAR: Nawt ah-mazing, but we just got here. What about France?
MASSIEKUR: Gr8! i got 2 meet my baby cousin 4 the first time, and my aunt who we're staying w/ is uber-nice. What's wrong w/ OrlandEW?
CLAIREBEAR: It's definitely OrlandEW. i got in a huge fight w/ my bro the second we got awf the plane, and now every1's pissed at each other and no1's talking. U don't know how glad i waz that u texted.
MASSIEKUR: Ur welcome, then. And good job w/ the New York accent.
CLAIREBEAR: That's the first compliment ne1's given me all day. Thx.
MASSIEKUR: My pleasure, girlie. C ya!
"Who was that?" Judi glared at Claire's phone.
"Mass," she responded.
"I'm so glad you girls finally became friends. You just have so much to offer each other. You know, because at first I wasn't sure, but now-"
"Yeah, Mom, I get it. Mass is cool and popular and pretty, and I'm just average." The anger she'd felt when they'd first moved to Westchester came spilling out. "So, yeah, how could Little Miss Boring be friends with Miss Supreme Universe, Massie Elizabeth Block?" She smirked and crossed her arms.
"Oh, sweetie, you know that wasn't what I meant!" Judi cried.
"So what did you mean?"
Judi looked down.
"Thought so." She didn't say anything more until they arrived at the house and she could retreat to her room.
WANG HOUSE
DYLAN'S ROOM
10:05 AM
JUNE 29, 2013
The bright, sunny day outside didn't match Dylan's mood in the slightest. In her mind, it should be pouring and freezing, with the wind whipping through the trees. Maybe even a power outage.
An outbreak of stress acne had formed on her face from all the chocolate she was eating, and her red hair was disheveled and mussed, as she hadn't brushed it at all yesterday. She'd spent most of the time since Massie left pondering about what to do with her life.
And she still wasn't any closer to figuring out where she wanted to live. Her forehead crinkled in sadness and confusion as tears dripped from her eyes. She thought of Jaime, Merri-Lee, even Ryan, and she smiled forlornly. In that second, she knew she wanted to live in California.
But the next minute, she thought of the Pretty Committee, and OCD, and the Marvil Manor and she knew in her heart that she just couldn't leave them. Her stomach ached if she even considered it.
Dylan glanced in the mirror. Her face was blotchy and red, and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Her throat was sore, her head was pounding, and her whole body hurt.
'If Mom loved me, she wouldn't force me to make a decision like this,' she couldn't help thinking, although she knew it wasn't true.
She had to stop this.
BODY ALIVE DANCE STUDIO
STUDIO
10:29 AM
JUNE 29, 2013
"Okay, girls," Mrs. Farson announced. "Our recital is next week, and then we have auditions for seventh grade classes. Remember, you can either make beginner, intermediate, or advanced. I know you can all get into advanced as long as you try your best. Okay?"
"Yes, Mrs. Farson." The class, as usual, sounded like one voice with a slight echo.
"Okay, Dylan, please come up."
The Gamma adjusted her shamrock-green tank and stepped up to head the class.
Alicia glowered. She knew she was the best dancer here. Dylan shouldn't be captain just because she got the song. They should have held fair tryouts, as they were supposed to. But no one wanted to disrespect Merri-Lee Marvil. She sighed. At least she had front rank.
She dropped to her knees and scrutinized the rest of the class using the mirror in front. There was Dylan, then Alicia, Bianca, and a girl named Meena, one of Layne's close friends who also happened to be an extraordinary dancer. The next row was made up of five girls: Olivia Ryan, Jessica, Melina, Marie, and Zara Warren. The last one had seven: Crystal, Samantha, Brianne, Kiara, Kay, Nanci, and Chrissy.
All too soon, the music started playing.
I'm... putting my defenses up
On putting, the back row got up, on defenses, the middle row stood, and on up, her line shot to their feet and posed. On the beat after the line, Dylan rose. The class went through the rest of the song, and were applauded by their teacher at the end.
"That was perfect!" Mrs. Farson complimented. "And you know that never comes out of my mouth." They nodded. "So here's a treat." She slid back the curtain hanging at the back of the studio. "These are your costumes."
"Eee!" the girls screamed, rushing toward her. Mrs. Farson held a hand up, and they skidded to a stop.
"One at a time," she pronounced. "Dylan first."
Cautiously, she stepped up. Mrs. Farson whipped her outfit out.
Dylan's hands flew to her mouth.
