Claire felt like she was falling off a cliff and everyone she knew was leaning over the edge, happily waving goodbye. “I was trying to—”
“Well, whatever you were trying to do didn’t work,” Massie spat through her tightening lips. “Unless your goal was to make Gracie win.”
Something inside Claire snapped.
“Why are you so upset?” she heard herself shout. “You don’t even live here. You didn’t grow up dreaming about this contest. You didn’t even know what it was until you randomly showed up.”
Massie opened her mouth. Tiny fissures cracked the surface of her mask. “I’m upset, Kuh-laire, because I flewhereaftermy parentsblewmeoffforsomelameEuro-cruiseandwhenIgothere mythingswerebeingransackedbyabunchofdirtylocalsandthen youditch-liedtomeallweeksoyoucouldhangwiththemandthen youvotedforGracie!”
For a minute, Claire stopped breathing.
She forgot all about SAS and the pageant and Gracie and the number eight. Massie had never shared her feelings like that before. Even though she’d referred to Claire’s friends as dirty locals, her confession was rarer than steak tartare and touching times ten.
Claire placed a sympathetic hand on Massie’s robed shoulder. She couldn’t imagine being left to fend for herself while her parents took a joyride around the Mediterranean. “Did your parents really blow you off?”
Massie wiggled out from under her grip. “Relax, Dr. Phil. They bought me a ticket. I didn’t want to go.”
“Oh.” Claire’s compassion snapped back like a retractable tape measure. “I was just trying to be a good friend.”
“Like you even know what that means,” Massie mumbled, tightening her belt around her waist.
Claire’s eyes welled up with tears. She wanted to race for the comfort of her bed, but it had been taken over by Massie and Bean. So she paced, mindfully avoiding the designer land mines that dotted her floor like a war zone.
“Just so you know, the only reason I agreed to be a judge in the first place was so I could get the check and buy the clothes on your stupid back-to-school shopping list! But for what? So I could trade in my Keds for Kors? Gawd, I don’t even know if I like Mitchell Kors.”
“Michael,” Massie mumbled through the hardened mask.
Claire stepped over a Louboutin flat. “I have no idea what I like anymore. Who I like. What I wear. Who I am!” She pulled her blond hair in frustration.
“Add a B and an R to that L on your forehead and you’ll know who you are.” Massie sat down next to Bean and stroked her silky ears.
Claire smirked. “I already told you: I was just trying to be a good friend.” Her voice was a little calmer now.
“To who?” Massie asked like a ventriloquist, her mouth barely moving. “Those girls? Gawd, Kuh-laire, they don’t deserve you. If they were such good friends, they wouldn’t be blaming you for their own mistakes.”
“You’re right.” Claire smiled brightly, like the warm sun after a violent storm. “Thanks.” She paused. “So you forgive me?”
“Puh-lease!” Massie’s mask cracked. Green mud chips fell to the carpet. “You are so out of the Pretty Committee.”
“What? Why?” Claire swallowed hard, pushing her beating heart back down into her chest. Out of the PC? She felt a quake of nausea and grabbed the door frame for support. Why didn’t anyone understand she’d just been trying to help? “You just said they were lame for blaming me. And now you’re—”
Massie crossed her legs and narrowed her eyes under her mask. “Unlike your FLBRs, I’m not blaming you because I sucked and I can’t admit it. I’m blaming you because I was the best and you didn’t pick me.” She glared at Claire with the confidence of someone whose face wasn’t flaking all over her robe. “I just want what I deserve.”
“Well, so do I.” Claire held her ground.
“You already got what you deserved, Kuh-laire!” Massie grabbed her Chanel face wash and slammed the door behind her, leaving Claire all alone to deal with the mess.
TOHO SQUARE
HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE
Sunday, August 16 7:11 P.M.
Claire gazed up at the dark clouds over Toho Square and pray-begged for a hurricane. The forecast called for showers, but not until midnight. Which wouldn’t help at all. She needed a way out, now.
