A Tale of Two Pretties (7 page)

She’d called Alicia “Fannish.” Ah-lot.

She’d told Dylan that burping was gah-ross.

She’d made her friends dump their crushes during the boyfast.

She’d kicked everyone out of the PC at least once.

She’d tried to keep Dylan and Derrington apart.

She’d tried to keep Dempsey and Kristen apart.

She’d Lycra’d her friends way more than ten times…

“Mass, I don’t mean to rush you but I have to get going,” Dylan said, texting.

“Same,” Kristen added, toe-flicking her ball and catching it.

“Fine,” Massie said with an
it’s-now-or-never
exhale. “Here’s the thing. Itturnsoutmydadlostalotofmoneythankstotheeconomy.” The girls exchanged glances but Massie kept
projectile-vomiting the truth, hoping to feel lighter in the end. “That’swhythehouseiscoldthat’swhyIgotyoumakeupsamples-forChristmasandthat’swhywe’llbemovingtoasmallerestate.
So that’sitthat’swhatIwantedtosay.” For some reason she ended with an awkward curtsy.

Claire applauded. Kristen opened and closed her mouth like a trout. Dylan and Alicia covered their lips with their holiday-polished
fingertips. Massie looked sadly down at her own. They were chipped and broken. Just like her spirit.

Massie scuffed her Frye boots on the wood floor, expecting her soon-to-be-ex-friends to whip out their phones. Her
breaking news was worth at least 10,000,000 Gossip Points. Life as she knew it was officially over.

Ehmagawd, somebody say something!

“Well, I just thought you deserved to hear it from me,” she finally mumbled. “You can all go to your family things and your
soccer whatevers. Thanks for listening.”

But then Claire reached for Kristen’s hand. Kristen grabbed Alicia’s. And Alicia took Dylan’s. Suddenly, like a runaway game
of Red Rover, they charged toward their alpha and enveloped her in a Pretty Committee perfume-scented cloud of love. A mix
of Angel, sweaty soccer jersey, maple syrup, and salsa. Massie wanted to bottle it and name it:
Unconditional.

Step aside, Beyoncé. There’s a new Survivor in town.

“Stripes?” Kristen suggested.

“On New Year’s
Eve
?” Massie asked.

“Metallic?” Claire tried.

Massie wrinkled her nose. “Too last year.”

“All-black?” Alicia suggested.

“Too Kelly Cutrone,” Massie decided.

“Ruffles?”

“Too Kelly Osbourne.”

“Hair extensions?”

“Too Kelly Clarkson.”

A month ago, Massie’s dismissiveness would have outraged Alicia, but today she was so alpha-appreciative she just lifted her
finger and said, “Point.”

“How about an ocean theme—greens and blues for everyone?” Dylan said. She blinked, and then pried the lashes on her right
eye apart.

As Alicia sipped her sparkling water and half-listened to the other girls talk about what to wear to Merri-Lee’s annual New
Year’s Yves party, she studied the redhead. There was something different about her—aside from the lens-dusters and shed water
weight. It was almost like… she was hiding something.

When Alicia offered to have her driver, New Isaac (because Old Isaac was gone and they couldn’t remember this guy’s name)
pick up the girls, Dylan shut her down. Something about how she’d get there on her own because they were doing construction
on her street and there would be nowhere for them to stop. But New Isaac had passed by Magnolia Lane earlier that day and
said the road was clear as crystal.

Kristen took a quick inventory of Alicia’s walk-in closet. “What if we do a clothes swap? Claire wears something of mine,
I wear something of Alicia’s, Alicia wears something of Dylan’s, and Massie—”

“Wears something of Kuh-laire’s?
Ehma-never!
”

“No way would my C-cups fit into Dylan’s A-cup shirts,” Alicia pointed out.

“They’re B’s,” Dylan insisted, unbuttoning the second button on her plaid shirt.

“Well, they B looking like A’s,” Alicia teased.

Everyone laughed but Massie. Her smile was falling dangerously close to a frown. Claire seemed to notice, too, and jumped
in. “I really think we can pull a Tim Gunn on this and make it work.”

