My Little Phony - 13 Read online

  “MASSIE!”

  Massie’s eyes flew open as Claire burst into her bedroom. She wore ripped, straight-leg jeans and a blue-and-yellow striped waffle tee under a fleece vest. She looked ready for a day of hiking—or arguing over the bargain bin at T.J. Maxx. “I. DON’T. HAVE. LICE.”

  Massie smirked. “I never said you did. I just asked Layme why she thought Todd had to have his head shaved.”

  “All my friends left because of you!” Claire put her hands on her hips. “You were trying to ruin my party.”

  “Puh-lease.” Massie rolled her eyes. “The only thing that ruined your sleepover was frizzy hair and bad music.”

  Massie and Claire glared at each other, while Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen exchanged nervous glances. The tension was as thick and goopy as expired nail polish.

  “Well,” Massie said finally, “I hate to add insect to injury, but do you know what this sleepover has in common with the Oscars?”

  Claire didn’t speak or move a muscle. She stood there, arms crossed, unblinking.

  “What?” Dylan said finally, clearly trying to release the tension.

  “It’s only for the A-list!”

  With that, Claire turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Wow.” Dylan breathed. “She was totally bugged out.”

  “I take my hat off to you, Massie.” Alicia fake-curtsied.

  While the Pretty Committee continued to joke, Massie rested her forehead on her window. Outside, Claire was stomping her way back across the snow-covered lawn. The Pretty Committee continued to joke, and Massie knew she should feel triumphant. She had bombed Claire’s sleepover into oblivion with one fake lice-infested snow hat. But as Claire kicked the snow-Cam, Massie’s pride melted into something more akin to regret.

  Sure, Claire didn’t know anything about footwear or fashion. She had no idea how to pick a deep conditioner or a facial scrub. But unlike the rest of the PC, she was an experienced lip-kisser with nearly a year of practice, and she would never judge Massie for being nervous about kissing an older guy. Had Massie just alienated her only hope for helpful lip-to-lip tips?

  “Hey, Mass,” Alicia said. “What flavor of gloss did you pick?”

  Massie snapped back into focus. She looked down at the gloss in her hand. When she saw the writing on the tube, her cheeks flamed like a bonfire doused in lighter fluid.

  “Spaghetti Bolognese,” she mumbled. Laughter filled the room.

  Massie bit her lip and didn’t even bother to try to laugh along with her friends. Because if she didn’t manage to figure out how to kiss like a ninth-grader—and soon—she’d be dead meat.

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  IN OUT

  Hair scare Hair care

  Old enemies New friends

  Dissing lice Kissing advice

  WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK

  SWEETSATIONS CANDY SHOPPE

  Saturday, December 6th

  12:42 P.M.

  Saturday afternoon, Claire crossed the threshold of Sweetsations Candy Shoppe, with Cam and Layne at each waffle-shirt-clad elbow. Immediately the scent of sugar coated her every pore, buoying her spirits like a surfboard in the waves.

  “Better?” Cam nudge-asked her.

  “Much,” Claire answer-nudged back. When Cam had stopped by her house that morning to drop off a new mix CD before soccer practice, she’d felt sadder than the last LBR to be picked in gym class. She and Layne had been brainstorming revenge plots against Massie, but they kept coming up empty-handed. Cam had taken one look at Claire’s face and announced he was taking her and Layne to Sweetsations, a new buffet-style sweet shop where they could get all-you-can-eat candy for $14.99 a pound.

  “For you.” Cam handed Layne and Claire each a wooden tray, and they got in line behind a seven-year-old with jelly stains down his back.

  The shop was packed fuller than Six Flags on opening day. Kori and Strawberry, two girls from OCD, were crowded around a dark-chocolate dipping fountain, fonduing candy canes and apple slices. Twin pigtailed girls grabbed umbrella-shaped lollipops and edible rings as their parents looked on. A five-year-old boy licked the blueberry rock-candy wall at the back of the store while his older sister measured out a yard of sugar dots. A couple of sixth-grade boys oohed and ahhed at a collection of chocolate-covered insects near the counter. One girl in a Hannah Montana T-shirt bent over a standard-issue trash bin and tossed her cookies. Literally.

  “Ew,” Claire and Cam said at the same time.

  “Jinx.” Cam crush-punched Claire on the shoulder. Love waves radiated from her arm to her heart.

  “How much do you think it would cost to buy this place?” Layne said, popping a caramel into her mouth. Her giraffe-print galoshes squeegeed against the black-and-white marble floor, leaving a trail of slush in her wake.

