Claire (13 page)

I tried to help you all equally, I swear . . . Eights all the way . . . Our lucky number! Voting for Gracie was the only fair thing I could do.

While she waited anxiously for a response, Claire searched the crowd for Massie, wondering if SAS had told her the news, praying they hadn’t. Claire’s eyes finally locked on Massie, who was greeting her admirers. But if they had told her, the alpha seemed far from concerned as she and Bean posed for pictures for the press and a cluster of fans.

Claire jumped when her phone vibrated loudly on the table.

Amandy: Was it fair the way U “helped” Sari by telling her to pinch herself? Or told Sarah 2 dance like an earthquake? Or me 2 get my brows ripped out with burning hot wax? Admit it. U wanted us to lose so UR BFF Massie could win.

Claire: I was trying to help!!!!!!

Claire wiped the tears from her eyes, wishing SAS could see her. Maybe then they’d know how wrong they were.

But it was too late.

Amandy was in the distance, showing Lorna the text message she had just received.

Instantly, Lorna fixed her eyes on Claire. She stuck out her neck, bent slightly, and, like a raging bull, charged straight for her.

“Is this true?” She waved Amandy’s cell in front of Claire’s wet blue eyes.

The press began to gather. Then other Kisses. And then Massie.

“Did you
fix
the contest?” Her cheeks were flushed and her
J
-bob had flattened to an
I
.

“Um, no?” Claire tried.

“Then explain
this
.” Lorna began reading the text while the press scribbled her words on the backs of their programs.

The crowd gasped, and Bean yipped loudly when Lorna read the part about Massie.

“Your judge days are
over
, Miss Lyons.” Lorna tore up Claire’s stipend check for the cameras. “Just like your film career.”

“But—” Claire tried, but a big saliva bubble came out of her mouth where all the right words should have been.

Mayor Reggie, Vonda, and the rest of the crowd glared at Claire as if she’d just peed in the public pool. Tears began trickling down her face. Not only for the lost friends or the lost check. But for the lost hope. This was the last time she’d ever do anything for anyone again.

The only person who seemed to appreciate her was Gracie, who failed to realize that removing Claire’s vote made it a tie. And a tie meant the audience at the Miss Kiss Coronation Ball tomorrow night would decide the winner. No, Gracie didn’t quite get that yet. Because she thank-hugged Claire so hard, the coarse tulle from her yellow dress scratched a big red mark right in the middle of her forehead, shaped like an
L
.

THE LYONSES’ HOUSE
KISSIMMEE, FL

Saturday, August 15 5:07 P.M.

No one said a word on the car ride home. Not even Todd. There were no lectures on fairness and honesty. No inquiries as to what Claire could have possibly been thinking. No suggestions on how she could mend her broken friendships. Everyone just focused on the Carrie Underwood CD Judi had gotten last Mother’s Day and let Claire cry in peace.

When they got home, Massie’s limo was in the driveway. Jay mumbled something to his wife, then parked on the street.

Knowing Massie was home filled Claire with the same kind of anxiety she got when someone told her they had a surprise for her. Like something dangerous might be lurking . . .

“Dinner’s in an hour,” Judi announced when they entered the air-conditioned house. Everyone nodded, then went their separate ways.

Claire stood alone in the foyer and sighed. Was it her imagination or did the white wicker hallway furniture seem disappointed in her too?

Wearily and with grave heaviness, she climbed the peach-carpeted stairs as if underwater, desperate to collapse on the AeroBed and document her sadness with a series of self-portraits she’d call “Kiss This!”

When she reached the second floor, the sight of her bedroom door made her tear up all over again. Covered in old Hello Kitty stickers, it reminded her of happier times. Easier times. Times filled with innocent laughter shared by four best friends with one brain.

Bracing herself, Claire pressed her ear against Tropical Island Kitty but heard nothing. Maybe Massie wasn’t home. Or maybe she was lying in bed watching
Gossip Girl
on her iPod, waiting to laugh about the whole thing. After all, she hadn’t even heard of Miss Kiss until a week ago.

Claire reached for her doorknob. It was now or—

LOCKED!

“Massie?” she jiggled the knob.

“Go away!” Massie called.

In an instant, Claire’s sadness switched to anger like she was changing tracks on a playlist. “This is
my
room!”

“You take from me, I take from you.”

