Or even worse, immature.
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
BARK JACOBS BOUTIQUE
Saturday, November 1st
8:59 A.M.
Early the next morning, the Pretty Committee stood single file outside Bark Jacobs boutique in downtown Westchester, waiting for the clock on Massie’s iPhone to buzz ten a.m. Massie stood at the head of the line, carefully inspecting her shimmering reflection in the boutique’s freshly Windexed glass double doors.
She’d gotten up a full hour before the rest of the girls to give herself plenty of prep time. Just because she hadn’t made the best impression on Landon last night didn’t mean she couldn’t impress his mom this morning. In crisp dark denim, an ivory cashmere tee, and her new French Connection cropped boyfriend jacket, Massie was the poster child for casual chic. Plus, her velvet Miu Miu ballet flats were leather-free, which practically screamed I would never hurt an animal on purpose! Even for fashion!
At exactly ten a.m., Massie swiveled to face the Pretty Committee, like a general addressing her troops before battle.
“Remember, if we don’t find a get-well gift for Bark that makes Landon and Bark forgive me ay-sap, the entire upgrade could be in jeopardy.” Her heart skipped a beat at the terrifying thought.
At the head of the line, Alicia gasped, the color draining from her Nars-dusted cheeks. “Opposite of acceptable.”
Massie nodded. “Just think of Landon Crane as your VIP pass to the exclusive world of ninth-grade—”
From her place at the back of the line, Claire cough-muttered something unintelligible.
Massie froze. Ever since she’d debuted the upgrade idea the night before, Claire had been wrinkling her nose like Massie was week-old sushi.
“Comments?” Massie leaned to the side and arched her eyebrow in Claire’s general direction. She would have made eye contact if Dylan’s sugar-matted bedhead ’fro weren’t blocking her view.
Kristen chewed her Essie Ew No You Didn’t–polished thumbnail. Alicia smoothed down her Ralph Lauren wool skirt. Claire’s Kedded foot tapped behind Dylan’s riding boots.
“Perf.” Massie whirled back around and gripped the brushed-silver, dog bone–shaped door handles. A blast of warm, gingerbread-scented air whooshed past her as a tiny yip chime-announced the Pretty Committee’s arrival.
The last time Massie had walked through these doors, she’d been followed by the cast of vapid, b-for-beta-list actresses she’d hired to be part of her new group, Massie and Crew, to make the Soul-M8s jealous. Entering now with the Pretty Committee made Bark Jacobs seem fresh and new, like she was discovering it for the first time. The large gold paw prints that crisscrossed the slick marble floor on the way to the doggie dressing rooms seemed shinier. The glass display cases that boasted pet-size designer bags, accessories, and jewelry seemed sleeker. And the racks of canine couture around the boutique’s perimeter seemed ten times more chic.
“Welcome to Bark Jacobs!” chirped a voice Massie didn’t recognize. A megawatt blonde in an all-black ensemble emerged from the back of the store, a pewter dog bowl filled with dog treats in her hands. A bony Italian greyhound puppy in a sage-green felt cloche trotted behind her. “Are you looking for something in particular, or—”
“Celia Crane?” Massie scanned the empty, brightly lit boutique for Landon’s mom. What was the point of getting Bark a get-well gift, if Celia couldn’t see just how much of a pup-lanthropist Massie was? And if Celia just so happened to pass the information along to Landon, well…
The salesgirl’s face fell. “She’s not working today,” she informed the PC in hushed tones, hugging the bowl of dog food to her chest like it was a baby. “Family emergency. Her grand-dog was in a lethal accident last night, and she had to go with her son to the vet this morning.”
The greyhound let out a low whimper and buried his snout in his paws. Alicia giggle-gasped.
Massie elbowed her in the ribs. “That’s horrible,” she said, pity-widening her eyes. She applied a quick layer of Strawberry Fro-Yo Glossip Girl to still her quavering lips. Had Bark taken a turn for the worse? Had her stiletto maimed him for life? Maybe he’d gotten an infection and amputation was the only way to save him. Ehmagawd, would Bark need a bionic paw?
“What happened?” Kristen retied her chunky turquoise scarf around her neck.
“Is Ba—I mean, the dog gonna be okay?” Claire finger-tossed her sleep-matted bangs.
