These Boots Are Made for Stalking (7 page)

Landon pulled out his phone and asked the girl something. Ehmagawd. Probably her phone number.

The PC were silent, pity filling their faces. The already taut sash on Massie’s camo dress was starting to feel like a boa
constrictor, squeezing all the confidence from her body. She should’ve known Landon would ditch her like all the other guys
she’d ever crush—

Ping.

Landon:
Just got the SnoopDawg 2000. Awesome! Thx!

And just like that, the sash felt like a warm hug reminding her that miracles happen every day.

Massie:
No prob. Thought u could use it to check on Bark while he recovers…

She neglected to add the best part about the gift: She could use the SnoopDawg 2000 to keep a close eye on Landon.

Landon:
Totally. Where r u? Want 2 get the dogs 2gether?

“Isaac!” Massie gripped her cell for dear life. “We’ve gotta get home! Now.”

Isaac turned around in his seat, looking confused. “But what about your campus tou—”

“Canceled!” Panic twisted in her stomach like a carb-loaded, oversalted mall pretzel. Every second the Range Rover stayed
parked in the ADD lot was another second she could get busted for being a crush chaser.

The PC collapsed back in their seats as Isaac peeled out of the parking lot, muttering something under his breath.

When the Range Rover was safely out of Landon’s line of sight, Massie texted back, allowing herself to sneak a tiny breath
of relief.

Massie:
Play-d8 sounds gr8. Plans 2day tho. Friday?

Landon:
Def. Where?

Massie:
My house. The spa. Bark can get in the jacuzzi. The heat is gr8 4 pain.

Landon:
Perfect. Bark will be psyched. Me too.

“Spill!” Alicia begged, leaning forward.

Even Claire looked curious.

“He’scomingtothespaFridayafterschool!” Adrenaline pulsed through Massie’s veins faster than her fingers could text. She’d
just invited a Ninth. Grade. Boy. To her Jacuzzi.

“Tell him to bring his friends!” Dylan bounced up and down in her seat.

“’Kay!” Massie bounced back.

Massie:
Oops! 4got I already told the Pretty Committee they could spa. Bring ur friends!

Landon:
U sure?

Massie:
So sure I’m raising my hands!

Landon:
????

“Done and done.” Massie tossed her phone back into her bag, too worn out to text-explain the deodorant joke. Beads of sweat
formed at her temples, and she sank back into the leather bench and closed her eyes. Text-managing her own love life, not
to mention her friends’, was exhausting.

“Yaaaaay!” Dylan, Alicia, and Kristen shouted. Dylan reached over and pressed the
PLAY
button on Massie’s mix. Lady GaGa’s “Love Game” came pumping through the sound system.

When Massie opened her eyes again, Claire was glaring at her. Her face was frozen in a Kristin Stewart–like grimace. But Massie
refused to let Claire ruin her fun. The Pretty Committee were ready to upgrade.

Even if Claire was being a total downer.

Claire’s denim-covered knees bounced uncontrollably underneath Table 18, making the tall stacks of
Seventeen, Vogue
(regular and
España
), and
In Style
on its surface quiver like a minor earthquake had struck the New Green Café.

“Claire.” Massie slapped her palm on the stack in front of her, pinning a scantily clad Sienna Miller to the bamboo table.
“Are you Julianne Hough?”

“No.” Claire reached for her gummy stash to calm her nerves, but the sugar-smudged baggie in her lap was empty.

“Then quit shaking it.” The rest of the PC snorted at the pages of their style bibles while Massie swiped the latest issue
of
Vogue
from Alicia’s pile. She flipped to the middle. “If I get Jakkob to do blunt bangs, do you think I’d look fifteen?” she mused
into the glossy pages. “Or, like, eleven?”

“Could go either way,” Alicia mused, side-glancing at Claire’s bangs.

Dylan nodded, taking a long swig of her Blue Bubble Gum Jones Soda. “Risky.”

“Ah-greed,” Massie decided, tossing her side bangs past her decidedly bronzed cheekbones.

Claire’s eyes traveled nervously back and forth between the mini vegetable gardens on her left and the Borba-stocked stagecoach
on her right. Olivia Ryan was giggling with Kori, Strawberry, and Meena at Table 4. Seventh-graders jostled between the bamboo
tables, carrying trays of teriyaki tofu, steaming bowls of black bean chili loaded with soy cheese, and plates of crispy veggie
samosas. But instead of soothing her, the warm, spicy aromas that filled the café were starting to make her sweat. Where was
Layne? According to the clock over the frosted glass doors, she was a full four minutes late. Which meant that Operation Save
the Males was not off to a good start.

After yesterday’s trip to ADD, Claire had to accept the truth: Unless she took action immediately, the PC would be spa-partying
with a bunch of older guys by Friday. Hot tubs, dramatic breakups, strange new crushes: It would be like the Blocks’ spa had
been transformed into the set of
The Real World: Westchester
. Starting in…

Claire checked the clock again.

“Three days and six hours.” Massie slapped her magazine closed, prompting the rest of the girls to do the same. “That’s how
long we have till Landon and your new crushes show up at the spa.”

Alicia re-glossed.

Dylan sucked in her cheeks.

Kristen stretched her triceps.

And Claire gulped.

“Which means we’re running out of time to update our looks so they’re ninth-worthy.” Massie yanked at the hem of her eggplant-colored
Design History sweater. “WHICH means all changes have to be approved by the end of lunch.”

“Lunch?” Dylan moaned, scavenging the table for food. But every square inch was covered with style mags.

“It’s a figure of speech.” Massie said.

“Oh.” Dylan leaned back in her chair, looking weak.