But Massie just shook her head and flopped onto a ruby-colored beanbag. “It’s hopeless. I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t want
to wear someone’s old clothes! It’s New Year’s Eve. Besides, it’s a bad omen to wear something that’s already been worn that
night. It means you’ll be wearing used clothes
for the rest of the year!” She curled into fetal position and whined, “I have to shop.”

Alicia suddenly felt guilty for wearing her brand-new ivory Ralph Lauren sweater dress and fringed Minnetonka boots. Massie
looked just as current in her shimmery peach Alice + Olivia top and olive J Brands. Still, the beta understood. Who didn’t
like a week’s worth of new clothes around the holidays? Even Claire and Kristen went trolling for hand-me-downs this time
of year.

“I have a brill idea!” Alicia announced. “Why don’t I sell my soon-to-be-so-last-year wardrobe? The LBRs will love it! I’ll
donate the cash to Massie so she can buy a New Year’s Yves outfit. My dad’s been looking for tax write-offs—whatever those
are—but I think they have something to do with charity donations—”

Massie gasped.

“Ehmagawd, not that
you’re
charity,” Alicia tried, her tongue folding up like a drawbridge. “I just meant—”

“I think it’s a great idea!” Claire interjected. “I have tons of stuff to sell.”

Everyone giggled.

“What?” Claire asked, turning red. “If people think it’s yours they’ll buy it.”

“Point,” Alicia said, considering this. “But then they’ll think it’s mine.”

Dylan burst out laughing. “I’ll donate, too.”

“I’ll work the register,” Kristen offered.

Massie stood and joined the girls on Alicia’s bed. “I bet we could style some of Claire’s old things to make them look cool.
It
is
LBRs who we’re
targeting
—no pun intended.”

“Yay!” Alicia beamed at the round of love they were giving her idea. “Mass, you should come up with a list of jobs for us,
a schedule, and a marketing plan. And I’ll get my clothes and—”

“Um, Leesh, do I look like Lady Gaga’s head?”

“No,” Alicia mumbled.

“Then why are you making me the bigwig?”

Alicia’s heart began to rev. “You’re the alpha so I assumed—”

“Exactly. If LBRs see me selling clothes, they’ll know something’s up.”

Alicia looked to Kristen. “Do you want to run it?”

“I wish I could but I have soccer stuff,” she said, flexing her calves.

“Dylan, how about you?”

Dylan blinked her long lashes as she sneaked a peek at her iPhone. “I’m on—I mean, my mom’s got a lot to do for the New Year’s
Yves show and she needs my help, so…”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “Since when does your mom ask you for help?”

Dylan’s cheeks reddened under her freckles. “I’ll contribute all my clothes, though.”

“Kuh-laire?”

“I have to pack,” she said, avoiding Alicia’s dark eyes.
“You know, because Massie needs room for her stuff and everything.”

“Why don’t you do it, Leesh?” Massie suggested in a way that sounded more like insisting. “It
was
your idea.”

“I guess I could,” Alicia said, over the alpha-alert ringing in her ears. If she succeeded, she might be given more alpha
duties and Hermia’s prediction would start coming true. If she failed, she would be a failure. The situation couldn’t have
been more lose-lose than if it was Jillian Michaels’s résumé.

Memories of the dinner party she’d organized for the SoulM8s danced in front of her like reflections in the mirror-lined walls
at BADSS. The boys turning up their noses at her famous-couples-costume idea. Derrington wiggling his butt when she tried
to engage them in sophisticated conversation. Dylan burping through the appetizers. Massie upstaging the whole thing with
an ah-some fashion show in her backyard…

With each memory, Alicia’s neck grew hotter, her pits sweatier, and her tongue thicker. It was almost like she was having
an allergic reaction—to being an alpha.

“I have to pee,” Alicia said, hurrying for her bathroom. Once inside, she leaned over the waterfall sink and splashed cool
water on her face. Why was the universe suddenly intent on beta-blocking her?

Alicia pulled her phone from the inside of her moccasin and checked her daily horoscope on Hermia’s website.

“
You miss some of what you try for, and all of what you don’t.
”

She read it and reread it, hoping it might morph into something different if she just stuck with it. But the prediction didn’t
change. It stood by its word, leaving Alicia with no choice but to do the same.

