It's Not Easy Being Mean Read online

  Cam looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with his angry coach. “Uh-oh.”

  “What about Thursday?” Massie pleaded. “Can we come Thursday?”

  “Why do so many girls want to come to my house lately?” Cam mussed his sweaty dark hair.

  “What? What do you mean so many girls? Who?”

  “Fish-er!” yelled the coach.

  “I really gotta go.” Cam jogged toward the coach. “See you Friday.”

  “Cam, wait! What girls? What did you tell them?”

  But Cam was gone, leaving Massie wrapped in a nubby white towel in the middle of the soccer field, with nothing to kick but herself.

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  IN OUT

  Briarwood beds Briarwood boys

  Friday-night soccer Friday-night sleepovers

  Coach key chains Coach Davis

  NEW YORK CITY THE FOUR SEASONS HOTEL

  Tuesday, April 6th

  7:32 A.M.

  Miles Baime’s dark eyes followed a leggy brunette as she crossed the elegant champagne-colored dining room at the Four Seasons Hotel.

  “I’m gonna get straight to the point,” said Claire’s boyishly handsome, dark-haired agent. “You have MSP!”

  “She has what?“ Judi Lyons whipped off her cherry-red bifocals.

  “MSP.” He leaned forward, clinking his gold knot cuff links against the marble tabletop, and folded his tanned hands. “Major. Star. Potential.”

  “Oh.” Claire sighed, relieved. “It sounded like a disease.”

  “Hardly.” Reaching across Claire’s blueberry pancakes, he grabbed her wrist. “If you tap into it, the world is yours.”

  Claire blushed. Something about her too-cute-in-a-suit agent telling her how talented she was in front of her mother was embarrassing. Flattering and ego boosting and tingle worthy, but still embarrassing.

  Finally, Miles let go.

  Claire hid her hand on her lap and made a mental note to get her mom’s permission to shave above the knee. She was wearing an American Eagle camouflage cargo minidress, and her pale exposed thighs felt like Astroturf.

  “So you think my daughter has MSP?” Judi giggled at her use of such a hip Hollywood term. It was the first time she’d smiled all morning. Nervous that the film industry was out to exploit her only daughter, Judi had been skeptical but supportive about the move out west ever since Miles had suggested it three days earlier.

  “Absolutely.” He sank back into his wing chair. “In fact, Bernard Sinrod wants her for the lead in his new feature, Princess Nobody—”

  Claire gasped. “No way! He’s won, like, two Oscars.”

  “Four.”

  “And he wants my daughter?” Judi asked.

  Claire sent a high-speed thanks-for-the-vote-of-confidence glare at her mother, who fired back with a can-you-blame-me shrug.

  “He’s seen an advance screening of Dial L for Loser and thinks your daughter would be perfect as the lead.” Miles grinned. “It’s about a scrappy NYC runaway who helps the prince of Bhutan after he’s been mugged by street thugs. They fall in love and she ends up becoming a beautiful princess. And guess who’s on board to play Prince Aroon?”

  Claire’s mind went blank. This was happening too fast. An A-list director wanted her to star in his next movie…as a princess! A beautiful one! She squeezed her cell phone under the table, wishing the Pretty Committee could listen in.

  “Give up?” Miles flipped open his Razr and responded to a text message.

  Claire nodded as fast as she could.

  “Cole Sprouse,” he announced. “You know, that mischievous blond twin from the Disney show Suite Life of Zack and Cody.“

  “Ehmagawd, I love him!” Claire beamed, imagining a cover photo on US Weekly of their blond heads pressed together in a friendly embrace.

  “The money is decent and it shoots in Manhattan from June through August.”

  “Wonderful.” Judi traced her mouth with Revlon’s Rose Wine lipstick, then snapped the cap back on. “What a relief.”

  “So I can stay in New York for the summer?”

  “Yup.”

  Claire poked her finger in the whipped cream swirl atop her short stack and popped it in her mouth. The sugar, mixed with the good news, gave her an instant rush. Excitedly, she kicked her mom under the table. It was going to be a perfect summer.

