These Boots Are Made for Stalking (22 page)

Bean yapped once, licking Celia’s hand.

“Ehmagawd, hi.” Massie flushed, her heart doing a jig at the sound of Landon’s mom not pronouncing her name
May-see,
like she had on the boutique’s opening night. It meant Landon had been talking about her. At least before last night anyway.

Celia turned to Landon. “Just got the prototype in for the fragrance,” she said, lifting a small frosted glass bottle in the
shape of a pug. “Perfect, don’t you think?” Without waiting for Landon to respond, Celia tilted the bottle for Massie to see.
“We’re doing a line of canine cologne, and Landon designed the boy puppy scent,” she explained. “It’ll come out with our spring
line.”

Massie’s heart beat in double time. Designing a fragrance before he hit tenth? Impressive. She leaned in to get a closer look.
The face on the bottle was the spitting image of Bark.

“What’re you calling it?” she asked the bottle, wishing she could look Landon in the eye and ask him instead.

Celia glanced pointedly in Landon’s direction.

“Eau Bama,” Landon mumbled, picking at an invisible thread on the sleeve of his polo.

“Clever, no?” After a beat of silence, Celia glanced back and forth between Landon and Massie. Her clear blue eyes glowed
with amusement.

“Okay, okay, I can take a hint,” she smiled. “Business can wait. I’ll be in my studio if anyone needs me.” She glided barefoot
across the slate floor and kissed Landon on the forehead.

“Mom.” Landon rolled his eyes.

“Sorry.” Celia wiped away the glossy print above Landon’s eye. “Gluten-free cookies in the oven, if you want some.” And then
she was gone.

Looking up, Massie saw that Landon’s eyes had softened a little. But he was still silent. Waiting.

“Um, about last night.” Massie’s silk tunic was starting to cling to her damp skin. She dropped Bean to the floor and kept
her arms tight at her sides, in case of pit stains. “I was totally planning on keeping Bark at home? But then I saw on Animal
Planet that keeping puppies cooped up when they’re injured actually makes them worse. Like, psychologically. They get depressed.”

Landon squinted skeptically. “Huh?”

“It’s called PMS,” Massie lied. She was starting to sweat through her jeans, her sense of truth and purpose leaving her pores
along with the salty dew. “Puppy melancholy syndrome?”

Bean nudged Massie’s shin gently with her wet nose.

And Mary’s voice replayed in Massie’s mind.

The perfect guy makes you want to be exactly who you are.

Massie froze, feeling the same way she’d felt in the seconds before Olga had waxed her brows for the very first time. Maybe
the anticipation of pain was worse than the actual pain itself.

Bean looked up and
yap
-cheered her on. Massie took a deep breath and let loose.

“ItookBarktothepartysoIcouldspyonyou’causeIdidn’ttrust-youandthoughtmaybeAnkle-Bir—I mean, Mary was your girlfriend and so
Layne put these cameras in the booties and made them ugly on purpose I think, which is so like her, what an LBR, and then
Bean wouldn’t wear them so Bark had to, and also I just spent the last hour spying on your house from the bushes, which is
psycho times ten, and the thing is, I only did all that ’cause I like you way more than any of my other crushes, who weren’t
right for me ’cause actually I hate soccer and Africa and charity and boys in shorts. Plus I hate bronzer too, and I don’t
wear heels to movie night and I actually really like trick-or-treating for the candy too, not just the costumes, and most
of all I love Bean and Bark and your new fragrance which is ah-dorable by the way.”

Massie stumbled back against the wall. The sound of her relieved, ragged breath filled the entry hall. She’d done it. Said
everything she’d always wanted to say to her crush but couldn’t.

Bean’s tongue fell out of her mouth in disbelief.

Landon’s eyes widened. Massie couldn’t tell if it was from disbelief or panic, or whether he just thought she was insane.
But hawnestly? It didn’t matter. Without her insecurities weighing her down, she felt lighter than she did after a full month
on the Zone. No more lies or scheming or stalking. From here on out, she was going to tell the truth. Whether Landon Crane
liked it or not.

Landon blinked, still silent.

Sweeping a stunned Bean off the floor, Massie headed for the front door, waiting for Landon to call her name. Tell her he
couldn’t live without her. Beg her to design a girl puppy cologne, so they could start their promotional tour for Eaux Ensembles.

But all she heard was her puppy’s steady pant and the thump of her own heart. Her insides seized, and for a split second,
a wave of regret threatened to overcome her. She swallowed it, along with her pride and the last remaining bit of Toasted
Cinammon gloss on her parched lips. Then she yanked open the door and stepped into the light of day.

As her heels clacked against the brick steps, she wrinkled her brow. More than anything, she was confused. How could Landon
let a moment like that pass him by without realizing she was the one? She took a deep breath, not sure whether she wanted
to laugh or cry, or both. She was sure of one thing: If she had to do it all over again, she would.

Her iPhone buzzed in her back pocket, and she pulled it out, preparing for Claire’s billionth text. But the name on the screen
wasn’t Claire’s.

Landon:
I H8 bronzer 2.

Before Massie could reread the text to make sure it wasn’t a truth-induced hallucination, Landon’s front door opened. He stood
just inches away and locked eyes with her as his fingers flew over the keypad on his cell.

Her phone buzzed again. It took all her bodily strength to tear her gaze from his long enough to look down at her phone.

