“Hey. You wanna hang out with me and Cara and Syd this afternoon?” Layne asked. “There’s a matinee at the Westchester Community Theater.”
“Maybe. What show is it?”
“Westchester Side Story.” Layne grinned. “It’s the little kid production. Syd directed it, so we’re all going.”
Claire nodded uncertainly. Part of her just wanted to go home, curl up on her couch, and forget this week ever happened.
“And then afterward we’re all hanging out. It’ll be fun.”
Cam opened his eyes, stuffing his penny bag in the pocket of his windbreaker. “Count me out,” he volunteered. “I had to go to my cousin’s kindergarten school play last week. And videotape it.” He shuddered at the memory.
“So?” Layne turned to Claire. “Up for a girls’ night?”
Claire hesitated, staring at the ground. If only it were as simple as Layne was making it sound. Sure, the older girls were cool, and hanging out with them at the auction had been fun. But how could she possibly have a good time with new friends, when Massie’s text-silence was so loud she could barely think straight?
She closed her eyes and pinched another penny from the bag, flinging it desperately into the fountain.
I wish I didn’t have to choose.
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
LANDON’S HOUSE
Sunday, November 16th
1:37 P.M.
Massie’s and Bean’s reflections in Landon’s brass door knocker made them look like giant bobblehead dolls, and Massie’s insides felt just as shaky.
“Wish me luck,” she murmured to her puppy, leaning closer to the polished brass for a quick gloss check. The faded sheen of her Glossip Girl Toasted Cinnamon gloss was barely visible, but re-glossing wasn’t an option. In her hurry, she’d accidentally left her Spy bag with Mary and Bark. The idea of going in glossless made her feel even shakier, like she was that Brookstone massage chair and Layne had turned the dial to MAX. She lifted the heavy door knocker and held both her breath and the knocker, but she didn’t let it clang down just yet.
Bean lapped at Massie’s trembling cheek, centering her. Reminding her of everything Mary had told them about finding a crush who liked Massie for all the things that made her a true alpha. And of the list she’d made herself while trying to muster up the courage to knock on Landon’s door.
Top Three ALPHA Things about ME:
Being a devoted mother to Bean and friend to the Pretty Committee, even when CERTAIN people (Kuh-laire) think they can do better.
Having trendsetting style (duh x 10).
Being a beyond-loyal crush.
So far, Landon only knew the first two things about her. What if he didn’t give her a chance to prove the third? What if he decided she was too immature, and she never found another crush who—
The brass knocker slipped from her grip and slammed against the door, jolting her back to reality. She shook her head, ridding her brain of negative thoughts and tousling her hair at the same time. Landon would be beyond lucky to have an alpha like her as his crush. And if he wouldn’t forgive her, she’d find the strength to move on. Landon Crane obviously wasn’t the only fashion-savvy crush in the sea. If Jessica, Demi, and Posh could find their perfect matches, nothing could stop Massie from doing the exact same—
Suddenly, Massie wasn’t staring at her own reflection in Landon’s doorway anymore. She was staring at Landon. His turquoise eyes clouded over the second he saw her.
“Hey.” She hated that her voice sounded as shaky as she felt. Her eyes traveled from Landon’s dark, almost-time-to-get-a-haircut-but-not-quite waves to his Prada stretch polo and Diesel five-pocket straight-legs. He was perfection.
“Hey.” But frozen the way he was in the doorway, he also looked like a hawt, angry action figure who was dressed to kill. And just might.
Massie swallowed. Couldn’t he at least invite her in? Nibbling her gloss-free bottom lip, she racked her brain for acceptable next moves.
Twenty minutes ago, she would have lied through her teeth. She would have told her (ex?) crush that she had brought Bark to Pup-A-Palooza because she’d heard Landon would be there, and she’d realized that a sick puppy should never be away from his owner. Then she probably would have made something up about how the booties were approved by POOPPT (Professional Organization of Puppy Physical Therapists) and she’d special-ordered them from Finland, just for Bark. Then she would have told Landon he owed her for the booties, plus shipping and handling and delivery confirmation. Then she would have speed-walked Bean home and tweeted about how the L in Landon obviously stood for LBR.
