As the familiar streets of Westchester rolled by, Massie tried to imagine London. Would her new neighborhood be cobbled and dusty, with flower sellers trolling for tuppence? Would their castle have a moat to distance them from the masses? Would the clip-clop of horse hooves make her long for Brownie? Would she ever eat sushi with her best friends again?
Massie tried to keep her glossed lip from quivering as she replayed the scene in the limo. How could she possibly tell the Pretty Committee she was leaving? Their relationship was symbiotic. She was their hero; they gave her life meaning. They were the planets; she was their sun. They revolved around her; she brightened their world. Without her they’d be as dark as Seattle; without them she’d just be plain old hot.
When they passed OCD, Claire’s voice cut through the silence. “So, tell me what’s really going on.”
Massie turned away from the window. Was she that transparent? Or did Claire know her too well?
Claire was staring at her with a look of open concern, wearing one of her I’m-here-for-a-heart-to-heart expressions. The pane that divided the backseat from the driver was already up but Massie pressed it again, just in case it had failed to make a complete seal.
Claire’s voice grew hushed. “Are your money problems really over or did you use the sale money to rent this limo?”
“Puh-lease, I would never do that!” she snapped, genuinely insulted. “ I wasn’t lying. My dad got a new job. And he’ll be making ah-lot.” She hesitated. “But you know how it goes. Mo’ money, mo’ problems.”
“Um, not really,” Claire smiled, to show she wasn’t offended.
Massie sighed. Maybe telling Claire would feel like a Dylan-burp after a big meal.
“We’re moving,” she began, sampling the taste of truth on her tongue.
“Really?” Claire beamed.
“Don’t look too upset,” Massie hissed.
“No, it’s just that I’ve been meaning to tell you something all week and this kind of makes it easier.”
Massie hiccupped. Other than a sneeze here or there it was the first time Claire ever heard her body betray her. “What?” she asked wearily, like one more surprise and she’d stroke out.
“My parents bought a house. It’s right near Layne’s,” Claire broke the news gently. “We’re moving, too… Ohmigod, where are you going? Maybe we’ll be neighbors!” She lowered her blue eyes. “You know, if you still want to hang out and stuff.”
“Why?” Massie practically spat. “Now that we’re not sharing a house you don’t want to be friends?”
“No!” Claire insisted. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.”
Massie would have been flattered if she hadn’t been so annoyed. Of course she wanted to stay friends. Why was that even a question? And more importantly, wasn’t this about Massie’s move?
“Kuh-laire, are you a female sheep?”
“No.”
“Then why are we even talking about ewe?”
“So that’s it?” Claire asked. “I’m still in the Pretty Committee?”
“Depends.”
Claire bit her thumbnail. “On what?”
“On whether there is a Pretty Committee.”
“What?”
“My dad’s job isn’t in Westchester, Kuh-laire. It’s far.”
Claire considered this. “Far like Manhattan? Or far like… California?”
“Across the pond, far.”
“New Jersey?” She looked horrified. Massie had taught Claire enough in the past year to know that Jersey and Massie went together like fro-yo and OJ.
A strangled sob escaped from Massie and she felt a tear slip through her Givenchy-ed lashes. “We’re moving to some castle… in England.” Her black diamond bracelet glinted in the moonlight. It felt like a handcuff, binding her to a future of uniform schools and a Madonna accent.
Claire’s blue eyes widened in horror. “But England is another country!”
Massie nodded in despair. Suddenly, her lone tear had friends and they were riding her cheekbones like kids at a water park.
“But you can’t leave,” Claire added, her voice cracking like Justin Bieber’s.
“Oh really? What am I supposed to do?” Massie’s tears fell harder. “Move in with you?”
For a few moments, the only sounds in the limousine were sniffles.
“Why not? You could spend a month with each of us,” Claire said suddenly, wiping away her tears. “At least until the end of the semester.” Her voice grew excited. “Maybe by then your dad will have a new job here and move back.”
