My Little Phony - 13 Page 13

Then, the audio clicked in and Massie heard what they were chanting: LET’S BE REAL!

  LET’S BE REAL! LET’S BE REAL! LET’S BE REAL!

  Massie’s emotions swirled like a Pucci scarf. This was unheard of—and the opposite of acceptable. LBRs at Table 18? Claire and Layne on a table, chanting ridiculous things that didn’t even rhyme? Totally unfashionable people trying to take over the school? One absence, and her empire crumbled. She opened a group text to all her friends.

  Massie: How could you let this happen?

  No one responded. Massie rolled her eyes and sighed. This was no time to push her friends away. If anything, she needed them more than ever. Massie texted again.

  Massie: Claire is bread in the oven: about to be toast!

  Her phone immediately pinged.

  Kristen:

  Dylan:

  Alicia: Point!!!

  Massie felt a sudden burst of energy—something that felt almost like happiness. Let Claire enjoy her little coup now. Let her and Layne think running a school was as easy as scooping raisins onto their Cheerios. Let them hop up and down in their Keds. When Massie’s house was bug-free and she was reunited with her wardrobe, she would remind these losers what LBR really stood for.

  Bean let out a long, high-pitched whimper.

  She sighed. “Okay, okay. Come on. But we’re only going to the end of the driveway!”

  Throwing the afghan over the overalls, Massie grabbed Bean’s leash and walked to the front. The second she opened it, though, Bean was overcome by her own burst of energy. She ran forward, barking loudly, tugging Massie forward, down the driveway and around the corner.

  “Bean!” Massie said. “Slow down!”

  But Bean wouldn’t listen. It was warmer today than it had been recently, but a cold wind bit at Massie’s cheeks and her feet slipped over the icy sidewalk.

  “Slow down!” They whizzed past the Keatings’ Spanish-style mansion, then tore through the Vanderwoudes’ snowy front yard. The afghan caught on the spindly branch of a barren crab apple tree—and stayed there. All Massie could do was look back as it hung forlornly from the branch like an orange ghost.

  Cars honked, and a blue-outfitted USPS worker laughed at her. But still Bean didn’t slow down. Massie’s lungs burned and her eyes watered as she sprinted after her puppy, down Mayfair Street, then around another corner… where she led Massie straight into the leash of another dog.

  She followed the leash up to a strong hand, a navy cashmere coat–covered arm, a broad shoulder, a perfect jaw, a high cheekbone—and finally she found herself staring into Caribbean blue eyes. Her heart immediately started hammering.

  “Landon?”

  He looked down at the ground. “Hey.” His voice was as cold as the icy air blowing past them.

  A red Jetta drove by, and a light turned on inside the white colonial home next to them.

  Massie looked over to see Bean squatting on a dead flower bed as she peed… and peed… and peed. Each squirt extinguished a little piece of Massie’s will to live. But finally Bean stood up and jumped on Bark, who yip-laughed and squirmed away. Bark then jumped on Bean, who howled with happiness.

  Landon let out a great, loud, sputtering cough. Massie’s face burned from shame. Of all the people on Earth she could have run into at that very moment in her OshKoshB-kill-me-now Claire-iffic getup… It probably looked like she’d escaped from preschool. She wanted to crawl behind a fire hydrant and hide, but the only thing lamer than wearing a bad outfit was running away in shame.

  Landon finished coughing and turned back to stare at her. “I thought the fresh air would make me feel better, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Oh Gawd. The sight of Massie in her baggy denim ensemble was making him sick. It was probably bad fashion–induced anaphylactic shock, or worse—death by eyesore.

  Landon wiped his nose with a tissue. “Sick day.”

  Even though it was snotty, Massie was jealous of the tissue. She wanted to be that close to him. “Oh,” she said. “Right.”

  Massie looked at him more closely. He was as ah-dorable as ever, of course, but his usual healthy glow was slightly dimmer. His nose was red and his forehead looked pale, and there were dark, mascara-smudge-looking circles under his eyes. For a moment, she was overtaken with the urge to follow Landon home, tuck him into bed, and order him some tomato soup with grilled Parmesan croutons.

  But then she remembered that he was about to dump her, and she quickly shook off the Florence Nightingale fantasy.