“Next stop: Marshalls!” Kristen cried from the front seat of her mom’s Ford Focus. “You’ll love it, Massie. It’s my middle-class
mecca.”

“Target is mine,” Claire chimed in from behind the driver’s seat. She rustled the big Target bag at her feet lovingly. Where
else could one purchase deodorant and designer-done-cheap? Next to her, Massie sighed audibly. Claire patted her on the shoulder.
She knew this was hard for her friend, and she was impressed how reasonable she was being about it all. Massie was set for
New Year’s, but she still had 364 other days to consider, which is where Kristen and Claire came in.

They’d already hit Target, and though Massie’s face had grown longer than the time between Jessica Simpson’s recording contracts
as they’d traipsed through the aisles, she had bought the gray scarf she was now donning. So what if she was wearing it as
a disguise? It was still progress.

Claire eyed Massie. The alpha had done her best to make sure she still didn’t
look
middle-class. She was wearing a newish pair of Earnest Sewn skinny jeans tucked into a pair of suede booties that Claire
couldn’t imagine walking in. Her belted wool coat was hanging open, showing a flash of bright green from a cashmere tank she
wore under a fitted Theory
blazer. She’d pulled her hair back into a tight bun, wrapped the gray scarf around it, and wore big black Dior sunglasses,
even though the sun was hidden behind a sheet of gray clouds. She obviously didn’t want to be recognized.

“Thanks for driving us, Mrs. Gregory,” Claire said.

Marsha smiled, turning a sharp left that made Claire’s bangs fly up. “It’s the least I could do after all the times Massie
has given Kristen a ride. Where is Isaac, anyway? Has he been sick?”

The only sounds came from the radio. Claire normally loved holiday music, but once Christmas was over, it felt staler than
neglected fruitcake.

“He’s on vacation,” Massie finally answered.

“Visiting family?” Ms. Gregory pressed.

“Yup,” she said, turning to the window.

The sound of Kristen pulling her hoodie zipper up and down filled the silence. Marsha hummed along to the radio. Claire’s
phone buzzed with a new text.

Claire stifled a giggle. She could hear Kristen thumbing a response from the front seat.

That seemed to please Massie because she put down her phone and swiped her lips with Chai Latte–flavored Glossip Girl, signaling
that she was ready.

Kristen’s mother pulled into a parking spot and everyone tumbled out of the Focus, except for Massie, who stopped to read
a text.

Claire peered over her shoulder. Landon had sent her a picture message of a pair of bare feet half-buried in white sand, with
the outline of a sea creeping toward him and a bottle of Vitamin Water at his feet.

Massie removed her scarf and coat. She spread the scarf over the car seat and then propped herself up on her shoulders as
if she had been casually resting upon it the whole time.

Kristen knocked on the car window. “You coming?”

“Just a sec.” She pulled off her sunglasses, undid her bun, and re-glossed. Then she hit a button and the window rolled down.
She handed Claire her iPhone. “Can you take a shot of me? Shoulders up. No car interior. Go!”

Claire exchanged a quick, confused glance with Kristen but then shrugged and snapped the image. Massie’s face
transformed into the sunny embodiment of girl-without-a-care-in-the-world. It was a great pic, if Claire said so herself.
She couldn’t wait to show Cam how she’d used the angle to make Massie’s neck appear longer.

Massie took the phone and sent it to Landon with a message:
Spa day
.

Sometimes it amazed Claire how easily deception came to Massie. Or rather, how hard she was willing to work at making it look
easy. Instead of pitying or judging her, Claire admired her. There was no one else like Massie Block. No matter how much she
had—or didn’t have—she could always be counted on to make a regular day memorable.

“Let’s go.” Claire smiled, hooking her arm in Massie’s and leading her to Marshalls.

“Ehma-blind.” Massie recoiled when the fluorescent lights hit her in the face. “This place is lit like Seven-Eleven.”

Kristen rolled her eyes. “You get used to it. Shoes are to the left and straight ahead is the juniors department.” She led
Massie and Claire down the main aisle while Mrs. Gregory headed over to the housewares section.