BTW call me Amandy. Everyone at camp did. It makes me sound 16, right?
Claire checked her screen. MANDY! It said MANDY! She’d accidentally sent her text to Mandy. Not Massie! She was free to wear machine washables and slip-ons for thirty-five more days.
Claire wiggled her toes happily inside her Keds and bent down to hug Piper. He coughed once, then puked graham cracker.
Mandy: Right?
Claire: Right! Luv the new name!
With renewed purpose, Claire tugged Piper’s leash. One more lap around the block and she’d be six dollars richer. It wouldn’t get her any closer to a Massie-approved wardrobe, but it would get her a medium bag of sours at the Candy Baron and a large raspberry Slushee.
Mandy: At camp we were SAS: Sarah+Amandy+Sari.
Now that UR back we can B SACS!
Claire: Finally a SACS i can afford to be in
Mandy: LOL!
A geyser of 100 percent pure yay-water shot through Claire’s body. She was part of her Florida group again. The awkward readjustment period had officially ended.
Mandy: Wait until Miss Kiss! We’re going 2 dominate!!!
Claire was about to text back to remind her friend that they were too young to enter the local pageant. But then she remembered—they were twelve. They qualified! All the years they’d spent honing their special talents, de-frizzing each other’s hair, practicing their puckers . . . and now it was here. They were finally eligible to compete in the local teen Miss Kissimmee beauty pageant and—
Ugh.
Suddenly, a tangle of uneasy feelings corked up Claire’s yay-water geyser. She rubbed her belly while Piper lifted his shaky hind leg and peed on the tire of a royal blue Honda Accord. Why the sudden stomach pit? The Miss Kissimmee pageant was something they’d dreamed of for as long as she could remember—hair, makeup, clothes, press, prizes, competition . . .
Double ugh! Competition. That was it! There were endless stories of lifetime BFFs who broke up over Miss Kiss. Just last summer it had happened to identical twins. The Bernard sisters, who to this day denied being related. And after the year she’d just spent in Westchester, the last thing Claire wanted was to compete with her best friends.
Mandy: I’ll call SS and we’ll go shop 4 R qualifying gowns.
Claire: I’ll be UR manager.
Mandy: ?????
Claire: I’m moving. If I won, which I so wouldn’t, it’s not like i’d be able to go to the food court openings or football parades anyway.
Mandy: What about the $$$$.
Claire: ? $.
Mandy: $1000 4 1st prize!
Claire stopped so suddenly Piper practically choked. She couldn’t take her eyes off Amandy’s text. One thousand dollars! Piper started licking her big toe, and Claire started eating her words. “What’s a little healthy competition between friends?”
KISSIMMEE VALUE OUTLET SHOPS
KISSIMMEE, FL
Monday, August 3 11:16 A.M.
After promising to meet Amandy’s mother at the Nike outlet in thirty minutes, SACS hurried into Dress Barn. A cold blast of air-conditioning stung their bare arms and promised to keep them alert while they navigated rows of bright patterns and durable knits. And the instrumental version of “4 Minutes” by Madonna, Justin Timberlake, and Timbaland guaranteed they’d have a good time doing it.
“Gather.” Amandy stopped below a mannequin wearing a brown and green polka-dot dress and gold sandals. She scanned the store like she was searching for eavesdroppers, and smiled when she realized they were the only pageant-worthy customers. “I’ve done some research on Miss Kiss, and in the spirit of sisterly love, I’m going to share.”
“Ready!” Sarah pulled a Bic pen out of her short curly blond hair and held it above her palm. Sari gave her a thumbs-up as if to say, Good job for staying on top of the whole note-taking thing.
The S’s were wearing slightly different shades of pink tank tops, and their cutoff jean shorts were covered in glitter hearts made up of their signature colors: pink for Sari and orange for Sarah. A camp art project, no doubt. Amandy, however, had chosen to memorialize her summer with a wristful of colorful boondoggle and macramé bracelets. They added a cool, rugged touch to her adorable periwinkle blue J.Crew cotton sundress.
Claire felt a flash of jealousy. Why had she ever let Massie convince her that homemade jewelry was unattractive? Braided leather would have looked so edgy with her mint green cargo mini and yellow cap-sleeve Ella Moss tee (a hand-me-down from Dylan).