  Every afternoon, Cam could visit her on the set. When she had a scene to shoot he could hang in her trailer and play video games. They’d become buddies with Cole, and the three of them could go to the Empire State Building and Coney Island and free concerts in Central Park. On the weekends she’d hang out with the Pretty Committee and swim in the Blocks’ pool and ride her bike to Layne’s and get ice cream and—

  Miles knocked Claire’s fattening whipped cream into a pool of maple syrup with a butter knife. “Runaways are thin.”

  Claire blushed again.

  “Of course, the final act will be shot in Bhutan, so you will be spending most of the fall over there. But the people there are very kind.” He signaled the waiter for the check. “Did you know their national sport is archery?”

  Claire felt as if one of their national arrows had just embedded itself in her chest.

  “Most of the fall?”

  “Where is Bhutan?” asked Judi.

  “Somewhere near India. Or is it Tibet?” He waved his Razr. “I’ll have my assistant call you with an exact location. Don’t worry; wherever it is, it’ll be five-star all the way.”

  Judi stabbed a grape from her fruit cup.

  “Will I have to live there?”

  “If“—Miles signed the check without looking at the total—”and only if you nail the audition.”

  Claire stiffened. She’d forgotten the part wasn’t hers yet and hoped she hadn’t come across as ungrateful. “What do I have to do?”

  “Bernard is insisting you show up in character. That means you have to transform yourself into a scrappy, unkempt runaway. I’m talking choppy black hair, dirty fingernails, and eyebrow extensions.”

  “Huh?” Claire and Judi exclaimed together.

  “Bernard is tired of the whole loser-takes-off-her-glasses-and-becomes-a-goddess cliché. He wants to give his audience something more extreme. And believe it or not, he found someone who can sew goat hair right into the eyebrows to make them coarse, bushy, and one. I’m telling you, the man’s a genius. And he wants you.”

  Claire peeked at her reflection in the side of a silver teapot, trying to imagine herself a brunette with goat-hair-enhanced brows. And all she could picture was the Count from Sesame Street.

  “Can’t I wear a wig?”

  “That’s a great idea.” Judi clapped. “And we can fill in your blond eyebrows with dark pencil. L’Oreal makes a great one called Prestige.”

  “Not happ-nin’.” Miles wagged his finger. “Bernard wants to know that Claire is willing to commit to this role inside and out.”

  “What about school? Everyone will make fun of—”

  “There are a million blondes in the greater Los Angeles area—not to mention Texas—willing to alter their appearance for the craft.”

  “Yeah, but—” Claire stabbed a dry, whipped-cream-free pancake.

  “But nothing.” Miles stuffed the yellow receipt in his breast pocket. “If you want to reach single-name status, you’ll be back here, in the penthouse, Friday night at seven o’clock covered in more dark hair than the floor at Supercuts.”

  “This Friday?”

  “Yup.”

  “Claire, you don’t have to do this.” Judi touched her daughter’s icy hand. “There will be other opportunities. Other directors who will want you just the way you are.”

  “It’s not that,” Claire insisted, not bothering to explain that she was supposed to go to Cam’s on Friday night to look for the key. And now, if she agreed to the audition, her friends would be there without her. Making memories, creating inside jokes, and smelling her boyfriend’s Drakkar No
ir–soaked neck.

  “I’ll be right back.” Claire dropped her phone in her cargo pocket and pushed back from the table. It wasn’t too late to call Cam from the bathroom and beg him to reschedule. “I just need a second to think about it.”

  “You have until I finish my coffee.” Miles lifted the tiny espresso cup to his lips and then tilted his head back. He replaced the cup in the saucer with a dainty clink and let out a satisfied, “Ahhhh.”

  Then he looked directly into Claire’s eyes and folded his arms across his chest.

  “What’s it gonna be?”

  WESTCHESTER, NY THE BLOCKS’ RANGE ROVER

  Tuesday, April 6th

  3:55 P.M.

  “Ah-nnoying!” Massie snapped her Motorola shut and knocked her head against the silver Range Rover’s window. “Voice mail again!”

  “Maybe she’s on an airplane, flying to L.A.,” Alicia offered as she picked a random piece of glitter off her lavender knit sweater. “Ugh! My soccer uniform leaked in my bag,” she complained to no one in particular.

