“Me first.” Layne hovered excitedly over the giant chrome eight ball bolted to a display stand at the front of Brookstone. Pressing her palms on both sides of the ball, she screwed her eyes shut. “Ummmm… willmeandDempseyenduptogether?”
Claire shook her head, plucking a green gummy from the waxy paper bag in her palm. “You know those things don’t really work, right?” she asked glumly, releasing the gummy onto her outstretched tongue. But if she’d been alone, she would have asked the eight ball if she was doomed to live the rest of her middle school days in social purgatory, hovering on the outskirts of the Pretty Committee, with no new friends to show for the sacrifice.
And right now, it seemed like the eight ball’s answer would be No duh, Claire. That’s what she got for trying to branch out. Did she really think she could find better friends than the Pretty Committee? And did she think she could do it without hurting Massie’s feelings?
“Shhhhh.” Layne scrunched her features together, making her face look a little too much like Bean’s. Claire was suddenly reminded of Massie’s trip to ADD earlier that day. A terrifying thought forced its way into her mind: What if the PC had fallen so in love with high school, they’d decided to transfer, ay-sap? The gummy suddenly felt like lead on her tongue.
“The outcome is highly unlikely,” bleated the eight ball’s electronic robot voice.
Layne’s eyes snapped open. “This one’s busted,” she informed a passing pimply-faced sales associate. “You should probably bring out a new one, um… Darrell,” she said, squinting at the name tag pinned to the employee’s polo shirt.
Darrell eyed the neon orange Doritos fingerprints on the side of the ball.
“Come on, Layne,” Claire said quickly. “Let’s go check out the karaoke machines.”
She dragged her friend away from the eight ball, trying to shake the sinking, anxiety-filled, boulder-in-the-pit-of-her-stomach feeling that came on when she thought about the Pretty Committee’s new ninth-focused lives. She reminded herself that if they could move on to bigger and better things, so could she. Only those bigger and better things would still be in eighth.
“Do you think Cam would use an alarm clock that wakes him up with a recording of my voice?” Claire paused in front of a neatly stacked display pyramid, standing on tiptoe to reach the box at the very top. “Or is that creepy?”
“Creeeeeeeeeeeepy,” breathed Darth Vader’s voice from a pair of surround-sound speakers next to Claire.
“Look at this thing!” Layne gushed, waving a wireless mic over her head. “It has settings for, like, five hundred different character voices. Listen to this one.” She programmed a number into the keypad on the mic and raised it to her lips.
“KUH-LAIRE.”
Claire doubled over laughing at Layne’s spot-on impression of Massie, backing into the display. The cardboard pyramid toppled to the floor as feedback from the mic squealed throughout the store.
Eeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
“Ahhhhh!” Layne ditched the mic and plugged her ears.
An elderly woman eyeing a digital photo display next to her turned down her hearing aid and hobbled out of earshot.
“Ehmagawd!” Claire dropped to her knees amid the rubble, trying to restack the boxes. But she was laughing so hard, tears blurred her vision. The harder she laughed, the more the knot in the pit of her stomach seemed to loosen, leaving her feeling lighter. Like things were back to normal, and she didn’t have to worry about upgrades or mining OCD for diamonds in the rough that apparently didn’t exist.
When Claire finally wiped her tears away, the first thing to come into focus was a pair of black Marc Jacobs snakeskin flats. Claire knew those flats. And those flats meant one thing: Massie’s voice had been the real deal. Claire’s toes curled involuntarily, and she braced herself.
“Kuh-laire,” Massie’s voice echoed throughout the store again. Claire tilted her head back to get the full view. Massie was standing with one hand on her jutted hip, the other wrapped around a microphone. Tissue-stuffed bags from BCBG, Sephora, Nordstrom, Club Monaco, and Bark Jacobs hung from her crooked elbow. Dylan, Kristen, and Alicia stood next to her, each with bags of their own. Posed in the middle of the alarm clocks and the digital photo display section, the girls looked like mannequins somebody had delivered to the wrong store.
“Oh. Hey.” Claire swallowed a giggle, pushing herself to her feet. For some reason, she had the sudden itch to duck behind the globes display at the back of the store. Massie knew Claire and Layne were friends, and that they hung out without her sometimes. So why did Claire feel like she’d just gotten caught friend-cheating? “What’re you guys doing here?”
