Claire

by Lisi Harrison

  “Are you Kuh-laire Lyons?” He stepped out of the truck, clipboard in hand. The gorilla-ish amounts of white blond hair on his arms matched what was left on the sides of his sunburned head.

  “Yeah.” Claire hurried toward him, her bare feet crunching down on the prickly piles of Todd’s raked fronds.

  He yanked his metal handcart from the truck, then wrestled to pull a five-foot-tall wardrobe box from the back. “Where do you want it?”

  “Um, inside, I guess.” Claire hurried to open the front door, standing back to allow the deliveryman to wheel the box into the small foyer.

  “Sign.” He thrust a clipboard into her hands and slid the cart out from under the box. “I guess one of your estate butlers will take it from here.” He snickered.

  “Very funny,” Claire said with a sarcastic smirk, closing the door behind him.

  “Open it!” Todd urged as he rooted through the mess of papers on the white vestibule table. He found their mother’s silver-plated Bank of America letter opener and handed it to his sister.

  Claire stepped up on the hallway bench to reach the top of the box and stabbed at the packing tape along the seams. A gust of Chanel No. 19 wafted out, like she had just released Massie Block from a genie bottle. Claire opened the front cardboard flaps and saw a note pinned to a white, wrinkle-free wardrobe bag. She lifted the purple card and read:

  Are we hair dryers?

  Claire said, “No,” as she flipped the card over.

  Then there’s no need for outlets!

  “How did she know I was at an outlet?” Claire wondered aloud.

  “What is it?” Todd looked up at his sister as if admiring the Statue of Liberty.

  Claire unzipped the bag and anxiously dug her hand inside. The textures were unmistakable. Denim, silk, beading, ruching, leather, suede, buttery-soft cotton (Splendid!). “It’s a gift from my fashion gawdmother!”

  “For what? Staying away all summer?” Todd snickered at his not-so-funny jab.

  “She must have sent these for me to wear to the ball!” Claire thank-hugged the box as if it were Massie.

  “What ball?” Todd ducked under Claire’s arm and peered inside the box. “Whoa!”

  “Long story.” Claire nudged him back. She was so excited she didn’t know what to do first. The clothes felt great. She couldn’t wait to play her Miley Cyrus CD and try them on. But more than that, she was excited times ten by the gesture. Massie must have truly considered her a BFF if she had gone to the trouble of sending such an extravagant gift. Everything her parents had told her about Massie was right: “She only acts mean because she’s insecure. And lashing out makes her feel safe. On the inside she is a caring, thoughtful person who will show kindness and let down her guard once she knows she can trust you with her feelings.”

  Well, it was beyond clear from the size and thoughtfulness of the gift that that time had finally come. Not only would Claire dominate the style rounds of Miss Kiss, but she could return to Westchester and Octavian Country Day School knowing for certain that she was 150 percent in.

  “How jealous will Sarah, Sari, and Mandy be when they see this?” Todd asked, licking his devil-red lips in pleasure.

  Claire’s insides dipped like she was careening down Magic Mountain. “Ugh, I forgot about that.” She hopped down off the bench to the floor. Had the ceramic tiles been that chilly a few minutes ago?

  “Why so sad?” Todd put his clammy palm on Claire’s tanned shoulder.

  “Since when do you care?” Claire wiggled out from under his grip.

  “A depressed employee is bad for business.”

  At that moment Claire would have traded every dime she’d ever made for a neutral friend to talk to. Someone who didn’t care what she wore, whom she hung out with, or where she shopped. But Layne was at a weeklong science clinic with some friends from her summer school class. And Claire was dead to Cam.

  Unfortunately, it looked like Todd would have to do.

  “Long story short,” she began, “I’m auditioning for Miss Kiss on Saturday, and Massie sent me a box of ah-mazing clothes to wear. But if I wear them, Sarah, Sari, and MandywhonowgoesbyAmandy will say I’ve become ‘all Westchester’ and that I think I’m too cool for Dress Barn, so I have to wear . . .” She lifted her finger, letting Todd know she’d be back in a second. After a quick dash to her bedroom closet, Claire returned with the EW dress. “This.”

  “It looks like someone barfed jellybeans on it,” Todd giggled.

  “I know.” Claire stomped her bare foot in frustration.