“Too soon to tell.” The salesgirl lowered the dog bowl onto the glass case and blinked at the ceiling, her eyes bright with tears.
Massie swallowed back a wave of guilt-nausea.
Yip! Yip! The door chime signaled another customer.
“Just let me know if you need anything.” The salesgirl dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “And help yourselves to a gingerbread paw,” she added, tapping the dog bowl with a polished index finger. “They’re from PureBread, Celia’s new line of organic treats for pets and humans.” She hurried past the PC to the front of the store.
“Ew.” Alicia wrinkled her nose.
“Yum,” Dylan said at the same time, her hand shooting into the dog bowl.
“Cam loves gingerbread,” Claire sighed morosely.
“Lethal?” Massie repeated, leaning against the cool glass case for support.
“She’s ahbviously exaggerating, Mass.” Alicia examined a tiny Hermès scarf on a velvet-lined tray. “Do Landon’s single guy friends have dogs too? Maybe I should get this.”
“I need to prove what an animal lover I am.” Massie pinched a gingerbread paw and nibbled at the rounded edge. But instead of soothing her, the spicy-sweet treat made her stomach lurch. “Remember when Hayden got arrested for trying to save the seals?”
“Wasn’t it dolphins?” Kristen corrected her.
Massie ignored her. “And did I nawt wear my CLUB SODA, NOT SEALS shirt to the gym the next day, to show support?”
“Plus, I saw four girls from sixth wearing the same shirt at school the next day,” Alicia said. “You practically started a movement.”
“Given.” Massie nodded. “Except Landon doesn’t know that.”
“So show him.” Kristen clapped. She headed for the wall of puppy footwear on the other side of the store, her heels clacking with determination. “How about some puppy Pumas?” she called, lifting a miniscule pair of metallic street sneakers over her head.
Alicia rolled her eyes. “He can’t walk, re-mem-ber?”
Dylan grabbed another handful of gingerbread paws and followed Kristen. “At least that way he can kick up his paws in style,” she grinned over her shoulder.
Massie shook her head, her chestnut locks fanning around her shoulders like a silky pashmina. “Nawt good enough.”
“Um… what about a new doggie bed?” Claire sank onto a pile of giant silk pet pillows at Massie’s feet. “You could get it monogrammed or something. And since Bark’s gonna need bed rest…”
“Better,” Massie admitted. “But still not it.” She tapped the glass with her index finger, letting her eyes travel from the selection of jeweled kitty chokers to the tiny puppy Ray-Bans. No, no, and no.
“Got it!” Dylan squealed from somewhere in the back of the store. She barreled past the footwear display, her tousled tresses flapping wildly behind her. She was cradling a small cardboard box in her arms like it was a rare Nancy Gonzalez origami tote. “It’s called the Mutt Monitor. It’s like a baby monitor, but for pets. That way Landon can keep an eye on Bark while he recovers.” Breathless, she held up the box for Massie to see.
The idea was actually perfect enough that Massie wished it had been hers. There was only one problem.
“He can’t have a monitor at school though,” she pointed out. “We need something where he can check on the puppy during the day without getting caught.”
“What about the SnoopDawg 2000?” The peppy salesgirl appeared out of nowhere, sliding behind the glass case and producing a small silver key from her pocket. She inserted it into the
lock and slid open the case. “It’s the newest edition of our original SnoopDawg camera charm.” Her fingers flew over the charms until she found the tiny silver bone-shaped charm, and she lifted it for Massie to see. “It allows the tech-savvy animal lover to track pets in real time on the SnoopDawg Web site. Plus, it’s iPhone compatible.”
“Perfect!” Massie air-clapped.
The salesgirl nodded. “And the camera inside has a rotating lens, so you get a 360-degree view.”
Massie quickly side-glanced at Bean, whose own SnoopDawg charm had turned to her furry chest again.
“It’s the only one of its kind on the market.” The charm gleamed and glinted in the golden boutique lighting.
“Upgrade!” Alicia announced happily.
Kristen skipped up behind Massie, slapping her playfully on the shoulder. “Does Landon have any friends that play varsity soccer?” she asked quietly, a devilish grin on her face. “I’m so over J.V.”
Claire sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “Isn’t it a little quick to be scouting soccer players?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
“Of course, it’s slightly more expensive than the original…” the salesgirl continued.
