Cara shrugged, flicking a piece of blond hair away from her eyes. “Wanna go see a movie?”
“Meh.” Layne didn’t look enthused.
Claire checked her phone again.
“Girls!” Syd hurried out from behind the curtain and eased onto the stage, swinging her legs over the edge and depositing an armful of bouquets next to her. “So… ?” Her baby blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Inspired,” Layne decided grandly.
“Couldn’t have been cuter.” Cara fanned herself with a folded program.
“Totally.” Claire nodded, wishing Massie wasn’t hogging all her attention from somewhere across town.
Syd bowed dramatically. When she swung upright again, she pushed a brunette lock behind her ear and looked at Claire.
“So whadja think?” she prompted with a kind smile.
I think I’ve had enough drama to last me a lifetime. Claire used her palm as a visor to shield her eyes from the beaming stage lights. “About… ?”
“Little Shop auditions! You in?”
“I’m definitely thinking about it.” Claire sideswiped her bangs.
“I still have to find a song,” Cara announced. “I’ll probably do ‘Suddenly Seymour.’” She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and broke into song in the middle of the crowded theater. In seconds, Layne and Cara joined in. Even Claire sang along, relaxing into her chair a little: “Suddenly Seymour! Is standing beside you! You don’t need no makeup! Don’t have to preteeeeeeend!”
“You know it!” Cara grinned. “Cool.”
Claire nodded. “It’s one of the songs on my show tunes karaoke mach—” She cut herself off, hoping the parents’ chatter and the slapping of little-kid feet up and down the aisles had drowned her out.
But Syd and Cara didn’t roll their eyes at her or shoot her down with a snappy comeback. Instead, they leaned forward in excitement, chattering at the same time.
“You have a karaoke machine!” Cara gasped. “No way! I’ve always wanted one of those!”
“Can we go try it out?” Syd plucked her lapel mic from her collar. “Like, now?”
“I call first song!” Layne smacked the stage with her palm.
Claire burst into relieved laughter. This was definitely not the reception she’d been expecting. She’d only mentioned singing karaoke to the PC one time since moving to Westchester, and it had been her last. The Pretty Committee had shot it down with the speed and precision of a highly trained firing squad. Massie pinky-swore up and down that the word karaoke was Japanese for LBR. Alicia said if anybody at OCD ever found out Claire even brought it up, she’d be forced to move to Spain to live with her cousins, as part of the Westchester Protection Program. Kristen said she’d rather be playing soccer, and Dylan had come down with bad sushi poisoning.
“CLAIRE!” Layne, Cara, and Syd yelled, bringing her back. “Let’s go!”
Syd jumped off the stage, landing with a thud next to Claire. “I can have my stuff together in five. Meet you outside.” She hurried off to the dressing rooms, belting the second verse to “Suddenly Seymour” at the top of her lungs.
“’Kay.” Claire laughed, feeling the girls’ enthusiasm start to wash away her bad mood.
Layne grabbed Claire’s wrist and jerked her to standing. “Hurry it up, Chuck!”
“Coming!” Claire followed Layne and Cara down the theater aisle toward the exit. Maybe now she could finally leave the drama behind.
THE BLOCK ESTATE
OUTSIDE THE GUESTHOUSE
Sunday, November 16th
5:01 P.M.
Massie Block was a changed alpha. And not just on the inside. Her creamy-white cashmere Raw 7 sweater dress, delicate platinum accessories, and crackled metallic flats announced to the Block Estate and surrounding areas that she was cleansed. Purified of all her insecurities, fears, and doubts. Except the ones about lip-kissing ninth-grade boys. But she’d deal with those later. For now, she had more important Pretty Committee business to attend to. First stop: the guesthouse.
She pumped the shiny handle on the sunroom door once, and a fresh flood of chilly afternoon air surrounded her. The late afternoon light seemed almost transparent, highlighting her bronze-free cheekbones, iced pout, and shimmer-accented browbone like she was a rare jewel on display at the Smithsonian.
Stepping outside, Massie closed the sunroom door behind her and glided over the freshly trimmed lawn, not worrying the slightest bit about grass stains ruining her all-white ensemble.