Her parents weren’t buying the whole stomach-bug excuse; rather, they’d stopped buying it once Claire mowed down an entire container of KFC macaroni salad for lunch. She’d claimed a migraine around four o’clock, and then had gotten busted blasting Ashlee Simpson’s “Rule Breaker” in her bedroom. At six, she’d broken down and admitted the real reason she didn’t want to go to the Miss Kiss crowning: Everyone hated her. But that didn’t work either. Her father grabbed Claire by the shoulders, gave her a slight shake, and then asked:
“What’s your last name?”
“Lyons,” Claire mumbled.
“And what do Lyons do?”
“Roar.”
“I can’t hear you,” Jay bellowed.
“RRRROAR!” Claire managed.
“Good.” Jay released his grip, satisfied. “I know it’s been tough for you the last few weeks. And I know you made some decisions you regret. So show up at the ball tonight, apologize to the people you hurt, and move on, Claire-Bear.”
The childish nickname made her tear up.
“If you act like it’s over, they’ll act like it’s over. And before you know it everyone will move on to the next scandal.” He stated it like it was no big deal to be publicly shamed in the town square, then disowned by your friends. “Now go get dressed—we don’t want to be late. Massie spent all day at the spa getting ready and we want to be there on time to support her.”
Claire zipped up last summer’s multicolored striped J.Crew dress, wondering why Massie needed support after spa-ing all day. Wasn’t it Claire who’d risked her reputation to help her friends, and then gotten dumped, fired, and scorned? Where was her support?
But, as always, she took her father’s advice and feigned pride while she waited at the gates of Toho Square to cast her audience vote for Miss Kiss. And this time there was no question whose name she’d write on the ballot.
The scene was magical: Red China balls hung from the sleepy branches of the square’s weeping willows. A festive gold tent covered the chairs that faced the stage. Anticipation—or was it the random whips of lightning?—made the humid, almost metallic-scented air feel electrically charged. Dogs barked in the distance. Bursts of children’s laughter added punch to the steady hum of mingle-chatter. And violin music tied it all together into one charming little package. . . .
Or at least, it would have been charming if all the guests hadn’t been whisper-pointing at Claire as she inched her way inside.
While her brother offered free T-Odd Jobs calendars to anyone with hands and her parents greeted their friends, Claire channeled her inner Britney. She was bouncing back from her scandals, wasn’t she? Claire held her chin high, trying to act like she had just as much right to be there as anyone else.
When she reached the voting table, she nodded hello to Lorna, and held her ballot over the box to—
“What do you think you’re doing?” A plump, French-manicured hand swatted Claire’s wrist away.
“Voting,” Claire managed despite her sudden case of dry mouth.
“Not here, you’re not.” Lorna plucked the paper from Claire’s hand, read it, and then tossed it in the trash.
A young mother-daughter team snickered into their palms while an eight-year-old boy loser-sneezed nearby.
“Ms. Crowley Brown.” Jay stepped forward. “With all due respect—”
“It’s fine, Dad.” Claire tugged her father’s arm. “Let’s just go inside, okay?”
“But—”
“Dad, please.”
He met his daughter’s pleading eyes and, for the first time ever, decided to forgo the pep lecture.
“Very well.” Jay dropped his ballot in the box, waited for Judi and Todd
to do the same, then brushed past Lorna with a haughty tsk.
Once Claire placed one Kedded foot inside, a man shouted, “Look, it’s the Lying Lyon!” He pushed back the brim on his black GREETINGS, ORLANDO! cap and lifted his camera.
Before Claire had a chance to react, photographers surrounded her and started clicking. Claire’s vision instantly became obstructed—not by flashes or infamy-panic, but by a mass of shaggy red hair.
Todd had thrown himself in front of his sister, shielding her from the paparazzi’s scandal-hungry lenses, while proudly displaying his new calendar. Sure, it wasn’t the most selfless move in the world, but it, along with the proud way her parents were flanking her, made Claire realize she wasn’t completely alone. This made her feel that she could hold her head high, despite the unforgiving glares and whispers . . . until SAS grazed by like complete strangers, sending Claire’s short-lived confidence to its grave.
