These Boots Are Made for Stalking (16 page)

“Do you think Cam would use an alarm clock that wakes him up with a recording of my voice?” Claire paused in front of a neatly
stacked display pyramid, standing on tiptoe to reach the box at the very top. “Or is that creepy?”

“Creeeeeeeeeeeepy,” breathed Darth Vader’s voice from a pair of surround-sound speakers next to Claire.

“Look at this thing!” Layne gushed, waving a wireless mic over her head. “It has settings for, like, five hundred different
character voices. Listen to this one.” She programmed a number into the keypad on the mic and raised it to her lips.

“KUH-LAIRE.”

Claire doubled over laughing at Layne’s spot-on impression of Massie, backing into the display. The cardboard pyramid toppled
to the floor as feedback from the mic squealed throughout the store.

Eeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

“Ahhhhh!” Layne ditched the mic and plugged her ears.

An elderly woman eyeing a digital photo display next to her turned down her hearing aid and hobbled out of earshot.

“Ehmagawd!” Claire dropped to her knees amid the rubble, trying to restack the boxes. But she was laughing so hard, tears
blurred her vision. The harder she laughed, the more the knot in the pit of her stomach seemed to loosen, leaving her feeling
lighter. Like things were back to normal, and she didn’t have to worry about upgrades or mining OCD for diamonds in the rough
that apparently didn’t exist.

When Claire finally wiped her tears away, the first thing to come into focus was a pair of black Marc Jacobs snakeskin flats.
Claire knew those flats. And those flats meant one thing: Massie’s voice had been the real deal. Claire’s toes curled involuntarily,
and she braced herself.

“Kuh-laire,” Massie’s voice echoed throughout the store again. Claire tilted her head back to get the full view. Massie was
standing with one hand on her jutted hip, the other wrapped around a microphone. Tissue-stuffed bags from BCBG, Sephora, Nordstrom,
Club Monaco, and Bark Jacobs hung from her crooked elbow. Dylan, Kristen, and Alicia stood next to her, each with bags of
their own. Posed in the middle of the alarm clocks and the digital photo display section, the girls looked like mannequins
somebody had delivered to the wrong store.

“Oh. Hey.” Claire swallowed a giggle, pushing herself to her feet. For some reason, she had the sudden itch to duck behind
the globes display at the back of the store. Massie knew Claire and Layne were friends, and that they hung out without her
sometimes. So why did Claire feel like she’d just gotten caught friend-cheating? “What’re you guys doing here?”

“We’re here on official business,” Massie informed Claire briskly. “We need to talk to Layne.”

Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen nod-agreed.

Claire narrowed her eyes at the countless bags dripping from the PC’s arms. The only business they were in was that of overspending.

“Official business?” Layne cleared her throat and stepped forward, looking intrigued. “Follow me.” She waded through the pile
of alarm clocks, leading Massie and the PC deeper into the store. Claire scrambled after them, before Darrell the sales associate
had a chance to see the rubble.

When they reached the back of the store, Layne nodded at Massie. “Step into my office,” she said smoothly, motioning toward
two caramel leather massage chairs with remote controls on the armrests.

“Ehmagawd, Layne.” Massie looked annoyed, but she deposited all the bags (except the Bark Jacobs one) onto the carpeted floor
and slid into the chair on the left.

Claire wrinkled her brow. What could Massie possibly need so badly that she was willing to take orders from Layne?

“Just a moment.” Layne leaned over Massie’s armrest, her fingers flying over the remote control. Then she did the same to
her chair and plopped down next to Massie. Within seconds, rolling vibrations buzzed from the girls’ heads to their feet,
and back up again.

“Sooo telll meeee hoooow Iiii cannnn heeeeeeelp youuuu,” Layne groaned, closing her eyes.

Alicia sighed loudly, leaning against a shelf of talking thermometers.

Kristen was bobbing her head to the beat of the tiny MP3 player/pedometer she’d lifted from a nearby display.

Massie’s snakeskin flats bounced uncontrollably on her footrest. “Iiii neeeeed aaaa faaaaaaaaavorrrr,” she purred, the delicate
charm bracelet on her wrist jingling in time to her trembling voice. She reached into the gold Bark Jacobs bag in her lap
and produced a tiny shoe box. She lifted the top and Layne peered inside.

“Baaaaaaby booooties?” The apples of Layne’s cheeks shook in confusion.

Massie swung her head from side to side. “Doogggiiiieee boooooties.”