“I’ll take it.” Massie reached for her clutch, relief washing over her like a triple spritz of cooling Evian facial mist. The SnoopDawg 2000 was the perfect way to show Landon how much she cared about Bark. She grinned at her friends.
The upgrade was awn.
THE ABELEY HOUSE
LAYNE’S BEDROOM
Saturday, November 1st
4:56 P.M.
“It’s like…” Claire leaned forward in Layne’s corduroy papasan chair and wrapped herself in a rainbow-colored mohair throw, searching for the perfect metaphor to convey just how casually her friends were treating the idea of ditching their crushes. “It’s like the boys are basic Prada hobos they ordered off Saks last season. And then this season’s trendy Proenza Schouler totes came out and they thought, ‘Hey! These bags are waaaaay more mature.’ And so now they want to exchange the hobos for the totes, which is the worst idea ever, because the hobos are cute and sweet and funny and go with everything!” Claire surfaced for air, refocusing her gaze on Layne, who was sitting cross-legged on her glow-in-the-dark duvet.
Layne’s jaw dropped. “English, please.”
Claire collapsed back into the cushion, staring up at the plastic stars glued to Layne’s ceiling. Her head was throbbing, and this time she couldn’t blame it on the combination beef jerky–mothball–vanilla Glade smell of Layne’s bedroom. “It’s like their old crushes are vintage Salvation Army finds and now they want shiny new ninth-grade crushes from Macy’s.”
“Ohhhhhhhhh.” Layne nodded. “Got it.”
Claire whipped the mohair throw onto the floor in despair. It landed with a loud crumple on top of an empty jumbo bag of Funions. Layne’s bedroom floor was strewn with cut-up issues of National Geographic, Entertainment Weekly, and Martha Stewart Living. Three colorful bolts of fabric were balled in the corner, and a hot glue gun had leaked what looked like a glittery blue booger onto Layne’s cream throw carpet. But Layne’s room felt neat and ordered, compared to the swirling chaos of Claire’s brain.
“Does this include Kristen?” Layne drummed her fingers together, her brows wiggling over smudges of bright purple shadow. In the neon glow of the red lava lamp on her bedside table, she looked like an exchange student from hell. “Because if Dempsey’s available—”
Claire glare-silenced her. “Layne.”
“Sorry. Refocusing. So what does Cam say?”
“Nothing. I haven’t told him yet.” Claire sighed miserably. All day, Cam had been texting about the post–trick-or-treating fun he and the boys had had at Josh’s. About how he’d eaten so much candy corn that his skin was starting to look orange, and how Dempsey and Josh had toilet-papered Derrington after he’d fallen asleep. But what was Claire supposed to text back? Don’t tell Alicia or Dylan—they think mummies are immumture?
“The guys don’t deserve this!” she said, the panic in her stomach hardening into anger.
“Yeah!” Layne nodded, bolting upright and pumping her fist into the air. Each of her fingernails was painted a different neon color. “What did Dempsey ever do to Kristen?”
“Nothing!” Amped-up energy rushed to Claire’s head like sparkling cider bubbles to the top of a champagne flute. “So Derrington wiggles his butt and Josh likes to dress in drag. It’s funny, right?”
“Right!” Layne leapt up on her bed, bouncing on her mattress. “Well, it’s actually not really my thing, but whatever!”
“We have to do something!” Claire decided, jumping from the papasan chair to the floor. She landed on a pile of Layne’s dirty clothes and hopped over the fabric bolts, the glue gun, and an open jewelry box filled with tiny fake jewels to get to the bed.
“We have to do the right thing!” Layne declared, crouching down to pull Claire up. The girls gripped each other’s hands, bouncing up and down on the bed.
“Because eighth-grade crushes everywhere need our help!” Claire barked, her bangs flop-fanning her forehead.
“It’s up to us to save the males,” Layne declared.
“Yessssssssssss!” Claire huffed, feeling all the built-up tension from the night before slowly drain from her body as she sailed in the air, the crooked Broadway show posters on Layne’s wall spinning in a blur around her. “What’s our first mission?”
“This!” Layne stuck out her bare foot, tripping Claire and sending both girls flopping onto the mattress in a heap of giggles.
Out of breath, Claire rolled onto her back. “We do… actually… need a… plan,” she heaved. “Something to make the girls think ninth-grade crushes are a terrible idea.”
