“Forgiven.” Massie beamed, squeezing his hand a little more before finally letting go.
Landon’s dimple was in full force. It was no longer a pit of despair. More like a second smile. “My mom is having a trunk show tonight—mostly dog wedding dresses and honeymoon loungewear—and well, Bark Obama, my pug, will be there, so…”
EH-MA-YES! Massie wanted to scream. Instead, she counted four Massie-sippis and then smiled. “Sure. Sounds fun,” she managed, even though she was already mentally rifling through her closet for an acceptable outfit, not just for her, but also for Bean.
“I’m in.” Lilah nodded.
“Me too.” Jasmin grinned.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kaitlyn announced.
“Me either,” Cassidy agreed.
Massie was about to decline on their behalf but quickly changed her mind. They looked good. And until she found replacements they would have to do.
“I’ll text the address.” Landon slapped the rectangle in the back pocket of his baggy True Religions. He hopped on the seat of his black sticker-covered bike and leaned over the handlebars. His blue-green eyes held her with the force of a rushing fire hydrant. “See you soon, then.”
He jumped on the pedal as if starting a motorcycle and bolted toward the open gate.
“’Kay,” Massie said, or maybe only mumbled.
Just like in the movies, her frigid black-and-white body turned Technicolor. It felt like wearing cashmere in a tanning booth. Sleeping in a giant Ugg boot. Or staring in at the Wizard of Oz. Only better.
The only things missing were some real friends to share it with.
WESTCHESTER, NY
BARK JACOBS BOUTIQUE
Saturday, October 24th
8:10 P.M.
The Bark Jacobs boutique was ten times the size of Claire’s bedroom and twenty times nicer. As she entered the high-ceilinged store behind Massie and the actors, she let out an involuntary, awed gasp. Giant gold paw prints meandered across the white marble floors, leading to the row of oversize dog mansions that served as dressing rooms at the back of the store. Glowing glass display cases at pet-eye level showcased accessories from collars to leashes to tiny satchels designed to mimic couture handbags. Crystal bowls filled with treats were everywhere, to the delight of the dogs and cats sniffing out the store while their owners perused the racks of doggie wedding gowns.
But Claire could gawk later. Right now, it was time for the final phase of her plan. She told herself it was going to work. It had to.
Quickly, she ducked behind a colorful display of Swarovski-monogrammed cashmere doggie beds and reached for her phone. When she was sure she’d lost Massie and the actresses, she got ready to text the girls for the second time that afternoon. The first text had been offering to buy everyone an I’m sorry I screwed everything up on Friday night latte. Her treat. The girls had agreed, which meant they were together and should be arriving any second. Fingers trembling with anticipation, she composed the last text.
Claire: Found the cutest pet boutique ever! Bark Jacobs. Clothes for cats. Beckham will luv. Huge sale! Cute accessories for ppl, 2.
She sent the text to Kristen and waited. She knew the sale part was a low blow, but these were desperate times.
Kristen: Purrfect. on our way.
So far, so good. Claire stuffed her phone in her purse, mentally crossing her fingers. She ducked back into the crowd and spotted Massie, Landon, and the actors hovering over one of the glass display cases across the store. Trying not to step on any of the tiny dogs that scampered underfoot, Claire bobbed and weaved through the loud, milling crowd of enthusiastic pet lovers.
“Ehmagawd, Claire, can you believe this place?” Massie was bent over the glass display case, fogging it up with her breath. Landon was standing next to her. “Did you see this?” She held up a tiny silver dog bone charm. “It’s got a miniature camera in it. You attach it to your dog’s collar, and you can monitor what they’re up to twenty-four seven. There’s a Web site and everything.”
“SnoopDawg.” Landon ran his hand through his curls.
“Totally his idea.” Massie giggled, smoothing her jade green Zac Posen ruffled minidress. “Isn’t that adorable?”
Behind Massie, the MAC girls were nodding in sync. Claire giggled to herself. Massie had tried to ditch them four times on the way to the store, but they were sticking to her like hair extensions.
“Where’s Bean?” Claire asked, plucking a napkin and a dog bone–shaped finger sandwich from a passing waiter’s tray. She popped the sandwich in her mouth and gagged immediately, spitting the sandwich into her napkin.
