A Tale of Two Pretties

by Lisi Harrison

  A bright light blinded her. The lasagna was gone. All gone!

  Dylan opened her eyes. A bright light was shining in her face. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” She shot up in bed and kicked off her covers. But then the light disappeared, and hushed giggles sang out over her bedroom. Someone whispered, “This scene will be just what we need to claim she’s having nightmares about her weight issues!”

  The door clicked shut, and Dylan was alone. She collapsed back onto her pillow and yelled into the feathers.

  There has to be a way to shut this down, she thought, in case they were still lurking. She tried to think back to Jon Gosselin and his fifteen minutes of fame. How had he managed to get cut from his show?

  She stayed awake the rest of the night, watching the moon cross over the sky and realizing for the first time just how much it looked like a giant camera lens.

  CUT TO:

  When Dylan awoke next, she flailed her arms through the air in case any more cameras were in her face.

  She was alone, for now, but the crew was in the house, squeaking around in Converse sneakers and dragging heavy lighting rigs.

  Upon catching a glimpse of reflection in the vanity mirror, Dylan nearly fell off her bed. Her normally lush, shiny hair was dull and knotted like Britney’s weave. Dark circles that no amount of Clinique All About Eyes could remedy lined her eyes. Her ruby lips had faded to the color of her cheeks, which, thanks to lack of sleep, were Edward Cullen–pale. Her desire to be captured on film today was zero-minus-fifty.

  Quietly, she slipped on the closest pair of shoes she could find. KORS Michael Kors platform clogs didn’t complement her flannel pajamas, but only Massie would be thinking about fashion at a time like this. She crept to a window and slowly opened it. The ice-cold wind slapped-and-chapped her on contact.

  Crossing one leg over the ledge, she began shimming down. She was making good progress, one step-shimmy-step at a time, when her left clog got caught on the trellis. Without warning, the wood snapped, and just like that, Dylan was headed down, down, down, until she landed—thud!—in the backyard bushes, her clog clinging to life two stories above.

  “Ankle,” she moaned.

  She tried to push herself up to a sitting position but her flannel pajamas were caught in a rosebush. With an impatient tug she forced herself free, leaving an L-for-Loser-shaped piece of fabric dangling from a branch.

  “Go! Go!” a voice echoed across the backyard. Suddenly a camera appeared over her, capturing her in her full au naturel glory. Dylan flashed back to all the “Stars without makeup!” features she’d devoured in Life & Style. She’d never felt so connected to Heather Locklear before.

  The director’s voice shouted, “Stay with her. We can make it look like she’s sneaking out of the house to escape her mom’s punishment! We can position her as the ultimate family rebel—the Khloe to the rest of the family’s Kourtney and Kim. Someone who’s always been jealous of her sisters and will do anything for attention!”

  “Get away!” Dylan screamed as the clog fell from the trellis and bounced off her knee. Pain white-flashed in front of her eyes but she managed to stand and speed-limp toward the garage before the tears came.

  But the camera caught every single uneven step.

  THE RIVERA HOUSE

  THE BACKYARD

  Tuesday, December 28th

  2:25 P.M.

  From the hordes of tracksuit- and sweatpants-clad girls marching through the Riveras’ gate, there was no denying that the PC’s idea of hosting a hand-me-down clothing swap was going to be a Massie-ive success. Kristen followed the crowd and stumbled up the drive, grateful for Alicia’s event-planning ability. It was easy to get lost on the Rivera estate, and even though Kristen had been there dozens of times, it was a maze of marble statues, snow-covered gardens, and unexpected paths that veered off into any number of garages, guesthouses, and sheds.

  Luckily, Alicia had thought to order professional, custom signage that marked the way to the backyard tent, where the sale was being held. GREEN IS THE NEW BLACK! shouted the signs, followed by RETHINK YOUR WARDROBE, REUSE OUR CLOTHES in smaller lettering. The grin on Kristen’s face grew wider. She wasn’t sure if criticizing the LBRs of OCD was the way to get them to spend their money, but from the looks of things, it was working—and not just for OCD, she realized, racing past a group of unfamiliar preteens. Clearly, Alicia’s Facebook advertising and promotional Tweets had worked. Students from all over the area, including ADD and even the elementary school, were hand-me-down hungry and anxious to dig in.

