A Tale of Two Pretties

by Lisi Harrison

  EhMaGawd, that’s it! This is all an act. They are trying to scare me straight. Phew times a thousand to the power of ten!

  Massie peeked behind the brocade couch in search of her real presents as her father limped in.

  “Happy Christmas!” William said, clearly still sore from his attempt to climb a ladder in cashmere socks. He’d been trying to hang mistletoe above the front door when he slipped off the top rung and twisted his ankle.

  Or had he? Maybe it was all part of the performance. In which case, bravo!

  “Merry merry!” Kendra bellowed, her silky white robe fanning out behind her like a superhero cape as she raced to remove William’s slippers before he put them on the couch. Red nail polish was smeared on her cuticles.

  Massie winced. “Mom, are you a carpenter?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you working with nails? Did that trainee at Serenity Spa do that to you? I told you to stick with Olga!”

  “Massie,” William said warningly. “We’re all working to cut back.”

  “… And cut! That’s a wrap. You’ve made your point.” Massie smiled. “Lesson learned. I’ll save my money. Now can we puh-lease go back to normal.” She shivered. “Before my tongue freeze-sticks to the wand in my lip gloss.”

  “What lesson?” Kendra lifted a steaming mug to her mouth and blew. The floating coffee grounds spread like rats in a tenement house.

  “You know exactly what lesson,” Massie said, intent on making them confess before this scene caused lasting damage to her psyche. “I get it okay? Just—” Her iPhone pinged. “Hold on.”

  Landon, her high-school crush, had sent a text.

  Landon: Merry Xmas.

  A photo of a square box, wrapped in pearly pink paper with an oversized silver bow, filled her screen and melted her heart. Finally, someone who understood the true meaning of Christmas.

  Landon’s holiday budget had clearly been bigger than hers. The eighty dollars Kendra gave her wouldn’t even cover the cost of that box, let alone whatever was inside. And she still had the Pretty Committee gifts to think of. Massie had had to cancel her order for five personalized, monogrammed, butter-leather messenger bags she’d seen Gwyneth wearing as she GOOPed around London. Instead, she’d gone trick-or-treating at the Saks cosmetic counters and stocked up on the free samples. The PC would receive unflattering shades like Digi-Dazzle and the accompanying let’s-pretend-we’re-going-to-St.-Barts-this-holiday beach bags, while Landon would get a homemade gift certificate that entitled him to an afternoon of shopping with Massie as his style consultant.

  She was about to write back to Landon when William cleared his throat. “You know the rules, Massie: No texting by the tree.”

  Massie set down her phone. “My bad, I thought the ‘tree’ was a coat rack.”

  William ignored the dig, plastering a smile on his face. “Present time!”

  Kendra handed the lone gift under the “tree” to her daughter, and Massie tore it open, anxious for this charade to end.

  Inside sparkled a small black diamond that hung from a gleaming white-gold chain that someone like Kristen or Claire would have been satisfied with. Massie searched the box for the matching earrings and bracelet. She found nothing.

  “Isn’t it the diamond you wanted?” Kendra asked, her smile faltering.

  William waited for her answer, an expectant look on his face.

  “Yeah, thanks. I love it.” Massie held the diamond up to the light and tried to turn her downward-facing mouth into something resembling happiness. Ever since she saw the entire set of black diamond jewelry in the Barneys catalogue, she had envisioned the drop earrings glistening in tandem with her shiny brown hair and the thick bracelet anchoring her tiny wrist. The necklace—the least impressive member of the group—was a Jessica Simpson piece. It didn’t thrive being single.

  Flashes of Christmas Gifts Past danced across her mind. Just last night she had flipped through her special Moleskine notebook where she detailed all the gifts she received each year: the exclusive Birkin bag from last Christmas, the walk-on role for Hannah Montana the year before that, the trips to London and Bermuda, the MacBooks and iPods, and the dozens of Jimmy Choos and Pradas that had peeked out from her stocking year after year. At least five pages would be crammed with gift descriptions each holiday. This year, unless she wrote in really big letters, her holiday haul list would read like a STOP sign.