  “So why not let them pick dresses from the Massie box too?” Todd suggested, swiping his red hair off his still-shiny forehead.

  Claire paused. For the first time in ten years, her brother had said something constructive. But after a second of contemplation, she shook her head.

  “I can’t. They’ll think I don’t like the dresses they bought and that I’m—”

  “What’s this?” Judi Lyons asked as she bounced downstairs in her lemon yellow tennis dress. She hadn’t played in years, but she thought the pleated mini was still flattering and hated to see it go to waste. The sun had turned her shoulder-length brown hair dark blond (“free of charge!”), and she had decided to “go with it” until she returned to Westchester.

  “Clothes.” Claire beamed with pride. “From Massie.”

  Judi smacked her own forehead. “That reminds me, Kendra called.”

  “Why?” Claire asked, hoping the Blocks hadn’t suddenly decided to rent their guesthouse to another family.

  “The message said something about hoping I don’t mind the intrusion. She must have been talking about this box.”

  “Tell her we don’t mind!” Claire urged.

  “I will.” Judi kissed the top of Claire’s head—a kiss that said, I am happy you’re happy. She palmed the white wicker vestibule table. “Shoot. My keys are upstairs. Be right back, then we can head out.”

  “Where are you guys going?” Todd screeched. “We’re in the middle of shooting!”

  “I told you I had walking practice at Dipper Dan’s.” Claire threw the Good & Plenty dress over her shoulder as if it was a dirty towel. “And I already got the reading shot.”

  Todd spread his arms out. “How’d I look?”

  “Great,” Claire sighed.

  “Jealous?” Todd asked, smiling at the dress.

  “It’s not funny! What am I gonna do?”

  Todd tapped his freckly chin and looked up at the ceiling fan. “Hey! Remember that time Massie ‘accidentally’ spilled a latte on Kristen’s church dress so she wouldn’t have to wear it to the Easter dance?”

  Claire giggled at the memory.

  “Wellllllll?” Todd winked.

  “How much?” Claire groaned.

  “I want the T-Odd Jobs photos for free.” He folded his arms across his red T-Odd Jobs shirt and made his hard-bargain face.

  “Of course you do.” Claire rolled her eyes, but she shook his hand. “Deal.”

  DIPPER DAN’S ICE CREAM EMPORIUM

  KISSIMMEE, FL

  Tuesday, August 4 3:29 P.M.

  The coarse fabric of the dress rubbed the backs of Claire’s legs raw on the fifteen-minute car ride to the local ice cream parlor.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” Judi called as her kids slipped out of the red Pontiac Torrent. “Stay together!”

  “We will,” Todd lied as he ducked down behind the car and ran across the strip mall parking lot toward the roof of the Publix grocery store. His T-Odd Jobs tee was swollen with five iced tea–filled balloons.

  “Don’t worry.” Claire smile-waved at Amandy, who was just getting out of her father’s silver Saturn convertible in front of Payless. She was wearing her poppy-covered empire dress. The vibrant color popped against her pale skin and electric blue eyes. With an eyebrow wax she might have been a nine. But her damp brown hair and unibrow lowered her score considerably. Not that Claire held it against her oldest friend. She was just grateful Mas
sie wasn’t there to witness the crime.

  She and Amandy stepped onto the curb in front of Dipper Dan’s and weaved through the crowd of people licking and sweating under the shade of the pink and white–striped awning. Just then, the jingle of the store’s doorbells chimed. Sarah and Sari pushed through, each carrying two double-scoop cones of mint chip and cookie dough. They were wearing plastic lobster bibs around their necks, which obviously came from What’s the Catch?, the seafood restaurant four doors down that Sari’s father owned.

  “It’s packed in there, so we ordered for you.” Sarah shoulder-brushed a blond curl away from her cheek as she handed Claire her cone.

  “Do you have any extra bibs?” Amandy asked as she took her cone from Sari.

  “Just one.” Sarah pouted. “They’re completely out. You can flip for it.” She pointed at the nickel in her clear plastic change purse.

  “That’s okay,” Claire blurted. “Mand—I mean Ah-mandy can have it,” she said, still trying to warm to the annoying camp nickname. “The colors of my ice cream are the same colors as my dress. No one will notice if I spill.”

  Amandy speed-tied the bib around her neck, obviously trying to prove possession in case Claire changed her mind.