Even her white D&G quilted leather Miss Glamorous bag felt lighter than usual. Inside, she’d packed only the necessities: her subliminal confidence CD (kindling for the friendship bonfire she’d scheduled later that night, to renew her bonds with the PC and start fresh with her crush), a new tube of Glossip Girl First Snow gloss, and a small bag of gummies as a peace offering for Claire.
I wanted you to upgrade ’cause I thought if you didn’t, it meant we weren’t friends anymore. But now I get why you don’t want to. For one thing, Cam’s pretty cute. More in a cheek-pinching kind of way than a lip-kissing kind of way, but still. Plus, high school boys can be kind of scary. Trust me, I get that now.
Massie paused mid-apology, practicing giving Claire time to respond. Then she continued.
Ehmagawd, forgiven! I missed you too! No more fighting or lies. Pinky-swear.
The lights were on in the living room, making the guesthouse glow. Inside, Claire was probably practicing her own apology in the mirror over the wing chair in the corner. Massie’s steps quickened, bringing her closer and closer to a reconciliation with her friend.
The grass seemed to be shaking with anticipation the closer Massie got to the guesthouse. Confused, she paused in her tracks. Tiny vibrations were shooting from the ground and through her flats, traveling to her heart. The delicate platinum hoops in her ears trembled, like a minor earthquake had struck the backyard of the Block Estate. And the faint sounds of deaf cats dying a slow, tortured death leaked from the guesthouse walls.
“Ehmagawd, Kuh-laire!” Massie plugged her ears and squinted toward the living room window. Then she picked up her pace, her heart fearing the worst. Nothing good could possibly be happening anywhere near that agonizing—
Finally getting a closer glimpse into the living room windows, Massie froze like she was a perfectly styled ice sculpture someone had accidentally left outside. She’d feared the worst, but nothing could have prepared her for what was happening inside. She darted the final few feet to the window and crouched in the bushes, temporarily forgetting her no-more-stalking rule.
If she hadn’t just finished a fresh mascara application—waterproof this time—she would have rubbed her eyes, to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
On the other side of the chilled glass panes, Claire, Layne, and the ninth-grade girls from last night’s party were in the middle of the living room, each gripping a “microphone” with one hand and flailing wildly with the other. All the furniture had been moved to the edges of the room, and the karaoke machine by the fireplace flickered with lyrics to a song Massie couldn’t make out.
It had to be a show tune, though, because normal music didn’t call for this kind of epileptic fit. Leave it to Claire to be a ninth-grade LBR magnet. Massie leaned closer, pressing her palms against the chilled glass. Giggling and dancing to the music, Claire’s cheeks were flushed. And not in a cheek stain–induced way, but in a real way. Damp bangs matted to her forehead, she looked… happy. Like Massie and the Pretty Committee were the last things on her mind.
Massie’s insides hardened. So Claire hadn’t been apologizing to her mirror. Instead, she’d been cheating on her with Layne and two ninth-grade theater geeks.
Throat tightening, Massie’s palms slid down the dewy panes, leaving wet streaks that looked like tears. The heaviness she’d felt just hours ago came barreling back, seeming to bolt her to the ground outside the guesthouse. How could Claire have recast her this quickly? It was as if Massie had died, and
Claire hadn’t even waited until after the funeral to find new friends.
Hot tears formed at the corners of Massie’s amber eyes. So this was what she meant to Claire. Nuh-thing. She’d been easier to replace than an old blush brush. And not the Shu Uemura kind, with the softer-than-soft mink bristles. The synthetic kind, from Duane Reade. The kind Claire would buy.
Finally, she couldn’t hold the tears back anymore, and they slid down her cheeks like tiny rivers of betrayal. Watching Claire and her upgrades laughing and dancing together was torture, like getting a full-body wax in slow motion. But somehow, Massie couldn’t bring herself to look away.
THE BLOCK ESTATE
THE GUESTHOUSE LIVING ROOM
Sunday, November 16th
5:06 P.M.
