P.S. I Loathe You Read online

  Copyright © 2009 by Alloy Entertainment

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  “Need U Bad” by Melissa A. Elliott, Cainon Renard Lamb, Taurian John Osbourne, David W. Sinclair, Nicholas Taylor Stanton, Jazmine Sullivan (EMI April Music, Inc., Itation Records, Roynet Music, Universal Music-Z Tunes, LLC). All rights reserved.

  Poppy

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  For more of your favorite series, go to www.pickapoppy.com

  First eBook Edition: February 2009

  Poppy is an imprint of Little, Brown Books for Young Readers.

  The Poppy name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  CLIQUE® is a registered trademark of Alloy Media, LLC.

  Cover design by Andrea C. Uva

  Cover photos by Roger Moenks

  Author photo by Gillian Crane

  ISBN: 978-0-316-04114-0

  Contents

  BRIARWOOD-OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  BOCD

  BOCD

  BOCD

  THE PINEWOOD

  THE PINEWOOD

  BOCD

  WESTCHESTER, NY

  THE PINEWOOD

  THE PINEWOOD

  THE NEW GREEN CAFÉ

  THE PINEWOOD

  BOCD

  THE BLOCK ESTATE

  WESTCHESTER, NY

  THE MARVIL HOME

  BOCD

  BOCD

  BOCD

  BOCD

  BOCD

  THE PINEWOOD

  WESTCHESTER, NY

  THE RIVERA ESTATE

  THE MARVIL HOME

  THE PINEWOOD

  THE BLOCK ESTATE

  THE PINEWOOD

  THE PINEWOOD

  THE BLOCK ESTATE

  THE BLOCK ESTATE

  CLIQUE novels by Lisi Harrison:

  THE CLIQUE

  BEST FRIENDS FOR NEVER

  REVENGE OF THE WANNABES

  INVASION OF THE BOY SNATCHERS

  THE PRETTY COMMITTEE STRIKES BACK

  DIAL L FOR LOSER

  IT’S NOT EASY BEING MEAN

  SEALED WITH A DISS

  BRATFEST AT TIFFANY’S

  THE CLIQUE SUMMER COLLECTION

  P.S. I LOATHE YOU

  If you like THE CLIQUE, you may also enjoy:

  The Poseur series by Rachel Maude

  The Secrets of My Hollywood Life series by Jen Calonita

  Footfree and Fancyloose by Elizabeth Craft and Sarah Fain

  Betwixt by Tara Bray Smith

  Haters by Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez

  For Kevy. P.S. I Love You.

  BRIARWOOD-OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  FACULTY PARKING LOT

  Monday, September 21st

  7:58 A.M.

  A plaguelike swarm of pigeons, the same milky color as the overcast sky, circled above the Pretty Committee. Their flapping wings sounded like the crisp snap of a magician’s cape. Their phlegmmy cooing reached a frenzied pitch. And they unleashed their watery white poo on the fuel-efficient cars below them with remarkable precision.

  In movies, opening scenes like these often suggest something eerie is approaching. That a menacing force is gathering strength. That a curse is looming. That the natural order is being disrupted . . .

  But Massie Block knew better.

  “Ehma—Ewww.” She stopped walking to wave a drifting feather away from her face.

  Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen stopped too.

  “This is so Briarwood’s fault.” Massie pinch-tightened her gold silk scarf, wiping her leather leggings clean of any bird essence.

  “How’s this pigeon infestation Briarwood’s fault? What did they do?” Alicia adjusted her unsightly pink New York Yankees cap.

  “Relax.” Massie cupped Alicia’s shoulder with more force than a shoulder-cupping called for. “I’m nawt saying it’s Josh’s fault. The only thing I blame him for is that hat.”

  “Massie’s right.” Kristen twirled her shark-tooth necklace. “The kitchen scraps have more than doubled since the boys moved in.” She gestured to the wall of wide metal Dumpsters that lined the far side of the faculty parking lot. “It’s a dirty-bird buffet.”

  “All you can tweet,” Dylan giggle-added.

  Massie sighed, no longer in the mood for seventh-grade jokes. She had waited all weekend to make fun of the ex-crushes in their trailer classrooms and wanted to get there before Claire did. It was bad enough Claire had turned down carpool to double on Cam’s bike. For her to scoop the “Ex-Crushes Banished to Tiffany Box Trailers” story would be unbearable.

