chapter 1:

dreamin' of what could be

"Well, it's time," Claire Lyons says languidly. She glues a smile on her face, straightens the silver Miu Miu brooch resting on her blazer, and runs her fingers through her straightened blonde hair.

"Oh, sweetie." Judi Lyons wraps her arms around her daughter. "I'm going to miss you."

Claire pulls away as quickly as possible. If she's going to move three thousand miles away, she should start distancing herself from her family now. What if she gets there and can't let go? She will not be one of those desperate kids who cling to their parents and call them every day.

"Ah, give your mother a real hug, Claire-bear," interjects Mr. Lyons. "You won't see her for another four months."

Claire bites her lip and reluctantly gives her mother another squeeze, then kisses her dad twice, once on each cheek.

"Oh, that won't do," Mr. Lyons decides.

With a groan, Claire embraces him also.

"Don't tell me you're ashamed of your boring old family!"

This sentence makes Claire's heart shift guiltily. It's true - she has been spending much more time with the Pretty Committee than her parents and brother. After all, they are much cooler.

"I'll miss you," she mutters.

"Are you flying out with Massie?" Judi wants to know.

"We've got seats next to each other," Claire replies. "So I guess so."

"Don't be sarcastic with me," Judi reprimands. "You won't see me until Christmas."

A horn beeps outside.

"That's my ride." Claire steps away. Scooping her two large suitcases off the floor, she turns back, her gorgeous tresses swooping over her shoulder, and blows a kiss. "Love ya!"

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to Todd?" Judi calls desperately.

With a flutter of her long-lashed baby-blue eyes, and a last grin, she's out the door.

"Finally," Alicia Rivera croons in her slight Spanish accent. Instead of being trashy, her voice is lusty and seductive, seemingly tinged with warmth and caresses.

"Are you ready?" Nadia Rivera's words hold a more throaty sound, and she rolls her R's. She was born in Spain, and she was a model before moving to Westchester with her husband, whom she divorced a little over a year ago. She's still beautiful, and still the life of the party. She just downs a few more drinks than she did when she was married. But whatever.

"Yes," Alicia moans. "I'm sorry; this lipstick is so gloppy, but I love the color so much that I couldn't bear not to use it."

"Miss Alicia?" questions the family driver, Dean. "Would you like me to take the bags out to the car?"

"Si, thank you." She smiles flirtily. Even with her fifty-odd-year-old, married chauffeur, she just can't help it. Sigh.

As Dean lifts her Neiman Marcus luggage set into his muscled arms, Alicia gives her mother a final peck on the cheek. "I'll miss you, Mama."

"Don't forget to call, darling! I'll be waiting by the phone!" Nadia promises.

Alicia holds up her gleaming black iPhone and twirls around, clicking out the door in her suede platform heels.

"I can't believe my little girl is going to boarding school in California!" Marsha Gregory exclaims.

Kristen Gregory smiles tightly and shakes her head. A few locks of her blonde hair, which is pulled into a messy bun, escape and brush over her defined cheekbones. Although she's been through a lot, dealing with her poverty, her friends, and her overprotective, nagging parents, she's going to miss Westchester.

"I can't either," she finally replies.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?" Mrs. Gregory asks with the air of someone who has been denied multiple times. "Absolutely positive?"

"It's okay, Mom." Kristen grins, then reaches around her to grasp the handles of her Coach suitcases.

"I'll definitely drive you to the airport, though, right?"

"I can do it myself." Kristen smiles and twirls her car keys (on their Tiffany lanyard) around her forefinger. "I've had my driver's license for an age, Mom."

"If by an age you mean two months." Mrs. Gregory scowls. "No, I insist. The traffic into the city is really too heavy for an inexperienced teenager. Kristen, I know you're capable, but it makes me feel better, alright? You're my baby."

"Okay, Mom. But only because I won't see you for a year."

"You promised you'd be home for Christmas!" Kristen's father exclaims, coming out of the kitchen to give his only child a bear hug.

"Okay." Kristen drags out the word, but she's happy to comply. "Are you coming with us?"

"Sorry, bud." Mr. Gregory pouts. "I have a conference call in a couple of minutes. I'm gonna head into the study. But good luck, sport, and give me a ring every once in a while a'right?"

"Sure thing, Dad." Kristen gives him a quick peck on the cheek before slipping her keys into the hidden pocket of her sundress. "Mom?"

"I know, I know." Marsha kisses her husband quickly and bustles out the door, leaving Kristen to follow.

"The camera crews are ready!" Merri-Lee Marvil chirps, rushing into the pantry, where Dylan is hoarding bags of her favorite chips and chocolates for the five-hour plane trip to California.

"Give me a moment." Dylan grits her teeth, trying in vain to force a package of Chips Ahoy into the back pocket of her jeans.

"Don't do that!" Merri-Lee scolds, snatching the cookies and tossing them into the wastebasket. "You'll ruin your body. I'm sorry, honey, but you've been putting on a lot of weight recently, and - "

"I wonder why!" Dylan spits. "Considering the stupid crew is here twenty-four seven, never giving me a moment of peace, and my sisters are absolutely perfect, and then you're always nagging - "

"It's in your best interest!" Mrs. Marvil cries.

