Ohh, no.
Come with me, stay the night
You say the words but boy it don’t feel right
Massie’s insides froze. Her nervous system flashed code red. A C-list DJ was ruining her plan!
Now what? Kill the volume? Start screaming? Fake barf?
Without a word, Chris poked the LCD screen on the dash and pressed OFF. His expression was similar to Bean’s when Massie left for school every morning—pitiful and forlorn. On one hand, his show of emotion was sweet. Derrington would never have the confidence to reveal his softer side. But on the other, it was disturbing. Chris was ah-bviously far from cured.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nuthin’.”
Massie immediately considered getting her jaw wired shut. How could she have been so stupid? According to ESP, guys hated that question.
He didn’t make another sound until they arrived at Jakkob’s salon.
“Here we are.” Massie tried to sound upbeat. “Park right in front.”
Chris pulled the key out of the ignition. “What are we doing at a hairdresser’s?” he practically spat. The smoldering light behind his blue eyes was fading fast.
Massie hurried out of the car and opened the door to Jak-kob’s salon. “There is nothing, and I mean nuh-thing, a new haircut won’t fix. Once you see your new look, you’ll have the confidence to move on and hang out with new—”
“I’m not a chick.” Chris sat firm, refusing to betray his manhood by leaving the car.
“Tell that to your hair,” she tease-shouted, eyeing the cute, chestnut-colored wings poking out from the side of his head.
“That bad?”
Massie discreetly crossed her fingers. “Worse.”
Chris lowered his head, stepped of the car, and followed her inside.
“Mahh-ssie.” Jakkob padded across the black marble floor of his moody salon in gray Gucci loafers, spreading his arms wider with each step, making it clear he expected a big hug. His dark McDreamy hair had recently been dyed Donatella-blond, making his ice-blue eyes and dark airbrushed skin pop.
“Jah-kk.” Massie shuffle-ran straight into his embrace.
His familiar smell—fruity conditioner, chemicals, and CK One—made her think of prepping for black-tie soirees, birthday parties, and any other event that called for a professional.
“Is that heem?” he muttered, his tightly trimmed goatee tickling her earlobe.
“Yup.”
When they broke apart, Jakkob oversmiled at Chris.
“Hull-uh, I’m Jah-kkob.” He extended a St. Tropez–tanned hand, which looked extra brown against the cuffs of his crisp lilac Thomas Pink button-down.
“Hey.” Chris shook politely, even though his darting eyes made it obvious he was searching for a way out.
Regardless, Massie bubbled with pride. She’d gotten Chris there on a moment’s notice and convinced Jakkob to clear his schedule. So they’d had a minor musical setback. Now that they were at the salon, everything was going to work out. A makeover would give Chris enough confidence to sweep Skye off her super-arched feet, and the Pretty Committee’s social status would be locked like an LV steamer trunk at curbside checkin.
“Come.” Jakkob put an arm around Chris and escorted him to the black marble styling station in the rear, where the only shot of color came from the bright red hair dryer hanging alongside the mirror. Massie trailed behind with delight.
“So, whaddaya say we make you ze best you poss-hible?” He raised the black velvet seat with a few pumps of his foot.
“Whatever.” Chris shrugged, avoiding the stylist’s eyes in the oval mirror.
Jakkob shot Massie a did-he-just-say-what-I-think-he-said look.
“Whatever?” Massie stood behind Chris, addressing his reflection. “Wrong answer.”
Jakkob nodded in agreement as he swung a red cape over Chris’s torso with the grace of a matador.
“What do you want me to say?”
Both Massie and Jakkob placed their hands on their hips, cocked their heads, and looked at him disapprovingly.
“What?”
“This cut is about so much more than a few highlights and a snip,” Massie insisted.
“Highlights?” Chris’s face turned seasick green. “I’m a guy!”
“She’s right,” Jakkob continued. “Etz about taking cuhn-trol and making changez. And that meanz be-hing man enough to try zomething new. Even if your friendz aren’t doing eet.”
Massie’s tone softened. “Chris, I think what he means is, in life there are passengers and there are drivers. Be the driver, Chris. BTD.”
