These Boots Are Made for Stalking (2 page)

Massie’s iPhone buzzed again.

Landon:
Is Bean up 4 a date w/Bark 2morrow nite?

“Ehmacrush!” Massie giggle-beamed at her iPhone. She pulled Bean into her lap, fingering the silver charms that hung from
the pug’s purple silk charm collar. The collar had been a gift from Landon and his pug, Bark Obama. Bean refused to go anywhere
without it.

Kristen and Alicia dove toward Massie’s cell.

“Whasshesay?” Dylan wobbled across the closet and crouched behind Massie.

“You’re so gonna lip-kiss tomorrow night,” Alicia predicted.

“Prah-bly,” Massie said coyly, even though the thought of lip-kissing an older man made her gloss sweat.

Bean jumped from Massie’s lap and scampered in hyper circles around the girls, her tiny pink tongue flapping in the cacao-scented
air.

“Hey!” Layne bellowed, bending over the railing above. She was wearing a long red silk bathrobe. “I’m Little Dead Riding Hood!”
Claire was drawing bloody gashes on Layne’s face with a cheap Wet N Wild lip liner.

Massie held up a hand, silencing the chatter, then fired back a reply.

Massie:
Paws-ibly.
Bring Bark by my house at 7:45. Trick-or-treating starts at 8.

Landon:
Can’t. Movie scare-a-thon @ a friend’s. Wanna join?

“He wants me to hang out with his friends,” Massie said slowly. Her Draculatte swirled violently in her stomach.

Dylan’s dark chocolate–stained lips melted into a thin, pursed line. “What’re you gonna do?”

Bean stopped mid-circle and rapid-blinked at Massie.

Alicia and Kristen leaned forward slightly, begging her with wide eyes not to ditch them for her crush. Bean pleaded to see
Bark, her black eyes round and moist with hope.
“Bark!”
she yapped, in case Massie didn’t get the point.

Massie reached for her latte, stalling for time. On the one hand, the thought of Landon not seeing her in her trampire costume
made her blood run cold. On the other hand, hadn’t she just pinky-sworn to herself that she would never let a crush crush
the Pretty Committee?

The drops of red food coloring staining the frothy white latte foam in her cup caught Massie’s eye, reminding her that she
and the PC weren’t just friends. They were like blood-sisters. And blood-sisters didn’t desert their friends for boys. Not
even if those boys were fashion-loving, pug-owning, ninth-grade-attending hawties.

She swallowed. “I’m obviously going trick-or-treating,” she said definitively, as if she’d never considered another option.

Dylan, Kristen, and Alicia breathed a sigh of relief, then fanned out to complete their costumes. Bean sulk-yapped, collapsing
on the floor in defeat.

Before Massie could change her mind, she texted Landon.

Massie:
Can’t. Trick-or-treating w/the girls. Bean =
.

Massie felt like someone was stiletto-stabbing her in the heart, then filling the hole with a million insecurities. She re-glossed
quickly, to seal them in.

Bean lifted her head hopefully at the sound of Massie’s buzzing phone.

Landon:
Wanna bring Bean 2 the scare-a-thon? At least the puppies can hang. I’ll chaperone.

Massie paused. She’d never let Bean out of her sight for an entire night before. But then again…

“Bean!” she said. “Want me to drop you off at Bark’s tomorrow?”

Bean leapt up and barreled full-force into Massie’s lap, her charm collar jangling happily.

Massie giggled, breathing in the warm scent of her puppy’s customized vanilla bean shampoo. At least if Massie couldn’t be
with her crush on Halloween, Bean could be with hers. And if dropping Bean off at Landon’s led to a) Landon witnessing Massie
looking ah-mazing in her trampire costume, b) Landon ditching his friends in favor of trick-or-treating with the PC, or c)
Landon vowing never to leave Massie’s side again, then so be it.

Besides, there were other perks. Massie scratched underneath Bean’s collar, pinching the tiny silver dog-bone charm between
her index finger and thumb. The charm was a SnoopDawg; it had a tiny camera inside that sent a video feed to the SnoopDawg
Web site so pet owners could monitor their pets 24/7. All Massie had to do was activate the charm and check the site from
her iPhone tomorrow night, and she could watch Bean’s every move.

And Landon’s.

Massie giggle-grinned to herself, feeling her insecurities retreat. It was the perfect way to keep an eye on her new crush.
She knew it was sneaky, but who cared? She’d promised to work on her trust issues. And she would.

Starting Monday.

Claire Lyons linked arms with Massie, who linked arms with Alicia, who linked arms with Kristen, who linked arms with Dylan.
Together, Claire and her fellow trampires charged through the darkness toward the first house of the night, Guerlain-powdered
faces deathly pale and Crest Whitestripped fangs gleaming. David and Victoria Beckham, a Masai bushman, a bloody-fanged ump-pire,
and Chewbacca from
Star Wars
followed close behind. The
click-clack
of the girls’ heels on the pavement pierced the crisp night air, sending clusters of drugstore costume–wearing amateurs scrambling
out of the way.

“Caaaaaaaannnndy,” Dylan droned like a zombie, staring down the driveway that led to a looming Tudor-style mansion. Smoke
from the glowing paper luminaries lining the drive mixed with the warm smells of melted caramel, burnt marshmallows, and Massie’s
signature Chanel No. 19 perfume.

Goosebumps prickled Claire’s bare arms, but she was too excited to care. Her gray fleece didn’t exactly go with Merri-Lee
Marvil’s burgundy D&G slip dress and black satin Ferragamo peep-toes. And claiming the chills would give Claire the perfect
excuse later to snuggle up to her crush, Cam Fisher.