  Cam held up a fistful of foiled gold coins. “One mill-yon coins,” he said in a dead-on Dr. Evil impersonation. Claire grinned. With little blond tufts sticking out of his Billabong hat, Cam looked cute times ten.

  “Clar, aht do oo tink?” Layne said in a muffled voice. She wore a set of giant wax candy lips. “The lip implant went really well, no?”

  Claire laughed. “Absolutely.”

  “Hey.” Cam touched Claire’s hand. “Isn’t that your brother?”

  Claire scanned the store for Todd; it was a 3-D Where’s Baldo? moment. A couple of kids ran figure eights through the picnic-style tables in the back, while others applied chocolate pudding like face paint. Her eyes snagged on the Jelly Beanery section, where a shiny head reflected the store’s fluorescent light like polished silver.

  And just like that, Claire’s good mood tarnished. She motioned for her friends to follow her.

  “… five of each color should do it?” Tiny Nathan was asking as Claire, Layne, and Cam came up behind them.

  “Maybe six of the green ones would be better?” Todd said, holding a green bean up to the light like he was inspecting a diamond for flaws.

  “Echem,” Claire coughed.

  Todd whirled around and hid the bag of beans behind his back. “Yo. What up?”

  “What up?” Layne sucked on the giant wax lips like they were a pacifier.

  “Looking slick, dudes.” Cam nod-flicked his blond bangs out of his blue eye.

  “You know it.” Todd sucked in his cheeks while Tiny Nathan crossed his arms over his hoodie.

  Claire dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from laughing out loud. “So. I have a proposition for you.”

  Todd raised a red brow. “I’m listening.”

  Someone jostled Claire from behind, knocking her into her brother. Oddly, the little freak smelled like Old Spice. She regained her balance and took a step back. “You, me, whoever else, need to get revenge on Massie for shaving your head.”

  “Sorry, sister. No can do.” Todd shook his head.

  Layne took her lips off and gnawed on the cherry-flavored wax. One of the sixth-grade boys stared at her, then nudged his friends and ran to get his own set.

  Claire stared at him in disbelief. “What? Why? She made you bald.”

  “Noooo,” Todd said slowly, nodding. “She gave me a new lease on life.”

  “The man looked so good, I went and got the same ’do myself!” Tiny Nathan added, pulling off his hat. Red, irritated splotches bloomed across his bumpy skull like a Rorschach pattern.

  Claire tapped her booted foot. They just weren’t getting it. “She gave you razor burn so my new friends would think you had lice and ditch me.”

  Todd blinked and shook his head, like he couldn’t believe how naïve Claire was being. “Look,” he said, throwing back his shoulders. “I can’t imagine why Massie would make me this hot and then set me free to meet other chicks. But over seven girls have checked me out in the last ten minutes, and Sarah Derkins told me I look bad!” Todd chin-nodded at a girl in the fudge section.

  “She was right,” Layne mumbled.

  Claire giggled into her palm.
r />   Todd ran his hands over his scalp. “Plus, the five o’clock shadow makes me look at least twelve.”

  Tiny Nathan rolled back on his blue Simples, looking tinier than ever in his oversized clothes. “At least.”

  Todd flexed his biceps, then pulled six Pixy Stix from his back pocket. He handed three to Nathan. “Bottoms up!” he said. He and Nathan tilted their heads back and shot them down all at the same time.

  “Yup, that’s the stuff!” Tiny Nathan squeaked.

  Just then, a group of girls ambled by, whispering and giggling and pointing. “See?” Todd said, triumphantly. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” With that, he twisted the tie on his bag of jelly beans and sauntered over to the counter, where he proceeded to tap a redhead on the shoulder. When she turned around, he grabbed a handful of chocolate covered ants and shoved them in his mouth.

  “Ahhhhh!” the girl screamed, and she ran out of the store while Tiny Nathan cheered and high-fived Todd.

  “I don’t know what just happened, but my head hurts,” Layne said, massaging her temples with one hand. With the other she rolled the mashed-up wax into a tube.

  “Maybe you’re waxtose intolerant,” Cam suggested.

  Claire stood and watched Todd and Tiny Nathan high-five their way out of the store. “I can’t believe he said no.” Todd never turned down a chance to scheme. It was like Claire, Cam, and Layne were the only people immune to Massie’s evil charms.