Crouched behind the worn, mustard-colored couch in the living room, Claire gripped her cordless flat iron and giggle-bounced in perfect sync with her backup singers, waiting for her cue.
“Uh-FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!” Layne screeched into the mic she’d rigged to the guesthouse surround-sound system. She was standing in the middle of the living room, directly in front of the shadeless brass floor lamp by the window that served as her spotlight.
Propped up on a blue side table in the corner, Claire’s old portable karaoke machine came to life, blasting the opening beats of the intro to Little Shop of Horrors from the living room to the bedrooms upstairs.
Syd nudged Claire with a curling iron, and the three girls shot up, each holding their hair appliances–slash-mics to their lips.
“Little Shop! Little Shop of Horrors!” Claire bellowed into her flat iron. “Little Shop! Little Shop of Terrors!”
Shimmying around the couch, Claire, Syd, and Cara joined Layne at the karaoke mic, singing at the top of their lungs to their reflections in the living room window. Claire closed her eyes and threw her hands over her head, feeling the kind of freedom that comes with not worrying about pit stains, being on key, or what anybody else is thinking. She hadn’t felt this free since… well, since moving to Westchester.
Claire looped her arms around the ninth-grade girls, pulling them in for the final verse. She didn’t even bother fiddling with her bangs, which were sweat-laminated to her forehead. With every note, she released some of the tension that had been building up inside of her ever since Massie had first mentioned the upgrade. Slowly, her shoulders were starting to inch from her CZ-adorned ears back to their normal position.
“Little Shop! Little Shop of Horrors! No, no, no, no, no, noooooooooooo!” Claire belted.
“CLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRE!” From upstairs, Todd’s whine rose over the sound of the music. “TURN THAT OFF OR I’M TELLLLLLIIINNNG!”
Claire side-glanced at the other girls, and they all dissolved in laughter. Layne gyrated over to the karaoke machine, cranking up the volume even louder.
“WE CAN’T HEEAAAR YOOOUUU!” she screamed, wiggling her hips.
As Cara threw her head back and harmonized into a travel hair dryer, her loose blond waves swinging around her shoulders, Claire caught Layne’s eye.
Layne winked, saying, Do you love ’em, or do you love ’em?
Claire nodded. Spending time with ninth-grade girls was pretty much the same as hanging with girls in eighth, only with more cleavage and public lip-kissing. And that was kind of… okay.
As the song wound down, Layne programmed an ensemble number from Shrek: The Musical into the machine. Whipping a cashmere throw from the wing chair in the corner, she threw it around her shoulders and free-danced around the living room like she was possessed.
Claire’s stomach ached from laughing so hard. It was a signal to her brain that she’d finally found her niche. Friends who were her perfect match, even if they were older. Ashton and Demi had had it right all along: Age really was nothing but a num—
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Claire screamed, suddenly catching a glimpse of a figure dressed in all white, hovering outside the frosty living room window. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she staggered backwards, slamming into an oak console table.
Massie.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” echo-sang Layne, Syd, and Cara, thinking Claire was ad-libbing. They threw their arms open wide and planted their bare feet hip’s width apart.
Squinting from underneath her dampened bangs, Claire watched her friend. Massie seemed to be staring right through her, like she was made of clear lip gloss. A sharp gust of wind swished through the trees in the yard, making Massie’s cream sweater dress float around her knees. Suddenly, a single, shining tear tumbled down Massie’s cheek. And then another. And another.
Claire’s throat tightened as she watched Massie crying, softly at first, then harder. Soon, her thin shoulders had started to shake. Seeing Massie Block cry reminded Claire of the time she’d seen her dad cry at Grampa Lyons’s funeral. Before that moment, Claire hadn’t actually believed that her dad really ever cried, except that one time during the Super Bowl. Which wasn’t really the same, since those were tears of joy.
“Has anybody seen my shoes?” she yelled over the music, dropping to her knees on the carpet. But the girls didn’t hear her. Claire swallowed the guilt boulder lodged in her throat. She’d only meant to branch out a little with new friends, not hurt the old ones. She was allowed to do that, wasn’t she? And it wasn’t like she could have invited Massie anyway, since she hadn’t responded to any of Claire’s texts.