“We’re here on official business,” Massie informed Claire briskly. “We need to talk to Layne.”
Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen nod-agreed.
Claire narrowed her eyes at the countless bags dripping from the PC’s arms. The only business they were in was that of overspending.
“Official business?” Layne cleared her throat and stepped forward, looking intrigued. “Follow me.” She waded through the pile of alarm clocks, leading Massie and the PC deeper into the store. Claire scrambled after them, before Darrell the sales associate had a chance to see the rubble.
When they reached the back of the store, Layne nodded at Massie. “Step into my office,” she said smoothly, motioning toward two caramel leather massage chairs with remote controls on the armrests.
“Ehmagawd, Layne.” Massie looked annoyed, but she deposited all the bags (except the Bark Jacobs one) onto the carpeted floor and slid into the chair on the left.
Claire wrinkled her brow. What could Massie possibly need so badly that she was willing to take orders from Layne?
“Just a moment.” Layne leaned over Massie’s armrest, her fingers flying over the remote control. Then she did the same to her chair and plopped down next to Massie. Within seconds, rolling vibrations buzzed from the girls’ heads to their feet, and back up again.
“Sooo telll meeee hoooow Iiii cannnn heeeeeeelp youuuu,” Layne groaned, closing her eyes.
Alicia sighed loudly, leaning against a shelf of talking thermometers.
Kristen was bobbing her head to the beat of the tiny MP3 player/pedometer she’d lifted from a nearby display.
Massie’s snakeskin flats bounced uncontrollably on her footrest. “Iiii neeeeed aaaa faaaaaaaaavorrrr,” she purred, the delicate charm bracelet on her wrist jingling in time to her trembling voice. She reached into the gold Bark Jacobs bag in her lap and produced a tiny shoe box. She lifted the top and Layne peered inside.
“Baaaaaaby booooties?” The apples of Layne’s cheeks shook in confusion.
Massie swung her head from side to side. “Doogggiiiieee boooooties.”
“Ehmagawd, I opposite of have time for this.” Alicia stomped over to the chairs and dug her manicured nail into the OFF button on each remote. “The mall closes in, like, five hours and I still need a dress and a dog.”
“Doggie booties,” Massie repeated, sitting upright. She plucked a brown suede bootie from the box and dangled it in front of Layne’s nose. “I need cameras installed in all of them.” She wiggled against the buttery leather seat, scratching her back.
Layne examined the shoe carefully. “Bootie cams? Easy breezy,” she said finally. “But it’s gonna cost you.”
“Given,” Massie said happily. “You don’t take AmEx, do you?” She reached for her purse.
Layne snorted. “I don’t want your money,” she said. “I want Dempsey.”
Claire’s eyes widened.
Massie’s jaw dropped.
And Kristen flushed. “Layne. That’s totally not fair,” she protested, digging her toe into the gray carpet.
“What’s the problem?” Layne shrugged. “You guys don’t want him anymore, right?”
“Obv.” Massie and Kristen speed-shook their heads a little too quickly.
“So then pinky-swear you won’t ever crush on him again. AND you won’t get in my way when I do.” Layne planted her elbow between the leather armrests and extended her pinky.
Massie did the same. “Done, done, and done,” she said quickly, gripping Layne’s silver-ringed pinky in hers.
It was official: Claire had stepped into an alternate universe. A universe where Massie asked Layne for favors and Layne accepted payment in the form of ex-crushes. A universe where loving eighth automatically made you an outsider. The problem was, Claire couldn’t decide which was worse: living in her old world, where she sometimes felt like the PC owned her soul, or living in her new one, where she felt like she didn’t belong to anyone or anything.
When they slid out of the massage chairs, Massie and Layne were beaming. Claire couldn’t tell if it was because of the massage or the fact that they both clearly thought they’d just gotten the better end of the deal.
“So what are you really doing here?” Claire asked Massie, nodding at the small mountain of colorful bags piled at the foot of the chairs. The floor of Brookstone looked like the Lyons’ living room on Christmas morning.
“Shopping for a party Saturday night,” Massie said, her voice measured. For a brief second, her amber eyes lit up. Was that hope? Worry? Anger?
Claire braced herself. “What kind of party?”
“A niiiinth-grade one,” Alicia offered, giving the word ninth at least six syllables.
“Interested?” Massie plucked an envelope from her back pocket and handed it to Claire.
