A Tale of Two Pretties

by Lisi Harrison

  “You skipped seven.”

  “Seven, you turned the overflow trailers into Tiffany’s boxes so they wouldn’t feel like losers. Eight, you hosted billions of sleepovers—and spa days—so that’s eight. Nine, you sawed off Nina’s heels when she stole our crushes. And ten…” Come on, Claire, don’t choke now… you’re almost there…

  Massie sat cross-legged on the bed, folded her arms across her chest, and glared expectantly.

  “Ten. You introduced them to me,” Claire said with a playful smile.

  Massie arched her brows.

  “My bangs and Keds made them feel better about their own hair and shoes. So you helped boost their confidence.”

  “Kuh-laire, are you a ballerina?”

  “Why?” she snapped, angry at herself for even bothering. “Because I’m so leotarded? Or because I’m a tulle?”

  “No.” Massie jumped to her feet, “Because you’re so on pointe!”

  “I am?”

  “I’ve been an ah-mazing friend!” The light had returned to her friend’s amber eyes. “Don’t poor people always say that’s worth more than all the money in the world?”

  Claire nodded enthusiastically.

  “And poor people would know that better than anyone, right? I mean, it’s not like they can afford cable or magazines or computers. They probably huddle around an open oven and analyze this kind of stuff for fun.”

  Did she honestly believe that? Not that Claire would ever ask. Challenging Massie while she was boosting herself was like waking a sleepwalker: It could lead to danger.

  “Gawd, you are so right…” Massie began texting, her fingers flying over the touch screen with a renewed sense of purpose.

  Massie: 911! Meet at GLU HQ 2-moro at 11.

  She hit send. Claire was the first to respond.

  Claire: Can’t wait. C U then.

  And then:

  Alicia: Whatever u say! Ur the alpha. Always have been always will B

  Dylan: Major family day. I can probably get away for 15 but no more.

  Kristen: Can’t stay long. Soccer thing @ 11:30.

  “Ehmagawd!” Massie threw her iPhone on Claire’s bed like it had been sprayed with Todd-snot. “The poor people were wrong! They know that I’m not rich, and they’re over me!”

  “Do you seriously think they like you for your money?”

  “You tell me!” Massie snapped, waving her phone in Claire’s face. “You’re the alpha?” she spat. “Alicia is ah-bviously mocking me! Dylan just spent ten days with her family! That’s more back-to-back family time than they’ve had the last five years combined. And Kristen? A soccer thing during December break? Puh-lease. Change your name to Jesse James and lie to me again!” She smashed Claire’s tasseled pillow into her face and groaned.

  Claire searched her mind for a reasonable explanation for the Pretty Committee’s flakiness but found nothing. Dylan never hung out with her family. Alicia never acknowledged her beta status. And Massie was right: What kind of crazy-intense team practices over Christmas break? What if Massie was right? What if the PC was breaking up with her now that her family was broke? And if they were so willing to dump a no-money Massie, there was zero hope for an off-estate Claire.

  But were the girls really that callous? Had their friendships been that superficial? It wasn’t possible. Even for them. Right?

  Claire snuck a gummy. But even the sweet candy couldn’t wash away the sour taste in her mouth.

  THE BLOCK ESTATE GLU HEADQUARTERS

  Monday, December 27th

  11:01 A.M.

  Massie was more stiff than the marble statue Sotheby’s had just removed from her front yard. She was standing in the center of the Blocks’ barn-turned-spa-turned-cold-spa while Alicia, Kristen, and Dylan avoided her gaze. As a result, she avoided Claire’s gaze because this whole stupid thing was her idea in the first place. Not that Claire noticed. She was biting her nails like they were made of sugar. Alicia was petting Bean, Dylan kept checking her phone, and Kristen was nervously rolling her foot back and forth on a soccer ball—like that would somehow convince Massie that her bogus story was true. The alpha wanted to scream, but could only manage a yawn.

  Last night Claire had slept peacefully in a sleeping bag on the floor, while Massie had tossed and turned in her foam-filled comforter. The white numbers on her iPhone had flitted by, like they were counting down to Massie’s execution. Just as the French peasants had lopped off Marie Antoinette’s head over cake, the Pretty Committee were about to ax her over dough.

