These Boots Are Made for Stalking
CLIQUE novels by Lisi Harrison:
THE CLIQUE
BEST FRIENDS FOR NEVER
REVENGE OF THE WANNABES
INVASION OF THE BOY SNATCHERS
THE PRETTY COMMITTEE STRIKES BACK
DIAL L FOR LOSER
IT’S NOT EASY BEING MEAN
SEALED WITH A DISS
BRATFEST AT TIFFANY’S
THE CLIQUE SUMMER COLLECTION
P.S. I LOATHE YOU
BOYS R US
CHARMED AND DANGEROUS: THE RISE OF THE PRETTY COMMITTEE
THE CLIQUETIONARY
THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR STALKING
Also by Lisi Harrison:
ALPHAS
If you like THE CLIQUE, you may also enjoy:
The
Poseur
series by Rachel Maude
The
Secrets of My Hollywood Life
series by Jen Calonita
Copyright © 2010 by Alloy Entertainment
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
“Prologue/Little Shop of Horrors” by Howard Elliot Ashman, Alan Irwin Menken (Universal Geffen Music, Menken Music, Trunksong
Music LTD). All rights reserved.
“Suddenly Seymour” by Howard Elliot Ashman, Alan Irwin Menken (Universal Geffen Music, Menken Music, Trunksong Music LTD).
All rights reserved.
Poppy
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at
www.HachetteBookGroup.com
First eBook Edition: March 2010
Poppy is an imprint of Little, Brown and Company.
The Poppy name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
CLIQUE
®
is a registered trademark of Alloy Media, LLC.
ISBN: 978-0-316-07212-0
Contents
THE MARVIL ESTATE: MERRI-LEE MARVIL’S CLOSET
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK: HEMMING WAY
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK: 3511 HEMMING WAY
THE BLOCK ESTATE: MASSIE’S BEDROOM
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK: BARK JACOBS BOUTIQUE
THE ABELEY HOUSE: LAYNE’S BEDROOM
RANGE ROVER: ABNER DOUBLEDAY DAY SCHOOL
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL: THE NEW GREEN CAFÉ
THE BLOCK ESTATE: UPGRADE HEADQUARTERS/THE SPA
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL: BATHROOM STALL
THE BLOCK ESTATE: UPGRADE HEADQUARTERS/THE SPA
THE BLOCK ESTATE: MASSIE’S BEDROOM
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL: OUTSIDE THE NEW GREEN CAFÉ
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL: CLAIRE’S LOCKER
RANGE ROVER: EN ROUTE TO ABNER DOUBLEDAY DAY SCHOOL
THE WESTCHESTER MALL: BCBG MAX AZRIA
THE WESTCHESTER MALL: BROOKSTONE
THE BLOCK ESTATE: MASSIE’S BEDROOM
WESTCHESTER DOG PARK: PUP-A-PALOOZA CHARITY AUCTION
WESTCHESTER DOG PARK: PUP-A-PALOOZA CHARITY AUCTION
793 PRESCOTT DRIVE: THE BUSHES OUTSIDE LANDON’S HOUSE
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK: OUTSIDE THE GOURMET AU LAIT
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK: LANDON’S HOUSE
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK: THE WESTCHESTER COMMUNITY THEATER
THE BLOCK ESTATE: OUTSIDE THE GUESTHOUSE
THE BLOCK ESTATE THE GUESTHOUSE LIVING ROOM
An Excerpt from ALPHAS by Lisi Harrison
For Bee Bee, the ah-dorable four-legged inspiration for
Bark Obama and Bean Block.
And, of course, Meg Haston. You are truly ah-mazing.
“Rate my costume,” Massie Block demanded, spinning around in a circle so the Pretty Committee could see her black silk Theory
jumpsuit and red patent-leather Brian Atwood pumps from every angle. Hands on hips, she ran her tongue over her fang-enhanced
smile and dared her friends to give her anything less than a 9.2.
Alicia Rivera and Dylan Marvil conferred like they were front-row fashion critics and Merri-Lee Marvil’s two-story walk-in
closet was the main tent at Bryant Park. Dylan’s mom had given the girls permission to accessorize their Halloween costumes
with anything from her closet that had passed the
BEST IF WORN BY
tags dangling from their hangers.
Claire Lyons flashed a pointy-eye-toothed grin. “Nine-point-eight!”
“Heart it.” Alicia applauded.
“To
die
for.” Kristen Gregory grabbed a lacy camisole that hung from the crystal wall sconce like a cobweb.
“Suuuuuuuck iiiiit, Bellllaaaaahhhh,” Dylan burped, reaching for another chewy ghost PEEP.
Without warning, an electric shiver shimmied down Massie’s spine. Maybe it was the sting of her new lip-plumping Glossip Girl
Bite Me Berry stain. Maybe it was the eerie flicker of the Belle Fleur Cacao Tabaq soy candles Dylan had lit to get her friends
in the Halloween spirit. Or maybe it was the thrill of knowing that the Pretty Committee was back together and tighter than
Massie’s abs after a two-hour Zumba-thon.