As Massie considered this, the weight on her A-cups started to lift. Stay in Westchester? Continue to be the PC’s alpha? Invite Landon to the eighth-grade prom? Remain within driving distance of the Westchester Mall and Fifth Avenue? Her Visa-signing hand tingled with possibility. Maybe Claire was onto something. Surely Kendra and William would be willing to let her finish out the year at OCD—and surely the Riveras, Lyonses, Gregorys, and Marvils would love to have her as a guest. Who wouldn’t?
But Massie wasn’t one for house-surfing like some persnickety exchange student. She’d much prefer to find one home and hunker down. It was best for everyone: clothes and dog included. But whose? There were pluses and minuses to each.
ROOMMATE PLUS MINUS
Dylan Big house
Good wardrobe
Cool mom A lot of girls in one
house. Could be alpha
struggles.
Alicia Big house
Good wardrobe
Nice parents Alicia is always at dance
practice. Will it be creepy
hanging alone at her
house all the time?
Kristen Tons of help with
homework Apartment
Cat
Strict mom
Claire Feels most like home Todd
Layne
Junk food
All things considered, they say you never truly know someone until you live with them. And so it was settled. Goldilocks-ing would begin tomorrow.
Turning onto her street, the view outside the window no longer seemed melancholy. Massie didn’t have to burn each passing tree, house, and mailbox into her memory. Her thoughts were free to wander; eyes free to glaze. Massie could take Westchester, and all that comes with it, for granted just like she always had.
And always would.
WESTCHESTER, NY
THE MARVIL HOUSE
Wednesday, December 29th
3:31 P.M.
“First stop: Dylan’s.” Massie scooped up her pug in her left arm and pulled up the handle on her traveling Louis. “Great wardrobe, cool mom, spacious.” The wheels of her Louis roller crunched over what remained of the snow as she pulled her essentials up the driveway to the A-framed house.
In the still light of the afternoon, Dylan’s house loomed over Massie, casting a long V-shaped shadow over her and Bean. She fished through her Kooba bag until her freshly manicured hands brushed against the cold Tiffany’s key ring. One of the smartest things she’d ever done was insist on a house key from every member of the PC in case she ever wanted to throw them a surprise party. But this was just as good. She couldn’t wait to pop in on the Marvils. And couldn’t imagine that they would mind. If they did, it was a huge red flag. And she would gladly take the pleasure of her company elsewhere.
Slowly, she turned the key and pushed in the door, stepping slyly into the foyer. Mission Goldilocks was officially underway!
“Sshhh,” Massie whispered to Bean as she dragged her Louis in behind her. She pushed her new Prada sunglasses on top of her head and blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lights.
As they did, they landed on something unusual. Lining the back wall of the foyer, just under the grand staircase, was a row of television cameras, lighting rigs, director’s chairs, and equipment. Was Merri-Lee doing a special filming of her show at home? Or maybe she was planning on broadcasting live from her famous New Year
’s Yves party, which she was hosting at her house this year?
“Hullo?” she called.
“Massie?” Dylan’s shocked voice cut across the stillness of the foyer. She poked her head out from the study and urgently waved Massie inside.
Gently, she closed the door behind them and whispered, “What are you doing here?”
Dylan’s hair was styled in perfect ringlets that only a professional could do, and her makeup expertly accented her shining eyes and high cheekbones. She was wearing a Stride gum–pink cashmere sweater dress and thigh-high gray boots.
“Why do you look so ah-mazing?” Massie asked.
“Ssshhhh!” Dylan hissed, covering Massie’s mouth. Massie puckered up her glossed lips and Dylan snapped her hand back, frowning at the cranberry-colored stain now outlined on the palm of her hand.
“What’s the big deal?” Massie’s voice trailed off as she surveyed the study. Dylan often hosted PC fashion shows and movie nights in this very room, so it wasn’t like Massie was some sort of stranger to it. But today, it looked like a completely different space. The big leather chairs that faced the granite fireplace had been pushed to the side wall, and the matching leather couch was littered with stacks of papers and laptops. Two cameras were perched on tripods on the far side of the room, and oversized spotlights, turned off, brushed against the tall ceiling.
