These Boots Are Made for Stalking (18 page)

“Ehmagawd, I do the same thing!” Claire shrieked, temporarily forgetting she wasn’t supposed to say,
Ehmagawd
. But nobody seemed to care.

“ME TOO!” Layne winked at Claire, as if to say,
See?

“But I only use full-length mirrors,” Syd continued, bending over to pet a giant golden retriever that was drinking from the
fountain. “Otherwise the choreography’s a total waste.”

“Exactly,” Claire laughed, feeling the tension in her shoulders starting to loosen. If Massie ever found out about Claire’s
mirror-singing, she’d probably expel her from the PC, effective immediately. But with these girls, it was like Claire didn’t
have to filter everything she said. It felt more freeing than spending an entire weekend in sweats.

“Hey, have you ever thought about auditioning for one of the shows?” Cara smiled. “We’re doing
Little Shop of Horrors
in the spring.”

“Wouldn’t she be an awesome Audrey?” Syd bobbed her head to the music.

“Seriously,” Layne agreed, shoving up the sleeves of her gray elbow-patched hoodie.

“I can introduce you to the director, if you…” Cara’s voice trailed off. She was staring over Claire’s left shoulder, her
arched brow crinkling slowly in confusion. Claire turned around.

Behind her, the Pretty Committee were standing shoulder to shoulder in full hair and makeup, cocktail dresses, and heels that
were sinking slowly in the grass like it was quicksand. At one of the Blocks’ events, the girls would have looked photo shoot–chic.
But in the middle of the dog park, they just looked overdressed and out of place. It was like seeing the cast of
Gossip Girl
in the frozen food aisle at the grocery store.

“Kuh-laire! You came!” Massie’s amber eyes glowed excitedly under the colored lights, complimenting her single-strap olive-green
satin dress. Bark Obama was tucked underneath her arm like a furry black clutch, lapping Kobe beef out of her upturned palm.
“In Keds, but still.” A Frisbee whizzed over her head, but her sculpted updo stayed frozen in place.

“Yup,” Claire smiled, deciding to ignore the dis. Ninth-graders probably let it go when their friends insulted their footwear.
Plus, as weird as it was to admit, Massie hating on her shoes felt comfortable, somehow. Familiar. “Massie, this is Syd and
Cara.”

“I think the Keds are adorable.” Syd adjusted her bra strap. “Totally retro.”

Then again, ninth-graders not hating on her shoes felt like a blast of fresh air. Claire bit the inside of her cheek to keep
from smiling. Cam would probably like these girls way better than he liked the PC. Maybe she should text him again, just to
see if—

“Puh-lease.” Massie placed Bark gingerly on the grass with a fresh slab of beef. “Marc Jacobs’s patent ankle booties are retro.”
She wrinkled her nose at Claire’s feet. “Those things are just old.” She lifted her palm in the air.

“Point,” Alicia groaned, wresting her satin-covered heel from the ground. When she finally freed it, a chunk of dirt went
flying through the air toward Cara, who had to duck out of the way.

“Oops,” Alicia said coolly.

Cara rolled her eyes.

Massie’s palm was still raised, like she expected the ninth-grade girls to slap it. But after a full five seconds in midair,
it was obvious they weren’t going to. Massie’s eyes widened slightly, and she whipped toward the PC for help. But Dylan was
too busy shoveling three wedges of cheese in her mouth to notice, and Kristen was kneeling in her silver sheath dress, petting
Bark. Claire cringed, contemplating high-fiving Massie herself. Seeing them this overdressed was painful enough, even if they
didn’t seem to mind. But this… this was brutal.

“Leesh,” Massie whisper-hissed through her uber-glossed smile.

“What?” Alicia was blending a dab of bronzed body shimmer into her shoulder. “Oh. Right.” She lifted her palm and smacked
Massie’s about seven seconds too late.

Cara and Syd looked bored.

Layne snorted. “Speaking of mind-blowingly AWESOME shoes…” She grin-winked at Claire, nodding at the booties on Bark Obama’s
feet. The decorations were starting to come unglued, leaving a glittering trail in Bark’s wake.

“Seriously?” Cara burst out laughing, kneeling down to inspect the booties. “What are these things?”

Massie reddened, her hand shooting into her cracked metallic clutch and emerging with her iPhone. Her fingers flew over the
keys and she squinted at it intently, like it might levitate if she stared hard enough.

Claire lifted her glass to her lips again, to cover her twitching lips. It wasn’t that she enjoyed watching Massie squirm.
It was that she loved Massie seeing how Claire could hang with ninth-graders too, if she wanted to. And strangely enough,
as she watched Cara inserting a fallen feather from Bark’s booties into her jacket lapel, she was starting to think she did.
Maybe age really was nothing but a number.