  “I bet she’s at the Keds factory with Mischa Barton designing a pair of signature geek-sneaks.” Dylan plunked her legs down on Alicia’s lap. “By the way, you never commented on my new black Paige jeans. Is it ‘cause they make me look fat?”

  “Get your meat sticks offa me!”

  Kristen giggled.

  “Then is serious, you guys.” Massie opened the window, hopping the cool breeze might calm her. But all it did was mess her hair. “Claire needs to tell Cam not to let any girls in his house.” She repositioned her gray satin headband.

  “Yul ee er ah ome.” Dylan chewed a powdered Munchkin.

  “Huh?”

  She swallowed.

  “I said, you’ll see her at home.” She reached into the wax-lined Dunkin’ Donuts bag and popped another round white-sugar-covered doughnut ball in her mouth. “Let’s watch the news.”

  Isaac, Massie’s driver, hit a button, and a flat-screen TV lowered from the ceiling.

  Kristen’s narrow aqua eyes widened. “Do you think something happened to her?”

  “No.” Dylan picked up the thin remote and flipped through the channels. “I saw a commercial last night about depression. It said one of the symptoms is loss of appetite. So maybe if I hear a sad story I’ll stop eating these.” She stuck a glazed doughnut ball in her mouth.

  “Here’s a sad story for you.” Massie looked directly into Dylan’s jade-colored cat eyes. “If I don’t get in touch with Kuh-laire, I can’t tell her to ask Cam which girls have been trying to get into his house. And if I don’t know who they are, I can’t stop them. If I can’t stop them, they’ll get the key first. And if they get the key first, we’re done. And if we’re done, eighth grade is going to feel like one long soccer practice.”

  Dylan bit into a chocolate Munchkin. “Not sad enough.”

  “It will be when Heather and her alt.com friends are the new alphas,” Massie barked. “Better get used to cheap black sweaters and fake silver jewelry that’ll turn your skin green.”

  She buried her face in her hands.

  “Mass.” Alicia’s warm hand was on her back. “That key is so ours. Do you aw-nestly think Skye would let that room fall into LBR hands? Puh-lease! She’s just testing us.”

  Massie lifted her head and gazed into Alicia’s big brown eyes. They shimmered with quiet confidence.

  “You think?”

  “I know.”

  “Ah-greed.” Dylan wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her L.A.M.B. bike-chain cardigan.

  “I bet we’re the only ones who got the CD-ROM,” Alicia blurted.

  “Then how do you explain Kaya and Penelope in the chapel?”

  “Puh-lease.” Alicia waved away her comment. “Those LBRs probably go there every day after school and pray for coolness.”

  “Ehmagawd, you’re probably right.” Massie swept the bangs away from her eyes. “I can’t believe I fell for it.”

  “I can,” Kristen blurted.

  Her snippiness shocked Massie like a surprise hair tug. “Are you still mad we wore those soccer uniforms? Because that has nothing to do with—”

  “No.” Kristen rolled down her window. “You fell for it because it’s true. Look.”

  The girls unclipped their seat belts and scrunched up beside her.

  “Buckle up!” Isaac called from the front seat.

  “Okay,” Massie called sweetly, then turned back to the window.

  Layne, Heather, and Meena were gathered outside Marc Cooper’s modest brick house with fistfuls of silver helium balloons that said Marc Is #1 in blue bubble letters.

  “Ehmagawd, they’re wearing cheap black sweaters and faux silver.” Alicia giggled.

  “Stop the car!” Massie shouted.

  Isaac screeched to a halt. “What is it?”

  “Kristen, come with me.” Massie grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward the open door.

  “Where are we—?”

  “Can I go too?” Alicia whined.

  “No. I need someone who can run.”

  “Point.” She closed the door.

  Kristen, who was at least two paces ahead of Massie, led the charge as they bolted across the street to the Coopers’ house. Under any other circumstances, Massie would have made her slow down and follow, but protocol be damned. This was an emergency.

  “What are you guys doing here?” panted Massie when they reached the porch. “I didn’t know you were friends with Marc.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Heather slid a silver serpent charm back and forth across her tarnished chain necklace. “We’re tight.”

  Layne pushed the doorbell again.

  “Why are you here?” Meena twirled her one random chunk of dyed green hair.