“Now remember,” Massie instructed the PC. “Nothing drastic. We’re just going for a look that’s us, only better. And a year
older.” She paused, glancing at Claire’s black Gap turtleneck. “Or three. Whatevs.”

Claire rolled her eyes, sneaking another look at the clock. Now Layne was seven minutes late.

“I’ll start.” Alicia lifted an issue of
People
from her pile, opening to a dog-eared page that featured a spread on the cast of
Gossip Girl
. “I’m going Jessica Szohr,” she announced with a quick hair toss. “Shiny hair, boho fashion with a splash of Upper East Side.”
She paused, as if waiting for applause.

“Isn’t that kind of your look already?” Kristen looked up from
Sports Illustrated
.

“Given,” Alicia grinned. “Only this’ll be sexier.”

“What makes it sexier?” Dylan drained the last of her soda.

“A bikini.”

“Now me,” Kristen piped up, tightening her ponytail like she meant business. She had to prop herself up on her knees to see
over the listing pile of
Sports Illustrated
and
Harper’s Bazaar
in front of her. “It’s all about Hayden.” She held up a ripped
Heroes
promo ad. “I’m going with a laid-back surfer suit, natural makeup, and a center part.” She yanked the elastic out of her
hair, releasing her straight blond tresses to her shoulders. “It makes you look way more mature.”

The girls’ hands flew self-consciously to their side-parts.

Massie nodded. “Dylan?”

Dylan lurched forward in her seat. “Ummm… I think I’m doing Nicole Kidman?” She pawed frantically through the crinkled pages
in front of her. “Her hair’s looking really red these days.”

The Pretty Committee all stared at her.

“The point is to look like we’re nawt middle school,” Massie elbow-nudged her. “Or middle age.”

Dylan rolled her eyes. “Fine. Taylor Swift?”

“Good.” Massie straightened up, suddenly looking serious. “Now me.” She released her iPhone to the table and nodded at the
neat row of pages arranged in front of her. Sunlight from the large glass windows in the New Green Café illuminated reflective
shots of celebrities from Jessica (Biel, not Simpson) to Angelina. Different body parts, accessories, and wardrobe pieces
had been circled with Massie’s Smashbox Palm Beach lip liner, with notations like
THE HEMLINE
! and
SMUDGED LINER ADDS 6 MONTHS TO YOUNG-LOOKING EYES
! scribbled in the margins. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I narrowed my look down to Leighton Meester, Camilla Belle,
or Natalie Portman.”

“So?” Dylan bounced in her seat. “What’s it gonna be?”

The Pretty Committee leaned forwardly expectantly.

“None of the above,” Massie said, swiping the pages from the space in front of her like her bangle-covered forearm was a giant,
Chanel-spritzed windshield wiper. “The look I’m going for is… Massie Block,” she finished coyly. “If it’s working, why change
it?”

Just as Claire was about to roll her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Layne charging through the glass doors on the other side
of the café. She was dressed in a black terry cloth track suit, a white puffy coat, and two army green scarves, and her face
was bright red. Stage-winking at Claire, she held up an Evian bottle and doused herself with “sweat.”

Claire bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Comin’ through!” Layne bellowed, making a beeline for the Pretty Committee like she was a marathon runner and Table 18 was
the finish line.

A pained looked settled over Massie’s tanned face.

“You. Are. Not. Gonna. Buh. Lieve. This,” Layne wheezed, doubling over the table.

Massie wrinkled her nose as two drops of Evian sweat dripped from Layne’s nose onto Charlize Theron’s thigh. “Layne, are you
a decimal system?” she asked, scooting her chair a few inches to the left.

“No.” Layne coughed, planting her wet forehead on a stack of
Us Weekly
s.

“Then why are you so Dewey?” Massie cracked.

“Point!” Alicia flip-tousled her hair for volume.

Layne whipped a thick black notebook from underneath her puffy coat and tossed it in the center of the table. It was covered
in Fall Out Boy and Metro Station bumper stickers.

Claire crossed her fingers under the table as Massie eyed the worn notebook, clearly trying not to look curious.

“It’s my brother’s journal,” Layne heaved, looking like she might give in to heatstroke at any second.

“Chris Abeley keeps a journal?” Massie looked impressed.

Layne bobbed her head up and down. “Anyhoo, I stole it this morning. And it’s all about how dirty high school boys are and
how they like to use middle school girls. Especially private school ones.”

Dylan’s jaw dropped. “For what?”

“You know,” Layne said vaguely. “Dirty… stuff.”

“Ewwwwwww.” Alicia looked half grossed out, half curious.

“Are you serious?” Kristen bit her lower lip.

Claire pinched her thigh to keep from laughing.

Layne nodded. “And I’m pretty sure somebody found out I took the journal, ’cause I was definitely being followed on the way
here. But I had to tell you guys, ’cause I know you’ve been hanging out with Landon and stuff.” She glanced meaningfully at
Massie.

“Landon’s nawt dirty,” Massie decided, although she looked uncertain. She reached into her hobo and pulled out a fresh tube
of Glossip Girl, gripping it like it was a weapon.

“Oh yeah?” Layne challenged. “Then how come he gave Bean that charm collar with the camera in it?” She didn’t skip a beat.
“Probably so he can spy on you when you’re changing and taking a shower and stuff.”

Alicia gasped, crossing her arms over her C-cups. “Opposite of possible.”

Layne shrugged. “Says you,” she said, wiping her dripping forehead.

An uneasy silence settled over Table 18, making the sounds around them of clinking silverware, lunchtime gossip, and scraping
bamboo chairs seem ten times louder than before. Claire side-glanced at Massie, who was speed-glossing with the ferocity of
a snapping shark.