“Do you want me to answer that?” Massie scoffed, scooping up a piece of cake.
“Ha!” Todd shouted. He held out his hand so Massie could high-five it. But Jay pulled it down.
Claire stuffed a huge piece of cold peanut butter ice cream into her mouth and tongue-batted it around until it started to melt. It was either that or speak, and she had no idea what to say. No idea who to defend. No idea how her day had ended up this way.
Was it Miss Kiss pressure? The colliding of two worlds?
Or had everyone changed?
“We would never have nonfat ice cream cake.” Sari licked the side of her I candle. “How gross would that be?”
“Seriously gross,” Amandy said, and Sarah agreed.
“Oh.” Massie pushed her plate aside.
“How rude,” Sarah murmured.
“Whatevs, I’m allergic to nuts, anyway,” Massie said, digging through her makeup bag.
Claire recalled Massie eating Nutz Over Chocolate Luna bars on several occasions but decided this was not the best time to point that out. Her friends might have been feuding, but not with her. And she wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.
“Oh yeah?” Amandy smoothed a finger over her thick brows. “What kind of nuts are you allergic to?”
Massie pulled a gold YSL compact from her makeup bag and held the mirror in front of SAS. “This kind!”
SAS huffed. Todd laughed. Jay and Judi focused on their cake. Claire didn’t know whether to high-five Massie or book her on the next flight out. So she did what anyone who was caught in the middle of feuding friends would do. She downed another slice of full-fat cake, and when she finished it, she ate some more.
TOHO SQUARE
HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE
Sunday, August 9 6:49 P.M.
There was a certain feeling Claire got when Cam would gaze at her with his one blue and one green eye. It filled her with heat. Security. It made her believe she was special, even beautiful. And tonight, even though he was miles away and ignoring her, she had that feeling.
It was that perfect time of day when the sun was low but still shining. It cast an orange glow on the sides of the charming buildings in historic downtown and warmed people’s cocoa-buttered skin like one last kiss before bedtime. On the stage inside Toho Square the local pop band Carbon Footprint began playing their upbeat hit, “Nature’s Candy.” Flip-flops flapped as fans pushed through the thickening crowd, racing to the grassy dance floor.
“Let’s meet at the white press tent at”—Jay checked his black diving watch—“nine fifteen.”
“’Kay.” Claire bounced on the toes of the gold gladiator sandals Massie had insisted she borrow.
Judi leaned over and hugged her daughter. “Have fun, judge.” She squeezed hard, enveloping Claire in the light scent of lilies and spearmint Dentyne Ice. “We’re so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Claire tried to wiggle loose. She felt like a windup doll that was being held back, her insides all geared up to go.
“Don’t party too hard.” Todd straightened the red bow tie he’d insisted on wearing with his white T-Odd Jobs tank top and black surf trunks. “We have an early day tomorrow. Three lawns and a fish tank cleaning.”
Claire rolled her eyes and grabbed Massie’s arm, pulling her away from reality and toward the pink VIP carpet that led to the entrance.
Just like the guests, the iron “welcome” arch at the head of the outdoor recreation area had been highly decorated in honor of the special occasion. Red glitter covered the poles, and a plump pink balloon mouth hung between them. MISS KISS was written on the top lip, and KISS OFF was scrawled across the bottom. It was a bittersweet event that bid farewell to last year’s winner and made room for this year’s. Even though it wasn’t for points, everyone in attendance knew the power of a first impression and had nicknamed the annual party accordingly.
“They call this the Miss Butt Kiss,” Claire explained, adjusting her JUDGE sticker even though it was perfectly placed above the pocket on the sequined blue and red–striped Luella dress Massie had let her borrow for the occasion.
