OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY
SOCIAL STUDIES
9:00 AM
SEPTEMBER 8, 2012

"Ugh," Massie said automatically as Kristen walked into the room. One thing she'd learned from Ahnna was that Alphas dissed whoever bothered them without a second thought.

"What?" asked Alicia, who was organizing her sparkly notebooks inside a sophisticated white Claire Fontaine binder with pink roses.

"Kristen," Massie replied with a toss of her hair. She watched the slender girl make her way to the seat she'd occupied ever since Massie had told her off.

"Why were you so mean to her?" wondered her friend. Now she was sorting through the lipsticks she kept in her pencil case. She selected one and brought it up to her mouth, unscrewing the top before running it across her top lip.

"Actually, it wasn't even her fault," Massie commented casually, the way she'd learned from Ahnna. "It was almost yours."

"Excuse me?!" Alicia dropped the tube on her desk and turned to face Massie. She raised her arched eyebrows. "What did you say?"

Trying to speak calmly and slow her rapidly beating heart, Massie said, "Well, you did let her take my seat. Would you like it if I did that to you?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't make a big deal out of it like you did." Now Alicia was stowing her books underneath her chair. Massie couldn't figure out why she wouldn't look up. Was Alicia afraid of Massie?

"I'm so sorry..." she said snarkily, but couldn't think of anything else to say. That was another thing she needed to do. When she got home, Plan A was to make a list of good comebacks.

Alicia didn't dignify her totally lame statement with a response. Instead, she looked up and away from Massie as the teacher entered the room.

Had she just lost a friend? Sometimes middle school drama was just too confusing.

And she's calling that drama?

OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY
LIFE SCIENCE
9:11 AM
SEPTEMBER 8, 2012

Claire sat quietly at her desk, running a hand through her almost-white hair. In black leggings, faux-suede cowgirl boots, and a sea-green t-shirt stating simply, 'Save the Drama for Your Llama,' Claire had thought she looked pretty cool. But now she realized it was far from Massie-cool.

"Hang in there," she told herself, glancing at the mermaid Swatch her mother had bought her for her last birthday, not seeming to realize no one wore Swatches anymore. Her teacher had officially been droning on and on about nothing for exactly six minutes, and Claire knew that if it was remotely possible to die of boredom, she would be on the ground, breathless.

Her vision blurred as her eyes involuntarily followed the teacher back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, as she paced the classroom. When would it be time to go home? Not back to the Block's retarded guesthouse. Home home. Back to Orlando, with Disney World and Universal Studios. Back to sun and warmth, not the wierd frigid air that engulfed Westchester. Back to Mandy, and Sarah, and Sari. Back home. Home.

Claire couldn't help but lean her chin on her desk and sob.

OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY
GYM A
9:44 AM
SEPTEMBER 8, 2012

As Alicia strolled over to her assigned spot on the gym floor, she thought about modeling lessons. Every afternoon until the fashion show, she, Massie, and Dylan would be learning about nothing else from 3-6 every day. Oh, boy.

Not that she wasn't excited. But three hours? A day? That was a little much. I mean, face it, she was Alicia Rivera. She just had to be a natural.

We'll see.

OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY
HOME EC
10:27 AM
SEPTEMBER 8, 2012

Dylan dug her French-manicured nails into her forehead, regardless of the stinging red marks she knew they'd leave. Normally, her memory surpassed any of her other features, but it was like her brain had sunk into oblivion. Her mother had kept her up until almost dawn last night so they could discuss the show- and Dylan's outburst. After that, she hadn't seen a point in going to bed, so she'd spent her time putting together the best outfit any sixth grader at OCD had ever worn.

A Diane Von Furstenburg Esperanza silk-chiffon top was perfectly layered with about six pounds of jet-black bead necklaces. A matching ring adorned her wedding finger: risque but beautiful. Uber-tight black Prada skinny jeans showed off her legs, and maybe a little hidden-by-her-shirt fat, although she'd never admit it to anyone else. An ice-blue metallic Coach handbag dangled from her shoulder. Matching a-size-too-big flats were on her feet. Even though her feet had a little too much space to move around, the shoes were uber-comfy and looked great with the outfit. Her hair hung perfectly around her shoulder, just barely showing off black plastic hoops that coordinated amazingly with the clasp on her purse. It was only third period, and she'd already gotten about fifteen compliments. Her confidence was sky-high.

"So how could you prevent pie-crust edges from burning?" the teacher inquired rhetorically, quizzing her students on the mini-speech she'd just given.

Dylan's hand shot up. After the teacher nodded at her, she blurted, "Cover it with aluminum foil."

"Exactly." Dylan was rewarded with a smile. Then the bell went off.

"Class dismissed!"

Dylan managed to make her way through the throng of students stampeding towards the door without getting her beautiful shoes trampled. Today was a good day.

OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY
FIRST-FLOOR BATHROOM
11:19 AM
SEPTEMBER 8, 2012

Kristen sat on a stall bench. She'd gotten used to bringing a brown paper bag with a cold lunch and eating in the powder room. Not a particularly great state of affairs, but she could deal. And it was much easier to study in a lonely bathroom than a noisy, crowded cafe. At least that's what she told herself.

She flipped open her workbook to Page 6 and took out a pencil. After sharpening it, she focused on the first problem. If there are 86 apples, and two of them are rotten, how many apples are not rotten? Simplify your answer. She scribbled her work into her notebook, and tried to move on to the next problem. Before she knew it, she was crying. Not a couple of tears running down her cheeks, not tiny sobs, full-fledged crying.

She hadn't acknowledged her feelings for OCD until right then. Why was she eating in the bathroom when she could be hanging out with Belle and the rest of the team in the courtyard, kicking a ball around? Why wasn't it easier to be friends with Massie and Alicia? Why couldn't she just be popular, for hell's sake? She clenched her first in anger, staring down at her raggedy, chewed-up nails, which, miraculously, gave her the answer.

It was because she wasn't like those girls, the ones that had everything handed down to them on a silver platter. With giant mansions and summer homes in Paris, and Hawaii, and Antigua, and winter houses in Aspen and Norway.

Her biggest interests were playing sports, doing well in school, having fun. And if that wasn't what these girls were about, then that was their problem. Fuck the prissy little bitches in their adorable pleated skirts and perfectly styled hair. They could all go to hell. From now on, all Kristen was going to do was enjoy herself. She was going to have a life that pleased her.

If only it was that easy.