Finally, she found her shoes wedged underneath the couch. She shoved her feet into them, the tongues bunched around her toes, and ran to the window.
Massie was still standing where Claire had left her. Only up close, she didn’t actually look sad. Her face was turning a deeper and deeper shade of scarlet, and her hands were clenched at her sides. Her tear-filled amber eyes seared straight into Claire’s.
Claire took a step back, almost tripping over her laces. Massie wasn’t devastated. She was fuming.
On the other side of the glass, Massie’s iridescent-glossed lips were moving slowly. Sending Claire a message. Claire leaned toward the window, glad there was a pane of glass between them and wondering if it was heel-proof. She stage-shrugged at Massie, to show she didn’t understand.
In one smooth movement, Massie reached into her bag and produced her iPhone. Without taking her burning gaze from Claire for a second, her fingers flew over the keys. Claire’s Motorola buzzed in her pocket.
Massie: This. Is. War.
Claire balked at the screen, feeling like someone had just taken a blowtorch to her insides. A declaration of war? For trying to find friends that made her happy?
Tearing her eyes from Massie’s, Claire whipped around and reached for her flat iron. Her heart was thumping almost as loud as the beat of the music. But it wasn’t from fear, like it usually was with Massie. It was from anger.
Suddenly, the spotlight in the living room seemed brighter, the music louder. Layne’s choreographed flailing seemed ten times more carefree, and Syd and Cara’s smiles seemed even more genuine.
No way was Claire going to let Massie tell her who she could and couldn’t be friends with. No way was she going to suffer just to make Massie feel more in charge. More alpha. Not anymore.
The girls giggle-waved Claire over to the mic. “It’s the FINALE!”
Quickly, Claire composed a text of her own.
Claire: Bring. It. On.
Without even looking out the window, Claire powered off her cell and joined the group. Wedging between her two new friends, Claire felt safe. Protected. And ready to pull the curtain on Massie Block’s reign of terror.
She took a deep breath and prepared to belt out the last note of the song. But for Claire, this didn’t feel like a finale. It felt like her grand debut.
What happens when THE CLIQUE’s Skye Hamilton, the original eighth-grade alpha, gets an invite to ultra-exclusive Alpha Academy?
Turn the page to find out why everyone’s tawking about Lisi Harrison’s newest #1 bestselling series!
ALPHA ACADEMY
BUBBLE TRAIN
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 5TH
12:18 P.M.
Skye skipped down the plane’s stairwell, downgrading her smile from high beam to low so as not to blind anyone with her excitement. Her mint, jersey-knit dance skirt ballooned up, and she shoved her hands in her skirt pockets to push it down around her long, tan legs. Just as her ballet flats made contact with the gold carpet that cut across the Jetway, the door of the private plane closed behind her.
A glass tower rose in the distance, and green caterpillar-shaped trees waved in the breeze. She arranged her white-blond wavelets behind her and blinked. Where was the welcome committee? Where was her adoring public? Where was anyone? She wasn’t used to being alone. It was her unwritten policy to have people around her at all times. The silence made her felt a little lost and a little grown-up all at once, like the first time she’d flown by herself to visit her grandma in Florida.
Fishing her aPod out of her purse, she kept her eyes glued on the horizon, searching for signs of life.
“Follow the gold carpet,” a honeyed Australian voice piped in.
There, on the rectangular screen of her aPod, was Shira’s face framed by her famous red waves. Heel-toeing along the carpet, which sparkled like a thousand Swarovski crystals, Skye felt like Dorothy in Oz—only she never wanted to go home.
The carpet led her through a thicket of Joshua trees, and when she emerged on the other side of the green pine curtain, she found herself staring at a pink sand beach and what appeared to be miles of blue water.
“Ohmuhgud,” she gasped, noticing the high-def rainbow up ahead.
WHOOOOOOO!
A translucent train that looked like a massive string of see-through pearls slithered along the sand and stopped in front of her. Skye tried to scope out the other girls, but all she saw was the back of their blowouts as they climbed inside their personal train cars.
These Boots Are Made for Stalking Page 17