  “So what’s going on?” Alicia finally asked. “Is this an intervention? Did I do something?”

  “You?” Kristen said. “I thought everyone was mad at me.”

  “No one’s mad at anyone,” Massie managed. Yet.

  “Phew.” Dylan wiped her forehead, “I thought it was me.”

  “Like maybe we were lashing out at you?” Alicia teased.

  Dylan giggled. “We got them on our vacation.” She blinked. “You like?”

  “You better be careful crossing the street, Bambi,” Kristen cackled. “If you see headlights, look down.”

  Claire shot Massie a tell-them glare. Massie shot back a Kuh-laire-are-you-a-JanSport-then-get-off-my-back glare.

  Still, she pressed on. “I wanted to let you know—” Massie paused to scoop up Bean and took a long whiff of puppy smell. The pug licked her back. Why couldn’t everyone be this loyal?

  Eight eyeballs were fixed on her. Waiting… wondering… Her future hung in the balance of their blinking lashes. And Massie wasn’t so confident on the brightness of said future. Because for every one of the great things she had done for them, there was a not-so-great-thing she had also kinda done.

  She hadn’t let Claire be a Dirty Devil.

  She’d kept Alicia out of the TeenVogue photo shoot (although Alicia had deserved it for cheating on the OCD uniform contest).

  She’d called Alicia “Fannish.” Ah-lot.

  She’d told Dylan that burping was gah-ross.

  She’d made her friends dump their crushes during the boyfast.

  She’d kicked everyone out of the PC at least once.

  She’d tried to keep Dylan and Derrington apart.

  She’d tried to keep Dempsey and Kristen apart.

  She’d Lycra’d her friends way more than ten times…

  “Mass, I don’t mean to rush you but I have to get going,” Dylan said, texting.

  “Same,” Kristen added, toe-flicking her ball and catching it.

  “Fine,” Massie said with an it’s-now-or-never exhale. “Here’s the thing. Itturnsoutmydadlostalotofmoneythankstotheeconomy.” The girls exchanged glances but Massie kept projectile-vomiting the truth, hoping to feel lighter in the end. “That’swhythehouseiscoldthat’swhyIgotyoumakeupsamples-forChristmasandthat’swhywe’llbemovingtoasmallerestate. So that’sitthat’swhatIwantedtosay.” For some reason she ended with an awkward curtsy.

  Claire applauded. Kristen opened and closed her mouth like a trout. Dylan and Alicia covered their lips with their holiday-polished fingertips. Massie looked sadly down at her own. They were chipped and broken. Just like her spirit.

  Massie scuffed her Frye boots on the wood floor, expecting her soon-to-be-ex-friends to whip out their phones. Her breaking news was worth at least 10,000,000 Gossip Points. Life as she knew it was officially over.

  Ehmagawd, somebody say something!

  “Well, I just thought you deserved to hear it from me,” she finally mumbled. “You can all go to your family things and your soccer whatevers. Thanks for listening.”

  But then Claire reached for Kristen’s hand. Kristen grabbed Alicia’s. And Alicia took Dylan’s. Suddenly, like a runaway game of Red Rover, they charged toward their alpha and enveloped her in a Pretty Committee perfume-scented cloud of love. A mix of Angel, sweaty soccer jersey, maple syrup, and salsa. Massie wanted to bottle it and name it: Unconditional.

  Step aside, Beyoncé. There’s a new Survivor in town.


  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  IN OUT

  Low budget No budget

  Supportive friends Supportive bras

  Massie Broke Massie Block

  THE RIVERA HOUSE

  ALICIA’S BEDROOM

  Monday, December 27th

  12:40 P.M.

  “Stripes?” Kristen suggested.

  “On New Year’s Eve?” Massie asked.

  “Metallic?” Claire tried.

  Massie wrinkled her nose. “Too last year.”

  “All-black?” Alicia suggested.

  “Too Kelly Cutrone,” Massie decided.

  “Ruffles?”

  “Too Kelly Osbourne.”

  “Hair extensions?”

  “Too Kelly Clarkson.”

