Claire (9 page)

“Welcome, Judge Lyons. My name is Gracie. Don’t you look beautiful this evening?” A perky redhead wearing a dusty pink gown covered in purple flowers approached Claire at the end of the carpet and gave her a tall lemonade. “Thirsty?”

Claire accepted the frosty glass graciously. If Massie had still been there, Claire would have winked and mouthed, “Butt kiss.”

“It’s an honor to have you here. I loved your movie. My name is Gracie—oh, I already told you that, didn’t I? I’ll be competing on Saturday. I’ve been rehearsing nonstop, and I’m really hoping there’s a dance round.” She eyed Claire’s judge’s notebook. “I think I’ll really shine in that.”

“You’re off to a great start.” Massie came up behind Gracie, sipping a bottle of Perrier. “You may want to consider some pressed powder on your T-zone. It’s oily times ten.”

“Darn Proactiv!” Gracie’s green eyes fluttered as she frantically palmed her face.

Claire gasp-dragged her friend away. “Thanks for the lemonade,” she called to Gracie. “And good luck on Saturday.”

She pulled Massie through the dense crowd toward the band, trying her best to return the friendly smiles she encountered along the way without appearing to be choosing any favorites.

In the distance, near the dunking booth, SAS were slowly and stiffly walking past Vonda Tillman, editor of the
Kissimmee Daily News
–slash–Miss Kiss judge, trying to make their first impression.

Claire giggled and steered Massie to an empty corner behind the stage. Once they were safely surrounded by noncompeting dancing guests, Claire would work up the nerve to give Massie a lecture on respecting her town and the people who lived in it. But when she saw the wood steps of the stage—the stage where she would be seated in less than a week—Claire touched her heart and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m a
judge
.” Her wide blue eyes seemed to look through the bobbing musicians and fix on an imaginary scene. “Do you know what an
honor
this is?”

“Yes,
your
honor.” Massie smirked. Her teeth looked extra white against her bronze skin.

“There’s our best friend!” Amandy had abandoned trying to impress Vonda and was now elbowing her way past Massie to throw her arms around Claire.

Sari and Sarah danced up as well, subtly nudging Massie to the outside of their circle.

Claire checked to make sure Lorna was at a safe distance before she acknowledged them.

“Wow, you guys look ah-mazing!” Claire whisper-blurted. She had tried not to talk like the Pretty Committee while she was with SAS, but after spending all day with Massie, gossiping about the people back home, it just kind of happened.

“Do you think we made a good first impression?” Sarah twirled on her heel. Her mint green halter dress spun around her calves, and orange glitter specks fell from her wrists like fairy dust. Sari was wearing the same dress in peach, with pink wrist glitter, and Amandy had accented her lavender dress with blue wrist glitter. They looked like a new girl group fixing to take the stage after Carbon Footprint.

“Those dresses remind me of grocery store cupcakes,” Massie stated flatly, making it hard for the girls to be certain if it was a compliment or an insult.

“Your outfit reminds me of a biker funeral,” Amandy hissed.

“Well, your eyebrows—I mean,
eyebrow
—reminds me of a—”

“We’re going to take a short break!” announced the black-haired lead singer as he wiped his forehead with his peace-sign sweatband.

The dancers moaned their disappointment, then shuffled off in search of beverages, leaving Claire and her illegal conversation exposed.

“So what are this year’s rounds?” Sari reached for the red leather binder.

Quickly, Claire ducked behind a tall speaker. “I can’t tell you that now. It’s against the rules,” she whisper-shouted. “I can’t even be seen with you.”

“Makes sense to me.” Massie smirked at Amandy.

“And what makes
you
so special?” Sari asked in her most nasal voice.

“DNA,” Massie fired back.

Claire leaned against the speaker, closed her eyes, and shook her head like a weary parent.

“Well, your DNA wouldn’t even get you past the first round of Miss Kiss,” Sari huffed.

Claire bit her other thumbnail.

“Um, Scary?”

“It’s
Sari
.”

“Not only would I make it past the first round, I’d win.”

Claire’s heart began to pound. She closed her eyes. She didn’t have to see the alpha to know where this was going.

“You have to be a local to enter,” Amandy stated.

“I’ll use Kuh-laire’s address.”

“You have to have talent,” Sarah tried.

“I
am
talent.”

“The contest is closed.” Sari insisted.