“What did I take from you?” Claire yelled at Scuba Kitty.

“I was the best,” Massie insisted through the door. “I should have won.”

Claire kicked Disco Kitty with her Ked. “Let me in and I’ll explain!”

“Explain what?” Massie asked, opening the door a crack. Claire’s room was covered in clothes. “Why you betrayed me?”

The alpha was wearing a black satin robe, her face covered in a green mud mask. All she needed was a broomstick and—

“Gawd, I have
nuh-thing
to wear to the ball tomorrow!” She kicked a red Valentino dress that accidentally landed on Bean’s bed. The dog woke with a start, looked around, then curled up and lowered her head in chiffon.

“What do you mean? There are clothes everywhere,” Claire pointed out, happy to change the subject. She could hear her mom shuffling around in the kitchen downstairs.

“These are for
winners
, Kuh-laire.” Massie picked up a purple Marni blouse and tossed it over her head. “Ugh!”

“But you
are
a winner,” Claire said, stepping over a sea foam green Marc Jacobs tote to enter her room.

Massie stopped and looked at Claire, her amber eyes smoldering. “What if I lose that audience vote? Then I’ll be a number two. And I have no idea how to dress like a number two.” She folded her arms across her chest and opened her mouth, which was starting to tighten from the mask. “Any advice?”

“Massie, I’m sorry.” Claire looked at the white shag, willing the burning feeling behind her eyeballs to go away.

“For what? Voting for a yellow-wearing stranger? Or telling me you were working all week while you were helping your
real
friends.”

Claire’s stomach flipped. “How do you know about that?”

Massie grabbed a fistful of hundred-dollar bills off her night table. “Benjamin here managed to get it out of your brother.”

Claire felt like she was falling off a cliff and everyone she knew was leaning over the edge, happily waving goodbye. “I was trying to—”

“Well, whatever you were
trying
to do didn’t work,” Massie spat through her tightening lips. “Unless your goal was to make Gracie win.”

Something inside Claire snapped.

“Why are you so upset?” she heard herself shout. “You don’t even live here. You didn’t grow up dreaming about this contest. You didn’t even know what it was until you randomly showed up.”

Massie opened her mouth. Tiny fissures cracked the surface of her mask. “I’m upset, Kuh-laire, because I flewhereaftermy parentsblewmeoffforsomelameEuro-cruiseandwhenIgothere mythingswerebeingransackedbyabunchofdirtylocalsandthen youditch-liedtomeallweeksoyoucouldhangwiththemandthen youvotedforGracie!”

For a minute, Claire stopped breathing.

She forgot all about SAS and the pageant and Gracie and the number eight. Massie had never shared her feelings like that before. Even though she’d referred to Claire’s friends as dirty locals, her confession was rarer than steak tartare and touching times ten.

Claire placed a sympathetic hand on Massie’s robed shoulder. She couldn’t imagine being left to fend for herself while her parents took a joyride around the Mediterranean. “Did your parents really blow you off?”

Massie wiggled out from under her grip. “Relax, Dr. Phil. They bought me a ticket. I didn’t want to go.”

“Oh.” Claire’s compassion snapped back like a retractable tape measure. “I was just trying to be a good friend.”

“Like you even know what that means,” Massie mumbled, tightening her belt around her waist.

Claire’s eyes welled up with tears. She wanted to race for the comfort of her bed, but it had been taken over by Massie and Bean. So she paced, mindfully avoiding the designer land mines that dotted her floor like a war zone.

“Just so you know, the only reason I agreed to be a judge in the first place was so I could get the check and buy the clothes on your stupid back-to-school shopping list! But for what? So I could trade in my Keds for Kors? Gawd, I don’t even know if I like Mitchell Kors.”

“Michael,”
Massie mumbled through the hardened mask.

Claire stepped over a Louboutin flat. “I have no idea
what
I like anymore. Who I like. What I wear. Who I am!” She pulled her blond hair in frustration.

“Add a
B
and an
R
to that
L
on your forehead and you’ll know who you are.” Massie sat down next to Bean and stroked her silky ears.

Claire smirked. “I already told you: I was just trying to be a good friend.” Her voice was a little calmer now.

“To who?” Massie asked like a ventriloquist, her mouth barely moving. “Those girls? Gawd, Kuh-laire, they don’t deserve you. If they were such good friends, they wouldn’t be blaming you for their own mistakes.”