“Are you okay with that?” Judi asked, sounding slightly snubbed herself.
“Of course not, Mom,” Claire whisper-hissed, hoping no one could overhear the pathetic details of her social life. She pulled Judi away from the crowd and into a corner. “But what am I supposed to do?”
“Have you tried apologizing?”
“For what? Trying to help?” Claire snapped, immediately regretting her sarcasm. “Sorry.”
Judi grinned her forgiveness. “They’re upset they didn’t win. And it’s easier to blame you than themselves. Give it time.”
The word time echoed in Claire’s mind, bolstering her from a place of sadness to one of thoughtfulness, which was soon followed by rage. SACS had one week left together before she moved back north, and this was how they wanted to spend it? In a fight? Over a pageant? A pageant that was notorious for breaking up (F)BFFs? They had to know deep down inside that Claire had been trying to help them. Trying to be a good friend. Trying to be fair. And if they didn’t, they were about to.
“Be right back,” she told her parents, who were starting to settle into their seats with the rest of the crowd.
“Roaaaar!” Jay growled.
Claire hurried away, distancing herself from the embarrassing family motto.
But a sudden drumroll sent her right back to her chair.
Once everyone was seated, the Kissimmee Chamber Orchestra began an instrumental version of Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful.” At first, a few heads turned, then a few more. And before long everyone was ooooh-ing and ahhh-ing as the two finalists entered through the back of the tent and began walking down the pink petal-covered aisle, side by side, toward the stage.
Massie, dressed in a gold silk chiffon dress with black roses across the bust, was breathtaking. Her tan had been dusted in bronze shimmer, and her glossy hair was in a purposely messy updo. Her purple hair streak was made to look like it accidentally fell from the diamond “lips” that clipped it all together. But Claire knew better. Bean pranced by her black rose–covered slides, wearing a gold blazer and matching pillbox hat.
The audience reached into the aisles desperate to touch her, congratulate her—or, for the lucky ones—snap a quick picture. She smiled graciously in the face of fandemonium, slowing to be admired but never stopping.
Gracie, despite her perfect posture, toothy grin, and frilly floral gown, was almost invisible next to Massie Block.
The winner was clear. And once the girls took their spots on the special-edition red Hershey’s Kiss–covered stage, Lorna made it official. Massie covered her mouth in faux modesty and lift-hugged Bean while Gracie blinked back her tears and embraced the alpha.
“Massie! Massie! Massie! Massie!” The crowd cheered and chanted and stomped their feet. Silver balloons dropped from above and the audience stood.
Claire got up with the rest of them but couldn’t bring herself to applaud. Her fists were clenched, her lips curved in a frown. How dare Massie crash her party? How dare she take this honor away from a Florida native who truly wanted it just to satisfy her ego? How dare she act like Claire’s Gracie vote might have cost her the tiara?
“And now, the moment everyone’s been waiting for!” Lorna hopped up and down on her cankles as Vonda brought out a large red bundle.
Massie’s pleased expression shifted faster than the storm clouds when Lorna held up the official Miss Kiss dress. The stiff red gown was covered in sequins, from the floor-sweeping hem straight up to the puffy sleeves. It was shaped like a triangle but made for a square.
Claire brushed her bangs out of her eyes. Was this really the same dress she had coveted all those years?
“Massie, I am pleased to present you with the official Miss Kiss dress!” Lorna thrust it toward her. But the alpha waved it away like used toilet paper.
Lorna’s grin faltered. In an obvious attempt to avoid a scene, she pulled Massie aside and smiled through their conversation, just in case people were watching. A minute later they called Gracie over.
“Um, excuse me, everyone.” Lorna ech-hemmed into the microphone. “I just received word that our crowned Miss Kiss has been accepted to a prestigious private school in Westchester and will not be able to perform the required Miss Kiss duties.”
And just like that, a new Miss Kiss was anointed, and she couldn’t wait to wear the dress.
Everyone formed the traditional line in front of Gracie to congratulate her and wish her well. And that’s when Claire spotted SAS.
They had pushed their way toward the front, clamoring to be seen with the winner while the cameras were still interested.