“Mmmm.” Jakkob forced his hands through Chris’s tangled dark hair. “You need to drive.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “I’ll drive.”
They spent the next thirty minutes sipping lattes from gold china mugs and leafing through celebrity hairstyle magazines. Finally, they all agreed that Zac Efron’s cut and color would complement both Chris’s bone structure and skin tone. And they were right.
Two hours later, the light behind Chris’s eyes was illuminated once again, and his jawline looked sharp enough to file acrylics.
“I hate to braahhhg, but he looks incredi-bull,” Jakkob said to his reflection while Chris was in the bathroom.
“You’re a genius.” Massie slapped her Visa in his palm.
“It’s nice to zee you with han older boyfriend,” Jakkob mused as he walked the plastic card to his Aguilera-blond receptionist. “Derrin-tun was cute, but this one zeems better for you. Moh ma-ture. And your children? Zoopa-models foh sure.”
“He’s nawt my boyfriend,” Massie said unconvincingly. “I’m setting him up with a friend.”
“S’cuse me?” Jakkob slapped his heart in shock. “Would you just give Alicia those fahntaztik red motorcycle boots of yoh-rz?”
Massie beamed. Leave it to Jakkob to notice her boots. “Nev-er.”
Jakkob pursed his lips in a well-that’s-exactly-what-you’re-about-to-do-with-Chris-if-you-give-him-away sort of manner.
“It’s a long story,” Massie blurted, desperate for a subject change.
“Well, let’s ope it az a appy ending.” Jakkob oversmiled again as Chris joined their circle.
“Ah-greed.” Massie snickered at the enormous understatement.
“Thanks again, man.” Chris slapped Jakkob’s bicep.
“Pleasure.” He winked and then handed Massie her card. Massie winked back and followed Chris back to the Lexus, considering Jakkob’s advice. A hawt older guy with a driver’s license wouldn’t be the worst thing for her eighth-grade persona. It would be much more enviable than a perma-shorts-wearing soccer goalie.
Hmmmmm.
Shaking the dangerously impure thoughts from her head, Massie saved the ”Derrington vs. Chris” file as a “draft,” with plans to reopen it after Skye’s party.
“So?” she asked once they were zooming down Main Street.
“So what?” Chris gripped the wheel tighter than he needed to.
“Do you love it or do you luhhh-ve it?”
“It’s just a haircut.”
Massie felt her heart collapse like a crumpled love letter.
“Too many people think making changes on the outside will help them on the inside. But that’s not how life works.” He paused. “At least not mine.”
Massie shifted her body toward the window, wondering if the heavy sadness spreading inside of her was what LBRs often referred to as “failure”?
“Until now.”
“Huh?”
“I said, that’s not how my life worked until now.” He smiled peacefully at the yellow traffic light ahead and gently stepped on the brake. “You’re special, Massie.”
She continued to face the window. Only this time she felt light and buoyant, like “failure” had just been painted yellow and filled with helium. And despite Derrington and Skye and the bomb shelter and ESP, she couldn’t control her overwhelming need to return the compliment.
; “I like your shirt.”
“I like you.”
They waited out the rest of the red light in awkward silence. Massie’s thoughts collided in her brain like smelly rock boys in a mosh pit. Temptation smashed into Guilt which crashed into Insecurity and bashed into Loyalty. It was impossible to isolate a single one and reason with it. They were moving too quickly and with more force than she could possibly harness.
“You remind me of Tricky,” Chris continued, once they were moving again.
Massie turned to him, her crinkled brows asking if that was a compliment or an insult.
“It’s a compliment,” he said, reading her mind. “You’re both sensitive. You’re both strong. And”—his navy eyes moved across her cheeks—“you’re both really well proportioned.”
Massie’s burning cheeks betrayed her again. She lifted her mint-green bag to her face and rummaged among tubes of Glossip Girl, purple ink pens, her Motorola Razr, her PalmPilot, her iPod, a YSL key chain, a black quilted Chanel makeup bag, and a mini photo album of Bean and Brownie, pretending to search for something incredibly important.