In a trillion years, she’d never imagined spending the Butt Kiss with an alpha from Westchester. Sarah, Amandy, and Sari were supposed to be by her side. The plan for the day had always been:
1. Morning tanning and playlist prep in Sarah’s backyard.
2. Lunch at Sari’s dad’s restaurant. Pig out—it’s on the house!
3. Get dressed at Amandy’s (she has her own bathroom). Apply lucky glitter colors on the inside of wrists.
4. Photo session by Claire.
5. Get a ride into town from Denver, Sarah’s hot stepbrother.
6. Smile-strut past the judges eight times (our lucky number).
7. Dance and size up competition.
8. Avoid judges when leaving so they don’t see our sweaty bangs.
9. Begin hard-core prep for the pageant.
But after last night’s social storm, Claire thought it might be better to keep everyone separated, just for now. And since she wasn’t competing and didn’t have to look perfect for the party, it kind of made sense.
Surprisingly, SAS had understood. When they’d all met this morning, they had told her they’d respect her boundaries now that she was a judge and assured her that they’d give Massie a second chance. They’d even promised to set a place for her at their pig-out lunch so she could be there in spirit; otherwise they’d miss her too much. In return, Claire had vowed to help them buy makeup for the pageant. So what if that was against contest rules? She was their best friend. It was to be expected. And that’s exactly what she told them. The promise had been enough to mend the hairline fracture in their friendship, seal in the love, and keep the peace. For one more day, at least.
“Ehmagawd, is that Rory Gilmore?” Massie tightened the purple men’s tie she had threaded through the belt loops of the black satin shorts she’d paired with a matching vest. She was the only one in attendance wearing the forbidden color, and she seemed to delight in the drive-by glares she was getting from the Pastel Posse (as she called them).
Like a manatee in a sun shower, Claire let the comment slide off her back. So what if her home had a small-town vibe? It was charming. Festive. Spirited. Warm! And maybe, if Massie just gave it a chance, she’d appreciate it too.
“Claire?” Lorna Crowley Brown appeared in front of her, wearing a loose white blouse covered in DIY lipstick kisses from her own heart-shaped mouth. She had tucked the shirt into white capri jeans that fit snugly over her pear-shaped bottom. “Here is your rulebook.” She handed Claire a red leather–bound binder filled with dividers and serious pages. “There is a section called Fairness Over Friendship. I suggest you read it thoroughly.” Her narrow green eyes bored into Claire’s. “And try to limit your mingling tonight to the other judges.”
“Of course.” Claire held the notebook close to her heart. It smelled like roses.
Lorna placed her plump hand on the small of Claire’s back. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind walking the pink carpet so the press cameras could take your picture . . .”
“Of course,” Claire said, like this happened to her every day. But on the inside she was doing that thing where you jump and click your heels together.
Finally, Massie would see that she was an alpha too.
“Claire Lyons! Judge and star of Dial L for Loser,” Lorna announced to the press who were corralled behind BeDazzled stanchions.
They lifted their cameras and began clicking. The onslaught of attention gave Claire a bit of nervous tunnel vision. The music and party chatter sounded garbled. Muted. Under-water. If not for the crisp scent of Chanel No. 19, she would have had no idea that Massie was right beside her.
Sneaking a side peek, she caught the alpha coyly twirling her purple hair streak and posing with hand-on-hip confidence.
“What magazines are these guys from?” she managed through a frozen smile and clenched teeth.
“M
ostly local papers and a few schools,” Claire muttered through the corner of her mouth.
The perfume scent was instantly gone. Massie ducked under the lenses of the cameras and hurried inside to the party.
“Welcome, Judge Lyons. My name is Gracie. Don’t you look beautiful this evening?” A perky redhead wearing a dusty pink gown covered in purple flowers approached Claire at the end of the carpet and gave her a tall lemonade. “Thirsty?”
Claire accepted the frosty glass graciously. If Massie had still been there, Claire would have winked and mouthed, “Butt kiss.”
“It’s an honor to have you here. I loved your movie. My name is Gracie—oh, I already told you that, didn’t I? I’ll be competing on Saturday. I’ve been rehearsing nonstop, and I’m really hoping there’s a dance round.” She eyed Claire’s judge’s notebook. “I think I’ll really shine in that.”
“You’re off to a great start.” Massie came up behind Gracie, sipping a bottle of Perrier. “You may want to consider some pressed powder on your T-zone. It’s oily times ten.”