But that was twenty minutes ago. Now, standing in the golden afternoon sunlight on Landon Crane’s doorstep, Massie Block was a completely different alpha. This must have been how the Ashleys (Simpson and Tisdale) felt in their first post–nose-job paparazzi shots.
“Massie?” Landon waved his hand in front of her face. The spicy citrus notes of his CK Eternity Summer cologne piqued her senses, helping her focus.
“We need to come in.” Massie shifted Bean to her other arm, scratching the exact place on Bean’s forehead that made her front left paw vibrate uncontrollably. Even if Landon wouldn’t say yes to Massie, he couldn’t say no to Bean. “’Kay?” She instantly regretted asking permission. Alphas didn’t ask. They informed.
Landon shrugged, then stepped aside. “I guess.”
Stung, Massie and Bean swished past Landon into the foyer, her arm brushing against his. Despite the pain in her heart, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up, screaming true love.
Landon’s house was nothing like the Block Estate but every bit as inspired. Instead of marble floors, antique mahogany side tables, and a towering grandfather clock, Landon’s entryway had scarlet walls, slate floors, and framed candids of Landon’s mom Celia with some of Massie’s fashion icons. Including the real Marc Jacobs.
“Marc’s such a sweetheart.” Celia Crane’s lilting voice sounded in Massie’s diamond-studded ear, making her jump. She whirled around, resisting the urge to slap her palm over her naked lips in embarrassment.
“Naming the boutique Bark Jacobs was his idea, you know.” Landon’s mom beamed, the wild, dark tendrils around her face accenting her high cheekbones. Celia was the picture of casual chic in a black-and-white-striped Diane von Furstenberg maxidress and chunky turquoise accessories. “Good to see you again, Massie,” she said, patting the signature paw-print brooch nestled in her messy updo. “You too, Bean.”
Bean yapped once, licking Celia’s hand.
“Ehmagawd, hi.” Massie flushed, her heart doing a jig at the sound of Landon’s mom not pronouncing her name May-see, like she had on the boutique’s opening night. It meant Landon had been talking about her. At least before last night anyway.
Celia turned to Landon. “Just got the prototype in for the fragrance,” she said, lifting a small frosted glass bottle in the shape of a pug. “Perfect, don’t you think?” Without waiting for Landon to respond, Celia tilted the bottle for Massie to see. “We’re doing a line of canine cologne, and Landon designed the boy puppy scent,” she explained. “It’ll come out with our spring line.”
Massie’s heart beat in double time. Designing a fragrance before he hit tenth? Impressive. She leaned in to get a closer look. The face on the bottle was the spitting image of Bark.
“What’re you calling it?” she asked the bottle, wishing she could look Landon in the eye and ask him instead.
Celia glanced pointedly in Landon’s direction.
“Eau Bama,” Landon mumbled, picking at an invisible thread on the sleeve of his polo.
“Clever, no?” After a beat of silence, Celia glanced back and forth between Landon and Massie. Her clear blue eyes glowed with amusement.
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” she smiled. “Business can wait. I’ll be in my studio if anyone needs me.” She glided barefoot across the slate floor and kissed Landon on the forehead.
“Mom.” Landon rolled his eyes.
<
br /> “Sorry.” Celia wiped away the glossy print above Landon’s eye. “Gluten-free cookies in the oven, if you want some.” And then she was gone.
Looking up, Massie saw that Landon’s eyes had softened a little. But he was still silent. Waiting.
“Um, about last night.” Massie’s silk tunic was starting to cling to her damp skin. She dropped Bean to the floor and kept her arms tight at her sides, in case of pit stains. “I was totally planning on keeping Bark at home? But then I saw on Animal Planet that keeping puppies cooped up when they’re injured actually makes them worse. Like, psychologically. They get depressed.”
Landon squinted skeptically. “Huh?”
“It’s called PMS,” Massie lied. She was starting to sweat through her jeans, her sense of truth and purpose leaving her pores along with the salty dew. “Puppy melancholy syndrome?”
Bean nudged Massie’s shin gently with her wet nose.
And Mary’s voice replayed in Massie’s mind.
The perfect guy makes you want to be exactly who you are.