“Guh-ross.” Alicia flashed her fangs as the PC led their crushes and Layne around a tiered stone fountain in front of the
estate. Hundreds of rubber eyeballs bobbed in the churning water, which had been dyed dark red to look like blood.

“Huuarughhhh,”
grunted Layne from beneath her rubber Chewbacca mask. Her brown, feather-covered unitard was stuffed with fluffy down pillows
for extra padding.

Claire giggled, secretly loving that Layne had turned down her offer to be a trampire so she could dress like Chewie.

“Sweet!” Derrington yelled, rushing the fountain and scooping a handful of the painted rubber eyeballs from the water. “Ammo!”

Dylan rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as Derrington punted the spheres at Dempsey.

“Hey!” Dempsey swung at the eyeballs with the ten-foot spear he’d used to accessorize his tiny red loincloth. “My mom got
this at a tribal ceremony in Africa! She’ll kill you if it gets messed up.”

“And she’ll kill you if she realizes her skirt’s missing from her display case,” Kristen chided her crush, tugging at the
pewter Undrest chemise she wore over lumpy metallic leggings; she had a ski suit on under her costume in case she ran into
her mom and had to do a quick change. The overall effect was more sumo wrestler than sexy trampire.

Out of eyeballs, Derrington ran back over and punched Josh-slash-Victoria Beckham in the shoulder. “Dude, this is a family
show. Keep it clean.”

“Huh?” Josh Spice glanced down. Without Alicia’s C-cups to hold it in place, the black strapless minidress he’d borrowed from
her was starting to inch down his chest. “Whoops. I guess I need a smaller size.” He grinned, cracking the perma-Posh-frown
he’d painted on with lip liner.

Alicia’s cheeks flushed to match her Stila-stained pout. “It’sbigonmetoo.”

Cam let out a quiet snicker and Claire elbowed him swiftly in the ribs. Not that she was actually mad. Even in an umpire mask
and blood-tipped fangs, Cam looked adorable. The furry bat on his shoulder had been Claire’s idea, and it was the perfect
finishing touch for his ump-pire costume.

“Claire, are you a judge on
Dancing with the Stars
?” Massie’s voice jolted Claire from her Cam-coma. Or, as Massie liked to call it, her Cam-a.

“Nope.”

“Then quit checking Cam’s every move.” Massie resumed her strut, leading the girls and their crushes toward the house.

Busted. Claire grinned, relieved that Massie was in a good mood despite being crush-minus for the night. She was even more
relieved that the Pretty Committee was finally back to normal. And it was partly thanks to her. When she’d figured out that
Massie had hired actors for her new crew, Claire had taken matters into her own hands. She’d secretly convinced the actors
to act clingier than a cheap jersey dress so Massie would realize who her true friends were. And now the PC was back and stronger
than Zac and Vanessa.

When they reached the end of the driveway, Dylan whipped her red feather boa around her neck with a flourish and tromped up
the stone steps toward the arched wooden door.

Claire burst out laughing at the sight of a very tiny Luke Skywalker coming down the steps, swishing a neon light saber at
an imaginary opponent.

“Huuuuuuuuuargh,”
Chewie squealed.

“Layne,” Massie snapped, the tips of her fangs showing slightly. “English, puh-lease.”

Chewie swung her wrinkly rubber face in Claire’s direction.

“Method acting,” Claire explained. “She can’t break character.”

Massie rolled her kohl-lined eyes. “Actors,” she said, just loud enough for Dempsey to hear. Then she planted her Chanel Black
Satin–polished nail on the doorbell, and a ghoulish wail echoed inside the dark entryway.

Seconds later, a silver-haired man in a cornflower blue cardigan and a neon green Frankenstein mask answered the door. A giant
glass bowl overflowing with colorfully wrapped goodies was cradled under his left arm.

“Trick-or-treeeeeeaaaat,” Claire bellowed along with her friends.

Except for Massie, who was sneaking a peek at her iPhone.

And Chewie, who grunted,
“Huuua huuaaaarrghhhhh!”

The trampires extended their bags. They’d chosen the roomiest designer totes they owned, to maximize candy-filling potential.
The boys and Layne had brought Hefty garbage bags.

“Well,” a muffled, grandfatherly voice leaked from the rubber mask. “Aren’t you all”—the mask surveyed the trampires’ barely
there costumes—“something.”

“Given.” Alicia beamed.

“Fill ’er up,” Dylan interrupted, elbowing her way to the front door and yanking open the black patent Versace rolling trolley
she used for overnight trips.

Frankenstein peered skeptically inside the suitcase, then dropped a tin of chocolate hazelnut espresso beans into the empty
tote. It landed with a hollow thud.

“Thanks.” Dylan didn’t budge.

Frankenstein took the hint, digging a small gold box of chocolates and a pack of colorful gummies from the bowl. He dropped
those in the bag too. Claire’s mouth watered and she shifted impatiently in her peep-toes.

“Dylan.” Massie had stashed her iPhone back in her bag. “Are you a Barney’s twenty-four-hour sale?”

Dylan shook her head, sending her professionally straightened locks swinging in a shimmering velvet curtain around her shoulders.

Massie glanced at Alicia, Claire, and Kristen.

“’Cause you’re taking ALL DAY!” the girls cackled, hip-bumping Dylan out of the way.

Claire tried not to gawk as Frankenstein filled the rest of the PC’s designer candy bags. Comparing Halloween in Orlando to
Halloween in Westchester was like comparing Keds to Kors. Here, Claire’s tote was filled with chocolates from the Godiva G
collection, Dean & Deluca butter caramels, and gummy vampire fangs from Dylan’s Candy Bar. In Florida, the best Claire could
hope for in her plastic pumpkin was a mini Snickers. Once, she’d gotten a tube of denture cream.