  Massie couldn’t deny it any longer. The Blocks were broke. This wasn’t a life lesson. It was the thing life lessons were supposed to prepare her for.

  If only she had paid attention.

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  IN OUT

  White Christmas Green Christma$

  Shopping at Salvation Army Donating to Salvation Army

  Boo Hoo Hoo Ho Ho Ho

  THE PINEWOOD

  THE LIVING ROOM

  Saturday, December 25th

  9:02 A.M.

  “Mo-om! You promised me you’d get rid of this!” Kristen exclaimed as she unwrapped the tissue paper from an old ornament. It was a raggedy piece of worn green felt that she had painstakingly cut into the shape of a tree and adorned with glitter during her second-grade art class.

  “I lied!” Marsha said, patting Kristen near the base of her high blond ponytail.

  Every December Marsha unpacked the ornament from the Rubbermaid storage container stuffed with holiday decorations, blew the dust from it, and hung it proudly on the tree. And every year, Kristen made a show of being mortified, but secretly, she was more GLAD than a trash bag when her mother fought to keep it. What they lacked in family, they made up for in Christmas spirit. And like her mother always said, “Corporate America can’t put a price on that.”

  Cinnamon and spice coated the air, courtesy of the hot apple cider brewing on the stove and the cooling gingerbread cookies Kristen had baked. Marsha’s Clay Aiken holiday CD played softly from the boom box under the television, which was set to one of those channels that broadcasted nothing but wintry scenes and burning logs in a fireplace. The plastic tree they used every year was proudly perched in the corner, wearing twinkling multicolored lights, silver garland, and dozens of ornaments that spanned the years—Baby’s First Xmas, a picture of a toddler-sized Kristen sitting on Santa’s knee at the mall, teddy bears, snowflakes, angels, and balls of every size and color. Massie would have taken one look at it and made some sort of joke about it being less coordinated than Layne Abeley’s wardrobe, but Kristen didn’t care. It carried more memories than an elephant stampede.

  Kristen was just fixing her stocking, which had been hanging crookedly from a tack on the wall, when a knock came at the door. She opened it to find Dempsey Solomon, her next-door neighbor. Blushing, she wrapped her Gap Outlet robe more tightly around her and wished him a Merry Christmas.

  Dimples firing, he held out a plate of chocolate chip cookies. “My mom made them. They’re gluten-free.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled. The warm feeling Kristen had had all morning rose into a heat wave. Did Dempsey feel it, too?

  Marsha appeared at Kristen’s side, her big green eyes beaming.

  “What a nice surprise! Come on in and join us for some cider?”

  “I’d love to, but I’m heading out to Long Island to see my cousins.”

  “Oh, we’re sorry to hear that,” Marsha said, putting her hands on Kristen’s shoulders. “And by we, I mean Kristen,” she tease-winked.

  “Mo-om!” The heat wave turned into two fireballs on her cheeks that she could’ve roasted chestnuts over. Kristen couldn’t shut the door fast enough.

  “Gift time!” Marsha trilled, probably to avoid a stop-embarrassing-me fight with her daughter. It worked. Kristen kicked a fallen ornament out of the way and cheered when it touched the opposite wall, pretending it was the winning goal in a championship game, and then snuggled onto the cozy couch.

  David Beckham, Kristen’s fat gray cat, leaped onto the seat next to her and then curled into her lap, purring
contentedly. Seconds later he was asleep. Earlier, she’d stuffed his paw-shaped stocking with catnip toys, which were now strewn all over the apartment. Kristen made a mental note not to give him all his gifts at once next year. He clearly couldn’t handle it.

  Her mom held out a large square box, a smile blooming on her face. “This one first.”

  Kristen attacked the gift like she attacked the sale rack at Nordstrom. Maybe it was the new iPod she’d asked for. Or maybe the ultra-lightweight Nikes she wanted that would fit right in her purse. She tore away layers of sparkly silver wrapping paper and filmy tissue paper to reveal…

  … a soccer ball?

  It looked like every other soccer ball she owned.

  “Thanks, Mom!” Kristen managed. After all, it was a perfectly good soccer ball.