  “Sorry.” Cam comfort-punched Claire in the shoulder. He handed her a paper bag filled with lemon drops. She unwrapped the candy and slipped it between her cherry Chapsticked lips. As the first tangy pellet hit her tongue, Claire remembered how lucky she was to have someone like Cam, who gave her sweets when she was feeling like a Sour Patch Kid. “But maybe it’s better this way,” he suggested. “Maybe you don’t need to get revenge after all.”

  “Well, maybe she doesn’t need to,” Layne said, taking a lemon drop. “And maybe I don’t need to buy six more sets of these wax lips. But I’m going to.” She pointed to her wrist, around which was affixed a cherry-scented red wax bracelet, shiny with spit. “Anyway, you don’t need Todd for our revenge plot. I’ll help you.”

  Claire’s lips puckered as the lemon candy melted in her mouth. It almost hurt to eat it, but she always felt like she’d accomplished something when she made it down to the sweet part. She bit into the lemon drop, forcing herself to chew through the pain. And by the time the candy was gone, she knew it was time to move onto the sweetest part of her day.

  The revenge.

  THE BLOCK ESTATE

  MASSIE’S ROOM

  Sunday, December 7th

  5:08 P.M.

  Massie leaned back against her 3,000-thread-count silk sheets and kicked the fully clothed Massiequin with one of her BCBG riding boots. “I don’t know, Bean,” she said to the puppy, who was curled in her lap. “Is it missing something?”

  The Massiequin was adorned in her latest attempt at a kiss outfit: a Rag & Bone silk-trimmed cropped vest over a long aquamarine Yaya Aflalo tank and a pair of dark denim skinny jeans. On the floor next to it was her earlier choice: a blue-green Marc Jacobs silk dress, which she’d since vetoed. Sure, it looked hawt on her, and the color would match Landon’s eyes, but it reeked of “special occasion,” and the last thing she wanted was for Landon to think their first kiss was a moment she’d dressed up for.

  With only two days left until Landon’s birthday, Massie was having major kiss-ues. Sure, he’d sent her Twitter pics of him and Bark playing in the snow, and even one where he’d carved BOC + BB within the outline of a dog in the snow. But Landon’s ah-dorableness only set her teeth more on edge.

  What was wrong with her? She was Massie Block, alpha of the Pretty Committee. She’d lip-kissed Derrington, of course. So why was she nervous? Was it because Landon was older? Because she liked him times ten? Was it because, as the alpha, there was simply more pressure on her to be perfect? People like Layne and Claire had no idea how easy they had it. No one would expect their kisses to be perfect 10s. But Massie’s had to be off the chart.

  There was only one place to turn: her anti-anxiety audiobook. Opening iTunes, she clicked on “Part 1” of Declouding Your Inner Self: A Guide to Overcoming Anxiety.

  A woman’s deep voice flowed out of the Bose speakers. “WELCOME TO THE NEW, MORE RELAXED YOU.”

  Massie skipped right to the mantra tracks.

  “IMAGINE YOU ARE BEING FILLED WITH A CALM BLUE LIGHT.”

  She lay back on her comforter, letting it envelop her like a downy crepe, and closed her eyes.

  “THIS CALM BLUE LIGHT IS VERY CALM AND VERY BLUE.”

  She imagined the blue light was the color of Landon’s eyes.

  “THIS CALM BLUE LIGHT IS WORKING ITS WAY THROUGH YOUR HEART AND YOUR SACRUM AND FLOWING DOWN YOUR LEGS AND ARMS. NOW PICTURE A FLUFFY CLOUD…”

  Massie pictured a cotton ball in the shape of Landon’s head, complete with his Adrian Grenier–esque tousled curls.

  “FLUFFIER,” instructed the voice.

  With her mind’s eye, Massie fluffed up Landon’s cloud hair a fraction of an inch.

  “EVEN FLUFFIER!”

  “I’m trying!” Massie whined, opening her eyes for a split second to glare at the speakers.

  “GOOD,” the voice said. “NOW GATHER YOUR WORST FEARS, AND PLACE THEM ONE BY ONE ON THE FLUFFY CLOUD.”

  Closing her eyes again, Massie took her fear of lip-kissing an older man, her fear that the PC would abandon her, her fear that shoulder pads might make a comeback, and she placed them one by one on the Landon cloud.

  Then the woman’s voice instructed, “NOW BLOW THE CLOUD AWAY.”

  Massie inhaled deeply, then blew as hard as she could. The cloud shuddered but stayed put.

  “Go away,” Massie blew again. Nothing.

  “BLOW THE CLOUD FAR, FAR AWAY,” the woman’s voice barked.