  Kristen glanced at their balloons. “To congratulate Marc.”

  “For what?” Layne tested.

  “For being number one,” Massie said with major amounts of “duh!” in her tone.

  Finally, the door opened. The noxious smell of wet paint seeped out.

  “Congratulations, Marc!” Shoving the balloons into his pale, smooth hand, Heather forced herself inside. She charged up the stairs without another word.

  Massie shoved Kristen into the house, knowing the infamous soccer star had a decent shot at overtaking her. “Hurry!”

  “Where are you going?” Marc whimpered, twisting the bottom of his spaghetti-sauce-stained gray tee around his finger.

  Massie took off behind Kristen, successfully outrunning Layne and Meena.

  Along the way, she passed dozens of framed photos. Various unflattering shots of the Afro twins—Marc and his sister, Karla—posed year after year on the same tree stump wearing matching mustard-yellow turtlenecks, in their woodsy backyard.

  “Ehmagawd!” Kristen’s voice echoed from one of the bedrooms.

  The paint smell got stronger as Massie neared the top, but poisonous fumes couldn’t keep her from the key. She hurried into the room.

  Stained white drop cloths below freshly painted brown walls were the only things she found.

  Meena and Layne burst through the door.

  “Where’s your bed?” Massie called to Marc, who ran into the room right after her.

  “Hey, aren’t you the girl from The Daily Grind?” he asked.

  Massie smiled and nodded.

  Kristen rolled her eyes.

  “So?” Heather asked. “Where is it? Where’s your bed and stuff?”

  “In storage until the paint dries.” Marc chewed his lower lip. “I’ve been crashing downstairs on the couch. It’s cool, though, ‘cause I can watch ESPN as late as I want.”

  Minutes later, Massie and Kristen were back in the Range Rover.

  “I knew Marc didn’t have the key,” Alicia insisted. “That’s why he’s not on my list.”

  “How do you know?” Massie smacked the camel-colored leather seat.

  “Skye never kissed him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I told you,
I can’t reveal my sources,” Alicia insisted.

  Massie rolled her eyes, “You could have told me that before I ran into his poisonous house.”

  “If I’d been with you, I would have.”

  “Ehmagawd, look!” Dylan stuffed another Munchkin in her mouth. “Olivia is on the back of Kemp Hurley’s bike.”

  “They’re pulling into his driveway!” Kristen announced.

  With extreme urgency, Massie rolled down her window. “Hey, Olivia!”

  The beautiful blonde turned and waved, flashing her perfect, never-needed-braces smile. “Hey!”

  “How’s the rash?” Massie called. “Did you get the ointment or are you still super itchy?”

  Kemp stopped his bike.

  “Massie!” Isaac sped up, obviously trying to avoid a runin with the neighbors.

  The girls erupted in hysterics as Olivia tore off down the pine-studded street.

  After a sharp turn onto Candlenut Road, Kristen shouted, “Ehmagawd! There’s Kori. She’s on crutches.”

  Chris Plovert hopped beside her, using Strawberry’s ample shoulder for support. His leg cast was wrapped in plastic because the dark clouds were threatening rain.

  “There’s no way the Slip-loc put her on crutches.” Dylan’s expression hung somewhere between surprise and laugher.

  “It didn’t,” Massie insisted. “She’s faking so she can go to Plovert’s house. Don’t you see? It’s madness out there! Everyone’s in the game but us.” She stuck her head out the window. “Hey, Plovert, Alicia thinks you’re hot!”

  Alicia smacked Massie’s thigh. “What are you doing?”

  “Trust me.”

  Kristen cackled. Dylan laughed.

  “Really?” Plovert called back.

  “Swear. But she’s really jealous.”

  Before they knew it, Plovert had reclaimed his crutches and was waving goodbye to Kori.

  The girls held out their palms, ready to give Massie a much-deserving high five. But she denied them. This was far from over.

  “Isaac, we need to stop at the corner of Maple and Birch.”

  He pulled into a wide circular driveway, turning the Range Rover around.

  “You are nawt!” Dylan covered her mouth in shock.

  “Am!” Massie unzipped her navy Prada makeup case, opened her Channel No. 5, and dabbed a little behind her ears.