But then she saw the pulses of flashing blue light thumping inside like an alien’s heartbeat. It was the bell icon on Skye’s cheap digital watch.
And she turned red again, this time out of frustration and rage. She had three days left to convince Chris that Skye was the horse, not her. A possibility he didn’t seem the least bit open to.
Not that she blamed him.
BRIARWOOD ACADEMY
WAVE POOL DEDICATION CEREMONY
Wednesday, April 28th
6:23 P.M.
“Clam diiiip,” burped Dylan.
Kemp Hurley and Chris Plovert laughed so hard they practically shot sea-foam-flavored seltzer from their nostrils.
“Try to remember you’re in public,” Alicia hissed loudly, probably hoping Josh Hotz might hear. But he was buried deep within the sushi-popping crowd with Derrington and Cam, dropping shrimp tails in women’s open handbags, killing time before the dedication ceremony.
The evening’s guest of honor—an enormous empty wave pool—spanned most of the roof atop Briarwood Academy’s main building. Any free spaces around its edges were filled with anxious wannabe surfers, proud donors, and the women who loved them. A clear plastic bubble overhead, the kind Claire first saw over the courts at the Blocks’ tennis club, kept everyone warm, while playing into the fish-tank motif the party planners seemed to be going for. Sexy mermaids glided through the pearl-clad crowd, offering oysters, steamed conch fritters, and lobster tails in low-fat butter sauce. And a string quartet dressed as penguins promised the crowd a night full of water-themed songs. “Octopus’s Garden” by the Beatles was the current selection.
“Lobster tail?” A redheaded mermaid in a green-glitter-covered spandex costume shoved her silver tray into the Pretty Committee’s tight circle.
“No thanks!” Alicia shouted toward Josh, who was now just a few feet away, snickering into his shrimp-filled hands with Derrington and Cam. “No food for me.”
Dylan pinched two lobster tails, baptized them in butter, and stuffed them both in her mouth. “What is invisible and smells like bananas?” She chewed, the tips of the tails slapping against her shiny lips.
The boys shrugged.
“Monkey farts!”
Kemp and Plovert cracked up. Massie, Alicia, and Kristen rolled their sparkle-dusted eyes in disgust.
Normally, Claire would have laughed along with the guys, but tonight she could barely fake a smile. Even her outfit—loose, faded Seven hand-me-downs and a plain red long-sleeved tee—said, “I’m too upset to care.” And Cam, who was joking around with his friends, totally oblivious to her pain, was making things worse. How could he be so happy-go-lucky when the pit in her stomach was reaching wave-pool depths? Could he not sense her angst from the terse IM responses she had sent him the last few nights? Not knowing what else to do, she spite-turned her back to him.
“Tonight’s the night,” Massie whisper-insisted. Her gold anchor drop earrings swung with conviction. “You guys better ask your crushes to the party tonight or—”
All of a sudden, Skye threw her arms around Massie and Alicia with fake affection. “Here are my little Cheetah Girls.” The DSL Daters stood behind her, tittering. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” She shimmered in the formfitting seaweed green sequined mini she’s worn to her spring dance recital. Her messy updo was randomly adorned with gleaming starfish and sea horse clips. “Are you all set with your dates?”
“Yup,” Massie answered a little too quickly. “All set.”
Alicia, Kristen, Dylan, and Claire nodded like bobble-heads.
Skye leaned in to Massie’s ear. “Any updates on you-know-who?”
“It’s all under control.” She wink-nodded.
“Promise?” Skye rubbed the gold locket across her glossy mouth. “Because he’d be the perfect Brad, especially with that incredible new haircut. And everyone says I have lips like Angie’s, so—”
“Sounds great,” Massie managed.
“It will be. My costume is all set. I’m just missing one thing.”
“Not for long.” Massie beamed.
And just like that, Chris and his new Zac Efron hair managed to squeeze through the thickening crowd. He was wearing a crisp blue pair of Diesels, a brown henley, and a Levi’s jean jacket. His confident swagger proved he knew how good he looked.
“Hey, you.” Skye quickly ran her fingers through his highlights.
Claire couldn’t help noticing her confidence and hoped that after a year of ESP access, she’d be just as bold.