"It doesn't feel like it." Dylan whirls around and grabs her iPhone off the counter before stomping out into the foyer. "Did you put my bags outside already, Lloyd?" she demands.

"Yes, Miss Dylan," her driver answers politely.

"Thank you," Dylan says pointedly.

"Back door as usual?" Lloyd questions.

Surprisingly enough, the paparazzi have never discovered the tiny screen that opens into the Marvils' yard. There, a minuscule gravel pathway winds its way through some sheltered trees and into a clearing where the family's spare limousine (that Dylan uses more often than not) resides.

"No, of course not!" Merri-Lee yelps, running in, tipping precariously on her periwinkle-toned high heels. "The front!"

"Run!" Dylan commands to Lloyd, making a move towards the hallway. But, of course, this isn't the movies, and he doesn't follow her.

"The front," Merri-Lee growls. "In three, two, one," and she nods at Lloyd, who shoots an apologetic glance at Dylan and grandly opens the door.

Cameras immediately begin clicking. Light bulbs flash. There are screams and shouts from all sides. Car engines rev. Reporters shut their cell phones with decisive claps. All faces are pointed toward Dylan and Merri-Lee Marvil.

Merri-Lee is beaming, her hand closed around her youngest daughter's wrist to guide her along.

"What's it like watching your littlest child go away to college?" yells one journalist.

Merri-Lee turns to him, smirking. "It's her senior year of high school, sir, actually," she answers kindly. "Not college yet!" She's mastered the technique of pretending to answer a question.

"Right, right." And the man turns to his camera woman, who nods enthusiastically, indicating that she did indeed capture that beautiful moment during which Merri-Lee Marvil deigned to light up their very own studio with her presence.

"Dylan, do you feel liberated to be leaving your family?" hollers another, this one a lady wearing a faux-fur Ralph Lauren coat, never mind that it's the end of August.

Dylan opens her mouth to answer, feels her mother's talons digging into her hand, and closes it, sadly shaking her head at the reporter who had asked.

The limo door swings out towards her face, and Dylan ducks inside, huddling in the safety of buttery leather seats and crisp smells and quiet.

The car zooms away, bringing her one mile closer to her future.

Satisfied, Massie Block gives the curls at the ends of her hair one last flip before flicking a smile at her mirror and exiting. Although there isn't much to see, she spares one last look at her bedroom. The floor is still coated with her spotless white rug, her bed is still there, her closet doors still ajar, though there aren't many clothes remaining behind. She's taking everything with her.

Sighing, she pads downstairs, pinching the hems of her brown Steve Madden cowboy boots, for once adhering to her mother's no-shoes-in-the-house-ever rule. It is her last day here for a long, long time; the least she can do is play nice.

"Breakfast," Inez announces with a flourish, sweeping her arm over the beautifully set table. They've used the nicest glasses, Massie realizes, and the most expensive plates (Marimekko, imported specially from Sweden), just to send her off in style.

She slides into her chair and piles up food in front of her (chocolate-chip pancakes, light as wafers; sunset-orange and enticingly green melons; rich, sweet bacon strips) and pours an amber-hued glass of iced tea. As she takes her first bite, her parents join her. Now that's a surprise.

Massie rushes to swallow a huge chunk of fruit and follows it with a humongous gulp of tea. "Good morning," she manages to sputter.

"Good morning, darling," Kendra Block replies cordially, helping herself to a vanilla yogurt and dotting it with granola crumbs. "How are you feeling? Excited?"

"And nervous," she responds. "But don't tell."

Kendra giggles charmingly. "Don't worry; that's normal," she assures her child. "I was nervous when I went to boarding school!"

"But you were a freshman," Massie clarifies. "I'm an adult."

"Ah, yes, my grown-up little girl," William Block remarks with a booming chuckle, taking a large swig of orange juice. "I still remember when you took me with you to get tampons that first time. Your mother - "

"Dad!" Massie shrieks.

Inez snorts from her spot by the sink, where she is drying dishes.

Suddenly, Kendra and William both go silent. Massie, confused, stops talking too.

"Inez," declares Kendra. "Please. This is a family discussion."

"Ma," Massie whispers.

"Massie, please," Kendra hisses in a clipped tone. "Inez."

"I apologize, ma'am."

"I should hope so," says William. "And by the way, Inez, we were thinking . . . since most of your job was taking care of Massie, and now she is gone, we will have to negotiate a new pay rate. We do, of course, understand that you have your children to take care of, and we will keep that in mind, but the work you do for us just doesn't have as much worth anymore."

"I . . . I understand."

Kendra smiles graciously. "Of course you do, Inez, you are much more of a lady than some of those god-awful women I talk to at the country club. Mrs. Marvil, on the other hand?" She shudders.

"Mo-om! Dylan's my friend!" Massie protests.

"I didn't say she wasn't, dear," Kendra answers absently.

William's phone vibrates. "Looks like it's time to go. I think Isaac already put your things in, Massie."

"I'll miss you, Dad." She embraces her father, then her mother. Before, she would have hugged Inez too, but it looks like things have changed. "You . . . you too, Inez," she murmurs.

And she picks up her Miu Miu tote bag and makes her slow way down the driveway to where her Range Rover is waiting.

please review! it means a lot!

edited by joy(outside the crayon box)