These Boots Are Made for Stalking (15 page)

“No. Seriously.” Massie knelt to the floor, patting the girl’s feet dry. Lifting the hem of her jeans, she checked the ankles.
Nothing.

“Um, you really don’t have to do that.” The girl was starting to look weirded out. She jammed her change into the vending
machine, retrieved her snack, and hurried down the hall.

Defeated, Massie rose to her feet. “Not her.”

“There has gawt to be an easier way to do this,” Alicia sighed, kicking the fallen envelope out of her path. It slid toward
the gap underneath the vending machine.

Massie lowered her ballet flat onto the paw printed flap just in time. Then she crouched down and picked up the envelope,
unfolding the invitation inside as carefully as if it were an ancient treasure map.

1st Annual

PUP-A-PALOOZA

Music Fest & Charity Auction

Hosted by the Abner Doubleday Day Kennel Club

WHO:
You and your puppy!

WHERE:
Westchester Dog Park

WHEN:
Saturday, November 15th, 8 p.m.

WHY:
’Cause we
to party with our puppies!!

FEATURING:
Live music, complimentary pet spa

services, an auction benefitting the Westchester

Humane Society, and much, much, more…

** Regrets: Text “Pup-A-Pa-Loser” to 917.555.0817

The tension throbbing in Massie’s body began to ease instantly. Maybe fate really had intervened. Now she knew exactly where
to find her target. And if Ankle-Bird wouldn’t come to her, well, then she’d go to Ankle-Bird.

Smiling into the four-way mirror in the sprawling BCBG dressing area, eight Massie Blocks tilted their heads to the right,
examining the eleventh outfit of the afternoon: a rib-squeezing navy minidress with a sequined asymmetrical hem.

The original Massie snuck a shallow breath and admired her bronzed shoulders in the soft lighting. “Does this say ‘ninth-grade
charity benefit’ or ‘eighth-grade semiformal’?” She turned around to consult the Pretty Committee, who were lounging on the
floor of the minimalist dressing room, balancing recharging triple-shot lattes on their knees. Glossy shopping bags brimming
with expertly folded wardrobe options littered the gold carpet.

Alicia sat against one of the mirrored panels. She examined Massie with the solemn focus of a
Project Runway
guest judge. But before she could respond, her iPhone pulsed with a text. She lifted her left index finger, the way Kendra
did when she was on a call.

“Aidan’s going to Pup-A-Palooza too!” she announced, batting her lashes at the screen. “And he wants to know if I’m going!”

Massie jammed her hand on her hip. “Leesh. Benefit or semiformal?”

“Pluuuuus he wants to know if I’m bringing my puppy!” she squealed, slapping the soles of her black Pour La Victoire over-the-knee
boots on the carpet.

“You don’t have a puppy,” Dylan reminded her.

“So? I’ll get one.” Alicia dipped into the reject pile next to her, lifting a moss-green spaghetti-strap gown and draping
it over her skinny charcoal cords. The hazy green hue made her dark eyes gleam. “What kind of puppy goes with green silk?”

Kristen swatted Alicia’s silk-covered thigh.

“Do you girls need help in here?” A smoky-eyed salesgirl in low-rise black pants and a purple silk tank popped her head into
the dressing area. She eyed the pile of dresses on the floor with disdain. “You know, you’re only allowed six items in the—”

“Do you have this one in a smaller size?” Alicia tossed the spaghetti-strap dress toward the doorway, obviously just trying
to get the girl out of her hair.

“And this one!” Dylan balled up the ivory sheath and giggle-pitched it.

“Wait!” Kristen flung a bronze maxidress in the sheath’s wake.

“I’ll check,” the girl sighed.

“So has Landon texted if he’s going?” Dylan gulped her free-trade latte, then plunked her cardboard cup down at Massie’s feet.
A few drops leapt from the cup and soaked the puffy gold carpet fibers. Option number four, a cream one-shoulder sheath, was
draped over a wingback chair by the doorway. Dylan yanked it free and used it to dab at the carpet stain.

Massie turned back toward her reflection in the mirror. “He hasn’t decided yet,” she lied, eyeing her silent, dark cell, which
was nestled on top of her pumpkin Chloé Forever bag for easy retrieval. Her minidress was starting to feel tighter by the
second, like she’d just hit the Cinnabon in the food court—hard. Why hadn’t Landon called or text-invited her to the benefit?
Were they nawt exclusive? Did he want to see other crushes?

“What if he takes Ankle-Bird?” Alicia wondered aloud. Then she slapped her palm over her mouth.

Massie narrowed her amber eyes at her friend.

“So how’re you gonna find her Saturday night?” Dylan asked quickly.

“I don’t know,” Massie admitted, biting her lower lip. “I have to figure out a way to check all the ankles at the—”

“Luke’s band’s playing Saturday night!” Dylan cut Massie off, distracted by her cell. Then she nudged Alicia’s thigh with
the tip of her round-toe wedges and gasped, obviously forgetting about Massie’s dilemma. “What if he asks me to hang backstage
with the other rock-star crushes?”

“Opposite of fair!” Alicia pouted.

