“Run!” Dylan bellowed, red-rovering straight into the clothes rack. She bounced off the couture and landed on her butt.
Everybody cracked up as the clothes swung back and forth, shaking off the impact.
“At least I tried something,” she mumbled.
“Okay, let’s go.” Clipboard glared down at Claire and Landon. “All of you.”
“Me?” Claire’s jaw dropped. “But I live here! And I’m on the list!”
“And I’m on in—” Landon checked his Samsung again. “Now!”
“The only thing you’re on is my security report,” Clipboard barked. “Now follow me.”
The Soul-M8s and Landon tromped through the tent, escorted by the security guards. Claire’s cheeks burned as everyone turned to stare. Behind her, Dylan, Kristen, and Alicia were cursing Massie to a lifetime of visible pores, static cling, and a few other things she couldn’t quite make out. Claire tried to catch Massie’s eye on her way out, so she could glance-beg for mercy. But Massie was getting her hair shellacked by Jakkob, and she didn’t notice.
“May-see!” Landon called as the guards herded them outside. But Massie still didn’t turn.
“I’m supposed to walk with her. I don’t want her to have to go out alone.” Landon’s shoulders slumped as they followed the guards around the spotlit runway and toward the house. “Now what’s she gonna do?”
“Beats me.” Tears stung Claire’s eyes. “This is all my fault,” she told Landon. And it was. Her plan had backfired. Now everybody was mad. And the odds of getting the Pretty Committee back together ever again were getting slimmer and slimmer.
Kuh-laire. Kuh-laire.
Scrambling for her phone, Claire felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe Massie had realized she’d made a mistake. Maybe she was ready to make up and move on.
She checked her text.
Massie: told u u can’t have both.
Then again, maybe not.
THE BLOCK ESTATE
THE RUNWAY
Friday, October 23rd
7:19 P.M.
“MASSIE BLOCK! YOU’RE ON IN THIRTY SECONDS!” A voice rose over the frenzied pitch in the tent.
“’Kay,” she yelled back, kicking off her Miu Mius and slipping into a pair of rhinestone-encrusted Manolos. She fliptousled her loose curls, tucked Bean tightly under her arm, and rushed out of the tent.
Bean’s tiny heart was fluttering with excitement, and Massie knew exactly how she felt. The idea of seeing Landon for the first time in his tux with the matching lavender silk Armani bow tie made her pulse vibrate faster than her iPhone. She picked up the pace.
“Okay. I’m here.” She exhaled once she reached the runway entrance. A stagehand spritzed the left side of her face with Evian facial mist. She turned, and the stagehand spritzed her right. “Where’s Landon?” she asked, but no one answered.
“Kaitlyn!” The stage manager yelled over the pulsing music. “Go!”
Kaitlyn and Prince glided onto the runway.
Cassidy, Jasmin, and Lilah took their places behind Massie with their escorts.
“Layne?” the stage manager called.
“Not coming,” Cassidy clarified. “She ate too much beef jerky. Salt bloat!”
But Layne was the least of Massie’s worries. She turned around and caught Lilah’s eye.
“Have you seen Landon?” she asked hopefully. She released Bean to the ground, half hoping Bean would suddenly turn into one of those police dogs who could sniff out missing crushes. But Bean just pranced around the girls in circles, loving herself in her lavender silk sheath.
“I’ve been working for eighteen hours straight and I still haven’t had a bathroom break,” Lilah snapped. “I’m not seeing much of anything right now.”
Massie recoiled at Lilah’s tone. The PC had never talked to her like that. Not even when they really had to pee or were busy stealing her crushes.
“Landon?” The stage manager lifted her pierced brow. “Saw him leave a few minutes ago. But you know you’re on in—”
Massie didn’t hear the rest.
Ehmagawd. She’d been left at the runway.
Landon Crane, her soul m—her crush, had ditched her. Just like Dempsey. And Derrington.
Massie’s head was screaming at her heart for being so stupid, and she fought the urge to crumple into a high-couture ball right there on the runway. How could she have believed that Landon was actually different from the others? Being in ninth, knowing a designer, not playing soccer… he’d had all the qualities she’d ever wanted in a guy. She should have known he was too good to be true.