  Without having to say it, SACS lick-walked toward the back of Publix. The huge grocery store had a wood loading dock for its delivery trucks, and after 3 p.m., when the deliveries stopped, it made a great runway. The girls had been using it (after all, it was Publix property!) for years.

  “How EW are these dresses?” Sarah twirled in the middle of the parking lot, her blue, orange, and yellow kerchief dress lifting in the soft breeze. Eventually she lost her balance and slammed into a champagne-colored Cadillac sedan in the handicapped spot.

  A group of high school boys whoot-whoooted as they screeched past in a black Mustang, blaring “Sugar, We’re Going Down” by Fall Out Boy.

  SACS cracked up. The warm, humid air wrapped itself around their laughter like one big hug. And despite the suffocating heat, Claire’s arms Brailled with goose bumps.

  “I love my dress too. In fact, I love it so much I can’t decide what I love most about it—the sequins, the Cookie Crisp color, or the way it draws attention to my shoulders and away from my arms. I just love, love, love, love, love it!” Sari parted her thin lips and poked her tongue into the green scoop of ice cream. “Sar, did you see those three guys ahead of us in line wearing the Dr. Sveningson Chiropractic baseball jerseys?”

  “You mean the ones checking you out?”

  “Yeah!” She squeal-grabbed Sarah’s arm.

  Claire tried not to hate Sari for switching dresses, but every time the wind blew the porous, candy-colored dress against her chafing skin it got harder. And when she caught a glimpse of her Pepto and lime–swirled reflection in the warped metal Publix delivery door, it became unbearable.

  “And if anyone can pull off that wild pattern it’s Lyons.” Amandy patted Claire on the back like she was a real trouper.

  “Thanks,” Claire moaned, knowing she was.

  They finally reached the dock in the loading area, which smelled like fish, raw meat, and cardboard. Still, the rancid combination brought comfort to Claire. She associated the smell with imaginary fashion shows, off-key Broadway musical renditions, and fake Miss Kiss contests. It was hard to believe they were there to practice for the real thing. And even harder to believe that after years of tearing out pictures of dream dresses for the pageant, Claire was wearing this!

  She glanced up at the roof and saw the top of her brother’s red hair. Yes! He was there! Todd, like a good sniper, was crouched down, waiting for the right moment. Claire sighed with relief, not the least bit concerned about the pain she might feel upon impact. Even if the balloon left a welt, the wound would heal—unlike the emotional scar she would have if forced to stand before a panel of judges in something that felt like burlap and looked like a preschooler’s refrigerator art.

  “Let’s do it!” Amandy declared, lifting herself up onto the elevated wood platform.

  Claire and the others followed. Once up, they stood tall and proud, like they’d finally earned the right to be there.

  “Okay.” Amandy wiped her hands on her bib. “We’re gonna run through three walks.” She lifted her thumb. “One: gliding over to the judge’s table for sign-up.” She lifted her index finger. “Two: gliding out of the room to the waiting area.” She lifted her middle finger. “And three: gliding back in for the one-on-one interview.”

  Sarah and Sari lined up behind Amandy. Claire shuffled to the back. She casually lifted her eyes toward the roof to see if—

  “Ahhhhh!” Sari screamed as a trickle of brown liquid spilled down the side of her dress. “I’ve been shot!” She rubbed the bright red circle on her arm where the balloon had hit, her eyes pooling with panic-tears. She looked down, as if expecting to see blood but finding something worse. “My dress!” The ivory was now stained the color of sewage.

  “What was that?” Amandy shouted.

  Smack!

  “Ooof!” Amandy lurched as she took one in the back. “They got me!”

  Smack!

  A yellow balloon exploded at Sarah’s feet. “You gotta love these jellies,” she gloated. “They’re totally waterproof.”

  Unfortunately, Claire’s dress was still intact.

  “Todd!” she blurted, waving her arms at the roof.

  “Well, stop moving around so much!” Todd yelled back, his slightly raspy voice filling the empty spaces between the green-and-white eighteen-wheelers and the rusty metal trash bins.

  SAS turned and glared at Claire.

  Oops.

  “You knew about this?” Sarah hissed just before she got nailed on the head. Her drenched blond curls dripped onto her kerchief dress and streak-stained the satin. “NO!”