Massie froze, feeling the same way she’d felt in the seconds before Olga had waxed her brows for the very first time. Maybe the anticipation of pain was worse than the actual pain itself.
Bean looked up and yap-cheered her on. Massie took a deep breath and let loose.
“ItookBarktothepartysoIcouldspyonyou’causeIdidn’ttrust-youandthoughtmaybeAnkle-Bir—I mean, Mary was your girlfriend and so Layne put these cameras in the booties and made them ugly on purpose I think, which is so like her, what an LBR, and then Bean wouldn’t wear them so Bark had to, and also I just spent the last hour spying on your house from the bushes, which is psycho times ten, and the thing is, I only did all that ’cause I like you way more than any of my other crushes, who weren’t right for me ’cause actually I hate soccer and Africa and charity and boys in shorts. Plus I hate bronzer too, and I don’t wear heels to movie night and I actually really like trick-or-treating for the candy too, not just the costumes, and most of all I love Bean and Bark and your new fragrance which is ah-dorable by the way.”
Massie stumbled back against the wall. The sound of her relieved, ragged breath filled the entry hall. She’d done it. Said everything she’d always wanted to say to her crush but couldn’t.
Bean’s tongue fell out of her mouth in disbelief.
Landon’s eyes widened. Massie couldn’t tell if it was from disbelief or panic, or whether he just thought she was insane. But hawnestly? It didn’t matter. Without her insecurities weighing her down, she felt lighter than she did after a full month on the Zone. No more lies or scheming or stalking. From here on out, she was going to tell the truth. Whether Landon Crane liked it or not.
Landon blinked, still silent.
Sweeping a stunned Bean off the floor, Massie headed for the front door, waiting for Landon to call her name. Tell her he couldn’t live without her. Beg her to design a girl puppy cologne, so they could start their promotional tour for Eaux Ensembles.
But all she heard was her puppy’s steady pant and the thump of her own heart. Her insides seized, and for a split second, a wave of regret threatened to overcome her. She swallowed it, along with her pride and the last remaining bit of Toasted Cinammon gloss on her parched lips. Then she yanked open the door and stepped into the light of day.
As her heels clacked against the brick steps, she wrinkled her brow. More than anything, she was confused. How could Landon let a moment like that pass him by without realizing she was the one? She took a deep breath, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry, or both. She was sure of one thing: If she had to do it all over again, she would.
Her iPhone buzzed in her back pocket, and she pulled it out, preparing for Claire’s billionth text. But the name on the screen wasn’t Claire’s.
Landon: I H8 bronzer 2.
Before Massie could reread the text to make sure it wasn’t a truth-induced hallucination, Landon’s front door opened. He stood just inches away and locked eyes with her as his fingers flew over the keypad on his cell.
Her phone buzzed again. It took all her bodily strength to tear her gaze from his long enough to look down at her phone.
Landon: 4given.
He may as well have sent her a text filled with nothing but hearts, because that was all she saw. Landon Crane liked her. Her. Ehmagawds, gloss-free lips, and insecurities included.
They locked eyes again, and her entire body felt like she was back in the Brookstone chair. But in a good way this time. Telling Landon everything was obviously going to bring them closer. So why should she stop with him? Why not tell all her friends the truth? Massie had a feeling she was on to something.
She decided to start with Claire. Tell her that if she wanted to stay with Cam instead of upgrading, she could. Tell her that she understood why Claire hadn’t wanted to upgrade in the first place. For one—
Massie looked up. Landon was moving slowly toward her, his eyes screaming, I am so gonna lip-kiss you right now. As if on cue, a chilly breeze swept between them, finger-combing Massie’s hair. The clouds overhead parted, and golden sunlight drenched the front stoop. And Bean leapt from Massie’s arms, running in tight circles around them as if to push them closer together.
It was perfect. Except for one thing.
Massie’s stomach lurched into her throat, like she might vom.
As Landon leaned in, his eyelids getting heavy, warning sirens blared in Massie’s brain. She wasn’t prepared for this! She wasn’t even glossed! And she had no idea how to lip-kiss a ninth-grader! Did they do it differently? Why hadn’t she asked Mary when she’d had the chance?