“Be right back.” Claire hurried off before her father could roar again.
“Hey,” she said sadly, tapping SAS on the shoulders.
They harrumphed and turned away.
“Hey,” Claire tried again. But they didn’t even look at her. Instead they dug their hands into a shared bag of chocolate-covered pretzels while inching closer to Gracie.
One . . . two . . . three . . . inhale . . . and . . .
“You guys, I’m sorry, okay! Sorry you didn’t win. But you have to believe that I wanted you to.” Still no one said a word. The frustration that came with being misunderstood and ignored jacked up Claire’s heart rate and made her insides tremble: An emotional geyser was about to erupt.
With tears flooding her eyes, Claire stomped her foot and turned to face her so-called FBFFs. “I cheated for you. Lost my check—for you! And have been nicknamed the Lying Lion by the press—because of you.”
Still nothing.
Claire sniffled. “I have one week left here. Do you really want to spend it like this?”
Amandy lifted her blue eyes to meet Claire’s. “No, we don’t.”
Claire’s shoulders dropped. She exhaled. She felt instantly lighter. “Good.”
“But it’s either us or her.”
Claire gasped like someone who had just been slapped in the face. The decision shouldn’t have been too difficult considering Massie had kicked her out of the Pretty Committee. But still. She resented being asked to make it.
“Why do I have to choose? Why can’t I be friends with all of you? Equally?”
Onstage, Gracie took another bow and adjusted her glimmering tiara.
“Because we’re not all equal!” Amandy huffed. “When are you going to realize that?”
“We’ve known you longer!” Sarah insisted.
“Much longer,” Sari added. “Like six years longer. Maybe even more. Or is it four years? Wait, maybe it’s nine. . . .”
While SAS bicker-tried to figure it out, Claire fired off a quick text to Massie.
I know UR not tking 2 me but if you were would U make me choose between U and them?
Massie responded immediately.
Massie: No. I know U’d choose me.
Claire: How do U know?
Massie: What would U rather?
Claire flashed back to her first horrific sleepover at Massie’s house. The girls had asked her if she’d rather be a) a friendless loser or b) have a ton of friends who secretly h
ated her. Back then her answer had been b. But now that she knew what it was like to have friends who secretly hated her, Claire’s answer had changed.
“You know what, SAS?”
Three sets of eyes turned and looked her.
“I’ve made my choice.” Claire turned on the heels of her brown and blue polka-dot Keds and waved goodbye.
“You’re choosing her?” Amandy gasped.
“Nope,” Claire yelled over her shoulder.
“Then who are you choosing?” Sara called after her.
“Me!” Claire shouted, not looking back.
The rain was starting to fall in thick, heavy drops, like they had been building up for a while. Everyone scattered for the parking lot.
Claire knew her decision was the right one. Even Todd seemed to think so. But still, her walk to the car seemed like an endless journey filled with deep sighs and nail-biting self-doubt. Miss Kiss was done. SACS was done. Orlando was—
“Well, look who it is,” Jay called out to the girl sitting on the hood of his red Pontiac Torrent holding her dog.
Claire lifted her eyes.
“Hey,” Massie said sweetly, twirling her purple streak. Her gold dress was spotted with raindrops, but she didn’t seem to mind.
The Lyonses instinctively stopped walking. Claire instinctively kept going.
“Where’s your limo?”
“I let him go.” Massie looked out at the snaking line of cars waiting to get out of the lot.
Claire nodded, too weak to figure out what to say next.
Massie popped open her black rose–covered clutch. “Here.” She reached inside and pulled out a pink slip of paper. “This is for you.”
Claire kept her eyes on the alpha while she took it. Then she looked down.
“Huh?” she said to the one-thousand-dollar check in her hand.
“It’s my first-place prize.” Massie beamed.
Claire handed it back. “Congratulations.”
Massie pushed Claire’s hand away. “It’s for you.”
“Why?” Claire was too confused to feel anything but tired.
“Take it. You earned it.” Massie gave Bean a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You worked just as hard on this pageant as anyone.”
Claire Page 10