  “Sorry!” Todd called.

  “It’s not like you think!” Claire insisted, trying to wipe Sarah’s face with the sticky paper that had been wrapped around her cone. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course you did,” Amandy hissed. “This is a Massie trick.”

  Claire gasped, her shocked expression betraying her. How did she know that?

  “You e-mailed us the story, remember?” Sari sniffed back the tears. “You thought it was sooo funny how Massie spilled latte on Kristen’s church dress because she thought it was too hideous for the dance, even though it was probably fine, but because it’s Westchester, it just wasn’t good enough or stylish enough or expensive enough or hot culture enough!”

  “You mean haute couture?” Claire blurted. Then hated herself.

  “I knew you changed.” Amandy jumped off the dock. She shielded her eyes from the sun and scowled. “You’ve become totally EW!”

  Claire knit her brow in confusion. Extremely Wearable? Eternal Wannabe?

  “Extremely Westchester!”

  Sarah and Sari jumped down and followed Amandy across the parking lot, rubbing their wounds and lick-rubbing their stains. Claire stood alone on the dock, her dress completely stain-free, feeling EW: Extremely Worthless.

  CITY HALL

  KISSIMMEE, FL

  Saturday, August 8 8:01 A.M.

  Claire arrived at City Hall one minute past the official Kiss-Off starting time, and already there was a pastel-colored, fruit-scented, lip-glossed line that snaked out the door and down the concrete steps.

  SAS were nowhere in sight.

  What if they bailed because they didn’t have anything to wear? Claire squeezed the tragic thought from her tortured conscience and hyper-prayed that wasn’t the case. But she had no way of knowing. They had ignored her I-worked-extra-hours-to-earn-dry-cleaning-money-for-you-and-I-am-so-beyond-sorry messages for four days straight—just like Claire would have ignored Todd’s had he tried to apologize for messing up the dress sabotage. But the video he’d shot of SAS being ambushed was now a YouTube favorite. It had over fifty-nine thousand views and had scored 4.5 stars, so he had zero regrets.

 
; Despite the overcast sky, the thick heat bore down on Claire like a soggy chenille blanket. Or was that guilt? A layer of sweat began forming under her flatironed bangs, and her Dress Barn dress might as well have been cut from sandpaper. Still, Claire was glad she’d worn it. Maybe it would show SAS that they were wrong about her. That she hadn’t become EW (Extremely Westchester) and that she was still very much EK (Extremely Kissimmee).

  In front of her a busty woman wearing a tight, yellowing MISS KISS 1985 T-shirt was smoothing her palm over her daughter’s side-part. The petite brunette held her breath and squeezed her blue eyes shut until the primal grooming session ended. Once it had, the mom leaned toward her daughter’s pearl-studded ear and whispered something sage. Her thin lips seemed to be gobbling her daughter’s curls like a hungry goldfish, while her wide brown eyes assessed the competition.

  Behind Claire, a cluster of slightly older girls over-spritzed themselves with perfume samples they had probably swiped from the Beauty Boutique, while others sang songs from High School Musical to calm their nerves.

  Standing amidst the feverish excitement, Claire felt like her heart was sinking in the Gulf of Mexico. She had waited her entire life to walk this line with her friends so they could support one another. Reassure one another. Hold hands and giggle in the face of competition. And, most important, dream about getting crowned Miss Kiss and touring the state for a glamorous year of mall openings, car shows, parades, wardrobe fittings, etiquette lessons, and image consultants.

  Yet here she was, feeling ugly. Despondent. And alone.

  Shuffling forward with the enthusiasm of someone boarding an overbooked flight to Siberia, Claire eventually inched her way inside. The usual wet-wood-meets-old-carpet smell of the municipal building had been temporarily masked by hair products, scented lip gloss, and body oils. Photos of mayors and presidents past had been removed, replaced with pink glitter–framed head shots of past winners dating back to 1990—an injustice that Miss Kiss 1985 teared up about the instant she noticed. A playlist of songs with the word kiss in them was crackling from the PA system, and peppy line monitors dressed in white overalls with red lip prints all over them clapped their hands and encouraged everyone to sing along. Currently, the selection was some oldie called “Your Kiss Is on My List.” The moms sang while their daughters bit their nails and rolled their eyes in embarrassment.