  Kristen slipped inside the back door of an oversized tent where girls were swarming. Alicia had rented dozens of long tables, clothing racks, and mannequins, and styled the interior like a charming Nolita boutique. Accessories dangled from a piece of chain-link fence, footwear was displayed on columns made of shoeboxes, and barely worn dresses, skirts, jeans, and coats had been divided into sections named after every member of the Pretty Committee and marked with a cardboard cutout of the girl. The Alicia section was crisp and tailored. Kristen’s was sporty. Massie’s was high-end and eclectic. Dylan’s was full of brights and bolds. And Claire’s was full of markdowns. The enthusiastic crowd drowned out the Miranda Cosgrove song that was pumping through the speaker system. Amid it all, caterers handed out See’s Candies to keep the energy up. Kristen’s head throbbed at the overwhelmingness of it all.

  Or maybe it was from the brutal practice she’d just endured. Her calves cramped at the memory. She gingerly touched the spot on her arm where Andrea had punched her in delight after she’d scored during a tough drill. Already, it had blossomed into a shiny purple bruise. It was ah-mazing!

  A tickle of sweat dripped down her back. “Why is it so hawt in here?” she grumbled. She shrugged off her coat, wincing again, and then saw the heat lamps. Alicia had thought of everything!

  She stashed her gym bag under the nearest table she could find. Jennifer’s mom had given her a ride to Alicia’s, and like she had done so many times before, she changed in the car, swapping her Soccer Sisters gear for a Massie-friendly outfit: skinny black cords, a long-sleeved Elie Tahari tee, and motorcycle boots from DSW. When it came to shedding disguises, she was more qualified than Batman.

  “Kristen!” Alicia called.

  She slowly raised her arm to wave hello, but when pain radiated up from her bruise, she quickly dropped it and opted for an I’m-ready-to-help-and-sorry-I’m-late smile.

  But apparently Alicia’s smile-decoding skills were off today, because she storm-marched over to Kristen, holding a walkie-talkie up to her ear and another one in her clenched fist.

  “PCKG has been spotted in the tent. I repeat, the eagle has landed. Call off the search!” Alicia hiss-commanded into her walkie-talkie. She glared at Kristen. “You’re late.”

  The walkie-talkie cackled to life, carrying Dylan’s voice with it. “Who’s the eagle again? And why do we care?”

  There was another burst of static and Claire’s voice wavered over the airwaves. “I thought Massie was the eagle? But she’s a dressing room attendant with me.”

  “Stylist! I’m consulting as the stylist! Gawd, Kuh-laire,” Massie’s voice corrected.

  Alicia rolled her eyes and pressed a button, and the walkie-talkies went dead. “Kristen. Did we or did we nawt all iChat last night and agree to be here at one-thirty to help set up?”

  “We did,” Kristen said, dropping her eyes. She had a perfectly valid excuse for being late. If only she had the courage to share it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Lucky for you it’s all running smoothly—” She paused and pressed a button on the walkie-talkie. “Dylan! Come over to the southwest corner ay-sap!” Then she released it and added, “Unforch, there are still some odd jobs that need to be done. You and Dylan can handle them.”

  “Whatever you need!” Kristen chirped. Beside her, at least fourteen girls were fighting over a stand-up mirror.

  Alicia smoothed her camel-colored Ralph Lauren jacket and eyed Kristen s
uspiciously. She held out the extra walkie-talkie. “Here. This is yours. We’re on channel nine—you know, like Chanel No. 9.” She beamed. “My idea.”

  Dylan arrived, limping over to Kristen and Alicia. As Alicia radioed new directions to Massie and Claire, Kristen studied Dylan’s right foot. It was stuffed into a Tory Burch flat, but Kristen could swear it was puffier than normal.

  “Hey Leesh,” Dylan said. “Did you tell Olivia Ryan that blondes get 10 percent off?”

  Alicia rolled her eyes. “Opposite of yes!” She stormed off, but not before shoving the walkie-talkie into Kristen’s arm, where it brushed against her bruise. She winced and gripped the area to soothe the pain. She could barely hear as Dylan tried to explain how she and Kristen were tasked with scissor duty.

  “Wait, two questions,” Kristen interrupted when the blinding pain had abated. “First, what is scissor duty? And second, why are you limping?”

  “Third,” Dylan corrected her. “Where’d you get that bruise?”