“Darn Proactiv!” Gracie’s green eyes fluttered as she frantically palmed her face.
Claire gasp-dragged her friend away. “Thanks for the lemonade,” she called to Gracie. “And good luck on Saturday.”
She pulled Massie through the dense crowd toward the band, trying her best to return the friendly smiles she encountered along the way without appearing to be choosing any favorites.
In the distance, near the dunking booth, SAS were slowly and stiffly walking past Vonda Tillman, editor of the Kissimmee Daily News–slash–Miss Kiss judge, trying to make their first impression.
Claire giggled and steered Massie to an empty corner behind the stage. Once they were safely surrounded by noncompeting dancing guests, Claire would work up the nerve to give Massie a lecture on respecting her town and the people who lived in it. But when she saw the wood steps of the stage—the stage where she would be seated in less than a week—Claire touched her heart and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m a judge.” Her wide blue eyes seemed to look through the bobbing musicians and fix on an imaginary scene. “Do you know what an honor this is?”
“Yes, your honor.” Massie smirked. Her teeth looked extra white against her bronze skin.
“There’s our best friend!” Amandy had abandoned trying to impress Vonda and was now elbowing her way past Massie to throw her arms around Claire.
Sari and Sarah danced up as well, subtly nudging Massie to the outside of their circle.
Claire checked to make sure Lorna was at a safe distance before she acknowledged them.
“Wow, you guys look ah-mazing!” Claire whisper-blurted. She had tried not to talk like the Pretty Committee while she was with SAS, but after spending all day with Massie, gossiping about the people back home, it just kind of happened.
“Do you think we made a good first impression?” Sarah twirled on her heel. Her mint green halter dress spun around her calves, and orange glitter specks fell from her wrists like fairy dust. Sari was wearing the same dress in peach, with pink wrist glitter, and Amandy had accented her lavender dress with blue wrist glitter. They looked like a new girl group fixing to take the stage after Carbon Footprint.
“Those dresses remind me of grocery store cupcakes,” Massie stated flatly, making it hard for the girls to be certain if it was a compliment or an insult.
“Your outfit reminds me of a biker funeral,” Amandy hissed.
“Well, your eyebrows—I mean, eyebrow—reminds me of a—”
“We’re going to take a short break!” announced the black-haired lead singer as he wiped his forehead with his peace-sign sweatband.
The dancers moaned their disappointment, then shuffled off in search of beverages, leaving Claire and her illegal conversation exposed.
“So what are this year’s rounds?” Sari reached for the red leather binder.
Quickly, Claire ducked behind a tall speaker. “I can’t tell you that now. It’s against the rules,” she whisper-shouted. “I can’t even be seen with you.”
“Makes sense to me.” Massie smirked at Amandy.
“And what makes you so special?” Sari asked in her most nasal voice.
“DNA,” Massie fired back.
Claire leaned against the speaker, closed her eyes, and shook her head like a weary parent.
“Well, your DNA wouldn’t even get you past the first round of Miss Kiss,” Sari huffed.
Claire bit her other thumbnail.
“Um, Scary?”
“It’s Sari.”
“Not only would I make it past the first round, I’d win.”
Claire’s heart began to pound. She closed her eyes. She didn’t have to see the alpha to know where this was going.
“You have to be a local to enter,” Amandy stated.
“I’ll use Kuh-laire’s address.”
“You have to have talent,” Sarah tried.
“I am talent.”
“The contest is closed.” Sari insisted.
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”
What?
Claire peeked out from behind the speaker. Massie was storming through the crowd heading straight for Lorna Crowley Brown.
“Is she serious?” Amandy knit her thick brows.
Claire wanted to answer yes! but was too mortified to speak.
Massie broke up a conversation between Lorna, a dad, and some young hopeful wearing a tiara and a mini sash that said, FUTURE MISS KISS.
Massie tilted her head to the side, projecting sweet sincerity. But Lorna shook her head no.
“Ha!” Amandy blurted.
Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She was already caught between Massie and SAS. Imagine having to make it official by casting votes! The thought alone made her intestines twist and turn into what felt like a big skull and crossbones. DANGER, indeed.