“I don’t think that will be a problem.”

What?

Claire peeked out from behind the speaker. Massie was storming through the crowd heading straight for Lorna Crowley Brown.

“Is she serious?” Amandy knit her thick brows.

Claire wanted to answer
yes!
but was too mortified to speak.

Massie broke up a conversation between Lorna, a dad, and some young hopeful wearing a tiara and a mini sash that said,
FUTURE MISS KISS
.

Massie tilted her head to the side, projecting sweet sincerity. But Lorna shook her head no.

“Ha!” Amandy blurted.

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. She was already caught between Massie and SAS. Imagine having to make it official by casting votes! The thought alone made her intestines twist and turn into what felt like a big skull and crossbones.
DANGER
, indeed.

Instead of turning on her kitten heel and marching back, Massie twirled her purple hair streak around her finger. Lorna’s eyes widened. She ran her hand through her black blowout, then made a quick call on her cell.

Seconds later they shook hands.

SAS shook their heads.

And Claire just shook.

SAKS FIFTH AVENUE
7687 N. KENDALL DRIVE, MIAMI, FL

Monday, August 10 2:56 P.M.

The three-and-a-half-hour limo ride from Orlando to Miami was still not enough to vanquish the moldy smell of Mrs. Crane’s fish tank from Claire’s nostrils. A shower would have helped. Or the chance to change out of her denim cutoffs and sweat-stained tee, but Massie and her hired driver had stalked the T-Odd Jobs crew from house to house, begging them to hurry so Massie could go shopping.

On the endless ride, Massie shared stories of her short career as a top seller at Be Pretty cosmetics, while Claire nodded like someone who was listening. Instead, she was trying to figure out a way to judge the Miss Kiss pageant
and
keep her friends.

Finally, the limo turned onto Kendall Drive.

“. . . It turns out the LBRs weren’t beyond repair after all. Because I was turning threes into eights, fives into nines, and eights into tens. And it wasn’t that hard. Just a little constructive criticism and ah
lot
of makeup.” Massie checked her gloss in her YSL compact.

At first, the mere mention of numbers sent Claire’s teeth straight for her longest nail. How could she possibly give one of her friends a higher score than another?

“. . . So on average I turned every LBR into an eight, at least. . . .” Massie flicked a random piece of gold glitter off her purple and white–striped slouchy tunic.

That’s it!

And just like that, Claire had her solution. She’d give all of her friends eights. Then she wouldn’t have to choose between them. And eight was their lucky number, so . . .

Problem solved!

She wanted to lean across the shiny black leather interior and hug-thank Massie for the inspiration. . . .

But wait . . .

How could she possibly give Massie and Amandy the same score in the Beauty round when Amandy’s brows looked like bangs? How could she give Sari an eight in the Speed Question-and-Answer round when
her
answers took
days
? And how could she make anyone with working eyes believe that Sarah’s “Physical Interpretation of a Serious World Issue” wasn’t intended to be a slapstick comedy?

“How did you
make
them eights if, you know, they were, say, threes?” Claire asked Massie as they stepped out of the limo in front of the department store.

“Easy.” Massie turned and wagged her iPhone, indicating to the driver that she’d call when they were done. “I told them the truth.”

“Which was?”

“Which was, ‘You’re ugly, but don’t worry, because I can help.’” Massie charged past the throngs of salespeople threatening to sample-spritz them with the new fall perfumes. “Hurry!”

Massie grabbed Claire’s arm and pulled her to the safety of the elevators. As soon as the doors closed behind them, she pressed her nose into Claire’s white blond hair and inhaled. “All clear.”

She held out a handful of her glossy brown hair. “Me?”

Claire leaned in and sniffed for perfume. “They got you.” She waved away the light scent of flowers.

Normally she would have lied to the alpha, just to keep her in a good mood. But she had a lot of truth-telling to do in the next week and needed all the practice she could get.

Massie pulled her hair to her nose. “Marc Jacobs. Daisy. It’s fine.”

Claire smiled to herself. She could do this . . . so long as Lorna Crowley Brown didn’t find out.

The floor Massie chose was filled with starved mannequins looking glamorously blasé in the new season’s crop of designer wear. The colors were bright and the—

“Done!” Massie announced.

“What?” Claire giggled. “Already?”

“Yup.” She held up a black silk V-neck Geren Ford dress with ruching down the front. “It’s perfect.”