  A month ago, Massie’s dismissiveness would have outraged Alicia, but today she was so alpha-appreciative she just lifted her finger and said, “Point.”

  “How about an ocean theme—greens and blues for everyone?” Dylan said. She blinked, and then pried the lashes on her right eye apart.

  As Alicia sipped her sparkling water and half-listened to the other girls talk about what to wear to Merri-Lee’s annual New Year’s Yves party, she studied the redhead. There was something different about her—aside from the lens-dusters and shed water weight. It was almost like… she was hiding something.

  When Alicia offered to have her driver, New Isaac (because Old Isaac was gone and they couldn’t remember this guy’s name) pick up the girls, Dylan shut her down. Something about how she’d get there on her own because they were doing construction on her street and there would be nowhere for them to stop. But New Isaac had passed by Magnolia Lane earlier that day and said the road was clear as crystal.

  Kristen took a quick inventory of Alicia’s walk-in closet. “What if we do a clothes swap? Claire wears something of mine, I wear something of Alicia’s, Alicia wears something of Dylan’s, and Massie—”

  “Wears something of Kuh-laire’s? Ehma-never!”

  “No way would my C-cups fit into Dylan’s A-cup shirts,” Alicia pointed out.

  “They’re B’s,” Dylan insisted, unbuttoning the second button on her plaid shirt.

  “Well, they B looking like A’s,” Alicia teased.

  Everyone laughed but Massie. Her smile was falling dangerously close to a frown. Claire seemed to notice, too, and jumped in. “I really think we can pull a Tim Gunn on this and make it work.”

  But Massie just shook her head and flopped onto a ruby-colored beanbag. “It’s hopeless. I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t want to wear someone’s old clothes! It’s New Year’s Eve. Besides, it’s a bad omen to wear something that’s already been worn that night. It means you’ll be wearing used clothes for the rest of the year!” She curled into fetal position and whined, “I have to shop.”

  Alicia suddenly felt guilty for wearing her brand-new ivory Ralph Lauren sweater dress and fringed Minnetonka boots. Massie looked just as current in her shimmery peach Alice + Olivia top and olive J Brands. Still, the beta understood. Who didn’t like a week’s worth of new clothes around the holidays? Even Claire and Kristen went trolling for hand-me-downs this time of year.

  “I have a brill idea!” Alicia announced. “Why don’t I sell my soon-to-be-so-last-year wardrobe? The LBRs will love it! I’ll donate the cash to Massie so she can buy a New Year’s Yves outfit. My dad’s been looking for tax write-offs—whatever those are—but I think they have something to do with charity donations—”

  Massie gasped.

  “Ehmagawd, not that you’re charity,” Alicia tried, her tongue folding up like a drawbridge. “I just meant—”

  “I think it’s a great idea!” Claire interjected. “I have tons of stuff to sell.”

  Everyone giggled.

  “What?” Claire asked, turning red. “If people think it’s yours they’ll buy it.”

  “Point,” Alicia said, considering this. “But then they’ll think it’s mine.”

  Dylan burst out laughing. “I’ll donate, too.”

  “I’ll work the register,” Kristen offered.

  Massie stood and joined the girls on Alicia’s bed. “I bet we could style some of Claire’s old things to make them look cool. It is LBRs who we’re targeting—no pun intended.”

  “Yay!” Alicia beamed at the round of love they were giving her idea. “Mass, you should come up with a list of jobs for us, a schedule, and a marketing plan. And I’ll get my clothes and—”

  “Um, Leesh, do I look like Lady Gaga’s head?”

  “No,” Alicia mumbled.

  “Then why are you making me the bigwig?”

  Alicia’s heart began to rev. “You’re the alpha so I assumed—”

  “Exactly. If LBRs see me selling clothes, they’ll know something’s up.”

  Alicia looked to Kristen. “Do you want to run it?”

  “I wish I could but I have soccer stuff,” she said, flexing her calves.

  “Dylan, how about you?”

  Dylan blinked her long lashes as she sneaked a peek at her iPhone. “I’m on—I mean, my mom’s got a lot to do for the New Year’s Yves show and she needs my help, so…”

  Alice narrowed her eyes. “Since when does your mom ask you for help?”