  “So why are you home today?” Landon said.

  “Working on a project,” she lied, straightening her shoulders.

  Landon looked at her overalls.

  She thumbed a denim suspender. “It’s, um, part of the project—a psychological experiment to see if people act differently when they’re wearing embarrassing outfits.”

  Landon’s eyes narrowed. He made a motion like he was going to speak, but then he stopped himself.

  Bean tugged at her leash, rolling over and over with Bark. Massie braced herself as Landon shuffled his feet a little, trying not to notice the adorable pair of Pumas he was wearing. “Well, good luck with that experiment.” He turned to leave, but didn’t move.

  “Wait!”

  Landon raised his thick eyebrows in a yeah what is it sort of way. Massie had no idea what to do next. She had never been so lost for words. Crushing on a ninth-grader was terrifying. All she could do was feel underdressed, underglossed, and underworded.

  Landon finally looked up and stared Massie straight in the eye. Her heart pounded even harder. “Look. I know video-chatting with my grandparents isn’t all that cool,” he said. “But…” He straightened himself to his full height so he was towering over her. Massie felt like she was going to faint, right there, in a pile of three-day-old slush and outdated denim. “They’re pretty cool for old people. So if you want to ditch me over it, fine. But just tell me instead of ignoring my texts.”

  Massie felt like she had just been run over by a crowd of screaming girls at a Jonas Brothers concert. Landon was embarrassed? This whole time she had been agonizing over her clothes, over the apoca-lips, over the fact that he was on the verge of dumping her. But the entire time he’d been agonizing too, not over how to break up with her, but over whether she thought he was an LBR for liking his grandparents?

  A frenzy of barks and sniffs erupted beside them.

  “Hey.” Landon smiled. “Easy there, boy.”

  “Bean!” Massie called out.

  But Bean kept chasing Bark, and then Bark started chasing Bean around the front yard of the white colonial. They started running circles around each other as if it were May Day and Landon and Massie were the maypole.

  “Bean, stop!” Massie cried as the leash wound around her legs.

  “Bark!” Landon said at the same time, as his own puppy figure-eighted around his legs.

  Suddenly Bean and Barked jerked in opposite directions, pulling Massie and Landon together. She felt like she was in a romantic comedy—without the comedy part.

  “Oh no!” Massie said as she started to wobble. Landon swayed too, and all of a sudden she found herself an eyelash distance away from Landon’s lashes. Could he smell her Glossip Girl Minted Rose lip gloss? And from this close, she could see his eyes weren’t just Caribbean blue. There were also flecks of yellow, green, and brown—like glitter nail polish.

  “I think it’s ah-dorable that you talk to your grandparents all the time,” she said, quietly. “I wish I was closer to my grandparents.”

  “You do?” Landon’s voice was almost a whisper. He blushed. Massie thought it made him even cuter.

  She nodded. “I was just embarrassed that they saw us kiss. And I thought you were probably embarrassed too.”

  Landon scrunched up his nose. “If I was embarrassed, why would I keep texting you?”

  She traced a crack in the sidewalk with her toe. “I dunno. Maybe I was embarrassed. It’s never happened before, so I didn’t know wha
t it felt like. And I didn’t call you back because I thought you were going to… that you didn’t…” She blushed. When she looked at him, he was looking right at her. And he was shaking his head, slow and sweet, in a way that made her know that she didn’t even need to finish her sentence.

  Their eyes met, and neither of them looked away this time.

  Landon smiled. “Don’t worry. No one’s watching.”

  Eh.

  My.

  Gawd!

  Landon leaned in. She could smell his cologne. It was something spicy and fresh. But at that moment, she couldn’t even think of the name.

  Massie let her eyelids fall closed like a light dimmer, and a moment later she felt his lips on hers. They were soft, and she let herself lean into him a little more.

  He pulled away. “I shouldn’t do this.”

  Massie’s teeth chattered in a way that had nothing to do with the December air. Not again! “Why?” What did I do wrong? she wanted to shout.

  Landon coughed. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

  “Good point.” Faking sick was one thing, but actually being sick was a pretty-buster.

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling back. “I guess it is.”

  They stood for a moment, looking at each other and smiling. Bark and Bean had calmed down and were cuddled up in yin-and-yang formation on the icy pavement.