“Ehmagawd, I opposite of have time for this.” Alicia stomped over to the chairs and dug her manicured nail into the
OFF
button on each remote. “The mall closes in, like, five hours and I still need a dress and a dog.”

“Doggie booties,” Massie repeated, sitting upright. She plucked a brown suede bootie from the box and dangled it in front
of Layne’s nose. “I need cameras installed in all of them.” She wiggled against the buttery leather seat, scratching her back.

Layne examined the shoe carefully. “Bootie cams? Easy breezy,” she said finally. “But it’s gonna cost you.”

“Given,” Massie said happily. “You don’t take AmEx, do you?” She reached for her purse.

Layne snorted. “I don’t want your money,” she said. “I want Dempsey.”

Claire’s eyes widened.

Massie’s jaw dropped.

And Kristen flushed. “Layne. That’s totally not fair,” she protested, digging her toe into the gray carpet.

“What’s the problem?” Layne shrugged. “You guys don’t want him anymore, right?”

“Obv.” Massie and Kristen speed-shook their heads a little too quickly.

“So then pinky-swear you won’t ever crush on him again. AND you won’t get in my way when I do.” Layne planted her elbow between
the leather armrests and extended her pinky.

Massie did the same. “Done, done, and done,” she said quickly, gripping Layne’s silver-ringed pinky in hers.

It was official: Claire had stepped into an alternate universe. A universe where Massie asked Layne for favors and Layne accepted
payment in the form of ex-crushes. A universe where loving eighth automatically made you an outsider. The problem was, Claire
couldn’t decide which was worse: living in her old world, where she sometimes felt like the PC owned her soul, or living in
her new one, where she felt like she didn’t belong to anyone or anything.

When they slid out of the massage chairs, Massie and Layne were beaming. Claire couldn’t tell if it was because of the massage
or the fact that they both clearly thought they’d just gotten the better end of the deal.

“So what are you really doing here?” Claire asked Massie, nodding at the small mountain of colorful bags piled at the foot
of the chairs. The floor of Brookstone looked like the Lyons’ living room on Christmas morning.

“Shopping for a party Saturday night,” Massie said, her voice measured. For a brief second, her amber eyes lit up. Was that
hope? Worry? Anger?

Claire braced herself. “What kind of party?”

“A niiiinth-grade one,” Alicia offered, giving the word
ninth
at least six syllables.

“Interested?” Massie plucked an envelope from her back pocket and handed it to Claire.

The thick, expensive paper felt heavy in Claire’s palm. She opened the envelope, pulled out an invitation, and scanned it.
“Pup-A-Palooza?”

“It’s a charity auction,” Dylan piped up, snapping open a cellophane package of peanut butter crackers. “You bid on pet spa
packages and outfits and stuff.”

“You can even bid on some of the puppies from the local shelter,” Kristen added. “And all the proceeds go to the Westchester
Humane Society.”

“And since I’m so into charity and animal rights…” Massie didn’t bother finishing the sentence. “You can both come if you
want,” she said generously, side-glancing at Layne. “Since it’s for a good cause.”

Massie, Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen cocked their heads to the side, waiting for Claire and Layne to accept.

Claire hesitated, stifling the urge to funnel the rest of her gummy bag directly into her mouth. She needed the energy boost
for what she was about to do.

“No thanks. I’m more into eighth-grade parties,” she said calmly, even though her insides were screaming. The fresh-from-Orlando
Claire would have jumped at the chance to do anything Massie wanted to do, no matter what. But that wasn’t the case anymore.
Claire didn’t know exactly where she belonged these days, but she knew where she didn’t: at a ninth-grade party.

Massie leaned forward slightly, like she hadn’t heard Claire correctly. “But I picked a crush for you and everything,” she
said, sounding surprised.

“And he has two different lengths of hair!” Dylan added.

“Huh?” Layne looked confused.

Claire didn’t bother trying to figure out what Dylan was talking about. She took a deep breath through her nose and looked
directly at Massie.

“I already have a crush.” She spoke slowly, like she was explaining algebra to a toddler. Or like she was explaining loyalty
to an alpha. “His name is Cam.”

Massie sucked in a sharp breath, her amber eyes flashing. “Big mistake, Kuh-laire.”