“Guh-ross! Liver,” she wheezed. When she looked up at Massie and Landon, their bodies were shaking with laughter.
“You just ate a dog treat, Kuh-laire,” Massie managed, a tear slipping down her cheek. Claire wiped her tongue with the napkin, almost not minding that they were making fun of her. It was the first time she’d seen Massie this happy in weeks.
“Where’s Bean?” Claire asked.
“Trying some things on with Bark Obama and her new personal puppy stylist,” Massie said.
Immediately, Bean scampered out from one of the dressing rooms, followed by a nearly identical pug. The two puppies weaved in and out of the crowd, making their way toward Massie and Landon. Bean looked cuter than cute in her purple silk footie pajamas with matching sleep mask. Bark wore the same mask and a tiny purple nightcap.
“Bean!” Massie squealed with delight. “It’s so you.”
Bark chased Bean in circles around Massie and Landon. Then the puppies reversed and Bean chased Bark.
“I think they luh-v each other.” Massie smiled conspiratorially at Landon. “And I think I luh-v those jammies.”
“They’re from my Dawg Tired line of luxury sleepwear,” explained a smooth voice.
Claire and Massie turned around to see a tall, willowy woman with wild, dark curls and clear blue-green eyes. She wore a black silk maxi-dress that looked just like one Massie had seen Angelina wear on the pages of last week’s People. The woman added her own dash of style with a diamond-studded paw print brooch.
“Celia Crane,” Landon’s mom said, flashing a brilliant white smile. “So glad you all could make it.”
“Your store is ah-mazing,” Massie said, stepping forward. She stuck out her hand. “Massie Block. I’m a friend of Landon’s.” She cradled Bean in the crook of her arm like a designer clutch. “And this is Bean.”
“Lovely to meet you, Massie and Bean,” Celia said. “Have you been upstairs?” She nodded at the escalator in the back corner, snaking up to the second floor. Alongside it, a tiny escalator carried a pack of black lab puppies. “We have a full-service puppy salon and day spa. Owners and pets get side-by-side treatments.”
If Massie had had a tail, it would have been wagging at high speed.
“Um, ’scuze me?” Jasmin piped up in a lilting tone. She was holding a pair of madras puppy swim trunks up to her waist. “Do you have these shorts in a larger size?’
Claire had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.
Celia looked confused. “No, I don’t believe we do.”
“Hot pants are so in this season,” Lilah observed.
Cassidy and Kaitlyn nodded like a pair of bobblehead dolls.
“Oh.” Celia stifled a laugh. “No. Those are for pets, girls.”
“Ohhhhhhh. Nooooow I get it,” said Jasmin. She smiled dumbly. “I’m Jasmin? Massie’s bestie?”
Massie turned a brilliant shade of purple.
Celia side-glanced at Landon, her eyes dancing with amusement.
Claire almost leaped out and hugged Jasmin. Her acting was nothing short of brilliant. And she was obviously driving Massie insane. She checked her watch. Where was Kristen?
“Excuse me, Celia Crane?” A man in khaki slacks and a button-down tapped Celia on the shoulder. “I’m Martin Peterman, from the Westchester Daily. We spoke on the phone this morning?”
&nbs
p; “Of course.” Celia beamed. “The profile story. Why don’t we sit down in my office where we can talk? You can ask my son a few questions, too, if you’d like.” She touched Landon on the sleeve, and he apology-shrugged at Massie.
Be right back, he mouthed.
Okay, Massie mouthed back.
A tiny, electronic yip sounded, signaling that the front door had just opened. The sight of Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen coming her way soothed Claire like a bag full of sours. Finally. All her best friends were together in one place.
But when Kristen, Dylan, and Alicia saw Massie, they veered off in the other direction.
Wait! Claire wanted to yell after them. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! You’re supposed to apologize! She glanced at Massie, who was adding a nightcap to Bean’s ensemble while Bark Obama drooled over his new puppy love.
“Berightback,” Claire said quickly, dashing after her friends. She found them clustered around a display case of pet jewelry.
“Heyyy.” Claire tried to sound lighthearted. “Isn’t this place awesome?”