“Get this,” Amandy whispered, a thin blue vein bulging along her temple. “In the past five years, the girls who qualified for the pageant were all wearing fruit-colored dresses. No earth tones. No solid white. No black.” She snickered, then rolled her blue eyes. “As if we would ever.”
Sari leaned over Sarah’s hand to make sure she was getting all of this.
“What about patterns?” Sarah lifted her pen.
“No one ever got rejected for wearing florals, put it that way.” Amandy smoothed her thick dark brows as if all this free advice was taking its toll.
“And length? Because it’s super important to get the right length, because I mean, it could be at the ankle or at the knee or above the knee, or I mean even midcalf. I just want to make sure, you know?” Sari asked while stuffing a handful of candy corn in her mouth. Instinctively, she held out the Ziploc for the others, and everyone helped themselves. A delicious rush of sugar went straight to Claire’s jaw. First chewy, then grainy, then liquidy sweet. The overall sensation was kind and loving—a welcome change from the sharp, spiteful corners of the low-fat Baked Lays she’d been snacking on all summer.
“Nothing above midthigh. It’s the Miss Kiss, not the Miss Look-at-This.”
S and S cracked up. Claire tried. But after a year of Massie’s clever comebacks it was impossible to settle for anything short of brilliant.
“Can you believe we’re actually here?” Sarah looked around Dress Barn like she was Dorothy landing in Oz.
Um, no! Claire could practically hear Massie say. “It’s so exciting,” she managed, finally locating her own voice. “We’ve waited all these years and—”
“Save it for the judges.” Amandy elbowed Claire playfully. “Let’s shop!”
Sari casually stuffed her empty Ziploc in the mannequin’s green and brown polka-dot pocket.
“Um, security!” Sarah fake-called.
“You saw that?” Sari cracked up.
“Security!” Claire and Amandy joined in until they were slapping each other’s shoulders in hysterics, barely remembering what had been so funny in the first place. Once they finally stopped, Clare’s abs ached with soreness and her heart buzzed with joy.
“Meet at the dressing rooms in ten?” Amandy ask-insisted, subtly reminding them why they were there.
Seconds later the girls split like overprocessed hairs, each claiming a different part of the Barn. Claire wandered into the greens and yellows, where a cheerful shift dress caught her eye. It was the perfect length, and its flowers were definitely fruit colored—banana and kiwi, or was it more of a lime? She pinched the hem area and gave it a little rub between her index finger and thumb. The fabric was coarse and porous. Something Piper would definitely be able to hear with her sensitive dog ears. Claire released it quickly and peered across the store to see if her friends were having similar reactions to the rash-inducing material. But SAS were piling outfits onto their bent arms like they had won an hour of free shopping at Bloomingdale’s.
Claire tried to imagine the Pretty Committee in this store, where the average dress cost thirty dollars and size twenty-fours were welcome. But she couldn’t. In her mind the PC and the Dress Barn refused to fuse, like oil and water. Curdled milk and coffee. Angie and Jen. She could, however, imagine Massie making some kind of joke about how the store must be called the Dress Barn because the clothes were for animals. And for a second she actually missed the alpha. A second later, she missed her old sweet self.
Su
ddenly, Claire started to sweat. Her stomach cramped and her heart accelerated. The vibrant colors of the Dress Barn surrounded her, yet she was unable to move. Old photos told her that bright greens, yellows, pinks, corals, and turquoises flattered her—even more so now that she had a tan. And statistics proved that the judges liked these colors. But something was stopping her from bending her own arm and piling on the options.
That something was Massie.
Thanks to her, Claire knew too much about good quality and bad taste. After spending the last year surrounded by delicate hand-washables and dry-clean-only designerwear, she had developed an appreciation for good quality. She just hadn’t realized it until now. And without the money to do anything about it, that knowledge made her feel like she was in a polyester-covered prison cell.
Ducking for cover behind a circular rack of knit cardigans in a rainbow of colors, Claire fired off a quick text.
Claire: Going 2 a VIP ball. Dress must be flirty, fun, & flattering. No black. Any suggestions?