Dylan’s cheeks grew two spots of red as Massie registered what was going on. Cameras… scripts… Dylan’s flawless wardrobe and makeup… the constant texts… the unexplained absences… Massie was no mathematician, but it all added up perfectly.
“Ehmagawd, I so smell what you’re cooking!” Massie exclaimed. “Are you shooting a reali—”
“Shhhh! You have to hide—now!” Dylan said in a panicked voice, steering Massie toward the powder room off the study.
“Wait! I have something to tell you, too,” Massie insisted, digging her wedge heels into the cobalt blue cowhide rug. She took a deep breath. “The reason we’re rich again…”
“… is because your dad got a new job,” Dylan nodded. “Yeah, yeah. You told me that. Now go—”
“Right. But what I didn’t tell you is that the new job is… nawt in Westchester.” Massie bit her lip as Dylan’s face registered the news. “It’s nawt even in the United States. Dylan… It’s in England.”
Dylan’s face blanched. “England?”
Massie nodded.
“How long have you known this? Why didn’t you tell me? When are you leaving? Are you sure?” Her eyelashes buckled under the weight of her tears.
“Cut!” a loud voice called from behind the palm tree in the corner. Massie jumped. Then she noticed the small microphone clipped to Dylan’s bib necklace.
“Dylan, try that again. One question at a time.”
“Ehmagawd!” Massie snapped.
“Wait a minute,” Dylan brightened. She faced the palm. “Did you put her up to this?” And then to Massie, “Are you really moving to England or did they make you say that?”
Massie touched her friend’s shoulder. “This really is a reality show? D, how long has this been going on?”
Dylan hung her head. “I’msosorryifIdidn’tkeepthisasecret theywouldhaveputmeinjailit’sbeensohardpleasedon’tbemadatme!”
“It’s okay. I get it. You had no choice.”
Dylan nodded bravely.
“Before we go again,” said the voice behind the palm. “I’d love to see some tears from May-see. Remember, you’re leaving.”
“You got that right,” Massie snapped, scooping up Bean. Her reality was dramatic enough. The last thing she needed was a talking palm tree making it worse.
“Massie, wait! I am so sorry! I had no idea they were filming this!” Dylan eyes were desperate and unhinged. “Are you leaving my house or leaving Westchester? Was the England thing true?”
Massie nodded sadly.
A thin man with a belt full of walkie-talkies appeared before Massie and Bean. “I’m gonna need you to sign this.”
“What is it?”
“A confidentiality agreement.”
“I’m not eighteen,” Massie fired back.
He squinted his beady brown eyes. “Then have your parents sign it.”
Massie squinted back. “I don’t think they’ll appreciate knowing you filmed me without my consent.”
“It’s legal in New York State.”
“With minors?”
The guy began flipping through the contract. Bean growled.
“I didn’t think so.”
Massie turned back and wiggled her thumbs at Dylan, letting her know she’d text later.
“Wait, where are you going?” Dylan called, desperately. The cameras began to roll again.
“To tell everyone your secret,” Massie smiled.
“No, Massie, you can’t!”
“Correction, Dyl, you can’t,” she said as she pushed past the thin man, “but I can.”
From the middle of the cobalt cowhide, Dylan blew Massie a what-would-I-do-without-you kiss, her tear-soaked face lighting up like a sun shower.
WESTCHESTER, NY
THE RIVERA HOUSE
Wednesday, December 29th
5:39 P.M.
When Massie reached the Riveras’ front door, her arm ached from dragging her Louis luggage up yet another long driveway. The elderly gentleman—Old New Isaac—who was now driving the Range Rover seemed way too frail to help. The last thing Massie needed was for him to wipe out on the ice and break a hip. It had been hard enough finding this one during the holidays.
The sun was setting, and the white twinkle lights that lined the walkway had just flickered on. Massie flipped through her Tiffany keychain until she came to Alicia’s key.