“Bring me!” Kristen begged.

Massie wanted to stomp her bare foot on the carpet as hard as she could, then demand that the girls focus on her for the rest
of the afternoon. They seemed to have forgotten that if it weren’t for her, they’d still be same-grading at soccer practice
instead of upgrading at a benefit. She cleared her throat and tried one more time.

“Does this say, ‘BE-NUH-FIT’ or ‘SEH-MEE-FOR-MAL’?” she blared.

Finally, the PC quieted, shifting their gazes in her direction.

“Neither.” Dylan eyed the sequined hem. “It says, ‘V-V-V-VEGAS, BABY!’”

Alicia and Kristen exploded into giggles, turning their attention back to their phones and texting like there was no tomorrow.

Massie whirled back around, taking a second look. Horrified, she realized that her friends were right. The sequins practically
belted out showgirl, while the hem length suggested another Vegas-friendly occupation. She reached for her latte and chugged
half its contents, braving the scorching pain that seared her throat. Was she losing it? Cracking under the pressure of finding
the perfect charity auction–crashing outfit? Or had the expedition to ADD exhausted the fashion sense right out of her?

As she stared at the sequined BCBG monstrosity, she mentally inventoried all the possible disasters that could ensue if Landon
showed up to Pup-A-Palooza with Ankle-Bird instead of Massie. For one thing, the entire ninth grade would know that she was
crush-minus. And with Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen moving on to ninth-grade crushes, where would that leave Massie? Stuck hanging
with Claire and Cam?

Massie grabbed her iPhone. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

Massie:
Plans Sat. Nite? Bean & I r having movie nite if u want 2 join.

She tried to ignore the sinking feeling that came every time she thought about the fact that Landon had never even mentioned
Pup-A-Palooza, let alone invited her. What was he trying to hide? She stared at the screen, willing it to buzz. It worked.

Landon:
Can’t.
Dinner w/ the parents. Wish we could hang out tho… maybe Sunday?

Massie reread the last line six times, the words more affirming than a commission-driven salesgirl. Derrington and Dempsey
never would have come right out and told her they wanted to hang out with her alone. But ninth-grade boys didn’t play games.
And neither would she, as soon as she found Ankle-Bird. As much as she hated the idea of showing up solo to her very first
high school party, maybe things were better this way. With Landon MIA, she could focus 100 percent on the hunt for Ankle-Bird…

A freckled redhead in braided pigtails appeared in the doorway, holding a magenta tulle skirt.

“Occupied,” Massie barked, without taking her eyes away from her phone.

“But…” Confused, the girl eyed the aisle of vacant white dressing cubes past the mirror.

“Save yourself the trouble,” Kristen advised, slathering her lips with her new Smashbox gloss. “Not your color anyway.”

In a huff of pink tulle, the girl stalked out of the dressing room.

“Ladies, I have an idea,” Massie announced.

Kristen, Dylan, and Alicia turned to face her, and Massie was back where she belonged—in the spotlight. And after Massie dealt
with Ankle-Bird, her upgrade would be complete—and just like her betas recognized her as their leader, Landon would realize
there was no better crush, or animal supporter, than Massie Block.

“Me first.” Layne hovered excitedly over the giant chrome eight ball bolted to a display stand at the front of Brookstone.
Pressing her palms on both sides of the ball, she screwed her eyes shut. “Ummmm… willmeandDempseyenduptogether?”

Claire shook her head, plucking a green gummy from the waxy paper bag in her palm. “You know those things don’t really work,
right?” she asked glumly, releasing the gummy onto her outstretched tongue. But if she’d been alone, she would have asked
the eight ball if she was doomed to live the rest of her middle school days in social purgatory, hovering on the outskirts
of the Pretty Committee, with no new friends to show for the sacrifice.

And right now, it seemed like the eight ball’s answer would be
No duh, Claire.
That’s what she got for trying to branch out. Did she really think she could find better friends than the Pretty Committee?
And did she think she could do it without hurting Massie’s feelings?

“Shhhhh.” Layne scrunched her features together, making her face look a little too much like Bean’s. Claire was suddenly reminded
of Massie’s trip to ADD earlier that day. A terrifying thought forced its way into her mind: What if the PC had fallen so
in love with high school, they’d decided to transfer, ay-sap? The gummy suddenly felt like lead on her tongue.

“The outcome is highly unlikely,” bleated the eight ball’s electronic robot voice.

Layne’s eyes snapped open. “This one’s busted,” she informed a passing pimply-faced sales associate. “You should probably
bring out a new one, um… Darrell,” she said, squinting at the name tag pinned to the employee’s polo shirt.

Darrell eyed the neon orange Doritos fingerprints on the side of the ball.

“Come on, Layne,” Claire said quickly. “Let’s go check out the karaoke machines.”

She dragged her friend away from the eight ball, trying to shake the sinking, anxiety-filled, boulder-in-the-pit-of-her-stomach
feeling that came on when she thought about the Pretty Committee’s new ninth-focused lives. She reminded herself that if they
could move on to bigger and better things, so could she. Only those bigger and better things would still be in eighth.