Landon:
4given.

He may as well have sent her a text filled with nothing but hearts, because that was all she saw. Landon Crane liked her.
Her.
Ehmagawd
s, gloss-free lips, and insecurities included.

They locked eyes again, and her entire body felt like she was back in the Brookstone chair. But in a good way this time. Telling
Landon everything was obviously going to bring them closer. So why should she stop with him? Why not tell all her friends
the truth? Massie had a feeling she was on to something.

She decided to start with Claire. Tell her that if she wanted to stay with Cam instead of upgrading, she could. Tell her that
she understood why Claire hadn’t wanted to upgrade in the first place. For one—

Massie looked up. Landon was moving slowly toward her, his eyes screaming,
I am so gonna lip-kiss you right now
. As if on cue, a chilly breeze swept between them, finger-combing Massie’s hair. The clouds overhead parted, and golden sunlight
drenched the front stoop. And Bean leapt from Massie’s arms, running in tight circles around them as if to push them closer
together.

It was perfect. Except for one thing.

Massie’s stomach lurched into her throat, like she might vom.

As Landon leaned in, his eyelids getting heavy, warning sirens blared in Massie’s brain. She wasn’t prepared for this! She
wasn’t even glossed! And she had no idea how to lip-kiss a ninth-grader! Did they do it differently? Why hadn’t she asked
Mary when she’d had the chance?

“EhmagawdIhavetogotalktoClairelikerightnow,” she blurted, sidestepping Landon before he could get any closer.

Landon’s eyes snapped open, and he gave her a shy smile.

“’Kay?TextyoulatertellyourmomIsaidbye.” Massie stumbled down the front steps, Bean at her heels.

Striding down the drive toward the street, she kept her gaze focused straight ahead, torn between wanting to turn around,
wanting to run, and wanting to Google Video ninth-grade lip-kissing on her iPhone. She hoped Landon knew that the kiss dis
was nothing personal. She just wasn’t ready yet. And if he liked her as much as his lovesick Efron eyes said he did, he’d
understand. He had to.

“Woooooooooo-hoooooooooooooooooo!” Layne hooted in Claire’s ear as Syd led a stumbling chain of costumed third-graders across
the Westchester Community Theater stage for their fourth bow. The applause in the small theater reached a frenzied pitch,
making Claire hear a buzzing sound. And she’d lost all feeling in her neck sometime between “Tonight” and “I Feel Pretty,”
since as VIP guests of the director, Claire, Layne, and Cara had gotten to sit in the front row, tilting their heads back
at a 90-degree angle for the production.

On the other side of Layne, Cara leaned forward in her seat, her blond waves skimming her knees. “Aren’t they adorable?” she
called, her cheeks flushed from the stale warmth that hovered over the creaky theater seats.

Claire nodded. To her right, a middle-aged man holding a blinking camcorder turned and smiled proudly.

“THAT’S MY GIRL!” he yelled, waving a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of roses at the herd of little girls on stage.

Congratulations,
mouthed Claire politely. She let her eyes dart down to her cell, which had been resting on her left thigh ever since she’d
taken her seat. No calls, no texts… not even a Twitter update or a Facebook posting. She yanked up the sleeves on her hoodie,
needing some air.

It wasn’t like calling Massie again would make her pick up. And by now, Claire was too exhausted and confused to figure out
why her friend wasn’t responding. Was she mad that Claire had hung with Syd and Cara last night? Too busy having fun with
Landon to answer? Or just generally hurt that Claire had been looking for friends outside the Pretty Committee?

The applause started to settle, and Claire shook the ringing from her ears. Looking perfectly at home under the white-hot
theater lights, Syd was holding a bouquet of flowers and a program. She waited for the shouts of proud parents to die down,
then spoke into the lapel mic on her black cowl-neck sweater. Claire craned her neck again, staring up Syd’s oval-shaped nostrils.

“Thanks to everyone for supporting this year’s production.” Syd’s voice boomed throughout the theater, commanding the audience’s
attention. “We hope you enjoyed the show. Just a couple notes, and then we’ll wrap up. Don’t forget, opening night for the
main-stage show
Beauty and the Beast
is coming up, so get your tickets. And auditions for the spring musical,
Little Shop of Horrors,
will be held in—”

“Daddy loves you, Michelle!” the stage dad next to Claire called out.

A giggle rippled through the audience. On stage, Michelle widened her eyes in humiliation and ran to hide behind Syd.

“… will be held in two weeks,” Syd smiled into her shoulder, swatting the little girl’s head with a program. “Thanks, and
have a great afternoon.” The kids took another bow and a dusty-smelling velvet curtain careened from the rafters, sweeping
across the stage.

If Claire had a mic of her own, she would have sprinted to the Block Estate to explain everything at top volume. How she’d
never meant to hurt Massie or the Pretty Committee. How the upgrade had made her feel like she had no other choice but to
find friends who accepted her, eighth-grade crush and all.

But most of all, Claire wanted Massie to know that hanging with Syd and Cara was starting to make her change her mind about
having older friends. That maybe Massie had been right, after—

“So what’re we doing after?” Layne said, interrupting her thoughts. Claire hadn’t even noticed Layne standing over her, clogging
the aisle as parents jostled to get to the steps that led up to the stage.

Cara shrugged, flicking a piece of blond hair away from her eyes. “Wanna go see a movie?”