  Dylan’s cheeks reddened under her freckles. “I’ll contribute all my clothes, though.”

  “Kuh-laire?”

  “I have to pack,” she said, avoiding Alicia’s dark eyes. “You know, because Massie needs room for her stuff and everything.”

  “Why don’t you do it, Leesh?” Massie suggested in a way that sounded more like insisting. “It was your idea.”

  “I guess I could,” Alicia said, over the alpha-alert ringing in her ears. If she succeeded, she might be given more alpha duties and Hermia’s prediction would start coming true. If she failed, she would be a failure. The situation couldn’t have been more lose-lose than if it was Jillian Michaels’s résumé.

  Memories of the dinner party she’d organized for the SoulM8s danced in front of her like reflections in the mirror-lined walls at BADSS. The boys turning up their noses at her famous-couples-costume idea. Derrington wiggling his butt when she tried to engage them in sophisticated conversation. Dylan burping through the appetizers. Massie upstaging the whole thing with an ah-some fashion show in her backyard…

  With each memory, Alicia’s neck grew hotter, her pits sweatier, and her tongue thicker. It was almost like she was having an allergic reaction—to being an alpha.

  “I have to pee,” Alicia said, hurrying for her bathroom. Once inside, she leaned over the waterfall sink and splashed cool water on her face. Why was the universe suddenly intent on beta-blocking her?

  Alicia pulled her phone from the inside of her moccasin and checked her daily horoscope on Hermia’s website.

  “You miss some of what you try for, and all of what you don’t.”

  She read it and reread it, hoping it might morph into something different if she just stuck with it. But the prediction didn’t change. It stood by its word, leaving Alicia with no choice but to do the same.

  WESTCHESTER, NY

  MARSHALLS’ JUNIORS SECTION

  Monday, December 27th

  4:15 P.M.

  “Next stop: Marshalls!” Kristen cried from the front seat of her mom’s Ford Focus. “You’ll love it, Massie. It’s my middle-class mecca.”

  “Target is mine,” Claire chimed in from behind the driver’s seat. She rustled the big Target bag at her feet lovingly. Where else could one purchase deodorant and designer-done-cheap? Next to her, Massie sighed audibly. Claire patted her on the shoulder. She knew this was hard for her friend, and she was impressed how reasonable she was being about it all. Massie was set for New Year’s, but she still had 364 other days to consider, which is where Kristen and Claire came in.

  They’d already hit Target, and though Massie’s face had grown longer than the time between Jessica Simpson’s recording contracts as they’d traipsed through the ai
sles, she had bought the gray scarf she was now donning. So what if she was wearing it as a disguise? It was still progress.

  Claire eyed Massie. The alpha had done her best to make sure she still didn’t look middle-class. She was wearing a newish pair of Earnest Sewn skinny jeans tucked into a pair of suede booties that Claire couldn’t imagine walking in. Her belted wool coat was hanging open, showing a flash of bright green from a cashmere tank she wore under a fitted Theory blazer. She’d pulled her hair back into a tight bun, wrapped the gray scarf around it, and wore big black Dior sunglasses, even though the sun was hidden behind a sheet of gray clouds. She obviously didn’t want to be recognized.

  “Thanks for driving us, Mrs. Gregory,” Claire said.

  Marsha smiled, turning a sharp left that made Claire’s bangs fly up. “It’s the least I could do after all the times Massie has given Kristen a ride. Where is Isaac, anyway? Has he been sick?”

  The only sounds came from the radio. Claire normally loved holiday music, but once Christmas was over, it felt staler than neglected fruitcake.

  “He’s on vacation,” Massie finally answered.

  “Visiting family?” Ms. Gregory pressed.

  “Yup,” she said, turning to the window.

  The sound of Kristen pulling her hoodie zipper up and down filled the silence. Marsha hummed along to the radio. Claire’s phone buzzed with a new text.

  Massie: Please tell me no one we know will be at Marshmallows.

  Claire stifled a giggle. She could hear Kristen thumbing a response from the front seat.

  Kristen: Operation middle-class makeover is officially under way!

  Massie: Ugh.