“So when’d you get here?” she asked, trying to capture Massie’s attention. What she was really saying was
I’m here. Happy?

“Just now,” Massie murmured, glaring at the image of Syd’s and Cara’s ankles filling her screen. After a moment she dropped
her cell back in her bag and turned her attention to Claire. “Having fun?” The glint in her jet black liquid-lined eyes said,
I knew you’d come.

Claire nodded, turning away from the group. “Actually, these girls are really cool,” she whispered, shielding her mouth with
her empty glass.

“OMG, did I nawt tell you?” Massie whisper-giggled back, temporarily forgetting her own N-OMG rule.

“Tell her what?” Dylan elbowed her way into the powwow, her breath smelling like sharp cheddar. Her shiny red mane had been
teased and tousled to new heights.

“About how ninth-graders are ten times better than eighth-grade LBRs,” Massie beamed, hip-bumping Claire and looping her bronzed
arm around her shoulder.

“Yup.” Dylan was staring openmouthed at her new crush drumming away on stage, a cheddar crumb perched on her bottom lip.

“Fine. You told me,” Claire admitted, basking in the glow of the old Massie. The Massie who said OMG, and took a break from
crush-spying to giggle with her friends. Even if they were in eighth.

“Woooooooooo-hoooooooooooo!” shrieked the crowd as the band finished their set.

“Thanks, guys.” Doug leaned into the mic. “We’re Smells Like Uncle Hugh, and that song was called Pee-Hugh. We’re gonna take
a quick break, but stick around, ’cause we’ll be back for more in just a few.”

“Ow-owwww!” hooted someone in the crowd.

Somebody’s dog barked in agreement.

Dylan’s head snapped toward Massie. Her emerald eyes were panic-glazed. “Does my hair look okay? Should I go over there or
wait for him to come over here?”

“Wait,” Massie advised. “You don’t want him to think you’re desperate.” She gripped Claire’s wrist. Her hand smelled like
beef. “Plus, that’ll give us time to introduce Claire to her new crush.”

Syd and Cara’s eyes lit up at the exact same time.

“New crush?” Syd elbow-nudged Claire.

Claire shook her head, pulling away from Massie. “No thanks. I’m good.” A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her
things were about to get uglier than Layne’s homemade hoodie.

“Um, Kuh-laire?” Massie turned around, her grip tightening. “Are you Joan Rivers’s face?”

Claire sighed. Massie cutting her down in front of the ninth-grade girls was getting kind of old. “No. But I don’t want a
new—”

“Then why are you so frozen?” Massie snapped, her good mood evaporating faster than cheap moisturizer. Bark was doubled over
on the ground in a coughing fit, but Massie ignored him.

“I told you already.” Claire was starting to feel like a broken record. “I don’t. Want. A new. Crush. I’m sticking with Cam.”

Syd, Cara, and Layne were suddenly silent. Claire felt her cheeks getting hotter by the second. And it wasn’t from the spotlights.
As far as she was concerned, Cam
was
her upgrade. And she was sick of Massie acting like he wasn’t good enough.

“Fine.” Massie’s jawline jutted out, and her amber eyes darkened. Claire had only seen that look of angry humiliation once
before, when Kendra had taken away Massie’s AmEx right in front of the PC for online ordering their fall wardrobes with her
card because it was easier than entering five different card numbers, security codes, and expiration dates.

“Come on, Bark,” Massie hissed, pivoting on her sinking heel.

Still wheezing for breath, Bark bent over Massie’s foot and hacked up a neon blue feather.

“Ewwwww.” Alicia giggled.

Lifting her chin slightly, Massie clenched her jaw and hobbled into the crowd. Bark limp-trotted behind her, followed by the
rest of the Pretty Committee.

“What’s with her?” Syd murmured to Cara.

Cara looking to Claire, her gray eyes questioning. But Claire just shook her head, too exhausted to bother explaining. Not
that there was much to tell. It was pretty simple. Her friendship with the Pretty Committee was like Bark Obama’s booties:
coming apart at the seams.

Zigzagging through the underdressed crowd, Massie pinky-swore to herself not to let Claire take up one ounce of her mental
energy until her mission was complete. Ankle-Bird was priority number one. And Massie was going to track her down the same
way she’d tracked down the new Bottega Veneta metallic leather tote the day it had debuted at Saks: with focus, dedication,
and a refusal to let a bunch of girls and their puppy-stuffed handbags get in her way.