She yanked Bean from the floor and tucked her under her bicep.
“IN THREE, TWO, ONE!” The stage manager shoved Massie and Bean into the spotlight, seconds behind Kaitlyn and Prince. “GO!”
On cue, the color-coordinated fireworks Massie had planned exploded overhead, making the acrobats look like they were swinging through showers of blue and gold fire. Massie blinked back tears, gripping Bean tight. She wanted to turn and run. But alphas didn’t turn and run. Alphas held their heads high.
She took a shaky step onto the catwalk. Bean licked her hand reassuringly. As she took her second step, the sparkling crowd that stretched in front of her leaped to their feet in applause. Camera flashes blended with the fireworks, making the night sky light up around her. But Massie didn’t care about any of it. All she wanted to do was bury her face in Bean’s soft, shiny fur and have a good, waterproof-mascara-running-down-your-cheeks, snot-all-over-your-face-but-who-cares, heaving cr—
Crrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaackkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
Massie heard the splintering sound of the plastic runway just seconds before Kaitlyn’s angled bob dip below her sight line. The crowd let out a collective gasp.
“Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmagaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawd!” Massie screamed, side-leaping to the front row of seats as the other models fell through the cracked runway into the fish-filled pool.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” the girls shrieked, disappearing beneath the glowing blue surface.
The crowd exploded with a mixture of cheers, cries, and screams. Some of the neighborhood kids rushed the runway, cannonballing into the pool with giant splashes.
“Yeaaaaaah!” The male models paddled through the shards of splintered plastic to high-five each other.
“My hair!” cried Lilah, fingering the neon pink faux-seaweed wig that hung over her eyes.
“My makeup!” Cassidy sobbed, burying her streaked face in her hands.
“My Praaaaaaaaaaaaaadaaaaaaaaaa!” Kaitlyn screamed, treading water.
The paparazzi pounced. Stampeding around Massie and Bean, reporters loomed over the pool, snapping photos and capturing live footage.
Winkie Porter crouched next to the water while her cameraman counted her down. “Winkie Porter here, with a Channel Five special report: What happens when fashion tanks?”
“There’s a sea horse in my braaaaaaaa!” Jasmin yelped when she surfaced, thrashing wildly in the water.
“The big story at eleven.” Winkie beamed.
“Aaaand, we’re out,” the cameraman called.
“Perfect,” Winkie said, straightening up. “Call Joe and tell him we’ve got a lead story. We’ll call it ‘Capsized Couture.’” She giggled to herself. “Let’s get some more B-roll of the backyard.” They walked off to interview the soaked guests.
Massie jumped to her feet. She tried to hold on to Bean, but the puppy squirmed from her grip and made a break for the house. Massie didn’t blame her. This was a disaster. All around them, stage managers were fishing models out of the pool, and guests were rushing around in a panic. Worst of all, the press was documenting every humiliating second.
Lilah, Jasmin, Kaitlyn, and Cassidy squish-stomped over to her the second they were pulled from the pool. Their ruined couture was painted to their sopping wet bodies. Bits of glow-in-the-dark coral stuck to their hair.
“Massie?” Jasmin snapped. “We hav
e something to tell you.”
“Yeah!” Cassidy yelled. “You ruined my makeup!”
Jasmin looked confused. “No. The other thing,” she side-whispered.
Massie opened her mouth. Before she could respond, the girls took a collective breath.
“WE QUIT!” they yelled in union.
Massie balked. “You can’t quit!” she hissed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. If the MAC girls quit, she’d be friendless. The thought made her feel like she’d been dunked in a giant vat of ice water. Even though she hadn’t. “You haven’t finished the job!”
“Oh, yeah, we have,” Lilah snapped. “And if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to the bathroom. Because we can!” She and Kaitlyn high-fived, then turned around and linked arms with the ninth-grade boys.
