Read These Boots Are Made for Stalking Online

Authors: Lisi Harrison

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BOOK: These Boots Are Made for Stalking
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“Plus, older guys talk about more than just soccer,” Kristen added.

“But you love soccer!” Claire protested, wanting to take her friends by the shoulders and shake them.

“I love other things too,” Kristen said defensively. “Not that Dempsey knows that. He thinks I’m just one of the dudes.”

Claire could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart.

“What about you?” she asked Dylan.

Dylan swallowed. “I heart Derrington,” she said simply.

Claire breathed a sigh of relief.

“But more as, like, a younger brother than a crush, you know?” Dylan finished.

“I toe-dally know what you mean,” Alicia jumped in. “Josh is two-point-five months younger than me, and it’s starting to show.”
She wound her locks into a messy bun and held them in place with a Pixy Stix.

“He’s the same age we are!” Claire flopped onto her stomach, wanting to scream and yell and cry. But mostly she just wanted
to throttle Massie. “Just last week you guys were all in love with your crushes! What happened?”

“They grew up,” Massie said, looking pleased with herself.

“These crushes were fun and all, but it’s time to move awn,” Kristen said earnestly. “Plus, they don’t go to OCD anymore,
so…”

Dylan turned toward Claire. “How’re you gonna tell Cam?” she asked, wiping a chocolate smudge from her cheek with the edge
of her cami.

Suddenly, Claire felt sick. The kind of sick she felt after washing down an entire bag of gummies with a cherry slushy from
the mall.

“I’m not gonna tell him,” she said firmly.

Alicia flashed a devilish grin. “So you’re gonna cheat on him?” she asked, leaning forward.

“No!” Claire screeched, wiping her damp bangs from her sweat-beaded forehead. “I’m not dumping him, and I’m not cheating on
him. And I’m definitely not getting a ninth-grade crush!”

“Ninth is the new black, Claire,” Massie snapped, finger-combing her ends. “Not that I’d expect you to get that.”

Claire was too exhausted and confused to argue. The gummies in her stomach were charging toward her throat.

Stunned into silence, she watched as the rest of the girls chattered excitedly about their nonexistent new crushes. Claire
picked at the hole in her pj’s. If the girls moved on to ninth, where would that leave Claire? They’d be going to ninth-grade
parties, doing ninth-grade things like over-bronzing and underdressing for movie night. And Claire and Cam would be tossed
aside like the outfits in Merri-Lee Marvil’s closet. She’d be expired.

Or even worse, immature.

WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK

BARK JACOBS BOUTIQUE

Saturday, November 1st

8:59
A.M.

Early the next morning, the Pretty Committee stood single file outside Bark Jacobs boutique in downtown Westchester, waiting
for the clock on Massie’s iPhone to buzz ten a.m. Massie stood at the head of the line, carefully inspecting her shimmering
reflection in the boutique’s freshly Windexed glass double doors.

She’d gotten up a full hour before the rest of the girls to give herself plenty of prep time. Just because she hadn’t made
the best impression on Landon last night didn’t mean she couldn’t impress his mom this morning. In crisp dark denim, an ivory
cashmere tee, and her new French Connection cropped boyfriend jacket, Massie was the poster child for casual chic. Plus, her
velvet Miu Miu ballet flats were leather-free, which practically screamed
I would never hurt an animal on purpose! Even for fashion!

At exactly ten a.m., Massie swiveled to face the Pretty Committee, like a general addressing her troops before battle.

“Remember, if we don’t find a get-well gift for Bark that makes Landon and Bark forgive me ay-sap, the entire upgrade could
be in jeopardy.” Her heart skipped a beat at the terrifying thought.

At the head of the line, Alicia gasped, the color draining from her Nars-dusted cheeks. “Opposite of acceptable.”

Massie nodded. “Just think of Landon Crane as your VIP pass to the exclusive world of ninth-grade—”

From her place at the back of the line, Claire cough-muttered something unintelligible.

Massie froze. Ever since she’d debuted the upgrade idea the night before, Claire had been wrinkling her nose like Massie was
week-old sushi.

“Comments?” Massie leaned to the side and arched her eyebrow in Claire’s general direction. She would have made eye contact
if Dylan’s sugar-matted bedhead ’fro weren’t blocking her view.

Kristen chewed her Essie Ew No You Didn’t–polished thumbnail. Alicia smoothed down her Ralph Lauren wool skirt. Claire’s Kedded
foot tapped behind Dylan’s riding boots.