“She’s gawt to be here somewhere,” Massie muttered to her cell. With one hand on her iPhone and the other pulling pieces of
Kobe beef from the stash in her clutch, she cut across the grass, leading Bark toward the back of the park.

“Is it time for a break?” Dylan huffed in Massie’s left ear, temporarily replacing the delicate notes of Chanel No. 19 that
orbited her with the hot stench of blue cheese. “I wanna wish Luke good luck.”

“Nawt yet.” Massie recalculated her plan of attack. She’d work her way from the buffet tables toward the tiny massage tables
where puppies were getting complimentary spa services, past the pockets of guests and their dogs stretched out on picnic blankets,
around the Jacuzzi fountain, and up to the stage. And then she’d get Bark back to the Block Estate before Landon could flirt-thank
her for all her help.

“Have you guys seen Scott yet?” Kristen shielded her eyes with her palm, scanning the crowd.

“Aidan texted and said he’d be here in five.” Alicia snapped her picture with her cell, then studied the shot for imperfections.

“I should at least say hi before the band starts up again, right?” Dylan gripped her tiered black satin dress with both hands,
taking long strides to keep up. “I mean, I want Luke to see me while my hair still looks good.”

“Listen.” Massie spun around to face the PC. “We’re not here to find your crushes. We’re here to find Ankle-Bird and leave,
ay-sap.” Her tightly wound chignon was starting to loosen, just like her grip on the evening. Feeling Bark’s scratchy pink
tongue flick across her fingertips, she reached for another piece of beef and refocused on her cell. Last year’s Pumas, a
pair of individual-toed rainbow socks, and a tiny Tinkerbell tattoo crossed the screen. But no hummingbird.

“ATTENTION.” Kristen cupped her hands around her lip gloss–lacquered pout like a megaphone. “PUT DOWN THE SP-IPHONE AND STEP
AWAY FROM THE BEEF. IT’S TIME TO PAR-TAY.”

Alicia giggle-eyed the madras picnic blanket at her feet, where a girl and her crush were gunning for a Best Lip Kiss VMA.

“Be right back.” Dylan shot toward the buffet like the sushi rolls were tiny, powerful magnets and she was made of solid aluminum.

“Fine,” Massie snapped, sick of the distractions. “Go ahead. Alicia, since Aidan isn’t here, you can come with me. Watch the
camera while I feed Bark.” She thrust her phone into Alicia’s hands.

“’Kay.” Alicia took it, too busy staring at the lip-locked couple to protest.

“Meet at the fountain in twenty,” she instructed the girls. “Come awn, Leesh.” Stepping over a huddle of King Charles spaniels
sharing a plate of chocolate-frosted pup-cakes, she lifted herself to the balls of her feet to keep her heels from sinking
into the grass. Her shea butter–moisturized calves were already starting to burn. An outdoor charity event packed with puppies
was like a six-inch Jimmy Choo heel: adorable in theory, but impossible to walk in.

Winding around the buffet table, she dropped tiny beef bits at her heels to keep Bark moving while Alicia followed behind.
The bright lights, the buzzing and barking crowd, and the opening beats of the band on stage seemed muted, like she was walking
underwater. Drifting mindlessly through the crowd, she tried to barricade her brain against thoughts of Claire. But it was
pointless. Her mind was working in overdrive, trying to understand. Claire had practically been the mascot for eighth, and
here she was ditching the PC for a pair of ninth-graders she barely knew? It just didn’t make sense. Unless…

An earsplitting drum solo boomed over the loudspeakers, temporarily blocking the thought from Massie’s mind. But the second
the drums faded, it was back again, nipping at her heart just like Bark was nipping at her empty fingertips.

Maybe it wasn’t that Claire cared about upgrading from eighth. Maybe she just wanted to upgrade from the Pretty Committee.
Maybe she—

A cool breeze tickled her fingers where Bark’s tongue had been, bringing her back. Her head snapped toward her feet.

Bark was gone.

“OMG!” She whirled around, smacking into Alicia, who was bent over the iPhone. “Where’s Bark?”

“Ow!” Alicia rubbed her forehead, her dark chocolate eyes widening in pain. “Also? You’re not supposed to say ‘OMG,’ remem—”

“Not the point!” Massie snatched the iPhone from her friend’s open palm, her head throbbing. “Obama’s MIA!” The pounding in
her skull felt like one of Jakkob’s soothing scalp massages compared to the stabbing pain in her heart. If anything happened
to Bark, Massie and Landon would be done, done, and done-er. And losing Claire and her crush at the same time would be ten
times more devastating than losing her AmEx privileges. Besides, what good was limitless credit when you didn’t have a crush
or friends to buy things for?