From the Bookshelves: Nastiness and Vulnerability in "The Clique"

“Grace, I have to warn you,” my fifth grade classmate whispered during our quiet library time. “That book has the word…” Her eyes flickered to a copy of Lisi Harrison’s “The Clique.” Her voice dropped, and I had to lean in to hear: “... bitch.”

That was my first encounter with “The Clique” series, and it launched a three year obsession with finding every existing novel in the series and reading them voraciously. Even after the magic wore off, I still kept with the series until 2011, when the last sequel—“A Tale of Two Pretties”—was published. And after I devoured that book, I looked up from the last page with the same confusion and question I had asked for the other 13 books in the series: What did I just read?

For context, “The Clique” follows five middle school girls living in Westchester, NY. Massie Block is the “alpha” of her clique—the Pretty Committee. Other members include Alicia Rivera (Massie’s second-in-command), Dylan Marvil, and Kristen Gregory. Massie keeps their private middle school—Octavian Country Day, or “OCD” as she likes to call it—under pretty controlling leadership, using snarky insults and expensive style as her weapons. She’s like the Regina George[, or the Blair Waldorf of the series.

And what about the fifth girl? That would be Claire Lyons, a transfer student from Florida who ends up staying in the Block guest house along with the rest of her family. Lyons’s dad and Block’s dad are good friends). This move happens during seventh grade. Claire’s lower financial status and all-Gap wardrobe threaten Massie’s clique, who all happen to be ridiculously wealthy (though later on we find out that Kristen is secretly poor) and shop in stores like Barneys] and Saks.

The entire series, then, is all about the scandals that go on in the girls’ outlandishly luxurious lives. Claire battles Massie for power; they eventually become best friends and then face new challenges together, like a backstabbing foreign exchange student, slipping social statuses, and high school boys. It's like “Gossip Girl,” except trade first times for first kisses, the college application anxiety for pre-high school nervousness, and the details about high-end fashion for… actually, keep that. “The Clique” was “Gossip Girl,” just younger.

So why did I read this series so obsessively? It might be for the same reason so many people watch “Gossip Girl.” We know it’s trash. We know that characters overreact, lie, cheat, steal for petty reasons, and we know that literally all of the problems on the show—or book—could be solved with proper communication and simple human kindness. But we keep watching anyway, because all of that drama happens to be extremely entertaining.

Then again, I think I really liked the series because I could empathize with the characters. Massie was cruel. She was emotionally abusive and controlling, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for everyone who had to deal with her. But I also couldn't help but feel sorry for her. As the series progressed, I quickly understood that Massie’s spiky exterior was a shield for her insecurities—her fears of being alone and of never living up to expectations. These are emotions a lot of us at Harvard feel, and they were emotions that I definitely felt as an awkward middle schooler. Past the designer clothing and rudeness, Massie’s just another insecure kid with the same fears as the rest of us. As Harvard students, we're expected to get the best grades, snag the most prestigious internships, and look like we're having the most stressful but fun time of our lives.

We're expected to be perfect, just like Massie. Being anything but would be devastating.

At the end of the series (spoiler alert), Massie’s family loses all their money, and all of her worst fears come true. She’s worried that her school will shun her. But more importantly, she’s worried that her friends will too.

But that isn’t the case. They stand proudly by her side, because they’re not in it for the social status. They’re in it for the friendship. They let her know that it’s all right to slip up, to not have the newest clothes, to not have the tightest grips on things. They let her know that it’s okay to not be perfect, and I’m waiting for someone to tell me that too.