“EhmagawdIhavetogotalktoClairelikerightnow,” she blurted, sidestepping Landon before he could get any closer.
Landon’s eyes snapped open, and he gave her a shy smile.
“’Kay?TextyoulatertellyourmomIsaidbye.” Massie stumbled down the front steps, Bean at her heels.
Striding down the drive toward the street, she kept her gaze focused straight ahead, torn between wanting to turn around, wanting to run, and wanting to Google Video ninth-grade lip-kissing on her iPhone. She hoped Landon knew that the kiss dis was nothing personal. She just wasn’t ready yet. And if he liked her as much as his lovesick Efron eyes said he did, he’d understand. He had to.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
Text messages Subliminal messages
Confessing Obsessing
Kiss-dissing Landon Lip-kissing Landon
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
THE WESTCHESTER COMMUNITY THEATER
Sunday, November 16th
3:45 P.M.
“Woooooooooo-hoooooooooooooooooo!” Layne hooted in Claire’s ear as Syd led a stumbling chain of costumed third-graders across the Westchester Community Theater stage for their fourth bow. The applause in the small theater reached a frenzied pitch, making Claire hear a buzzing sound. And she’d lost all feeling in her neck sometime between “Tonight” and “I Feel Pretty,” since as VIP guests of the director, Claire, Layne, and Cara had gotten to sit in the front row, tilting their heads back at a 90-degree angle for the production.
On the other side of Layne, Cara leaned forward in her seat, her blond waves skimming her knees. “Aren’t they adorable?” she called, her cheeks flushed from the stale warmth that hovered over the creaky theater seats.
Claire nodded. To her right, a middle-aged man holding a blinking camcorder turned and smiled proudly.
“THAT’S MY GIRL!” he yelled, waving a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of roses at the herd of little girls on stage.
Congratulations, mouthed Claire politely. She let her eyes dart down to her cell, which had been resting on her left thigh ever since she’d taken her seat. No calls, no texts… not even a Twitter update or a Facebook posting. She yanked up the sleeves on her hoodie, needing some air.
It wasn’t like calling Massie again would make her pick up. And by now, Claire was too exhausted and confused to figure out why her friend was
n’t responding. Was she mad that Claire had hung with Syd and Cara last night? Too busy having fun with Landon to answer? Or just generally hurt that Claire had been looking for friends outside the Pretty Committee?
The applause started to settle, and Claire shook the ringing from her ears. Looking perfectly at home under the white-hot theater lights, Syd was holding a bouquet of flowers and a program. She waited for the shouts of proud parents to die down, then spoke into the lapel mic on her black cowl-neck sweater. Claire craned her neck again, staring up Syd’s oval-shaped nostrils.
“Thanks to everyone for supporting this year’s production.” Syd’s voice boomed throughout the theater, commanding the audience’s attention. “We hope you enjoyed the show. Just a couple notes, and then we’ll wrap up. Don’t forget, opening night for the main-stage show Beauty and the Beast is coming up, so get your tickets. And auditions for the spring musical, Little Shop of Horrors, will be held in—”
“Daddy loves you, Michelle!” the stage dad next to Claire called out.
A giggle rippled through the audience. On stage, Michelle widened her eyes in humiliation and ran to hide behind Syd.
“… will be held in two weeks,” Syd smiled into her shoulder, swatting the little girl’s head with a program. “Thanks, and have a great afternoon.” The kids took another bow and a dusty-smelling velvet curtain careened from the rafters, sweeping across the stage.
If Claire had a mic of her own, she would have sprinted to the Block Estate to explain everything at top volume. How she’d never meant to hurt Massie or the Pretty Committee. How the upgrade had made her feel like she had no other choice but to find friends who accepted her, eighth-grade crush and all.
But most of all, Claire wanted Massie to know that hanging with Syd and Cara was starting to make her change her mind about having older friends. That maybe Massie had been right, after—
“So what’re we doing after?” Layne said, interrupting her thoughts. Claire hadn’t even noticed Layne standing over her, clogging the aisle as parents jostled to get to the steps that led up to the stage.
These Boots Are Made for Stalking Page 16