Massie took a shaky breath as they disappeared into the crowd. “Fine!” she yelled. Goose bumps covered her arms and legs. But nobody was there to notice. Not even Bean. “YOU’RE FIRED!” she screamed at their retreating backs.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” The music from the DJ booth screeched to a halt, and Kendra’s embarrassed voice came over the mic. “We’re so sorry for the inconvenience, but due to… technical… difficulties, Ho Ho Homeless will be winding up early. Please feel free to take a gift bag with you on your way out. There are some fabulous goodies in there that we just know you’ll love!” She laughed a little too loudly.
Even though she and Kendra were on opposite sides of the yard, with hundreds of people, a broken runway, and a pool between them, Massie could feel her mom’s embarrassment.
“Massie Block?” Winkie tapped Massie on the shoulder. “As hostess of this charity event, the tragic end to the night must come as quite a shock.” She flashed a megawatt smile.
Massie squinted into the bright light Winkie’s cameraman was shining into her eyes, wanting nothing more than to strangle Winkie with her own mic cord.
“Tell us how this will affect Westchester’s homeless,” Winkie cooed victoriously, shoving the mic in Massie’s face.
Massie stared tight-lipped into the camera. It wasn’t the homeless she was worried about.
After a social disaster like this, it would be almost impossible to make a comeback. Which meant that Massie Block was just like her botched event.
Over.
CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN OUT
Bean Landon, Dempsey, Derrington,
Kristen, Alicia, Dylan, Cassidy,
Jasmin, Lilah, Kaitlyn
Catfights Catwalks
Firing friends Hiring friends
THE BLOCK ESTATE
THE DRIVEWAY
Saturday, October 24th
11:36 A.M.
Claire coasted down Massie’s street, gripping the handlebars on her bike so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her iPod nano was blasting her Fired Up Femme! mix (Beyoncé, Katy Perry, and the Cheetah Girls, with a splash of P!nk). But even with the mix, and the afternoon bike ride to clear her head, she was dragging. She wished she could talk to her friends. Just hearing their voices would cheer her up. But she’d tried and nobody was taking her calls.
She’d fought the urge to ride her bike over to Alicia’s to apologize. But after she’d gotten everyone kicked out of Massie’s party, with threats from security to have them arrested for trespassing, she wasn’t sure she was ready to face any of the Soul-M8s in person just yet. Her plan to bring the Pretty Committee back together could’ve landed her best friends in the pokey. That would have been a total disaster. Everybody knew how the ex–Pretty Committee felt about horizontal stripes.
A lump hardened in the back of Claire’s throat as she turned into Massie’s driveway. Ever since the Pretty Committee had split, she’d just assumed everything would be okay, eventually. That someone would apologize and they’d be stronger than ever. Now it seemed like the only thing “stronger” was the rift between them, thanks to Claire. And now that Massie had a whole new group of friends (plus Layne, which Claire still didn’t get), the PC would grow further and further apart. The situation was hopeless.
“Heads up!”
Claire sucked in a sharp breath, swerving to avoid the familiar brunette from IBS who was standing directly in her path. Yanking her earbuds out of her ears, Claire hopped off her bike and let it drop on the grass.
“I’m so sorry!” Claire rushed over to the girl, who was holding a thick black portfolio. “You okay?”
“I was hoping to run into you!” The girl flicked her chestnut layers out of her face. A flicker of admiration sparked her bright hazel eyes. “But this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I guess you’re my replacement, huh?” She smiled warmly. “Makes sense I guess, since you have way more experience and actually live here.”
“Replacement?” Claire squinted like someone who couldn’t hear.
The girl opened her portfolio and produced a glossy eight-by-ten headshot of herself, grinning at the camera from over her left shoulder. “Would you give this to her? My résumé’s on the back,” she said, tucking the folder under her arm.
“Your résumé?” Claire repeated, taking the headshot. She knew she was starting to sound like a clueless parrot. But she seriously had no idea what was going on. And if she didn’t figure out how she knew this girl in the next sixty seconds… “Jasmin Collins,” she read aloud, hoping the name would ring a bell. It didn’t.
Jasmin shrugged. “You know, in case anything else comes up.” She looked down at the ground and smiled. “Sounds kind of stupid, but even with everything we had to go through, this job was kind of cool. Now it’s back to commercials, day parts, and extras work.”