She had been awarded with a black minidress. It had a loose tulle skirt down to her knees and a tight bodice with spaghetti straps. Her feet were bare, but she had OPI polish to wear. It matched the dress perfectly. For her hair, there was a coordinating bow. In her ears were onyx studs. "It's ah-mazing." And thinning.
"Good. For the first row..." Navy dress, sapphire studs. "Second..." Blue, lapis. "Third..." Sky blue, aquamarine.
"There're two things the entire class has to agree on," Mrs. Farson announced. "First, hair styles. Second, alternate captain." Alicia gasped.
"For hair... Dylan, you want to start us off?"
"What about half-up with the bow over the ponytail for them, and I could have a high ponytail with the bow over the holder?"
"That's good. Problems, girls?"
No one.
"Okay, co-captain. This is up to Dylan. Tonight, I will give you tapes of her performance and you will learn it. Tomorrow's class will be auditions."
"What does a co-captain do?" Olivia wondered.
"Takes over if the captain is hurt. Like second-in-command."
"Oh, okay."
Alicia's ears rang. She didn't want to be Dylan's "second-in-command." She wanted to be in charge. She was the best dancer here, and she was going to prove it.
WESTCHESTER MALL
GUCCI
10:53 AM
JUNE 29, 2013
Kristen had finally convinced her mother to drop her off at the Westchester on her own. Well, sort of. Mrs. Gregory would stay and shop for herself while Kristen, armed with $45, could pretend to buy out the designer stores, like Massie, Alicia, and Dylan always did.
She was standing amid a row of $100 crop tops when she noticed the boy through the glass window. She fumbled with her Target wallet as she raced toward the entrance. When she was within sight of him, she slowed to a walk, threw on a casual smirk, and stepped outside, praying to God her hair looked okay.
She knew from past experience that if she over-analyzed any situation, she'd completely clam up. So she contented herself with trying to remember his name. What had Claire said? Kemp something, right? Kemp Harley? Hurley? God, she had no clue.
She strutted up to him, flipped a wavy piece of hair out of her face, and grinned. "Hey."
He turned, waving for his father to walk off without him. "Do I know you?" he asked without any pretense.
"Um, ish." Um, ish? What the hell? "Don't you go to Briarwood?"
"Yeah." Now he looked downright wary. She must sound like some stalker.
"I saw you the other day. My friends and I were talking to Cam Fisher and his friends. And you were standing with another boy."
"Um, so you had to say hi to me because you saw me at Briarwood?"
"I just thought it was common courtesy," she shot back. "I wasn't trying to start anything." Even though she was.
"Alright, alright." He held his hands up and backed away, pulling up his jean shorts as he did so. "Look, I'll, uh, see you around, I guess, K?"
"Sure. Oh, and by the way, I'm Kristen Gregory." She smiled.
"Kemp Hurley." He forced a grin and jogged off.
She slapped herself on the wrist. Kristen Gregory, who read three years ahead of her grade level, Kristen Gregory, who could solve an Algebra 2 problem without breaking a sweat, Kristen Gregory, who won her school's spelling bee every year, Kristen Gregory, who everyone agreed had such a way with words, had entirely frozen up over one petty boy.
PARIS
AUNT JEAN'S HOUSE
5:00 PM
JUNE 29, 2013
Massie still wasn't over her jet lag. For the past two days, while her parents attended charity bashes and dinner parties, she'd done almost nothing, instead opting to lie around in bed and text her friends.
But now, her Aunt Jean was having a welcome dinner for the Blocks, and she knew she had to find something at least semi-decent to wear. France, especially Paris, was different than Westchester. France was one of the fashion capitals of the world. She had to look good.
She vaguely remembered two of her many cousins from the one time they'd come to America when she was nine. Although they were two years younger than her, they'd dressed like models. She could recall exactly what she'd been wearing: a flouncy hot pink Justice skirt and a gray tank top with black flats: 100% Ahnna-approved. The seven-year-old twin cousins, on the other hand, had been decked out in matching lace Versace tops with dark wash jeans and cute little Jimmy Choo sandals that had somehow lengthened their legs. Their hair had been up in side ponytails with floppy bows. Even now, Massie glowered whenever she thought about the first and so far only time they'd met.
She searched through her closet. What did children wear to French dinner parties?
Eventually, she decided on a pale purple Tory Burch pencil skirt with a smart white cropped jacket and white Michael Kors heels. She side-parted her hair, snapped gold hoops into her ears, and painted her nails with Golden Nuggets. She didn't know whether it was right or wrong for France, but it was the best she had.