  Kristen paused. “Um… Beckham. He pounced on me. I seriously need to put him on a diet. Now you answer.”

  Dylan tossed back her hair. “Scissor duty is the job we’re not going to actually do, but we’ll tell Alicia we did. And I slipped in my new Giuseppe Zanotti heels. There was ice on the driveway.”

  Alicia’s crackled through the walkie-talkie. “Pretty Committee, it’s time to regroup. Center table under the chandelier in five. Over.”

  It took Kristen and Dylan five full minutes to make their way through the crowd to the center table because girls kept pouring into the tent and piling clothes into the reusable shopping bags Alicia had provided. They were five different shades of green, just like the custom signage, and said, REDUCE YOUR CARBON FOOTPRINT. REUSE OUR OLD CLOTHES. RECYCLE THE DESIGNERS WHO MATTER.

  Already under the chandelier, Massie waved Kristen and Dylan over to her, Claire, and Alicia.

  “It’s runway time!” Massie called to them. Her eyes flashed with power. “Alicia had the brilliant idea of having the Pretty Committee show off some of the ah-mazing deals we have today.”

  Alicia smiled at Massie’s praise, but Kristen noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes, which was odd because a compliment from Massie was rarer than a pink diamond.

  “I think that’s a great idea,” Kristen offered.

  “I’ve pulled outfits directly from the racks for each of us. Kuh-laire, for you.” Massie presented Claire with a pair of Alicia’s wide-legged black pants. On the tag it said: Purchased from Barneys in November; worn once. A gauzy floral blouse that matched the blue of Claire’s eyes perfectly claimed: Purchased at Lala in Los Angeles; never worn.

  “Nine point four!” Alicia decided, nodding in approval.

  “Kristen, this is for you,” Massie declared, handing over a never-before-worn Marc Jacobs romper, paired with Diane von Furstenberg booties whose tag read: Worn when I met Chace Crawford with my mom on her show; courtesy of Ryan Marvil.

  “Ssshhh.” Dylan held a finger to her lips. “I kinda forgot to tell her I was taking this.”

  “It’s perfect,” Kristen whispered, running her hands over the smooth romper. It would feel so nice to slip into this and curl up on a couch somewhere. Preferably with some aspirin and an ice pack.

  Massie presented the rest of the outfits and then said, “I thought it would be fun to twist things up a bit! So, Alicia, you’re wearing Dylan’s asymmetric Halston dress from the first week of December—it’s a solid nine-eight. And Dylan, you’ll be in that Ralph Lauren cape and leather pants Alicia bought during Fashion Week last fall.”

  “Yesss!” Dylan hissed, grabbing the leather pants. “I’ve always wanted to be Catwoman!”

  “And what about you, Mass?” Alicia asked, gently draping the Halston over her shoulder.

  “Moi?” Massie fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m modeling Alicia’s Tibi ankle pants and Dylan’s Alice + Olivia sequin tee. Something from each of you!” She held up the items and the girls gasped.

  “Ten! Ten!” they all agreed.

  “This is incredible!” Claire exclaimed, unwrapping a fresh pack of SweeTarts and bouncing on her toes.

  “People must be freaking out over everything here,” Kristen added, surveying the masses.

  All around them, girls were snatching up jackets and blouses and belts with faster hands than Winona Ryder in a department store. Everyone had at least two full bags. “It’s all so ah-mazing. And ah-ffordable!” She glanced at the price tag Alicia had hand-written into the romper. It was almost as cheap as the most expensive sweater she’d ever bought at H&M!

  “Group hug!” Dylan shouted, and the PC crowded in together for a big squeeze. Kristen tried not to wince again.

  “Okay, time’s up. We have a schedule to stick to!” Alicia clapped her hands twice.

  “Sorry,” Dylan mumbled as her phone vibrated. “I have to take this.” She started punching into her keyboard.

  “Let’s get suited up and start the runway show,” Alicia added.

  Dylan’s phone buzzed again.

  “Who is that?” Kristen asked. “All of your friends are here.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” she nodded, thumbing away.

  “So let’s go,” Alicia urged, pulling on Dylan’s arm.

  “Two secs,” Dylan muttered. Her cheeks were slowly turning the color of her hair, and Kristen could see she was biting her lip. Her eyes kept bouncing back and forth between the walkie-talkie she’d been assigned and her Evo, like she couldn’t decide which piece of technology needed her more.

