My Little Phony - 13 (9 page)

“It’s so romantic!” Kristen whispered.

Just then, an ah-dorable little pug pranced on-screen. Bean sat straight up and started whimpering. Loudly.

“Shhh, Bean,” Massie whispered. “We’re trying to watch a movie.”

Two rows up, Gisele Hair turned around. She gasped when she saw Massie’s iPhone held up at eye level. She leaned over to her boyfriend, who had just popped a new piece of gum in his mouth.

The Mane turned around too, and scowled. “Are we going to end up on YouTube or something? What if my girlfriend sees?”

“Ew, gawd,” Massie said. “I’m filming the
movie
. And so should you. Your technique needs help.”

Gisele Hair narrowed her eyes at Massie. Then she grabbed her jacket and flounced up the aisle, The Mane at her heels.

A moment later Massie felt a tap on her shoulder. A pimply movie usher dressed in a red polyester blazer hovered at her side.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the usher said. “Were you video-taping a couple?”

“Ew, no!” Massie exclaimed. “Just the movie.” She pointed to the screen, where Genevieve and Olav were engaged in a passionate kiss
bonjour
. She held her iPhone up so she wouldn’t miss it.

“Ma’am,” he said, shuffling his pleather-loafered feet against the tacky theater floor. “Bootlegging is a federal offense.”

“Puh-lease. Bootleg jeans? Maybe two years ago, but if fashion crimes were really illegal, then…” She looked pointedly at his blazer.

“He’s talking about filming the movie,” Kristen whispered.

“Oh,” Massie whispered back.

The usher adjusted the sleeves of his jacket and took a few steps toward her. “Also, ma’am, we don’t allow dogs.” He
pointed the beam of his flashlight toward Bean. She quivered in Massie’s lap, probably frightened by how ugly the usher’s outfit was. Bean had a serious polyester phobia. “We’re going to have to ask you to leave the theater now.”

“But…” Massie pointed to the lip-kissing couple on-screen. “The movie isn’t over!”

The usher didn’t budge. He just crossed his arms. “Ma’am, please don’t make me call security.”

“Fine,” Massie said. She turned to Kristen. “Let’s go!”

They walked up the black-and-white–swirled carpet and passed Gisele Hair and The Mane, who’d relocated to the very back row. “Stalker,” Gisele Hair hissed.

Massie stopped short in her Tory Burch Gigi snow boots. “Excuse me, but are you pregnant?”

Gisele Hair’s hand flew to her stomach. The Mane’s jaw dropped so fast, his gum fell out of his mouth. “No,” Gisele Hair snapped.

“Then don’t kid yourself.”

While Kristen snickered softly, Massie tucked Bean under her arm like a football and marched outside to the snowy curb to phone Isaac to pick them up. Another movie had just released, and people in puffy coats and fUggs streamed into the parking lot.

Kristen sighed and snapped her lime green earmuffs over her lobes. “I bet we won’t get the extra credit now.”

But Massie just smiled and patted the lip kiss–containing iPhone in her jacket pocket.
Maybe you won’t,
she thought.
But I will.

After waving goodbye to Isaac and giving him strict instructions to wait for her five blocks away, Massie checked the final version of her Landon Lip Kiss outfit in the narrow windows on either side of the Cranes’ front door. It was perfect: a D&G black corset under a gray Theory blazer, paired with a dark denim pair of skinnys. It said,
I’m easy, breezy, beautiful, and lip-kissing an older man is no big deal to me.
Plus, the thick corset fabric was just the thing to muffle a loudly pounding heart. To amp up the flirt factor, she wore four-inch stacked Betsey Johnson heels. Pink toes peeked out from under her jeans.

“Okay, Bean, this is it.” She pressed the doorbell, which was brass and in the shape of a dog bone. They sold the bells exclusively at Bark Jacobs, and all the profits went to PETA.