Claire wasn’t paying attention. She flipped the headshot over, scanning the back for clues. Actually, the résumé looked pretty good. Guest spots on Ugly Betty and 90210…
“You have no idea what it’s like to tell the world about your heavy flow days on national television,” Jasmin was saying.
… plus background work on Gossip Girl and Mad Men…
“Anyway, this should be fun for you as long as you keep a few ground rules in mind,” Jasmin continued. “Massie hates it when you leave the house in the morning without running your outfit by her. So do yourself a favor. Don’t try any costume changes without checking first.”
“Mhmmm,” Claire murmured, still scanning Jasmin’s stats. Commercial work for Tampax, Aquafresh, and Pringles…
“Also? She hates it when you go off-script. Definite no-no.”
… and an extra on Dial L for Loser.
“Ohhhh!” Claire shrieked, dropping the headshot. “You were in Dial L! I knew I recognized you!” She was so relieved, she threw her arms around Jasmin and squeezed tight. “I’m Claire! Claire Lyons!”
“Yeah! I know!” Jasmin giggle-wheezed. “You were the lead!”
“Oh. Right.” Despite the chilly afternoon air, warmth rose to Claire’s cheeks. She released her hostage, embarrassed.
“Don’t you remember? We were in that one scene together where we both had to cry ’cause our crushes dumped us, and my cell started ringing, right in the middle? And you told Rupert—”
Claire dissolved into giggles. “I told Rupert it was my phone!” she remembered. “And he said—”
“Bloody ’ell, shut your cell!” the girls squealed in unison, cracking up.
“You totally saved my arse.” Jasmin snorted. “I owe you one.”
“Forget it.” Then Claire scrunched her nose. “Wait. You were working for—” In under a second, Claire’s jaw hit the pavement. Suddenly, it all became clear. How Massie had made four new friends in less time than it took her to pick out an outfit. How they looked even more airbrushed than a Cosmo cover. How they always seemed to know exactly what to say, and wear, and do…
“Claire?” Jasmin looked worried. “You okay?”
“MASSIE HIRED YOU GUYS TO BE HER FRIENDS?” Claire screeched. She couldn’t even believe the words as she said them out loud.
“Uh, yeah. Massie and La
yne.”
Claire smacked her palm to her forehead, collapsing onto the lawn next to the pavement. She knew Massie and Layne were up to something. They wouldn’t just be friends for no reason. “Why—”
“I guess they were both trying to get back at their friends for stealing some guy? Dumpy, or something? I heard them talking about it in the trailer one day.”
“Unbelievable.” Claire breathed. No wonder Layne had been so quick to hang with Massie. And no wonder Massie had let her. It was all part of a master plan. A brilliant, totally botched master plan to get revenge.
And now, Claire needed to form a plan of her own.
“Claire?” Jasmin stood up, brushing grass and dirt from her Earnest Sewn denim mini. “Am I missing something here?”
“Yup.” Claire jumped up too, yanking her bike off the lawn. “But I don’t have time to explain. I need to cash in on that favor.”
“That was quick,” Jasmin teased.
“Can you get the other actors here by six tonight?” Claire hopped on her bike, riding figure eights around the driveway. Massie Block wasn’t the only girl in the world who knew how to scheme to get what she wanted. Claire had been in the Pretty Committee long enough to pick up a few tricks of her own.
“No problem.” Jasmin buttoned her plum corduroy blazer. “You want us to do a scene?”
Claire nodded. “But… I can’t pay, so—”
Jasmin cut her off. “No worries. I’ll just tell them it’s an audition.”
“Perfect!” Claire grinned. “I’ll email you with the details in a few hours.” She started pedaling back toward the guesthouse, wondering how she was going to get all her friends together in one place in just a few hours. Especially since no one was taking her calls. But she’d figure something out. She had to.
“See ya tonight!” Jasmin called after her as Claire coasted through the gates.
The closer Claire got to the guesthouse, the faster she pedaled. She remembered back to her Dial L days, when the director, Rupert Mann, had once told her the key to a good script is three words: Drama, drama, and more drama.
Boys R Us Page 18