“You’re right.” Claire smiled brightly, like the warm sun after a violent storm. “Thanks.” She paused. “So you forgive me?”

“Puh-lease!” Massie’s mask cracked. Green mud chips fell to the carpet. “You are so out of the Pretty Committee.”

“What?
Why?
” Claire swallowed hard, pushing her beating heart back down into her chest.
Out
of the PC? She felt a quake of nausea and grabbed the door frame for support. Why didn’t anyone understand she’d just been trying to help? “You just said they were lame for blaming me. And now you’re—”

Massie crossed her legs and narrowed her eyes under her mask. “Unlike your FLBRs, I’m not blaming you because I sucked and I can’t admit it. I’m blaming you because I was the best and you didn’t pick me.” She glared at Claire with the confidence of someone whose face wasn’t flaking all over her robe. “I just want what I deserve.”

“Well, so do I.” Claire held her ground.

“You already got what you deserved, Kuh-laire!” Massie grabbed her Chanel face wash and slammed the door behind her, leaving Claire all alone to deal with the mess.

TOHO SQUARE
HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE

Sunday, August 16 7:11 P.M.

Claire gazed up at the dark clouds over Toho Square and pray-begged for a hurricane. The forecast called for showers, but not until midnight. Which wouldn’t help at all. She needed a way out,
now
.

Her parents weren’t buying the whole stomach-bug excuse; rather, they’d stopped buying it once Claire mowed down an entire container of KFC macaroni salad for lunch. She’d claimed a migraine around four o’clock, and then had gotten busted blasting Ashlee Simpson’s “Rule Breaker” in her bedroom. At six, she’d broken down and admitted the real reason she didn’t want to go to the Miss Kiss crowning: Everyone hated her. But that didn’t work either. Her father grabbed Claire by the shoulders, gave her a slight shake, and then asked:

“What’s your last name?”

“Lyons,” Claire mumbled.

“And what do Lyons do?”

“Roar.”

“I can’t hear you,” Jay bellowed.

“RRRROAR!” Claire managed.

“Good.” Jay released his grip, satisfied. “I know it’s been tough for you the last few weeks. And I know you made some decisions you regret. So show up at the ball tonight, apologize to the people you hurt, and move on, Claire-Bear.”

The childish nickname made her tear up.

“If you act like it’s over, they’ll act like it’s over. And before you know it everyone will move on to the next scandal.” He stated it like it was no big deal to be publicly shamed in the town square, then disowned by your friends. “Now go get dressed—we don’t want to be late. Massie spent all day at the spa getting ready and we want to be there on time to support her.”

Claire zipped up last summer’s multicolored striped J.Crew dress, wondering why Massie needed
support
after spa-ing all day. Wasn’t it Claire who’d risked her reputation to help her friends, and then gotten dumped, fired, and scorned? Where was
her
support?

But, as always, she took her father’s advice and feigned pride while she waited at the gates of Toho Square to cast her audience vote for Miss Kiss. And this time there was no question whose name she’d write on the ballot.

The scene was magical: Red China balls hung from the sleepy branches of the square’s weeping willows. A festive gold tent covered the chairs that faced the stage. Anticipation—or was it the random whips of lightning?—made the humid, almost metallic-scented air feel electrically charged. Dogs barked in the distance. Bursts of children’s laughter added punch to the steady hum of mingle-chatter. And violin music tied it all together into one charming little package. . . .

Or at least, it
would
have been charming if all the guests hadn’t been whisper-pointing at Claire as she inched her way inside.

While her brother offered free T-Odd Jobs calendars to anyone with hands and her parents greeted their friends, Claire channeled her inner Britney. She was bouncing back from her scandals, wasn’t she? Claire held her chin high, trying to act like she had just as much right to be there as anyone else.

When she reached the voting table, she nodded hello to Lorna, and held her ballot over the box to—

“What do you think you’re doing?” A plump, French-manicured hand swatted Claire’s wrist away.

“Voting,” Claire managed despite her sudden case of dry mouth.

“Not here, you’re not.” Lorna plucked the paper from Claire’s hand, read it, and then tossed it in the trash.

A young mother-daughter team snickered into their palms while an eight-year-old boy loser-sneezed nearby.