Layne waved her away. “I’ll come up with something. Gimme a second.”
The girls stared at the greenish glow-in-the-dark universe overhead, lapsing into silence. Her head a little clearer, Claire tried to brainstorm ways to convince Massie that eighth-grade boys were ten times better than ninth-grade ones. But instead of a plan, her brain drifted to images of Cam. Cam on his bike, coasting down Massie’s driveway, his blue eye bluer than the sky while his green one made the manicured grass look faded and dull. Cam in his ump-pire costume, which he’d picked to go with her trampire costume so the whole world would know they were crushes. Cam on the soccer field, easing the soccer ball effortlessly toward the net. Cam with a giant baggie of gummies, slipping them into Claire’s candy ba—
“Got it!” Layne slapped the duvet with her palm, jolting Claire out of her daydream. “And it’s totally inspired.”
“What?” Claire flopped onto her stomach and kicked off her giraffe-printed Keds. They landed with a thump on the bedroom floor.
Layne shook her head. “It’s top secret,” she said mysteriously.
“Layne!” Claire swatted her with one of the puff-painted pillows strewn across Layne’s bed. “It can’t be top secret from me! This mission was my idea in the first place!”
“The less you know, the better.” Layne grinned, obviously enjoying herself. “Meet in the café Tuesday at oh-twelve-hundred hours. Don’t be late.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”
“Please. Have I ever steered you wrong?” Layne turned to face Claire, her frizzy brown flyaways tumbling over her eyes. “Trust me, dahhhh-ling.” She wiggled her pinky finger.
Claire latched her pinky with Layne’s and shook on it. She wanted to believe Layne had the perfect, foolproof plan. That by lunchtime on Tuesday, Massie and the girls would rediscover their crushes and fall in love with them all over again, like the boys were rare vintage handbags that seemed even better the second time around.
Eighth-grade crushes might be endangered—like blue whales or the African wild ass—but if Claire had anything to say about it, they were nawt going to become extinct.
RANGE ROVER
ABNER DOUBLEDAY DAY SCHOOL
Monday, November 3rd
3:37 P.M.
“Second entrance on the right, Isaac,” Massie instructed the Block family driver from the backseat of the Range Rover. Bean was perched on her lap, peering warily out the tinted window at the cracked brick ADD sign at the school’s rusted metal gate.
“Got it.” Isaac beamed into the rearview mirror, looking prouder than Massie had been on the day of Bean’s graduation from puppy obedience school. The Range Rover slowed and turned onto a paved road that was faded and lined with yellowed crabgrass. “You know, I’m glad you girls are considering public school for next year. It shows real maturity to broaden your horizons like this.”
Across from Massie, Alicia, Kristen, Claire, and Dylan gripped their black leather armrests at the very idea.
Massie swallowed a laugh. Going public was like flying coach—fine for a short flight, but for four years of high school? Absolutely nawt. But Isaac would never have agreed to the stakeout if he knew her real motives. For that matter, neither would the Pretty Committee; they thought there were there to pick out new crushes. Massie admitting that she wanted to spy on Landon would be like Demi Moore owning up to her airbrush job on the cover of W: It would totally ruin appearances, and secretly, everybody probably already knew anyway.
“How’s my hair?” Dylan speed-combed her locks. “I want it to look perfect for all the ninth-grade hawt—”
Alicia pinched Dylan’s thigh.
“FOR WHEN WE MEET THE PRINCIPAL,” Dylan finished loudly. “YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. YOU NEVER HAVE A SECOND CHANCE TO MAKE A FIRST—”
Massie pressed the silver armrest button that activated the tinted divider between the front and back seats, creating a soundproof barrier between Isaac and the PC.
“Sorry.” Dylan’s cheeks turned pink.
Massie wished her seat came equipped with its own personal divider, so she could close herself off from the rest of the Range Rover and do all the things she was dying to do but wouldn’t be caught dead doing. Like check her iPhone again for a text, Twitter post, or voice mail from Landon, thanking her for the SnoopDawg 2000, which she’d had messengered to him. Or click to her newly formed Facebook group, EATA (Ethical Animal Treatment by Alphas) to see if Landon had joined in the last seven minutes.
These Boots Are Made for Stalking Page 4