The thick, expensive paper felt heavy in Claire’s palm. She opened the envelope, pulled out an invitation, and scanned it. “Pup-A-Palooza?”
“It’s a charity auction,” Dylan piped up, snapping open a cellophane package of peanut butter crackers. “You bid on pet spa packages and outfits and stuff.”
“You can even bid on some of the puppies from the local shelter,” Kristen added. “And all the proceeds go to the Westchester Humane Society.”
“And since I’m so into charity and animal rights…” Massie didn’t bother finishing the sentence. “You can both come if you want,” she said generously, side-glancing at Layne. “Since it’s for a good cause.”
Massie, Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen cocked their heads to the side, waiting for Claire and Layne to accept.
Claire hesitated, stifling the urge to funnel the rest of her gummy bag directly into her mouth. She needed the energy boost for what she was about to do.
“No thanks. I’m more into eighth-grade parties,” she said calmly, even though her insides were screaming. The fresh-from-Orlando Claire would have jumped at the chance to do anything Massie wanted to do, no matter what. But that wasn’t the case anymore. Claire didn’t know exactly where she belonged these days, but she knew where she didn’t: at a ninth-grade party.
Massie leaned forward slightly, like she hadn’t heard Claire correctly. “But I picked a crush for you and everything,” she said, sounding surprised.
“And he has two different lengths of hair!” Dylan added.
“Huh?” Layne looked confused.
Claire didn’t bother trying to figure out what Dylan was talking about. She took a deep breath through her nose and looked directly at Massie.
“I already have a crush.” She spoke slowly, like she was explaining algebra to a toddler. Or like she was explaining loyalty to an alpha. “His name is Cam.”
Massie sucked in a sharp breath, her amber eyes flashing. “Big mistake, Kuh-laire.”
“What is?” Claire snapped, all the confusion and guilt and sadness of the past few days morphing into anger. “Ditching your crushes for a bunch of boys you hardly know? Or wasting all your time spying on them?” She knew she was being harsh. But why should she hold back? She wasn’t just fighting for herself. She was fighting for Cam, who was the one constant, steady presence in her social life. She was fighting for their relationship. And she was fighting for eighth.
“Claire, are you Heather Mills’s bum leg?” Massie’s voice was eerily calm, like the air in the seconds before a category five hit the Gulf Coast. She didn’t even wait for Claire to respond. “’Cause you’re totally dragging behind.”
“Point,” Alicia breathed.
Alicia’s vote of confidence seemed to spur Massie on even more. “You can’t stay stuck in eighth forever, Claire. Sooner or later you have to catch up with the rest of us.”
“You should come.” Kristen forced a smile. “It’ll be fun.”
“You have two choices, Claire.” Massie’s cheeks were starting to look like she’d triple-pinched them. “Either come to the party Saturday night—”
“Or what?” Claire cut her off boldly. “You’ll ditch me, like you ditched your crushes?”
“Awww, snap,” Layne muttered under her breath, taking a cautious step back.
“Did I say I’d ditch you?” Massie blinked, turning toward the PC.
Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen shook their heads.
“You didn’t have to.” Claire’s mouth was starting to taste like pennies. “I know the drill.”
“Good. Then we’ll see you Saturday.” Massie smiled wanly. Her gloss had long since evaporated. She swooped down and scooped up her bags. “I’ll need those booties by Saturday, or the deal’s off,” she told Layne. Then she turned on the balls of her flats and marched out of the store. The rest of the girls followed.
Claire staggered backward into the nearest massage chair. Being friends with Massie took more dedication, hard work, and sweat than Gwen Stefani’s flat abs, and required more sacrifices than a Dionysian ritual.
Layne shimmy-wedged herself into the chair next to Claire. The straining leather squeaked in protest. “Bummer,” she said supportively.
Claire nodded miserably. “Maybe I should just go.”
“I wonder if I could bring Dempsey as my date,” Layne joked.
Claire cracked a smile. But it was a hollow one.
Layne was quiet for a while. Then she shifted onto her hip, facing Claire. “I have an idea,” she said slowly. “You’re not gonna love it, but just hear me out.”
As Claire listened to Layne’s plan, every cell in her body was waving a white flag. She’d done everything in her power to fight for eighth. What more could she possibly do? But what if Layne’s idea worked…
“Okay, I’m in,” she said, reaching for the chair remote. She turned it on full blast, hoping the vibrations would shake the last ten minutes from her memory.