These Boots Are Made for Stalking (6 page)

Claire glare-silenced her. “Layne.”

“Sorry. Refocusing. So what does Cam say?”

“Nothing. I haven’t told him yet.” Claire sighed miserably. All day, Cam had been texting about the post–trick-or-treating
fun he and the boys had had at Josh’s. About how he’d eaten so much candy corn that his skin was starting to look orange,
and how Dempsey and Josh had toilet-papered Derrington after he’d fallen asleep. But what was Claire supposed to text back?
Don’t tell Alicia or Dylan—they think mummies are im
mum
ture?

“The guys don’t deserve this!” she said, the panic in her stomach hardening into anger.

“Yeah!” Layne nodded, bolting upright and pumping her fist into the air. Each of her fingernails was painted a different neon
color. “What did Dempsey ever do to Kristen?”

“Nothing!” Amped-up energy rushed to Claire’s head like sparkling cider bubbles to the top of a champagne flute. “So Derrington
wiggles his butt and Josh likes to dress in drag. It’s funny, right?”

“Right!” Layne leapt up on her bed, bouncing on her mattress. “Well, it’s actually not really my thing, but whatever!”

“We have to do something!” Claire decided, jumping from the papasan chair to the floor. She landed on a pile of Layne’s dirty
clothes and hopped over the fabric bolts, the glue gun, and an open jewelry box filled with tiny fake jewels to get to the
bed.

“We have to do the right thing!” Layne declared, crouching down to pull Claire up. The girls gripped each other’s hands, bouncing
up and down on the bed.

“Because eighth-grade crushes everywhere need our help!” Claire barked, her bangs flop-fanning her forehead.

“It’s up to us to save the males,” Layne declared.

“Yessssssssssss!” Claire huffed, feeling all the built-up tension from the night before slowly drain from her body as she
sailed in the air, the crooked Broadway show posters on Layne’s wall spinning in a blur around her. “What’s our first mission?”

“This!” Layne stuck out her bare foot, tripping Claire and sending both girls flopping onto the mattress in a heap of giggles.

Out of breath, Claire rolled onto her back. “We do… actually… need a… plan,” she heaved. “Something to make the girls think
ninth-grade crushes are a terrible idea.”

Layne waved her away. “I’ll come up with something. Gimme a second.”

The girls stared at the greenish glow-in-the-dark universe overhead, lapsing into silence. Her head a little clearer, Claire
tried to brainstorm ways to convince Massie that eighth-grade boys were ten times better than ninth-grade ones. But instead
of a plan, her brain drifted to images of Cam. Cam on his bike, coasting down Massie’s driveway, his blue eye bluer than the
sky while his green one made the manicured grass look faded and dull. Cam in his ump-pire costume, which he’d picked to go
with her trampire costume so the whole world would know they were crushes. Cam on the soccer field, easing the soccer ball
effortlessly toward the net. Cam with a giant baggie of gummies, slipping them into Claire’s candy ba—

“Got it!” Layne slapped the duvet with her palm, jolting Claire out of her daydream. “And it’s totally inspired.”

“What?” Claire flopped onto her stomach and kicked off her giraffe-printed Keds. They landed with a thump on the bedroom floor.

Layne shook her head. “It’s top secret,” she said mysteriously.

“Layne!” Claire swatted her with one of the puff-painted pillows strewn across Layne’s bed. “It can’t be top secret from me!
This mission was my idea in the first place!”

“The less you know, the better.” Layne grinned, obviously enjoying herself. “Meet in the café Tuesday at oh-twelve-hundred
hours. Don’t be late.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

“Please. Have I ever steered you wrong?” Layne turned to face Claire, her frizzy brown flyaways tumbling over her eyes. “Trust
me, dahhhh-ling.” She wiggled her pinky finger.

Claire latched her pinky with Layne’s and shook on it. She wanted to believe Layne had the perfect, foolproof plan. That by
lunchtime on Tuesday, Massie and the girls would rediscover their crushes and fall in love with them all over again, like
the boys were rare vintage handbags that seemed even better the second time around.

Eighth-grade crushes might be endangered—like blue whales or the African wild ass—but if Claire had anything to say about
it, they were nawt going to become extinct.