  “Form-a-tion!” Massie thundered. An asphalt-pecking klatch of pigeons flapped their wings in panic and flew en masse to the far side of the lot.

  The girls quickly lined up on either side of their alpha, awaiting further instruction from her purple Marc Jacobs Mouse flats. As soon as she lifted the left one off the pavement, they synchronized, then launched. Within seconds the Pretty Committee picked up speed, charging the parking lot like the Radio City Rockettes in a cutthroat game of Red Rover.

  Destination: the two distant trailers behind the maple trees where the terrified birds had just landed.

  The same trailers Principal Burns had tried to pawn off as “overflow facilities” when the Briarwood boys had crashed OCD. The same ones the Pretty Committee had been sent to— with the LBRs—thanks to a devious plan hatched by ex-Derrington and the other soccer boys. The saaaame ones Massie had made over into glam, supersize Tiffany boxes and eventually unloaded back onto the exes. Sure the trailers cleaned up well, but just like an LBR after a department-store makeover, one good scrub and they were back to their ghastly old selves again.

  “I can’t wait to see how funny the wannabe-Beckham boys look in robin’s egg–blue classrooms with glitter-cotton walls, mirrored desks, and vanilla-scented room spray.” Massie grinned, the light breeze heightening the sensitivity of her Whitestripped teeth.

  “They’ll still be Beckhams,” Kristen deadpanned. “Just Victorias instead of Davids.” She cackled.

  “Point!” Alicia smacked the side-view mirror of a white Infiniti as they sailed past it.

  Massie stopped suddenly. “Ew! Smell that?” She lifted her Chanel No. 19–scented wrist to her nose for relief. But the parmesan cheese/rotten lettuce/cat food stench emanating from the pigeon-infested Dumpsters could not be avoided.

  Screeching to a halt, the others lifted their shirts to their noses and inhaled their powder-scented deodorants.

  “Gawd.” Massie jammed her winter white Juicy Rock the Bag tote against her ribs, protecting it like a puppy in a hurricane. “If I wanted to go to school with trash I’d be at Abner Doubleday Day.”

  “Let’s sue!” Alicia lifted her index finger and strut-blocked Dylan’s path.

  Dylan sidestepped Alicia and giggle-lifted her Starbucks cup to avoid Mr. Myner’s pine green Chevy Tahoe hybrid.

  “Ahhhh!” she yelped as the plastic top popped off. Latte splashed all over her white Joie henley dress. “Leeeeesh!”

  The girls jump-backed away from Dylan’s chai-soaked wrist.

  “What did I do?” Alicia squealed.

  “You body-checked me into Myner’s truck.” Dylan whipped the empty cup through his open window.

  “Where was I supposed to go?” Alicia stomped her camel-colored Kate Spade flat against the asphalt. “Someone insisted we walk in formation.”

  “What’s wrong with formation?”Massie flicked Alicia’s shiny black ponytail.

  “Nothing.” Alicia steadied her swinging hair. “It’s just that walking side by side isn’t the best idea when you’re surrounded by cars covered in pigeon butt—”

  “Can everyone puh-lease focus on me for a minute?” Dylan pulled the soaked brown cotton off her belly. “I look like I’m wearing used toilet paper.”

  The girls burst out laughing.

  “It’s the opposite of funny!” Dylan’s green eyes began to moisten.

  “Here.” Kristen held out her floral-print canvas Roxy bag.

  “How’s last summer’s beach bag gonna help?”

  “Open it,” Kristen insisted.

  Dylan lifted her sunglasses and peered inside. Kristen’s G-rated, mom-approved outfit was crumpled in a pathetic reject heap. As usual, she’d worn it out of her condo, and then Range Rover–replaced it with something sexier—generally handed down from one of the other girls. Today it was blue-and-black plaid wool short shorts, a gray V-neck bell-sleeve sweater, and knee-high black moccasins.

  “What am I gonna to do with baggy navy cords and a white turtleneck?” Dylan handed the bag to Kristen. “Crash third-grade picture day?”

  “Your call, Cottonelle.” Kristen hooked the Roxy over her shoulder.