“Hey, Skye.” Chris took a slow sip of his seltzer.
“How have you been feeling lately?” She pouted sympathetically.
“Great.” He winked at Massie.
She giggled, then casually unzipped her navy cashmere hoodie, revealing a tight white Stella McCartney tee with a metallic-gold horse decal across the center. Its boxy bottom barely touched her narrow hips, revealing a sliver of flat abs before the top of her gray knit leggings kicked in.
Claire exchanged glances with the Pretty Committee, silently asking if something was going on between Massie and Chris that she didn’t know about. They shrugged, indicating they were just as baffled as she was.
“Feel like celebrating?” Skye tilted her head toward her shoulder and batted her green-mascara-covered lashes.
“Maybe,” Chris answered with playful curiosity.
Obviously grateful for this live demonstration of Flirting for Dummies, the Pretty Committee stared, shamelessly shoving anyone aside who threatened their view.
“Well, I have just the thing.” Skye inched toward him.
“Really?” Chris pulled the blue straw out of his seltzer and stuck it in his mouth.
Skye pulled the straw out from between his teeth and tapped it against her Angie lips. “Yup.”
Chris blushed.
Massie stepped back to give them space. Or was she feeling left out? Claire had no idea, since, as always, the alpha’s expression gave nothing away. Her amber eyes were fixed and steady—not angry or sad or happy. Just blank, quietly observing and absorbing. Was she jealous? Relieved that her plan was working? Or crushed that Skye had captivated Chris with so little effort. It was impossible to tell.
“I’m having an exclusive end-of-the-year party,” Skye continued, steadying herself against the flow of party traffic.
“I know. I heard some of the guys talking about it.”
“I bet you did.” Skye stuck the straw back in his mouth. Chris stared into her eyes.
Massie half-smiled. Her plan was working and she seemed relieved. If jealousy was an issue, she was hiding it like an unsightly panty line.
But before any deals were sealed, a teenage boy’s voice crackled through the band’s speakers and hijacked the moment.
“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please?”
“It’s starting,” squealed the DSL
Dater with the Swiss Miss braids. “Let’s move closer to the surfers.”
Skye leaned into the Pretty Committee’s tight circle. “I’m going to leave. It’s more alluring.”
“But—” Massie tried.
“But nothing. Close the deal for me.”
“But—”
“Tick… tick… tick…” was all Skye said before a pack of boy-crazy blondes tugged her toward the front of the crowd.
Derrington, Josh, and Cam hovered around the Pretty Committee’s closed circle like the rings of Saturn, probably envying Chris Abeley, Plovert, and Kemp, all of whom had somehow scored a place inside. Part of Claire wanted to grab Cam’s leather-clad arm, drag him closer to her side, and inhale his Drakkar Noir. The other part wanted to chuck a bottle of sea-foam-flavored seltzer in his face. But all she could do was circle the anger cul-de-sac and continue avoiding him until she happened upon a way out.
“So are you going to her party?” Chris pushed up the sleeves of his brown henley.
“Given.” Massie flicked the gold zipper on her navy cashmere cardigan.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been in the mood for a party.” Chris looked straight at her. “But thanks to you, I’m starting to feel ready again.”
“Cool.” Massie turned to the podium as if she didn’t want to miss a single word of the dedication. She knew it would have been the perfect time to promote Skye, but her gloss was fading. And without its shiny protective shield, she felt vulnerable. Pretending to cough, she turned her head to the side and applied an emergency coat of Sugar Cookie Glossip Girl. Now she was ready to close.
“Well, I’m gonna go up front with my buddies. Let’s talk later.” Chris smile-winked, then forced his way through the audience.
Massie was about to reach out to stop him when Derrington crept up behind her and covered her eyes.
“Guess who?” he asked in a little girl’s voice.
“Let go.” Massie pulled his palms off her face. She unstuck her lashes, then searched for Chris. But he was gone.
“What’s up with her highlights?” Derrington laughed so hard he snorted.
Cam and Josh cracked up and highfived him.
Claire rolled her eyes. Was Cam always this immature?
Sealed with a Diss Page 12