“Perf.” Massie whirled back around and gripped the brushed-silver, dog bone–shaped door handles. A blast of warm, gingerbread-scented
air whooshed past her as a tiny
yip
chime-announced the Pretty Committee’s arrival.

The last time Massie had walked through these doors, she’d been followed by the cast of vapid, b-for-beta-list actresses she’d
hired to be part of her new group, Massie and Crew, to make the Soul-M8s jealous. Entering now with the Pretty Committee made
Bark Jacobs seem fresh and new, like she was discovering it for the first time. The large gold paw prints that crisscrossed
the slick marble floor on the way to the doggie dressing rooms seemed shinier. The glass display cases that boasted pet-size
designer bags, accessories, and jewelry seemed sleeker. And the racks of canine couture around the boutique’s perimeter seemed
ten times more chic.

“Welcome to Bark Jacobs!” chirped a voice Massie didn’t recognize. A megawatt blonde in an all-black ensemble emerged from
the back of the store, a pewter dog bowl filled with dog treats in her hands. A bony Italian greyhound puppy in a sage-green
felt cloche trotted behind her. “Are you looking for something in particular, or—”

“Celia Crane?” Massie scanned the empty, brightly lit boutique for Landon’s mom. What was the point of getting Bark a get-well
gift, if Celia couldn’t see just how much of a pup-lanthropist Massie was? And if Celia just so happened to pass the information
along to Landon, well…

The salesgirl’s face fell. “She’s not working today,” she informed the PC in hushed tones, hugging the bowl of dog food to
her chest like it was a baby. “Family emergency. Her grand-dog was in a lethal accident last night, and she had to go with
her son to the vet this morning.”

The greyhound let out a low whimper and buried his snout in his paws. Alicia giggle-gasped.

Massie elbowed her in the ribs. “That’s horrible,” she said, pity-widening her eyes. She applied a quick layer of Strawberry
Fro-Yo Glossip Girl to still her quavering lips. Had Bark taken a turn for the worse? Had her stiletto maimed him for life?
Maybe he’d gotten an infection and amputation was the only way to save him. Ehmagawd, would Bark need a bionic paw?

“What happened?” Kristen retied her chunky turquoise scarf around her neck.

“Is Ba—I mean, the dog gonna be okay?” Claire finger-tossed her sleep-matted bangs.

“Too soon to tell.” The salesgirl lowered the dog bowl onto the glass case and blinked at the ceiling, her eyes bright with
tears.

Massie swallowed back a wave of guilt-nausea.

Yip! Yip!
The door chime signaled another customer.

“Just let me know if you need anything.” The salesgirl dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “And help yourselves to a gingerbread
paw,” she added, tapping the dog bowl with a polished index finger. “They’re from PureBread, Celia’s new line of organic treats
for pets and humans.” She hurried past the PC to the front of the store.

“Ew.” Alicia wrinkled her nose.

“Yum,” Dylan said at the same time, her hand shooting into the dog bowl.

“Cam loves gingerbread,” Claire sighed morosely.

“Lethal?” Massie repeated, leaning against the cool glass case for support.

“She’s ahbviously exaggerating, Mass.” Alicia examined a tiny Hermès scarf on a velvet-lined tray. “Do Landon’s single guy
friends have dogs too? Maybe I should get this.”

“I need to prove what an animal lover I am.” Massie pinched a gingerbread paw and nibbled at the rounded edge. But instead
of soothing her, the spicy-sweet treat made her stomach lurch. “Remember when Hayden got arrested for trying to save the seals?”

“Wasn’t it dolphins?” Kristen corrected her.

Massie ignored her. “And did I nawt wear my
CLUB SODA, NOT SEALS
shirt to the gym the next day, to show support?”

“Plus, I saw four girls from sixth wearing the same shirt at school the next day,” Alicia said. “You practically started a
movement.”

“Given.” Massie nodded. “Except Landon doesn’t know that.”

“So show him.” Kristen clapped. She headed for the wall of puppy footwear on the other side of the store, her heels clacking
with determination. “How about some puppy Pumas?” she called, lifting a miniscule pair of metallic street sneakers over her
head.

Alicia rolled her eyes. “He can’t walk, re-mem-ber?”

Dylan grabbed another handful of gingerbread paws and followed Kristen. “At least that way he can kick up his paws in style,”
she grinned over her shoulder.

Massie shook her head, her chestnut locks fanning around her shoulders like a silky pashmina. “Nawt good enough.”