  “Hehhhhhhhhhh, hoooooooooo. Hehhhhhhhhhh, hoooooooooo. Heeeeeeeee, hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

  A low-flying pigeon hovered above their heads, flapping its wings but not moving, like it was treading water.

  “Hehhhhhhhhhh, hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo,” it announced, then quickly flew away.

  “Ahhhhhh!” Dylan shouted at her shoulder. “I’ve been tagged!”

  Students lazily making their way toward the BOCD main building turned and stared. Passing boys on their way to the overflow trailers snickered. The Pretty Committee burst into hysterics.

  “It’s nawt funny!” Dylan giggle-cry-shrieked.

  “Ahhhhh!” Alicia wailed. “It got me too!” She lifted her thigh and wiped her splotched gray Ralph Lauren skinny jeans on the door of a black Prius.

  Massie grabbed a passing LBR by the arm, ripped the black, fake-Prada backpack off her shoulder, and held it over her own head.

  The curly-headed blonde was too shocked to speak. Instead, she glared at Massie, her wide brown eyes begging for an explanation.

  “Buh-lieve me.” Massie fart-waved her away with a dismissive shoo. “I’ll give it back once I’m inside.”

  “Strike three!” Kristen shook her arm, but it was too late. The fly-arrhea had already seeped into the wool fibers of her gray sweater.

  She reached for her bag. “Ineedmyclothesback.”

  Dylan yanked it away. “You said I could wear them!”

  “That was before I got hit!”

  Dylan jumped back. “Sorry.” She hugged the quilted floral bag to her chest. “I need to pull a bag borrow-and-steal.”

  Massie laughed from the safety of her Frauda canopy.

  “No way!” Kristen gasped. “Those are my clothes!”

  “You already have a crush,” Dylan pouted. “And he won’t be back at school for another week. So who cares what you wear?”

  “Point.” Alicia lifted her finger in support of Dylan. “I have Josh, Claire has Cam, Massie has Dempsey, and you have Dune. Dylan is the only C-minus. She needs all the help she can get.”

  Suddenly, everyone was silent, each girl wondering if she was the only one on the outside of the inside joke.

  The wheels in Massie’s head spun like a Ferrari’s. I ended the boyfast. . . . Now everyone is allowed to have a crush . . . and everyone does. . . . Well, nawt everyone . . . Poor Dylan is more boyless than Lindsay Lohan on date night but . . . Ehmagawd . . . Got it!!

  Massie’s dark eyebrows shot up. Her amber eyes widened. Her glossy lips parted. “C minus! Crush minus. Without crush. Right?”

  “Given.” Alicia nodded. “I knew you’d get it.”

  Massie cocked her head and half smiled. “I knew I would too.”

  “Fine, C-Minus, keep ’em,” Kristen muttered to Dylan. Then she rolled back her shoulders. “Who knows? This may be just what you need.”

  “LBR clothes?” Massie crinkled her nose.

  “No, the poo.” Kristen giggled. “I heard getting pigeon-painted was good luck.”

  “Funny.” Massie eyed the boys gathering at the end of the parking lot. “You don’t look so lucky.” She rolled back her shoulders and picked up her pace.

  Her friends’ proud smiles faded like Mystic tans.

  BOCD

  FACULTY PARKING LOT

  Monday, September 21st

  8:08 A.M.

  BOCD’s majestic brick building and its highly perfumed student body were well behind them. Now the overflowing trash bins were only steps away, and the parmesan cheese/rotten lettuce/cat food smell had become unbearable.

  Massie dry-heaved. “Activate face cover in three . . . two . . . one . . . annnnd go!” She jammed her gold scarf into her nostrils then ushered the Pretty Committee past what resembled the set of WALL*E.

  “Diiiieeeeeeeeeee, dirty birrrrrrrrrrds!”

  Bloated pigeons unclamped their pink talons from rusty bins and panic-flapped to safety.

  “Wait for meeee!” Alicia called, her face buried under her black-and-white striped cashmere tunic.

  “Over’ere!” Massie whisper-barked once she hit grass, signaling her troops to join her behind the thick trunk of a maple tree. Cautiously lowering her scarf, she nose-sipped the air. “Ahhhhh.” She sighed with relief. “Much better.”

  The parmesancheeserottenlettucescatfood smell had dissipated. But the crisp Alpine spring water scent of OCD was hardly back. Something new had taken its place. Something fragrant. Something Christmassy . . . Something . . .