  “Oh, I know why you’re stalling,” Massie said assuredly. She clucked her tongue. “Don’t worry, Dyl. Alicia’s old leather pants will toe-dally fit you. I made sure of it!”

  “That’s not it,” Dylan mumbled.

  “Ehma-workload! You’re just trying to get out of the rest of the sale duties!” Alicia challenged. “Well, forget it. We all have to help out. Even if some of us would rather be elsewhere!”

  Kristen reddened. She could swear Alicia’s eyes were boring a hole directly through her tee and into her bruise.

  “I promise, that’s not it,” Dylan begged. Her phone jingled again.

  “Fine,” Alicia huffed. She snapped her fingers twice. “Change of plans! If Dylan’s too busy to take the runway right now, she can go handle the registers.”

  “Tiny Nathan needs a break, anyway,” Claire offered. “He and Todd have been complaining about child labor violations.”

  “Kristen, since you were late, you can go help Dylan with the register,” Alicia commanded. Her walkie-talkie burst to life in her hands.

  A voice that sounded suspiciously like Layne’s rang out over the headset. “Alicia, we’ve got a style infraction in the dressing rooms. Over.”

  Alicia grabbed Massie’s arm like it was the last pair of Rag & Bone gloves in Westchester. “Uh oh. Someone must be having a What Not to Wear moment. I need you! Girls, runway is happening in thirty minutes. No excuses!”

  Dylan’s phone rang again, and Alicia glared at her one last time before pulling Massie and Claire along with her. Kristen sighed and followed Dylan to their next task.

  The runway show had been a total success, and Kristen and Dylan were back at the registers as Kristen, the math whiz, tried desperately to remember how to subtract someone’s fifty-seven-dollar purchase from the one-hundred-dollar bill she’d been handed.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but I should get forty-three dollars back, not twenty,” complained the girl.

  “Ma’am!” Dylan burped.

  “What? Ehma-I’m-so-sorry,” Kristen said, turning purple and quickly handing the girl the rest of her change. Maybe it was the lack of food, or the temperature inside the heated tent, or the leftover nerves from the catwalk, but Kristen was suddenly feeling like she’d just ridden a roller coaster three times in a row. A feeling she hadn’t had since she was eight… when she rode a roller coaster three times in a row.

  “You messed up my change, too,” the girl�
��s friend said. They were the last two customers in line, and Kristen was so woozy that she couldn’t be sure if there were actually two of them, or if she was seeing double.

  Dylan pulled out money from her own pocket and handed it to the girl. “Thanks for being green and buying our old clothes. Now scram!”

  Kristen was about to thank Dylan for saving her when Alicia’s voice screeched through their walkie-talkies. “Dylan! Kristen! I heard that! If you can’t figure out how to make change, you may as well just give up now.”

  “Spare us your lecture,” Dylan hissed into the walkie-talkie. “You’re gonna be thrilled when you hear the day’s totals!”

  Alicia, Massie, and Claire came running over to the registers. Everyone held their breath as Kristen finished counting out the small stacks of bills that lined the now-empty table. Then she handed it to Dylan to recount it, just in case she was SSD: still seeing double.

  “Two thousand eight hundred and fifty-three dollars!” she announced. Massie’s eyes welled up and her face blanched like she’d just seen the ghost of Christmas past—and it was carrying presents.

  “Ah-mazing!” Alicia clapped.

  “Great job, Alicia. Great job, everyone!” Kristen slurred. Dylan gave her a questioning look, but thankfully no one else noticed.

  But if she kept up this double life for much longer, eventually they would.

  THE BLOCK ESTATE

  THE KITCHEN

  Tuesday, December 28th

  4:01 P.M.

  “Killer sequins, Massie!”

  “Best recycling sale ever!”

  “You were born to be on the runway!”

  As Massie waved good-bye to New Isaac, she practically skipped up the steps to her front door as she remembered the compliments her public had heaped on her back at Alicia’s. It was more official than Miley and Liam’s breakup: The day had been a total success. And perhaps more important, everyone at OCD and the surrounding schools were sure to be talking about Massie’s ah-mazingly styled outfits for weeks to come. Dozens of seventh graders would return after break with sequins on their old Gap tees just so they could look like Massie had on the runway, glittering and sparkling. She couldn’t wait to text Landon the news.