  “Anything else in there?” Marsha asked, like she already knew.

  Kristen double-checked. Sure enough, a letter lay nestled in the tissue paper. Slowly, she unfolded it and scanned the type.

  Dear Ms. Gregory,

  Congratulations! You’ve been accepted to the All-Star Soccer Sisters program—the nation’s highest-ranked competitive traveling soccer squad for middle- and high-school girls!

  This elite organization…

  “I’ve been accepted into the Soccer Sisters!” Kristen screamed. Beckham jumped off her lap and bolted down the hall.

  “I know!” Marsha screamed back.

  They hugged and jumped around the small living room until Mrs. Krandall, the cranky biddy in the apartment below, poked her ceiling with a broom. Kristen fell back on the couch and bicycled her legs in the air. She’d forgotten she’d even applied to be part of the elite, super-intense squad. Most of the Soccer Sisters’ players ended up in Division I programs—and some of them had even made it all the way to the Olympics! Her coach at OCD had singled her out after a particularly tough game early in the season and encouraged her to apply. Kristen had been so sure she wouldn’t get in that she never bothered to tell anyone that she’d sent the forms in.

  Adrenaline pumping, Kristen paced the cramped living room, stretching her hamstrings and calf muscles every few steps. Her mom picked up the letter and read it aloud.

  “ ‘This elite organization takes soccer very seriously…’ ”

  “Same.” Kristen beamed.

  “ ‘Success is the result of extreme determination and hard work…’ ”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Kristen was never one to back away from a challenge.

  “ ‘… Practices are held every weekend—no exceptions—from January through June, taking off for the month of July, and then resuming August through November.’ ”

  Kristen paused mid-lunge. “Every weekend?” For the rest of eighth grade? How was that even possible?

  Marsha waved the letter. “That’s what it says.”

  Kristen fell back onto the couch and grabbed the letter from her mom, holding it close to her chest. Playing with the Soccer Sisters every weekend meant Kristen would have to sacrifice ah-lawt. No more Friday night sleepovers with the PC. No more spa days, courtesy of Massie. No more shopping trips to New York City, courtesy of Dylan’s mom. No more hanging out with Dempsey…

  But she would gain a lot, too, and not just in muscle mass. Soccer was her passion, and she’d be spending weekends with girls who’d rather run the field than play it, who’d rather charge a goalie than a gloss. Girls like her.

  Kristen sighed loudly. It was nothing against the Pretty Committee. They were her best friends, her family. But the chance to join the Soccer Sisters… to be able to do something she loved and something she excelled at…

  It was a lose-lose situation. Choosing one meant sacrificing the other, even though it shouldn’t have to. Any sane person would have assured Kristen she could have both: friends at school and soccer on the weekends. But “any sane person” didn’t know Massie Block.

  Meaning this was one Christmas miracle Kristen was going to have to keep to herself.

  THE MARVIL HOUSE

  THE DRIVEWAY

  Saturday, December 25th

  12:05 P.M.

  “Homesweethommmmme,” Dylan burped as the stretch Hummer stopped in front of the Marvil house.

  The driver suppressed a smile.

  “We haven’t eaten in days,” snapped her sister Ryan. “How are you still burping?”

  “Like thissssssss,” Dylan burped again.

  “Gross,” hissed her other sister, Jaime, while her mother checked the screen of her BlackBerry. Despite having just spent ten luxurious days in the Caribbean, everyone was on edge.

  Dylan examined her arms closely. Definitely pinker than when she had left on the surprise spa vacation. But Dylan was more taken with the size of her skin than its color. And now that she had put her limbs to the final test, checking them in Westchester light, it was confirmed. They were definitely lither.

  Merri-Lee had flown her daughters to the Caribbean for a ten-day cleanse: no candy, no soda, no all-you-can-eat yogurt-covered pretzels. It had been impossible at first, but once the Marvils got past their caffeine- and carb-withdrawal headaches, they started feeling pretty good. And Dylan had only cheated six times! She victoriously wiggled her shrunken butt in the heated leather seat. She couldn’t wait to show the PC how pink, refreshed, and skinny she was.