“Um… what about a new doggie bed?” Claire sank onto a pile of giant silk pet pillows at Massie’s feet. “You could get it monogrammed
or something. And since Bark’s gonna need bed rest…”

“Better,” Massie admitted. “But still not it.” She tapped the glass with her index finger, letting her eyes travel from the
selection of jeweled kitty chokers to the tiny puppy Ray-Bans.
No, no, and no.

“Got it!” Dylan squealed from somewhere in the back of the store. She barreled past the footwear display, her tousled tresses
flapping wildly behind her. She was cradling a small cardboard box in her arms like it was a rare Nancy Gonzalez origami tote.
“It’s called the Mutt Monitor. It’s like a baby monitor, but for pets. That way Landon can keep an eye on Bark while he recovers.”
Breathless, she held up the box for Massie to see.

The idea was actually perfect enough that Massie wished it had been hers. There was only one problem.

“He can’t have a monitor at school though,” she pointed out. “We need something where he can check on the puppy during the
day without getting caught.”

“What about the SnoopDawg 2000?” The peppy salesgirl appeared out of nowhere, sliding behind the glass case and producing
a small silver key from her pocket. She inserted it into the lock and slid open the case. “It’s the newest edition of our
original SnoopDawg camera charm.” Her fingers flew over the charms until she found the tiny silver bone-shaped charm, and
she lifted it for Massie to see. “It allows the tech-savvy animal lover to track pets in real time on the SnoopDawg Web site.
Plus, it’s iPhone compatible.”

“Perfect!” Massie air-clapped.

The salesgirl nodded. “And the camera inside has a rotating lens, so you get a 360-degree view.”

Massie quickly side-glanced at Bean, whose own SnoopDawg charm had turned to her furry chest again.

“It’s the only one of its kind on the market.” The charm gleamed and glinted in the golden boutique lighting.

“Upgrade!” Alicia announced happily.

Kristen skipped up behind Massie, slapping her playfully on the shoulder. “Does Landon have any friends that play varsity
soccer?” she asked quietly, a devilish grin on her face. “I’m so over J.V.”

Claire sighed, pushing herself to her feet. “Isn’t it a little quick to be scouting soccer players?” she asked, clearly annoyed.

“Of course, it’s slightly more expensive than the original…” the salesgirl continued.

“I’ll take it.” Massie reached for her clutch, relief washing over her like a triple spritz of cooling Evian facial mist.
The SnoopDawg 2000 was the perfect way to show Landon how much she cared about Bark. She grinned at her friends.

The upgrade was
awn.

THE ABELEY HOUSE

LAYNE’S BEDROOM

Saturday, November 1st

4:56
P.M.

“It’s like…” Claire leaned forward in Layne’s corduroy papasan chair and wrapped herself in a rainbow-colored mohair throw,
searching for the perfect metaphor to convey just how casually her friends were treating the idea of ditching their crushes.
“It’s like the boys are basic Prada hobos they ordered off Saks last season. And then this season’s trendy Proenza Schouler
totes came out and they thought, ‘Hey! These bags are waaaaay more mature.’ And so now they want to exchange the hobos for
the totes, which is the worst idea ever, because the hobos are cute and sweet and funny and go with everything!” Claire surfaced
for air, refocusing her gaze on Layne, who was sitting cross-legged on her glow-in-the-dark duvet.

Layne’s jaw dropped. “English, please.”

Claire collapsed back into the cushion, staring up at the plastic stars glued to Layne’s ceiling. Her head was throbbing,
and this time she couldn’t blame it on the combination beef jerky–mothball–vanilla Glade smell of Layne’s bedroom. “It’s like
their old crushes are vintage Salvation Army finds and now they want shiny new ninth-grade crushes from Macy’s.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh.” Layne nodded. “Got it.”

Claire whipped the mohair throw onto the floor in despair. It landed with a loud crumple on top of an empty jumbo bag of Funions.
Layne’s bedroom floor was strewn with cut-up issues of
National Geographic, Entertainment Weekly,
and
Martha Stewart Living
. Three colorful bolts of fabric were balled in the corner, and a hot glue gun had leaked what looked like a glittery blue
booger onto Layne’s cream throw carpet. But Layne’s room felt neat and ordered, compared to the swirling chaos of Claire’s
brain.

“Does this include Kristen?” Layne drummed her fingers together, her brows wiggling over smudges of bright purple shadow.
In the neon glow of the red lava lamp on her bedside table, she looked like an exchange student from hell. “Because if Dempsey’s
available—”

BOOK: These Boots Are Made for Stalking
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