A response arrived within seconds.
Massie: The 3Fs? No prob. Miu Miu has an ivory dress w/floral-shaped sequin embellishments. It’s feminine without being overly girly and can be dressed up or down to suit the mood. Great with a Stella McCartney bag and Jimmy Choo shoes, 100% silk, inserts: 75% acetate, 25% viscose. Dry clean only. Note: Italian sizing.
Claire:thx.
Instantly, Claire began flipping over the dress labels in search of silk. But rayon and polyester blends were all she could find. Giving up, she hurried toward the ivory section, where, as luck would have it, a mannequin was wearing a cute A-line dress with tiny floral-shaped sequins. The flowers were brown (earth tone) and the dress was cream-colored (white), but it hit at the knee (Miss Kiss, not Miss Look-at-This ), was close to Massie’s Miu Miu (), and cost $32.95. ()
Claire hurried to the closest mirror and slipped the dress on over her clothes. Once the bulk of her cargo skirt and Ella Moss shirt were gone it would fit perfectly. All she needed was a pair of brown slides and—
“Find something?” Amandy appeared behind her, squinting at the hanging white dresses as if their brightness was hurting her eyes. A cherry-red, poppy-covered empire-cut dress swung from her finger on a clear plastic hanger.
“Yup.” Claire put her hands on her hips and turned to face her friend.
“Looks like lumpy oatmeal,” Amandy sneered.
“You like?” Sarah danced over barefoot. Her knees were semi-bent and her palms were facing out, shifting back and forth like windshield wipers. She seemed to be moving to the upbeat tempo of “4 Minutes,” even though that song had ended a while ago and now a whiny ballad was playing instead. She was wearing a blue, orange, and yellow kerchief dress. It was bohemian chic, and flattering in the relaxed sort of way that her dance was not.
“Cute.” Claire smiled and meant it. “Gold sandals would be so ah-dorable with that.”
“Really?” Sarah tugged one of her curls. “I was thinking my blue jellies. They have a perfect little kitten heel!”
Claire literally bit her tongue to keep from commenting. Had her friends always had such bad taste? Should she intervene?Was this how Massie felt around her?
“I thought we were meeting at the change rooms,” Sari whined. “I was standing back there forever and ever and ever and then I finally gave up and came looking for you out here, and thank goodness I did, because here you are!” Then she held a pale pink, pale yellow, and pale green paisley dress up to her long torso. She adjusted her long blond hair so that it cascaded over her shoulders, then licked her thin lips and puckered. “Mwah!”
“Ew!” Claire blurted. She was about to add that it looked like a box of Good & Plenty had melted all over the dress. But she held back when she saw Sari’s pointy chin start to tremble.
“I knew it. You have changed!” Amandy cried.
Sarah raised her black brows and mouthed, “Ouch!” But she didn’t say a word in Claire’s defense.
“We used to pick out the same clothes all the time, like when we both reached for those canary yellow overall shorts, or the hot pink Keds slip-ons, or that awesome hat with the plastic sunflowers on it, just like the ones that go on bikes,” Sari pouted. “Remember?”
“I do,” Claire said, solemnly at first. And then quickly managed an enthusiastic smile. “I mean, I still do have the same taste as you.” She reached for Sari’s dress and gripped the bristly material. It felt like the surface of the rocks they used to tan on in the Kissimmee state park, back before Amandy had done her science project on melanomas.
“EW means I love it. It stands for . . .” Claire paused for a moment. Extra wacky? Extremely woeful? Ever-so-wrong? “. . . Extremely Wearable.”
“It does?” Sari’s chin stopped quivering and her expression softened.
“Of course. What did you think it meant?” Claire heard her own voice but hardly recognized it. Was she acting kind or cruel? Sensitive or manipulative? Compassionate or competitive? Or had she evolved into some deviant species that was an enigmatic combination of them all? Wait until Layne heard about this. She’d be begging to draw her blood and analyze her hair and—
“It sounded to me like you didn’t like it, like because ew usually means ‘ew’ as in ‘gross,’ or ‘disgusting,’ or ‘that’s so awful’ or whatever, so I thought maybe you didn’t like it, which was kind of depressing, because usually we like the same things.” Sari picked at the pink heart on the left leg of her shorts.