Instead of turning on her kitten heel and marching back, Massie twirled her purple hair streak around her finger. Lorna’s eyes widened. She ran her hand through her black blowout, then made a quick call on her cell.
Seconds later they shook hands.
SAS shook their heads.
And Claire just shook.
SAKS FIFTH AVENUE
7687 N. KENDALL DRIVE, MIAMI, FL
Monday, August 10 2:56 P.M.
The three-and-a-half-hour limo ride from Orlando to Miami was still not enough to vanquish the moldy smell of Mrs. Crane’s fish tank from Claire’s nostrils. A shower would have helped. Or the chance to change out of her denim cutoffs and sweat-stained tee, but Massie and her hired driver had stalked the T-Odd Jobs crew from house to house, begging them to hurry so Massie could go shopping.
On the endless ride, Massie shared stories of her short career as a top seller at Be Pretty cosmetics, while Claire nodded like someone who was listening. Instead, she was trying to figure out a way to judge the Miss Kiss pageant and keep her friends.
Finally, the limo turned onto Kendall Drive.
“. . . It turns out the LBRs weren’t beyond repair after all. Because I was turning threes into eights, fives into nines, and eights into tens. And it wasn’t that hard. Just a little constructive criticism and ah lot of makeup.” Massie checked her gloss in her YSL compact.
At first, the mere mention of numbers sent Claire’s teeth straight for her longest nail. How could she possibly give one of her friends a higher score than another?
“. . . So on average I turned every LBR into an eight, at least. . . .” Massie flicked a random piece of gold glitter off her purple and white–striped slouchy tunic.
That’s it!
And just like that, Claire had her solution. She’d give all of her friends eights. Then she wouldn’t have to choose between them. And eight was their lucky number, so . . .
Problem solved!
She wanted to lean across the shiny black leather interior and hug-thank Massie for the inspiration. . . .
But wait . . .
How could she po
ssibly give Massie and Amandy the same score in the Beauty round when Amandy’s brows looked like bangs? How could she give Sari an eight in the Speed Question-and-Answer round when her answers took days? And how could she make anyone with working eyes believe that Sarah’s “Physical Interpretation of a Serious World Issue” wasn’t intended to be a slapstick comedy?
“How did you make them eights if, you know, they were, say, threes?” Claire asked Massie as they stepped out of the limo in front of the department store.
“Easy.” Massie turned and wagged her iPhone, indicating to the driver that she’d call when they were done. “I told them the truth.”
“Which was?”
“Which was, ‘You’re ugly, but don’t worry, because I can help.’” Massie charged past the throngs of salespeople threatening to sample-spritz them with the new fall perfumes. “Hurry!”
Massie grabbed Claire’s arm and pulled her to the safety of the elevators. As soon as the doors closed behind them, she pressed her nose into Claire’s white blond hair and inhaled. “All clear.”
She held out a handful of her glossy brown hair. “Me?”
Claire leaned in and sniffed for perfume. “They got you.” She waved away the light scent of flowers.
Normally she would have lied to the alpha, just to keep her in a good mood. But she had a lot of truth-telling to do in the next week and needed all the practice she could get.
Massie pulled her hair to her nose. “Marc Jacobs. Daisy. It’s fine.”
Claire smiled to herself. She could do this . . . so long as Lorna Crowley Brown didn’t find out.
The floor Massie chose was filled with starved mannequins looking glamorously blasé in the new season’s crop of designer wear. The colors were bright and the—
“Done!” Massie announced.
“What?” Claire giggled. “Already?”
“Yup.” She held up a black silk V-neck Geren Ford dress with ruching down the front. “It’s perfect.”
And it was. For New York City cocktail parties or front-row seats at fashion week. But not for Miss Kiss. The shiny black silk with its plunging neckline and rib-hugging pleats did not say, I’m a fresh, innocent flower who would be honored and humbled to represent Kissimmee, Florida, and act as a mentor for your young daughters and troubled youth. It said, I’m bringing SexyBack.
Claire Page 6