“Second entrance on the right, Isaac,” Massie instructed the Block family driver from the backseat of the Range Rover. Bean
was perched on her lap, peering warily out the tinted window at the cracked brick ADD sign at the school’s rusted metal gate.

“Got it.” Isaac beamed into the rearview mirror, looking prouder than Massie had been on the day of Bean’s graduation from
puppy obedience school. The Range Rover slowed and turned onto a paved road that was faded and lined with yellowed crabgrass.
“You know, I’m glad you girls are considering public school for next year. It shows real maturity to broaden your horizons
like this.”

Across from Massie, Alicia, Kristen, Claire, and Dylan gripped their black leather armrests at the very idea.

Massie swallowed a laugh. Going public was like flying coach—fine for a short flight, but for four years of high school? Absolutely
nawt. But Isaac would never have agreed to the stakeout if he knew her real motives. For that matter, neither would the Pretty
Committee; they thought there were there to pick out new crushes. Massie admitting that she wanted to spy on Landon would
be like Demi Moore owning up to her airbrush job on the cover of
W
: It would totally ruin appearances, and secretly, everybody probably already knew anyway.

“How’s my hair?” Dylan speed-combed her locks. “I want it to look perfect for all the ninth-grade hawt—”

Alicia pinched Dylan’s thigh.

“FOR WHEN WE MEET THE PRINCIPAL,” Dylan finished loudly. “YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. YOU NEVER HAVE A SECOND CHANCE TO MAKE A
FIRST—”

Massie pressed the silver armrest button that activated the tinted divider between the front and back seats, creating a soundproof
barrier between Isaac and the PC.

“Sorry.” Dylan’s cheeks turned pink.

Massie wished her seat came equipped with its own personal divider, so she could close herself off from the rest of the Range
Rover and do all the things she was dying to do but wouldn’t be caught dead doing. Like check her iPhone again for a text,
Twitter post, or voice mail from Landon, thanking her for the SnoopDawg 2000, which she’d had messengered to him. Or click
to her newly formed Facebook group, EATA (Ethical Animal Treatment by Alphas) to see if Landon had joined in the last seven
minutes.

Why hadn’t he called? Did he seriously prefer over-bronzed ninth-grade girls who wore minis to movie night and hadn’t trick-or-treated
in years? Massie had texted over the weekend to make sure he knew that for her, Halloween was all about the fashion, not the
candy. But what if he thought she was immature? Sure, every magazine worth its weight in ad sales said men prefer younger
women, but what if
Cosmo
had been misleading her all this time?

Massie pressed her hands into the soft leather seat, her entire body buzzing with nervous energy. Or was that just the Range
Rover, navigating the crumbling, cracked concrete of the ADD driveway?

“Ehhhhhhhhmagaaaaaaaawd,” Alicia’s voice trembled as Isaac shifted into four-wheel drive. The Kevyn Aucoin liner she’d been
holding to her lips shook violently, giving her a jagged, plum-colored mustache.

“Hahaaaaaaaaa,” Kristen giggled.

Claire crossed her arms over her white Inhabit henley and stared out the window. “It’s not
that
bad.”

Massie ignored her and popped the mix she’d made last night into the CD player built into the leather bench. Immediately,
Avril Lavigne’s “I Can Do Better” blasted from the speakers. All Claire needed was a little taste of an upgrade, and she’d
come around. She always did. In fact, Massie had been upgrading Claire since the second she’d moved to Westchester from Orlandull.
If it weren’t for Massie, Claire’s closet would still be filled with puff-painted Keds and tacky baby tees that read things
like
THIS SHIRT IS BANANAS
or
NERD FETISH
.

“Positions,” Massie announced as Isaac pulled around the front circle. She retied the sash on her See by Chloé camo dress.

Everyone except for Claire reached into their handbags, producing the sleek silver binoculars Massie had brought for the stakeout.

“How long is this gonna take?” Claire sighed, checking her Baby G-Shock watch. “I’m supposed to ride bikes with Cam later,
but I have to finish my homework first.”