  Merri-Lee locked the doors and then signaled the driver to raise the partition. “Girlies, one little thing before we go inside.” She popped open her monogrammed Chanel compact and began reapplying her Guerlain KissKiss lipstick. “I have a Christmas surprise,” she said, blotting her lips on the label of her Evian bottle.

  Another surprise? What now? Cutting off our water supply? Dylan and her sisters exchanged curious glances.

  “You may want to touch up your faces before you see it,” she suggested.

  Ryan and Jaime dumped out their makeup kits and got busy. But Dylan couldn’t be contained. Just before they left, Merri-Lee had Zachary Levi and Katharine McPhee on her talk show to sing “Terrified” and Zachary’s smooth voice—or was it his face? or his dark features? or maybe his smile—made her flat-ironed red hair curl. All week Dylan had begged her mom for an introduction, and this was it.

  Eager to stake her claim before her older sisters, Dylan grabbed her Louis Vuitton and broke out of the Hummer.

  “Wait!” Merri-Lee called. But Dylan couldn’t be stopped. Her rejuvenated skin tightened from the cold New York air but there was no time to moisturize. Zachary was waiting and her pinkish tan was fading.

  “Hello?” Dylan called bursting through the front door. “Zach?” she muttered, taken aback by legions of cameras and lighting rigs. Were they filming this meet-and-greet the way Oprah filmed Twilight fans when Robert Pattinson stopped by? Of course they were. Daily Grind fans loved watching other regular people being surprised. Only Dylan was far from “regular” and her only surprise was a lack of Zach. Thick black cords curled into loops over the Italian marble floors, and booms and lights towered over her. Against the far wall stood a craft service table piled high with the foods Dylan hadn’t seen in ten (minus six cheats) days, and crew members hustled about like they owned the place.

  Merri-Lee appeared in the doorway. “Surprise!” She clapped.

  Jaime and Ryan appeared beside her, their heavily made-up faces looking stunned. Lights popped on. Men lifted cameras onto their shoulders and aimed the lenses at their faces.

  “What’s going on?” Dylan asked, blinded.

  “We have our own reality show called Marvilous Marvils!”

  Dylan’s forehead started to bead with sweat. Why had she eaten all six of those Luna Bars?

  “That’s why we had to leave town,” Merri-Lee continued, through a bright smile. “The crew needed to wire the house while we wired our bodies.” She winked at Dylan. “A ten-day cleanse to counteract the ten pounds the camera adds!”

  Dylan turned to her sisters in amazement. They were grinning.

  “We’re gonna be stars!
” Jaime exclaimed.

  “The Kardashians are Kardashi-out!” Ryan added.

  A loud bell rang. Dylan and Ryan jumped. Jaime screamed. The crew lowered their gear.

  “Okay, gang, we’re gonna take it from the top,” a male voice announced over a PA system. “Dylan, this time without the Zach mention. Jaime, instead of ‘stars,’ can you say ‘reality stars,’ and Ryan, leave out the Kardashian comment—same network. Merri-Lee, you were perfect.”

  A tired-looking brunette in a black hoodie, black skinny jeans, and gray Converse ushered the Marvils back out the door.

  After the director called “Action,” Dylan entered the foyer again and yelled, “Hullo?”

  And again.

  And then again.

  And another time after that.

  After the final take, Dylan peeled off her faux-fur bomber jacket and raced for the food table. She was deciding between a plate of nachos and a baby carrot when a pale man with a walkie-talkie clipped to his jeans handed her a stack of papers.

  “Here’s your shoot schedule, miss,” said the production assistant.

  Dylan scanned the grid. Ehma-Emmy! They planned on using her ah-lot. She reached for the carrot and took a bite. She could practically hear Ryan and Guiliana scoring major gossip points about her on E! News.

  Dylan grabbed her HTC Evo, a Christmas gift from her sisters. Wait until the PC heard about this! She was forming the perfect “Who’s got red hair, her own reality show, and isn’t Kathy Griffin?” text when the walkie-talkie guy grabbed her phone.

  “’Scuse me?” Dylan said, her fist clenching.

  He handed her another stack of papers thicker than September Vogue.