  Landon gathered Bark’s leash in his hand, getting ready to walk away. “I’d better get back to the house. My mom only let me walk around on the condition that I wouldn’t be out long. But I want to say before I go: You look really…” He hesitated.

  Massie closed her eyes. Silly? Unfashionable? Lumpy. Weird. Unmoisturized—

  “… cute in those overalls.”

  A warm feeling spread throughout Massie’s limbs in spite of the cold as Landon and Bark waved goodbye. Turning to go, she hooked her thumbs through her belt loops, thinking perhaps it was time to bring overalls back into vogue. If anyone could, it was Massie.

  And then, just like overalls, Massie was back—and better than ever.

  OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  THE HALLWAY

  Tuesday, December 16th

  3:26 P.M.

  Claire and Layne stood by Claire’s locker in the middle of the after-school rush.

  “I just can’t believe this is the same school we were in just yesterday,” Claire said, shaking her head sadly as Rachel Walker teetered past in four-inch stiletto boots, pain evident on her face. The day before, OCD had felt like it was under a magical spell. But by Tuesday afternoon, the comfort-over-couture movement seemed like a dry marker–induced hallucination. “How could things have changed so fast?”

  But Claire didn’t need to wait for an answer, because she was looking right at it and its name was Massie Block.

  “Take that!” Becca Wilder was pointing her Jovan Musk at the alpha. But Massie—hands covered by yellow latex gloves—just pulled out a mini fan as Becca spritzed, sending the musky cloud right back in Becca’s face. Kristen, Alicia, and Dylan cheered Massie on, high-fiving one another in their own sets of rubber gloves.

  “Arg-ul-Jovan!” Becca gurgled, her cheeks turning bright red.

  “Repeat after me,” Massie said coolly. “Alg-ge-boob.”

  Becca’s sweatshirt-covered shoulders sagged like Kirstie Alley’s couch. “Algeboob,” she mumbled.

  Each syllable was like a baseball bat to Claire’s heart. It had been like this all day. Massie had reappeared at OCD that morning, wearing a pair of overalls so gorgeous that people were walking into lockers while gaping at them. They’d been such a hit, she’d started taking orders for custom-made “Massie-alls” since first period.

  In theory, Claire knew the overalls had to be the ones she’d left in her closet, although looking at them now, that just didn’t seem possible. The old ones had been a shapeless sack. But these were perfectly fitted to each leg and dyed a deep indigo. The straps were black silk ribbon tied into bows on both of her shoulders, contrasting perfectly with the deconstructed ivory tank she wore underneath. The outfit was both tough and sweet, just like a jawbreaker—and just like Massie.

  In a few short hours, the alpha had managed to turn almost everything back to the way it had been before the supposed dawn of a new Claire-a. Massie had fanned away every Jovan spray, held out a gloved hand to every nail polish remover spritz attack, mocked every mock turtleneck, and scoffed at every pair of sweats until almost every girl had changed her outfit or simply gone home for the rest of the day.

  “I just really thought the Claire-a would have some staying power,” Claire said, sticking her math book on the top shelf of her locker.

  “Was Joan of Arc such a defeatist?” Layne asked pointedly, adjusting her lens-less, square black glasses.

  Across the hall, Massie let out a delicate little sneeze. Becca quickly took a packet of tissues out of her sweatshirt pocket and handed them to her. In lieu of thank you, Massie just said, “Now, should I put you down for a pair of Massie-alls?” Becca nodded before walking away, muttering something about her GPA taking a dive.

  Behind Massie, the members of the PC smiled and nodded too. Yesterday they’d looked miserable, annoyed, and downright scared. But at the moment they looked more unflappable than Teflon. And maybe Claire was imagining it, but it seemed like the PC (latex gloves aside) were dressed even more stylishly than usual, perhaps to counteract the day of clothes freedom. Alicia wore head-to-toe Ralph along with gold drop earrings and a peacock feather headband. Dylan’s sapphire blue tank dress fit her like a glove. And Kristen’s hair shone in the sunlight.

  “Good job!” Layne yelled irritably as Massie let out another delicate sneeze.