A moment later, a smiling Mrs. Crane opened the door and ushered Massie inside the slate-floored entryway. Her dark hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, and her aqua eyes shone. “So good to see you, Massie! I hope you like mocha buttercream cake.” She kissed Massie lightly on each cheek, then knelt down to eye level with Bean and handed her a box. “And I hope
you
like macaroons!”

Bean lick-thanked Mrs. Crane’s arm and sniffed the box of imported Parisian puppy-macaroons. Massie opened the box so Bean could see the flavors: lemon, raspberry, and vanilla. Each was decorated with a tiny dog bone in real gold leaf.

“Arf!”
Bark Obama came scurrying from the kitchen into the parlor. The moment Bean saw him, she abandoned her macaroons, and the two dogs launched into a joyful barking and sniffing frenzy. They yelped and hopped, then gave each other lip kiss after lip kiss. Clearly neither had felt the need to practice for hours ahead of time, and clearly neither was nervous even though they hadn’t seen each other since before Thanksgiving.

Massie took a breath. If only it could be so easy for their owners.

“Landon’s in his room,” Mrs. Crane said, pointing to the stairs. “Let him know I’m cutting the birthday cake in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” Massie said, pushing her hand against her chest where her heart was trying to pound its way right out. She’d never actually been to Landon’s room, but she knew he had an olive-green duvet, chocolate-brown throw pillows, and a John Mayer poster over his bed, thanks to the SnoopDawg dog collar camera she’d used to spy on him in the early days of their crushship.

She forced herself to walk calmly to the staircase, timing her steps to the beat of Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” She faux-casually examined the black-and-white family photos on
the scarlet walls, like climbing a set of black-lacquered stairs to lip-kiss an older man was something she did every day—no more unique than re-glossing or debating the merits of bronzer versus spray tanning.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused, trying to remember everything she’d learned from
Liaisons Diaboliques
. She had watched the video on her iPhone at least a dozen times and had spent hours practicing. But suddenly, her mouth was as dry as the desert they’d studied in geography that morning—only she couldn’t remember the name of it because she had been too busy worrying about kissing Landon.

She took a step into the hallway. Downstairs, Bark and Bean barked happily and Mrs. Crane let out a throaty laugh. The upstairs was also painted red, but the black-and-white photos here were of Landon and his parents, starting from when he was a chubby baby with elephant rolls to the HART (hawt, alpha, rich, and toned) ninth-grader he was now.

Then she was at Landon’s bedroom door, which had a paw-printed
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
sign taped across it. Inhaling a final calming breath, she took out her secret weapon: Glossip Girl’s Vixen. It was a sheer, jasmine-scented gloss, the perfect combination of silky and smooth.

And then she knocked.

“Come in!”

Landon was sitting with his back to her, facing his computer desk. He wore a black-and-gray sweater over Diesel jeans. When her eyes worked their way down to his bright
green socks, she felt a crush-ing wave wash over her. Their black-and-gray outfits perfectly complemented each other’s.

Before she lost her nerve, she marched right up to him and spun his chair around, reminding herself that alphas were
always
in control. Massie envisioned herself like a pair of control-top Spanx: a quivering mess on the inside, but completely contained.

“Are you ready for your birthday present?” she asked, surprised her voice wasn’t shaking the way Bean did after her weekly bath.

Landon’s adorable blue-green eyes widened, but before he could say anything—and before Massie lost her nerve—she reached down, grabbed both sides of his face, parted her lips, and initiated the lean-in. His arms felt warm, and he smelled of L’Homme. Then she tilted her head the exact right number of degrees to the left.

She touched her lips to his.

Her heart blared like a royal trumpeter announcing the arrival of a new lip-kissing queen. She was doing it! She was finally lip-kissing a ninth-grader!

But to her surprise, Landon’s lips were as stiff as the Massiequin’s had been. When she’d kissed Derrington, his mouth had always felt soft, like overripe green grapes, while Landon’s was orange-rind hard. Was he nervous? Was he less experienced than she’d suspected?