“I love it.” Claire used every ounce of her acting training to sound convincing.
“Prove it.” Amandy pulled the elastic out of her ponytail. Her dark brown hair, which was always semi-damp, fell to her shoulders.
“How can I prove it?” Claire’s heart beat harder. Could Piper hear it? Could Bean?
“You buy the dress.” Amandy smirked.
“But Sari found it first. That would be unfair,” Claire tried. “To her.”
“Hi. I’m Louise. Everything okay over here?” asked a short, round, brown-haired woman wearing a maroon knit cardigan over black wide-leg trousers. Both items gave off a polyester sheen under the track lights. She clasped her plump hands and grinned, trying to look patient while she waited for an answer.
“We’re fine, thank you,” Claire finally offered.
“Will you be purchasing these items?” Louise gestured toward the register in the center of the store.
“Well?” Amandy said.
“I can’t take your dress,” Claire insisted to Sari.
“Sure you can.” Sari handed it to her. “Yours is super cute. It reminds me of a Miu Miu dress I saw on Bluefly.”
“But it’s not the right color. I wasn’t getting it for the pageant.” Claire bit her thumbnail. An old Kelly Clarkson song came on over the loudspeaker.
“I can make it work.” Sari piled her hair on top of her head and winked. “It’s EW.”
“Is mine EW?” Amandy asked.
“Super EW!” Sarah said.
“Does this mean you will not be purchasing the dresses?” asked the saleswoman.
Sari tossed the Good & Plenty dress over Claire’s shoulder and grabbed a fresh Miu Miu knockoff from the rack. “No.” She beamed. “It means we will.”
“Lucky for you all of the dresses you chose today are twenty-five percent off.”
Claire smile-sighed.
“Except yours.” Louise pointed at Claire. “That’s still fifty-nine ninety-five. You have wonderful taste. It’s the most expensive piece in the Barn fall collection.”
“Totally worth it.” Claire beamed, knowing her friendship with SAS was more valuable than money. All she’d have to do was walk Piper ten more times and she’d have her savings back.
Her pride, however, would be gone for good.
THE LYONSES’ HOUSE
KISSIMMEE, FL
Tuesday, August 4 2:22 P.M.
“Pull the rake closer,” Claire instructed Todd. “And wipe the sweat off your forehead—it�
��s giving me glare.”
Todd lifted the bottom of his red T-Odd Jobs tee and wiped his face. “Better?”
Claire lifted her camera. She took five action shots of her brother in their front yard as he fake-raked a pile of palm fronds off their otherwise spotless lawn.
This photo would represent “gardening” in the T-Odd Jobs free downloadable wallpaper series—a little something he wanted to leave for his customers after he moved. It was his way of “giving back” and showing them how much he valued their business. And it was Claire’s way of recouping some of the money she’d lost on the Good & Plenty dress.
“We got it,” Claire announced, consulting her shot list. “Moving on.”
• Car Washing/Ride Pimping
• Pool De-Bugging
• Garage Organizing & Uncool Toy Removal
• Wardrobe Consulting
• Face Painting
• Doggy Day Care
• Gardening & Flower Arranging
• Reading to Small Children
“Let’s set up for reading.”
Todd dragged his navy blue Fatboy beanbag under the small circle of shade provided by their leafy red maple. He surrounded it with X-Men action figures and a stack of Dr. Seuss books. Once in position—legs crossed and leaning toward Wolverine, Magneto, Storm, Cyclops, Sabre-tooth, and Toad—he slid on their father’s old wire bifocals. “Ready!”
Claire sighed and propped her camera. The light was poor, but she didn’t have time to make adjustments. She had walking practice with SAS in twenty-five minutes—twenty of which would be spent getting up the courage to leave the house in her registration dress—so she clicked away while Todd shifted and read aloud from One Fish Two Fish.
“Is this the Lyons estate?” a man called from a brown delivery truck.
Todd burst out laughing. So did the deliveryman when he looked at the quaint sky blue home sandwiched between two other quaint homes. But Claire failed to see the humor. Since when did UPS guys make jokes about the size of people’s houses? Okay, maybe in Westchester, but here?
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