“This is your homework.” Massie pressed the cool metal to her eyes, examining a group of baggy-jeaned boys playing Hacky Sack
in front of the flag-less flagpole. Their hems were muddy and torn, and they were wearing Simples.
Ew.
“Only instead of an A, you get a C.”

“C?”

“A crush,” Massie said, clarifying the obvious.

“I told you,” Claire huffed. “I don’t want a—”

“Ehmaspandex!” Dylan pointed out the window.

“Where?” Kristen swung her binoculars toward the other side of the Range Rover. A girl with Pippi braids wearing a Syracuse
hoodie over hot-pink stretch pants skipped over to a waiting blue Honda.

“Dylan!” Alicia whisper-hissed. “Don’t point. You’ll scare it away.”

Dylan stuck her tongue out at Alicia, then reached into the crumpled bag of M&Ms in her lap. “It’s like a whole different
world out here.”

“I feel like we’re on safari.” Alicia adjusted the sleeves on her army-green Twenty8Twelve fitted blazer. “Watching the poor
and fashion-challenged in their natural habitat.”

Kristen sank back into the leather bench. “Don’t say ‘safari,’” she groaned. “If I hear one more ‘This one time? In Africa?’
story, I’m going to import a lion to eat him.”

Massie leaned toward the front seat and lowered the divider. “Just park here,” she called over the sound of the music. “We’re
going to sit for a minute and check out the scene.”

Isaac nodded and pulled over to the curb, next to the freestanding ADD cafeteria.

“At least Dempsey doesn’t keep losing bets,” Dylan grumbled. “Josh bet Derrington he couldn’t beat him three times in a row
at Soccer FIFA 09.”

“And?” Kristen grinned.

Dylan’s chin dropped to her green Free People cardigan. “Now he has to wear his clothes backward till Christmas.”

Massie fought back a smile. Landon may not have returned her texts, but at least he put his clothes on the right way.

The jostling stopped when Isaac shifted the Range Rover into
PARK
, but Massie’s insides didn’t stop vibrating. She dipped her hand into her purse and tapped her Nars bronzing powder with
her fingertips, sneaking a quick cheek-swipe when the other girls weren’t looking.

The creaking clang of the final bell echoed across campus, and the building’s main doors swung open.

“Time to upgrade, girls,” she announced as herds of ADD kids spilled onto the front lawn.

The girls bolted upright, ready for action.

“Make sure all the kids are carrying lots of books,” Massie said loudly enough for Isaac to hear, as the girls all pulled
out their cells. “We want to make sure high school challenges us to reach our full potential.”

Massie:
Translation: if u see any hawt boys, take their pics. I’ll have Landon ID later.

Alicia:
Done.

Kristen:
Done.

Dylan:
And done.

Claire just pulled her math textbook out of her Roxy backpack.

Massie was about to lecture her when the doors of the main building flew open, and out stepped a boy in perfectly faded Genetic
Denim jeans and a gray Black Hearts Brigade T-shirt. His inky black curls glinted in the bright November sun, his blue eyes
shone, and the messenger bag slung over his shoulder was definitely designer—Prada? Dolce? Bean
yip
-licked the window.

“Target locked on and acquired,” Massie said, as Miles, Ace, and a bunch of other guys crowded around Landon, talking and
laugh-punching one another.

“Ehmagawd!” Dylan and Alicia squealed.

“Who’s
that
?” Kristen pointed to a girl making her way up to Landon. Her waist-long dreadlocks were dyed half red and half yellow, and
she wore a gray Levi’s denim jacket, black bike shorts, and red Converse sneakers.

“My eyes!” Alicia jammed on her sunglasses at the sight of the offending outfit.

“Shhh!” Massie pressed her nose against the window, watching as the Ronald McDonald look-alike handed something to Landon.
He smiled, the same way he used to smile at Massie the week before. She dropped her silver binoculars in her lap.

“Who is that?” Even Claire slammed her textbook shut and stared.

“Probs just a friend,” Massie said, her mouth suddenly dry. She resisted the urge to grab McDreads by the hair and sling-hurl
her across the potholed lawn. “Older guys usually have a lot of girl friends, but they’re not, like, girlfriends.”