Ehmagawd,
thought Massie.

Was she doing it wrong?

Her amber eyes snapped open. His blue ones were staring back at her. She’d learned in art class that if you drew the whites on all sides of the iris, your subjects wouldn’t look natural—they’d look scared. And that’s when she realized: Landon looked… panicked.

Her mind spun faster than the Truth or Dare app on her iPhone. Was there something on her face? Was it possible he didn’t like the taste of the Glossip Girl? Had she slobbered on him?

Then, from behind Landon, Massie heard a wobbly, older voice ask, “And who is this, dear?”

Huh?

Slowly, Massie peeked around Landon and came face-to-screen with his desktop. And right there on the open screen were two very sweet-looking old people, smiling thinly. One of them waved.

“Grandmom, Gramps, this is Massie Block, the girl I told you about.” Landon turned to her, the look of panic not yet gone from his face. “Massie, I was just G-video-chatting them to thank them for my birthday present.”

“Oh, my,” said his grandfather. “She sure is… fast.”

Fast?
Was that old people for
skanky
?

Landon’s grandmother frowned, the lines in her face as deep as the Grand Canyon. “Landon, I thought you said she was a
nice
girl.”

Massie felt like the pores on her face had exploded into flames. Her brain was functioning on slo-mo, and she’d lost all feeling in her lips. Through the haze she decided she could a)
pretend she was May-see, Massie’s vixeny twin sister, b) start choking and claim the kiss was simply life-saving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, c) laugh it off, as if she broadcast her lip kisses over the Internet
awl
the time, or d)…

RUN.

Without another glance at Landon, she spun on her Betsey Johnson heels, scrambled into the hallway, and clacked down the wooden steps—past the Zen-chic foyer, past a confused-looking Mrs. Crane (who shouted a confused “You’re not staying for cake?”), all the way out to the flagstone front walk. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the driveway that she realized she’d forgotten Bean.

“Arggg!” she whisper-groaned. But going back into the Crane household would be like choosing to shop at Payless: It was never going to happen. So she sent ESP waves to her pup, hoping Bean understood that she’d send Isaac to retrieve her in the morning.

As she glanced over her shoulder at the three-story brick house, for one brief moment she dared to dream that Landon might come after her with Bean in his arms, Kelly Clarkson’s “My Life Would Suck Without You” blaring from his iPhone, shouting for her to come back inside and eat cake and be her forever-crush.

But then she reached the end of the driveway.

And then the end of the street.

And then the end of the next one.

And the only thing following Massie was the sinking realization that her life was over.

It was Tuesday evening, one day after picking up the roaches at Karma Chameleon and T-minus ten minutes from placing them in their intended location. The Block Estate was dark and forbidding.

“You’re positive no one’s home?” Layne asked.

“We’re in the clear until at least eight thirty.” Earlier that evening, Claire had brought Isaac some of her mom’s famous hot chocolate and casually asked what he had on tap for the evening. After dropping Kendra and William at a fundraiser at the country club at seven fifteen, he’d said, he would be escorting Massie to Landon Crane’s house for birthday cake, all the while waiting five blocks away in case Bean got a case of doggie-sushi and had to be taken home. Then he’d narrowed his bushy brows at Claire and asked why she’d wanted to know. “No reason,” she’d squeaked. “Just making conversation.”

Now, Claire stood in the hard-packed snow directly below her former alpha’s bedroom. For a second, she literally froze—from guilt, not the cold. The temperature was in the teens, and her breath puffed from her lips in a steady stream. An owl hooted accusingly overhead, and the bare, snow-covered brambles in the flower beds seemed to shake their branches at her in disapproval. Even Massie’s darkened windows one story up
seemed to reflect the darkness in Claire’s soul. But then Claire reminded herself who had bugged whom first, and she handed the habitat up to Layne with more bravado then she felt.