And it was. For New York City cocktail parties or front-row seats at fashion week. But not for Miss Kiss. The shiny black silk with its plunging neckline and rib-hugging pleats did not say,
I’m a fresh, innocent flower who would be honored and humbled to represent Kissimmee, Florida, and act as a mentor for your young daughters and troubled youth.
It said,
I’m bringing SexyBack.

And in order for Claire to make her friends EW (EightWorthy), she’d have to toughen up and attempt the impossible. She’d have to give Massie Block clothing advice.

“How about this one?” Claire held up a dusty rose dress made of soft jersey material. Its floor-length skirt was comprised of three tiers, the third of which looked like satin. “It’s Theory!” she announced, knowing Massie had a soft spot for their sweaters.

“It’s
pink
!” Massie jumped back as if it were somehow contagious.

“Listen.” Claire whisper-searched the perimeter as she inched toward Massie. “As a judge, I’m not allowed to give advice to Kiss competitors, but since it’s you, I’ll—”

“Since it’s
me
, you’ll give me the best score no matter what,
right
?” Massie threw the black dress over her shoulder.

“I can’t just do that.” Claire hung the Theory back on the rack. “It has to look believable. And no one is going to believe I gave you a high score if you wear
that
.”

“Why nawt?” Massie took a step toward the register.

“Because,” Claire huffed, “it doesn’t say Miss Kiss. It says Miss Thang. And that’s not what this pageant is about.”

“So you’re saying to be a good role model I have to look bad?”

“No.” Claire suddenly felt like crying. Why couldn’t Massie understand that Claire was trying to help? “Why do you want to be in the Miss Kiss anyway?” she blurted. “You’ve been making fun of it ever since you got here.”

“Because I want to win.” Masse rolled her eyes like it should have been obvious.

Before Claire had a chance to respond, her cell phone vibrated. She turned her back on Massie to read the text.

Sarah: Denver can drop us at your house now. Ready?

Claire’s skin prickled with heat. Her heart revved. Her hands dampened. How could she have forgotten? She’d promised SAS she’d help them buy pageant makeup. Even if she left now, she wouldn’t be home until dinnertime.

Her eyes scanned the store. Massie was by the cash register digging through her white Juicy Couture Alpha handbag, clearly in search of her wallet. Claire wondered what Massie would do in a situation like this. But the answer was obvious. She would
never
be caught between two groups of feuding friends, trying to please everyone.

Massie simply wouldn’t care.

Claire: Stuck on a job until 6 pm. Can we go tomorrow?

After a long pause, Sarah finally responded.

Sarah: Fine. But SHE better not be there.

Claire snapped her rhinestone-encrusted cell closed.

“You ready? I could use a latte.” Massie hooked her shopping bag over her shoulder and pulled Claire over to the escalator. “Tomorrow let’s try to find a decent spa.”

Claire eyed the overflowing tissue paper in Massie’s Saks bag with contempt but flashed her most agreeable smile. She had the long drive back to learn how to tell the truth . . . or dream up her next big lie.

THE LYONSES’ HOUSE
KISSIMMEE, FL

Tuesday, August 11 10:16 A.M.

Massie rolled down the window of the limo and poked her head out. Bean hopped onto her lap and rested her chin on the window frame. “Remind me again why you have to work?”

Claire waved to her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Bower, who was peering through the hedges, wondering why a black stretch was parked in the Lyonses’ driveway.

“I have to work to make money,” Claire said, like they had been through this a thousand times.

“How about I pay you to come with me?” Massie adjusted the air-conditioning vent so that it blew on her face.

“Todd needs me,” Claire lied. The truth was, she’d paid him twenty dollars to let her take the day off and not tell Massie. “Some woman hired us to go through her trash and pull out all of the recyclables. It’s gross, but she’s a regular client so—”

“So you’ll be here when we get back?” Massie scratched behind Bean’s ears.

“Pinky swear.”

They shook.

Claire handed the driver an address through his open window, which he immediately entered into his GPS. It was for Kim’s Global News & Sundries—a well-stocked international newsstand in Tampa that sold papers and magazines from all over the world. Somehow Claire had managed to convince Massie that she would have a leg up in the Physical Interpretation of World Events round if she interpreted a world event that Americans knew nothing about. There were a couple of local shops with the same international papers, but Claire needed all the Massie-free time she could get. And Kim’s was two hours away.