  “Ehma-pine,” Massie gasped, her eyes lifted to the sky.

  Kristen, Alicia, and Dylan stared up in amazement, their glossy lips shaped like Cheerios. Hundreds of green, tree-shaped air-fresheners, the kind sold at gas stations and suburban mini-marts, dangled from the branches of the maple. They twirled and swayed in the breeze, creating small flickering shadows over the girls’ designer footwear.

  “Look!” Dylan whipped off her dVbs and widened her emerald green eyes. Her gaze led them to the ex–Tiffany box trailers.

  “What did they do?” Massie’s heart sank to her knees. A moment later it sank to her Mouse flats. Then it sank all the way to China.

  Beyond the pine-scented maples were two freshly painted white trailers. Both were covered by black tarp canopies that provided enough shade for the—

  “Soccer videos?” Kristen blurted, her eyes darting across the outside of Trailer No. 1, which showed Landon Donovan kicking the ball to Beckham. Trailer No. 2 featured EA’s FIFA 09 video game, which Josh Hotz and Kemp Hurley were playing with fight-to-the-finish intensity.

  “Ohhhh!” the spectators roared when Josh blocked Kemp’s shot.

  “Seriously?” Alicia removed her pink crush-cap. “Josh was a total text maniac this weekend and never said a word.” Her dark brown eyes practically filled with little thumping hearts. “Impressive.”

  “Who did they hire?” Massie hate-glared at the projectors fastened to the branches of the nearby maple.

  “Bill Gates,” Kristen stated confidently, staring at the A/V setup.

  “Puh-lease,” Massie snapped. “It’s not that impressive.”

  “Oh no, I meant—” Kristen stopped and blushed, as if she had accidentally revealed something she shouldn’t have. “I meant Danh Bondok probably did it.”

  “Who?” Alicia and Massie giggle-asked at the same time.

  Kriste n finally took her eyes off the Galaxy game and focused on the conversation. “I mean Candy Corn.”

  “Candy Corn the LBR?” Alicia looked at Massie, silently asking her if such a thing were possible. “That yellow-toothed guy?”

  Massie shrugged.

  “The one we just made over?”

  “Yes, Candy Corn the yellow-toothed LBR,” Kristen said with a trace of impatience. Or was it defensiveness? “His real name is Danh Bondok and he’s a tech genius. He could do this in his sleep.”

  “Bonnn-dock,” Dylan burped.

  Everyone laughed except Massie. “How do you know him?”

  Kristen blushed again. “Um, he’s on scholarship too, so we just kinda met that way, I guess.”

  “Whatevs.” Massie sighed, fighting the urge to run home backwards, get into bed, and start the morning all over again.

  “Can you believe this?” a familiar voice chirped.

  The girls turned to see Claire and Cam coasting toward them on a black Electra bike with thick fat tires and dark green spokes. Legs lifted out in front of them, matching silver helmets tilted left, they smiled brighter than the bike’s reflectors. Their fight was ah-bviously over, and they were back together. Forever.

  If they had been actors in a movie, Massie would have thought they looked enviably ah-dorable. But because Claire was her friend, and clearly way happier than Massie was, Massie wanted to knock them both to the ground.

  The day was nawt supposed to start like this. Nawt at awll. Claire wasn’t supposed to ditch carpool so she could bike to school with Cam. Birds weren’t supposed to destroy their post-boyfast outfits. The soccer boys weren’t supposed to make over the Tiffany box trailers. And the Pretty Committee was nawt, nawt, nawt supposed to be impressed.

  Massie suddenly felt like she was trying to turn a door handle with overmoisturized hands. Her grip was slipping. And she was starting to panic.

  “Why are you hiding?” Cam slammed on the brakes.

  Claire stepped off the bike, unclipped her helmet, and shook out her blond hair like some Italian supermodel shooting a Vespa ad.

  “We’re nawt hiding,” Massie explained to Cam’s one blue eye, which matched his navy sweatshirt in a distracting sort of way. “We were, um, waiting for you guys. This is where we decided to meet. Right, Kuh-laire?”

  Luckily Claire nodded, untangling the knot in Massie’s stomach and turning it into a smile. Despite her reconciliation with Cam, she still had Massie’s back.