“You didn’t tell us she’d be here.” Alicia’s chocolate brown eyes darted in Massie’s direction, and then quickly back to Claire. For a split second, Claire recognized Alicia’s expression. She’d seen the same one when her friend had first laid eyes on the Jimmy Choo Lois bag.
Longing. Desperation. Fear of a wait list.
Claire bit her bitten thumbnail. “Don’t you want to go over and say hey, at least?”
“Nah.” Dylan was staring at Massie like she was a fat-free chocolate-glazed donut.
“If she wants to say hi, she can come talk to us,” Kristen said, without shifting her gaze.
“Fine,” Claire huffed. “Be right back.” She crisscrossed the store to Massie. This was getting ridiculous. It was obvious the girls missed their alpha. And even more obvious that Massie wouldn’t stand for the MAC girls much longer. So why weren’t they forgiveness-hugging and planning next Friday’s sleepover?
“Kuh-laire, do you think Bean can pull off yellow?” Massie was holding up a chic rainy day ensemble.
Bark nodded his approval.
Claire shrugged. “Beats me.”
“Oh. Right.” Massie’s face fell. “Forgot who I was talking to.”
Ordinarily, the remark would have stung. But tonight, Claire couldn’t have been more thrilled. Maybe Massie was finally starting to realize what Claire had known all along: Nobody could stand in for Alicia, Dylan, or Kristen. Not even her.
“I saw some cute jewelry on the other side of the store,” Claire offered. “Wanna check it out?”
“Sure,” Massie agreed. “Especially if it gets me away from these LBRs.” She didn’t even bother to lower her voice.
“We’ll come!” the MAC girls yelled in unison.
Massie rolled her eyes. “Ehmagawd,” she muttered to Claire. “They’re on me like spray tan.”
“I know,” Claire muttered back. “I hope no one thinks you’re…” She paused. “You know….” She paused again.
“What?”
“Like them.”
Massie gulped. Loud.
Claire led Massie, Bean, Bark, and the MAC girls through the crowd. Massie stopped suddenly.
“What’re they doing here?” she asked. But her tone wasn’t mean. It was sad.
“Same thing you are.” Claire shrugged, her fists clenching at her sides. Please, please, please say something nice.
But Massie didn’t. She glared at Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen, who stood in a row in front of them, their arms crossed over their designer-clad chests. Behind her, the MAC girls were trying to squeeze into plaid puppy ponchos. “Are you dial-up Internet?”
“What? No,” Jasmin said.
“’Cause you’re super slow,” Massie shot back.
“Huh?” Jasmin crinkled her brows.
Claire covered her smile with her hand. The girl deserved an Academy Award.
“These clothes are for four-leggers only.”
It wasn’t her best. But Alicia lifted a finger anyway. “Point,” she said.
Then Dylan snickered.
And Kristen giggled.
Claire snorted.
And Massie cracked a shy smile.
“Ehmagawd.” Dylan groaned. “Are all billionaires this stupid?”
“It’s because of all that money,” Alicia said, reglossing her pink pout. “They’re so spoiled, it’s like they’ve never had to do anything for themselves.” She whipped her AmEx from her purse and handed it to a passing salesperson. “I’ll take a poncho in every color.”
Massie rolled her eyes. “You don’t even have a pet!”
“But I could,” Alicia said with a smile.
The girls cracked up.
For a second, it was like everything was back to normal. But when the laughter stopped, everyone got quiet, shifting their gazes to the floor.
Massie spoke first. “So where are your crushes?” she asked suspiciously, lifting Bean up. Bark yipped his disapproval.
Dylan, Alicia, and Kristen exchanged glances.
“Home,” Dylan said, chewing her bottom lip and staring at her Tory Burch clogs. After an awkward pause, she looked up at Massie. “Um… I’m really sorry I stole Derrington.”
Massie’s eyes widened in surprise. “You are?”
Dylan nodded. “I should have checked with you first.”
“And I’m sorry about Dempsey,” Kristen said, her voice trembling with nerves. “I should have been more hawnest.”
Ah-greed, Massie’s look seemed to say. But instead, she offered a sympathetic half-smile. “’S okay,” she said to both girls. “Besides, I have a new crush now. Landon.”
“Ehmagawd!” Dylan giggle-gasped.
“Have you lip-kissed yet?” Kristen asked.