  Massie tried to push the cloud away, but it was as fruitless as trying to fit her size 6 foot into a size 5 wedge. The cloud was enormous—larger than the entire Block Estate—and the harder she blew, the more twisted her fears looked. Landon’s lips parted into a sinister grin. Fear-replicas of Kristen, Dylan, and Alicia pointed and laughed at her. And gigantic, powder-pink shoulder pads zoomed toward her, threatening to suffocate her where she stood.

  “PUSH!” The woman boomed.

  “GO AWAY!” Massie yelled at her fears.

  Bean whimpered and jumped off the bed.

  Massie opened one eye. “Not you, Bean. The fear cloud!” But it was useless. And now she had another fear to add to the pile: a fear of massive, immovable clouds.

  Sighing, she shut off the audiobook and clicked onto Firefox. First she googled “kissing techniques,” but when that delivered a series of blocked sites, she decided to get specific. Within minutes, she had compiled a list of the hawtest, most important lip kisses of all time:

  • THE MYS KISS, Spider-Man (2003), Kirsten Dunst and Tobey McGuire: Mysterious Spidey is hanging upside down. She pulls off half his mask and kisses him.

  • THE RISK KISS, Twilight (2008), Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson: She risks her life to kiss a vampire.

  • THE DISS KISS, MTV Video Music Awards (2009), Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson (again): Accepting their award for Best Kiss, Robert ditches his gum and everything, but at the last minute, Kristen pulls away. (Okay, technically not a kiss—but they totally kissed off-camera later!)

  • THE AQUA-BLISS KISS, The Notebook (2005), Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling: Kissing in the rain.

  • THE HISS KISS, Gossip Girl (Season Two): Serena kisses Nate at a party to make his cougar girlfriend jealous. Meow!

  Massie closed her laptop. Okay, so Landon was easily as hawt as a superhero, but it seemed unlikely that he’d be hanging upside down during their smooch. And since she wasn’t famous (yet), she probably wasn’t going to win an MTV Video Music Award. It was possible they could kiss in the rain like Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gos
ling, but that would mean ruining her blowout and risking raccoon eyes.

  No, none of those kisses felt exactly right. Maybe if she took the mystery of the Mys Kiss, added the danger of the Risk Kiss, the longing of the Diss Kiss, the passion of the Aqua-Bliss Kiss, and the confidence of the Hiss Kiss, she would get what she was hoping for—the Mass Kiss.

  Taking a breath, she shut her blinds and replaced her anti-stress CD with Sounds of the Brazilian Rain Forest, uncapped her Passion Fruit Glossip Girl, put Landon’s sweatshirt on the Massiequin, and paw-swore Bean to secrecy. She closed her eyes, praying her life would never get more pathetic than it was at that particular moment.

  And then she puckered up for practice.

  WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK

  KARMA CHAMELEON REPTILE & INSECT EMPORIUM

  Monday, December 8th

  4:11 P.M.

  In times of crisis, Claire usually sought out sugar. Mike and Ike had gotten her through the road trip from Orlando to Westchester. Reese’s Pieces were the official sponsor of her short-lived Cam breakup. And gummies had eased the stress of life in the public eye as a (former) member of the PC. But as she and Layne stepped out of the snowy Westchester tundra and entered the humid mock-jungle of Karma Chameleon, she knew her current situation required more than a Blow Pop.

  It required bugs.

  Claire stomped the excess snow from her Keds onto the peeling linoleum floor and looked around. The store smelled like a mixture of the bottom of Todd’s sock drawer and old, crusty peanut butter. Glass aquariums filled with mossy water were stacked everywhere, and she had the uneasy feeling that thousands of moist, shifty eyeballs were watching her every move. Posters papered the steamy walls like a who’s who of creepy crawlers. A lizard in a Santa hat with a leering expression yelled, ALL I IGUANA FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU. Next to it was a cobra wearing a New York Yankees hat with SNAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME printed under it. And next to that was a gecko sitting on a waffle that had popped out of a toaster.

  “Gecko my Eggo.” Layne’s laugh came from behind the netting of her boxy white beekeeper hat. “Ooooh! Wook how kuh-ute!” She pulled Claire past a row of oversize snakes to a python tank the size of the Lyons’ old minivan. As Layne cooed and tapped the aquarium, one of the python’s olive-black eyes blinked lazily. Then its tongue shot out of its mouth to snatch an unsuspecting beetle. Claire thought of her lunch that day and wondered if she was about to see it again.