  Massie’s eyes flicked over Layne’s elastic-waisted maternity jeans (The better for eating hot dogs in, she’d told Claire) and camo Crocs. “Sorry, I can’t say the same. Achooo!”

  Layne rolled her eyes and turned back to Claire. “What’s with all the sneezing?” Maybe it wasn’t just about the Jovan Musk cloud hanging in the hallway.

  Claire shut her locker door with a bang. According to the rumor mill, Massie and Landon had shared a super-romantic, dog-leash-involved lip kiss the day before. Apparently he was sick, and now she was wearing her cold like some girls wear their crushes’ sweaters. Kori had overheard Massie tell Alicia in math class that she “never knew H1N1 could be so romantic!”

  Weird as it was, after all that had happened between them, some little part of Claire was sad to be missing out on this. If they were still on good terms, Claire would have been the first to know. She and Massie would have lounged on Claire’s bed, drinking Smartwater and writing fake wedding announcements.

  And now not only weren’t they friends, Massie wasn’t even bothering to be mean to her anymore. She was just acting like Claire wasn’t there at all. Like she was a useless little bug who’d already been tented and exterminated.

  Claire sighed.

  “Buck up,” said Layne. “More French fries for us. We still have a few converts, anyway.” She pointed to a clump of seventh-grade girls in sweats standing near the exit. Their unmade-up eyes were growing wide with fear as Massie made her way over to them.

  “Not for long,” Claire pointed out.

  Massie and the rest of the PC made their way toward the exit, gossiping and giggling just like usual. They were all looking at something on Massie’s phone.

  Anger washed over Claire, from the roots of her blond hair down to the tips of her lime green Keds. Her revolution was fading faster than a fake tan, right before her eyes.

  But as the sweats-wearing seventh-graders put in special orders for overalls, the anger turned into a tidal wave of sadness. Not because the Sweat Girls were choosing Massie… but because Claire couldn’t.

  No matter how many bugs they put in Massie’s bed, or whether she’d had a truly humiliating lip kiss, or was kicked out of her house or separated from all her possessions, Massie had the ability to rise from the ashes, to take a pair of ov
erused, gross denims and turn them into something beautiful.

  And it was inspiring.

  WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK

  THE RANGE ROVER

  Tuesday, December 16th

  3:48 P.M.

  As soon as she reached OCD’s double doors, Massie air-kissed her friends good bye so she wouldn’t give them Landon’s cold. It was microscopic, DNA-level proof that she’d finally conquered her fear of lip-kissing an older guy. And it was all hers. She’d sneeze every day of her life if it meant getting to kiss her crush.

  She got into the Range Rover. Ordinarily Isaac would have given them all rides to their own houses, or they’d be coming to Massie’s, but not today. Today was special.

  “Issac, do you think it’s possible to wear every single thing I own all at once?” Massie asked.

  Issac shook his head. “I think it’s possible to try.”

  Staring out the tinted window, Massie happily replayed the events of the past day and a half in her head—starting with the kiss, followed by a designer session with Inez, who’d promised to help her mass-produce her overalls, and a full eight hours of LBR re-education.

  She’d managed to reclaim the school by first period, an impressive feat, even for an alpha. Her mind pulled up an image of Claire and Layne huddled by their lockers, Claire’s light blue eyes looking as dull as the mashed potatoes the new café had served. Her shoulders had been slumped, and her boyfriend jeans had an ink stain on them.

  Massie had never seen Claire look so defeated. Unstylish, yes, but Massie had always (secretly) admired her former friend’s resilience. She’d done what no other girl at OCD had: gone from LBR to Pretty Committee. And if Massie was being hawnest, Claire was the only person who’d ever successfully stood up to her.

  Massie’s stomach flipped. It felt a lot like sadness. But maybe it was just a reaction to the seaweed salad she’d eaten at lunch.

  A few minutes later, Issac turned onto Massie’s road and pulled up the crashed gravel, semi-circular driveway.

  “Ehma-amazing!!!”

  It felt like the heavens had opened and Gawd herself was smiling down on Massie and her home. Gone was the red-and-blue tent around her beautiful stone estate. It was the first time she’d seen her house in days. The stately columns glowed pure white in the early afternoon sun. The gleaming windows winked their hellos. And the flagstone front path was snow-free—and more important, fumigation truck free.