“What is?” Claire snapped, all the confusion and guilt and sadness of the past few days morphing into anger. “Ditching your
crushes for a bunch of boys you hardly know? Or wasting all your time spying on them?” She knew she was being harsh. But why
should she hold back? She wasn’t just fighting for herself. She was fighting for Cam, who was the one constant, steady presence
in her social life. She was fighting for their relationship. And she was fighting for eighth.

“Claire, are you Heather Mills’s bum leg?” Massie’s voice was eerily calm, like the air in the seconds before a category five
hit the Gulf Coast. She didn’t even wait for Claire to respond. “’Cause you’re totally dragging behind.”

“Point,” Alicia breathed.

Alicia’s vote of confidence seemed to spur Massie on even more. “You can’t stay stuck in eighth forever, Claire. Sooner or
later you have to catch up with the rest of us.”

“You should come.” Kristen forced a smile. “It’ll be fun.”

“You have two choices, Claire.” Massie’s cheeks were starting to look like she’d triple-pinched them. “Either come to the
party Saturday night—”

“Or what?” Claire cut her off boldly. “You’ll ditch me, like you ditched your crushes?”

“Awww, snap,” Layne muttered under her breath, taking a cautious step back.

“Did I say I’d ditch you?” Massie blinked, turning toward the PC.

Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen shook their heads.

“You didn’t have to.” Claire’s mouth was starting to taste like pennies. “I know the drill.”

“Good. Then we’ll see you Saturday.” Massie smiled wanly. Her gloss had long since evaporated. She swooped down and scooped
up her bags. “I’ll need those booties by Saturday, or the deal’s off,” she told Layne. Then she turned on the balls of her
flats and marched out of the store. The rest of the girls followed.

Claire staggered backward into the nearest massage chair. Being friends with Massie took more dedication, hard work, and sweat
than Gwen Stefani’s flat abs, and required more sacrifices than a Dionysian ritual.

Layne shimmy-wedged herself into the chair next to Claire. The straining leather squeaked in protest. “Bummer,” she said supportively.

Claire nodded miserably. “Maybe I should just go.”

“I wonder if I could bring Dempsey as my date,” Layne joked.

Claire cracked a smile. But it was a hollow one.

Layne was quiet for a while. Then she shifted onto her hip, facing Claire. “I have an idea,” she said slowly. “You’re not
gonna love it, but just hear me out.”

As Claire listened to Layne’s plan, every cell in her body was waving a white flag. She’d done everything in her power to
fight for eighth. What more could she possibly do? But what if Layne’s idea worked…

“Okay, I’m in,” she said, reaching for the chair remote. She turned it on full blast, hoping the vibrations would shake the
last ten minutes from her memory.

“Massie?” Kendra Block’s voice came over the intercom next to Massie’s bedroom door, interrupting the low, soothing sounds
of her confidence CD on loop. “Layne’s here to see you.”

“Can you hear me now?” Layne’s breathy cackle sounded like she was just millimeters from Massie’s ear.

“Send her up.” Jamming her thumb into the
PAUSE
button, Massie leapt off her bed and hurried to the door, feeling like it was Christmas morning and Layne was Santa Claus.
Because Layne wasn’t just delivering bootie cams. She was delivering a way for Massie to spy on every ankle at Pup-A-Palooza,
guaranteeing an Ankle-Bird capture by the end of the night. Layne was delivering hope for Massie’s future with Landon. And
that was priceless.

When Massie opened the door, Layne bulldozed past, wearing a faded black trench coat, rainbow-striped tights, and glitter-flecked
jellies. In the middle of Massie’s pristine all-white bedroom, she looked like a deranged mental patient in the isolation
ward.

“Special deliiiiiiiiiivery,” Layne announced, a wide, orange gloss–stained grin lighting up her face.

At the sound of voices, Bean padded out from Massie’s closet, took one look at Layne, and yelp-scampered back into hiding.

“You’re late.” Massie eyed the alarm clock on her bedside table.

“I was busy adding a little extra flair.” Layne made a weird gurgling sound, almost like she was swallowing a laugh. “Free
of charge. But if you don’t want ’em…”

“I didn’t say that.” Massie said, as casually as possible. “So let’s see.” She crossed her arms over her black Design History
sweater tunic to keep herself from bouncing with curiosity.

“In a minute.” Layne slid up to the Massie and Bean mannequins in the middle of the bedroom. Massie’s mannequin was wearing
a satin olive-green cocktail dress accessorized with strappy metallic Manolos and tasteful Kenneth Jay Lane chandelier earrings.
Bean’s mannequin was naked, since Massie was holding out on the puppy.