Alicia lifted her palm and Massie leaned down to victory-five it. When their palms met, waves of understanding flowed between
them. Without saying a word, it was clear that Alicia would never try to be the alpha of her own clique again, like she’d
done with the Soul-M8s, her failed boy-girl clique. And Massie would try to be a little less Bumble & Bumble super-hold hairspray
and a little more Frederic Fekkai flexible hold.
“Are you sure Landon won’t think it’s juvenile?” Massie asked, adjusting her black lace gloves. Now that she had an ah-dorable,
fashion-savvy ninth-grade crush, the margin for fashion error was slimmer than a pair of J Brand Skinny jeans.
“Did you ask him to go trick-or-treating yet?” Kristen pushed herself to her feet, then teetered to the far wall in platform
Jimmy Choos to riffle through the hanging clothes. Polaroids of Merri-Lee wearing the outfits hung from the hangers, expiration
dates inked in red.
“Not officially,” Massie admitted. “But we’ve been texting about hanging out tomorrow night. He’s probably just waiting for
me to let him know the plan.” She nibbled her bottom lip, wishing she could sneak a quick text check.
“Josh’s been tweeting all week about how pumped he is to see me in my costume.” Alicia reached for a blood orange slice and
popped it in her mouth.
“Derrington’s definitely coming,” Dylan announced, pretending to examine her flat-ironed red locks for split ends.
“Good.” Massie flashed a reassuring smile, to prove she was fine with Dylan and Kristen crushing on her exes. So getting two
of her crushes stolen had left her with more trust issues than the U.S. Treasury. But thanks to her new subliminal confidence-building
CD,
Surviving Male Betrayal,
she was guaranteed to lose those issues faster than Nicole Richie shed her baby weight. Or else Oprah and her book club would
have some serious explaining to do.
Just then, a deep, evil laugh boomed from the intercom. “MUUUUUUUUAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAA.”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” the whole PC screamed. Claire panic-flung a gummy foot across the room. Dylan grabbed
the top off a Prada shoe box and held it in front of her like a shield. And Bean, Massie’s black pug, leapt off a bed of Hermès
silk scarves and made a beeline for Massie, her red silk cape fluttering behind her like she was an ah-dorable superhero.
“Bean!” Massie swooped down to rescue her puppy. Bean’s custom white fangs tipped with OPI’s Vampire State Building polish
chattered in fear.
Seconds later, Layne Abeley appeared in the arched double doorway in a
GHOULS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN
T-shirt and neon orange skinny jeans.
“Ehmagawd, Layne!” Massie said, her heart racing in her chest. “You almost gave Bean a heart attack!”
“Sorrrrrry.” Layne plopped down next to Claire like she belonged there.
The PC insta-grabbed their phones.
Dylan:
K, did u invite Layne?
Kristen:
Nope. U?
Alicia:
The shirt sucks.
Dylan:
And the pants bite.
Massie:
Outfit should b 6 ft under.
Dylan:
Wonder if C invited her?
Massie:
Probs. Just ignore her.
Massie took a giant gulp of her Draculatte to wash down the guilt lump starting to form in her throat. The truth was that
when Layne had complained in second-period French about not having a costume, Massie had mentioned where the PC would be after
school. Which meant she’d semi-invited the LBR. But she hadn’t
really
had a choice. When Dylan and Kristen had stolen ex-Derrington and ex-Dempsey, Layne had produced her brother Chris Abeley’s
ninth-grade friends. Including Landon Crane.
But most important, when Massie had been forced to hire actors for her new clique to make the old one jealous, Layne hadn’t
told a soul (or a Soul-M8).
“What’re you guys supposed to be anyway?” Layne piped up, double-knotting the green glitter laces on her black Converse sneakers.
Dylan rolled her eyes. “We’re going as trampires.”
“Huh?” Layne’s under-plucked brows inched toward each other as she helped herself to the tray of bite-size brownies, blood
oranges, and dark chocolate–covered popcorn.
“Trampires,” Alicia repeated, tightening the silver braided belt she wore over a strapless slate gray Alexander Wang dress.
“Hawt vampires.” She’d ripped holes in a pair of Merri-Lee’s DKNY fishnets and painted tiny bite marks on her leg with a scarlet
YSL lip liner. “Genius, right? Massie thought of it.”
Dylan smile-thanked Massie for the idea before yanking down the hem of her black Cosabella slip.
Massie beamed
You’re welcome
. This year, every girl in eighth was either dressing up like Bella Swan or one of the Cullen girls, which meant the vampire
trend was deader than dead. So she’d added an alpha twist.
“I get the tramp part.” Layne inspected Claire’s lace-trimmed burgundy slip. “But what’s the ‘pire’ part?”
“We’re not spray-tanning this year,” Massie explained. “So we’ll be super-pale.”
“Come on, Layne,” Claire said. “Let’s go find you a costume.” She pushed herself to her feet, then gripped Layne’s hands and
pulled her up too.
“Okay. But nothing trampy.” She followed Claire up the spiral staircase to the second floor.
“Style-sucker,” Alicia called after them. Her dark hair looked glossier than usual in the candlelight.
“Ah-greed,” Massie giggled, settling on the floor next to Kristen. Being back together with her friends felt better than one
of Jakkob’s post-highlight scalp massages. She pinky-swore to herself that she would never let crush issues crush the Pretty
Committee again.