“Nawt yet,” Massie admitted. Then her gaze fell on Alicia.
“I’m sorry I tried to take over.” Alicia sniffed, her brown eyes bright with apology tears.
Massie just stood there for a beat, her amber eyes flicking among her former betas. Claire held her breath.
“Forgiven,” Massie said finally. She chewed her glossy bottom lip. “And I’m gonna try not to be so Lycra from here on out. Even though sometimes, you totally need—”
“YAYYYYY!” Claire cut her off, throwing her arms wide.
“YAYYYYYY!” the girls echoed, coming in for a giant group hug.
Claire popped her head out from inside the squeal-huddle, and turned toward the MAC girls.
Thanks, she mouthed to Jasmin.
Jasmin grinned, making an L with her index finger and thumb and lifting it to her forehead. Then she pinched her index finger and thumb together and drew them across her lips.
Claire did the same and watched the MAC girls disappear into the crowd—forever.
International Billionaires School may not be real… but Alpha Academy is.
What happens when THE CLIQUE’s Skye Hamilton, the original eighth-grade alpha, gets an invite to this ultra-exclusive academy?
Turn the page for a sneak peek of #1 bestselling author Lisi Harrison’s hawt new series.
1
WESTCHESTER, NY
BODY ALIVE DANCE STUDIO
THURSDAY, JULY 22ND
11:37 A.M.
_______________________
There were five Skye Hamiltons in the Body Alive Dance Studio. One on each mirrored wall and one in the flesh. As in-the-flesh Skye step-turn-step-plié-step-fan-step-ball-changed, the reflections followed. So did the eight other girls in Atelier No. 1. Or at least they tried.
A trickle of sweat slithered from the base of Skye’s tightly bunned blond waves down the back of her pale blue leo. She drew her shoulder blades back (even more), trying to pinch the salty snake, not because she was embarrassed, but because she could. Her body always did what it was told. All she had to do crank up the music and ask.
“And one… twooo… thu-hree… fourrrr… five… six… seh-vuuuun… eight.” Madame Proko
fiev slow-clapped to the jazzy ooze of Michael Bublé’s “Fever” while scanning her students for TICS (Timing, Incongruity, Carelessness, and Smiles). As always, her scrutinizing brown eyes whizzed past Skye like two bullets aimed at someone else.
“Too wristy, Becca!” She clapped. “Less chin, Reese.” Clap. “Rollllllll the knee, Wendi. Don’t poke.” Clap. Clap. “And I swear on my tendons, Heidi, if you don’t fix that posture, I’m going to use you as a throw pillow!”
Chignoned and clad in a no-nonsense black cami with matching flare dance pants, the aging brunette looked like a prima ballerina laced up tighter than a pair of toe shoes. Yet she moved like honey and stung like a bee.
Skye loved her.
Charged by Madame P’s silent approval, Skye added a turn before the freeze, then came out of it with hands in prayer pose, or rather, a Bollywood Namaste Flower. The routine hadn’t called for it—her instincts had. She’d downloaded the M.I.A. track from Slumdog, and like some people got songs stuck in their heads, Skye had this one stuck in her body.
“Enough.” Madame P clapped sharply, the frown lines in her passion-wrinkled forehead bunched like loose leg warmers. Had she gone too far with her flower?
All nine dancers stop-panted. But Skye’s heart kept hitch-kicking against her rib cage. Finally, she crossed her arms over her B-minus cups and ordered it to take five.
She lined up with her dance BFFs Missy Cambridge, Becca Brie, Leslie Lynn Rubin, and Heidi Sprout. Like Skye, her besties were blond—two in braids, two with ponies—and wore identical pink balloon skirts over gray leotards and tights (BADS Anna Pavlova Collection). Skye had added her signature sleeves; today’s were black mesh with five mini sterling silver locker keys dangling from the holes—one for each of her friends. Every time she moved they jingled, adding a little extra something to the otherwise humdrum musical score.
“Flair, ladies.” Madame P heel-toed to the center of the room, clucking her tongue in disappointment. “Dance is not just knowing the steps. It’s interpreting them.” She winked at Skye, releasing her from the scold. “So please try to remember. We’re doing Twyla, not Twilight, so stop sucking!”
Boys R Us Page 20