“Hola,” Massie called when she opened the front door. “Anyone home?”
Aside from the strobing Christmas tree in the living room, the house was dark.
“Come on, Bean,” she said, setting the pug down on the floor and watching her sniff her new surroundings. She looked ah-dorable in her latest purchase from Bark Jacobs—a fur-trimmed cashmere doggie vest.
The padding of feet echoed throughout the cavernous rooms and Massie froze. Bean barked. But it was just Jenni, the Riveras’ Swedish au pair.
“Massie, you scared me. Alicia is practicing,” she explained, pointing the way to the dance studio Alicia’s parents had put in for her the summer before. As if Massie needed directions.
Bean trotted along as Massie wound her way through the art-filled hallways. As she stepped into the courtyard, she heard a loud tapping. Massie paused to look up at the sky. “Sounds like hail!”
Bean started whimpering. “Ssshhh,” Massie cooed, but her heart started beating faster, too. The dark yard seemed darker and more filled with shadows than it ever had before. Since when had the Riveras’ house become a scene in Scream?
“Eeeeee!” Massie screeched as she and Bean ran toward the studio. “Leesh! Help!” she called as pushed open the door. Once inside the sound of a thousand pennies falling on a tin roof blared louder than neon lights.
Massie gasped. Alicia’s dance troupe was tapping. Clickety-clack-tap went their high-heeled tap shoes on the tiles, making a thunderstorm of noise that hit Massie and Bean like a tidal wave. In their plain black leotards with their hair slicked back into high ponytails, Alicia’s troupe looked like a remake of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” video.
Massie watched in awe as Alicia spun and twirled, kicked and posed. When the song finally stopped, Bean wheezed and shook like she’d just found out her new doggie sweater was made of faux fur.
“Let’s take five!” Alicia called. The girls made a mad dash for their SmartWaters. “What are you doing here?”
“Surprise,” Massie said weakly.
“What’s going on? Why do you have luggage?” Alicia panted, her C-cups rising and falling like an ocean buoy. Massie could feel the eyes of the six other girls boring into her, so she grabbed Alicia and pulled her into the hallway
just outside the studio. “Remember how I told you that we’re rich again?”
Alicia lifted her arm to wipe a trickle of sweat that threatened to drip off the tip of her nose. “Given!”
“Well…” Why was this so hard? Shouldn’t it be getting easier each time she did it—like lip-kissing? Or math? “Listen, here’s the thing. We’re rich again because my dad got a new job. Only the job isn’t in Westchester. It’s…”
“Ehmagawd, Manhattan!” Alicia nodded wisely. “It’s okay, Massie. My dad’s in Manhattan half the week for work. You’ll get used to seeing him less often.” She reached out her toned arms to hug Massie.
Massie shrugged out of Alicia’s humid embrace. “His new job isn’t in Manhattan, Leesh. It’s in England. The country.”
Massie waited a beat while Alicia’s face registered the news. Her face paled and her Fresh Sugar–glossed lips seemed to lose some of their shimmer.
“And you’re going?” Alicia whispered.
“Eventually.” Massie’s stomach lurched, unwilling to accept the news.
Suddenly Alicia’s brown eyes widened in horror. She had never seen her beta look so scared. Not even when Massie told her last April Fool’s Day that OCD was enacting a strict “No Ralph Lauren” dress code.
“Hermia!” she growled, like the name was a curse.
“Hermia? What’s she got to do with this?” Massie asked, perplexed.
Alicia sighed and held up her phone. “Hermia was running a special last week. So I got another reading from her. And Massie…” Alicia sniffled as her eyes grew bright. “She told me I’d need to become a leader soon. But I don’t want to be the alpha! You’re the only alpha the PC can have!”
“Well, ah-bviously. But that’s why I’m here. I’m testing everyone’s houses to see if I could move in and finish out the year at OCD. Can I sleep over tonight?”
A Tale of Two Pretties Page 9