P.S. Luke’s giving me drum lessons 2morrow after skl. Don’t need a ride home.
The next morning, Massie’s iPhone was the only thing that had been recharged. She’d tried all the usual confidence-boosting remedies: an emergency in-home highlighting session with Jakkob, Jacuzzi time with Bean, and falling asleep to her confidence CD. But she still felt emptier than a used Starbucks cup.
Cuddling her puppy to shield her from the afternoon chill, Massie knelt behind the barricade of holly bushes that separated Landon’s property from the house next door. Through the prickly leaves, she surveyed the three-story brick house for any signs of predate movement, cursing Landon’s mom for her landscaping choices. Why couldn’t she have planted bushes in front of the house, so Massie could have a full-on view?
For a second, she wondered if she should have invited the Pretty Committee along, so one of the girls could have staked out the other side of the house. But the girls had been so into their new crushes at the party, they hadn’t even taken the time to ask about Ankle-Bird.
If the PC had been there, they would have rated Massie’s outfit a solid 9.75. Since she was alone, it had been up to Bean to yap-prove the burgundy silk Geren Ford tunic Massie had chosen to help her blend noiselessly into the piles of autumn leaves outside Landon’s house. The tunic was a perfect match for her soft-as-cashmere DL 1961 boyfriend jeans, which ensured comfort for endless hours of spying on Landon’s date with Ankle-Bird. And her tan suede boots would keep her feet warm, even if her heart felt frozen solid.
“What do you think he’s doing in there to get ready?” she whispered to Bean, wondering if one of the side windows led to Landon’s room. Was he re-spritzing CK Eternity Summer? Deciding between Puma and Prada? Flossing, in case of a lip kiss? The possibilities were heartbreaking.
Massie’s iPhone lit up on the ground next to her. Slapping the crunchy leaf blanket beneath her, she kept her eyes trained on the house, then lifted the phone to eye-height.
Kristen: Where’d u go last nite? Me & D went backstage w/the band. Guess who’s a total groupie now?
Backstage? Before Massie could come up with something ten times more alpha than backstage passes at Pup-A-Palooza, her cell buzzed again.
Dylan: Am nawt!
P.S. Luke’s giving me drum lessons 2morrow after skl. Don’t need a ride home.
The comforting thump of Bean’s heart through her matching burgundy cowl-neck made Massie feel a little less alone. Still, she’d never been on a stakeout without the PC before. It felt sort of like going into a dressing room by herself. Being with the PC was half the point and most of the fun. But last night she’d gotten the message loud and clear: Her friends were way more interested in their upgrades than in keeping an eye on Massie’s. So this time, she’d have to spy solo.
Bean wiggled free of Massie’s grip and settled in a tiny bed of leaves next to her knees. Massie closed the text message, then reevaluated Ankle-Bird’s OWCH (Older Woman Crush Hijacker) potential. Massie had to rate her at least an 8 out of 10. She had style and the perfect smoky eyes, and Bark was lapping out of her manicured hand.
A shiver ran from Massie’s toes to her tunic, but it wasn’t from the fall breeze that swept through the yard. An 8 out of 10 OWCH rating made Ankle-Bird a definite relationship terrorist. Threat level: orange. The only thing keeping her from being a full-on red alert was her eau de liver scent.
The muted thump of a drum beat cut through Massie’s reverie and made Bean jolt into position. A low growl leaked from the puppy’s throat as the smooth sound of a car engine sliced through the chilly air.
“Ehmagawd. It’s time.” Thrusting her hand into her Fendi Spy bag, Massie whipped out her newly upgraded Gucci shades and inspected them carefully. She’d rush-ordered the glasses from Layne, who had inserted mirrored binocular lenses into the sleek frames. After last night’s bootie cam disaster, Layne had agreed to provide the service pro bono. And now, Massie was free to Ankle-Bird–watch at three hundred times the usual magnification.
At the far end of the drive, a silver MINI Cooper convertible appeared, coasting toward the house to the beat of the latest Killers song. Even though it was cold outside, the top was down. Ankle-Bird’s shiny black locks whipped in the breeze, framing her face perfectly without getting stuck in her gloss. Mouth slightly parted, Massie plucked a sticky strand of her hair from her bottom lip.
The MINI Cooper eased around the front circle and came to a stop. There was nothing in the passenger’s seat but a studded bronze tote, which meant Ankle-Bird’s license wasn’t her learner’s.
A real driver’s license, an ah-dorable car, and hair that practically defied the laws of physics? OWCH upgrade: 9.5. Threat level: red. Liver and all. A flood of insecurity filled the void in Massie’s heart.
Ankle-Bird slid the keys out of the ignition, silencing the music. The driver’s side door swept open, and she planted a teal round-toe wedge boot on the cement. A tiered bright yellow sweater dress swung around her knees, proving that she wasn’t one to shy away from color. Massie rolled her eyes. Ankle-Bird would choose canary yellow. A slouchy leather belt accented her slim hips without stealing the focus from her face.
Massie shoved her sunglasses on, leaning forward to get a better view. Through the magnified lenses, all she could see now was Ankle-Bird’s T-zone. Matte, poreless, and porcelain. The insecurity flood was turning into a tsunami.
Bean lick-assured Massie’s denim-covered thigh. But the glint in her tiny black eyes said she was dying for a ride in the passenger’s seat of a silver convertible.
Massie tossed the glasses on the ground next to her and watched Ankle-Bird saunter up the brick front walkway to the navy-painted wooden front door. No last-minute cheek-pinching for color or BFF-texting for courage. It was like the girl didn’t even care what Landon thought about her.
Without the slightest hesitation, Ankle-Bird gripped the brass door handle and let herself in. Massie bounced on her knees, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of Landon. But all she saw was the navy door slamming shut, making Massie more of an outsider than she’d ever been in her life.
An hour later, while Bean napped in the bed of leaves next to her, Massie was thanking Gawd that her iPhone had Internet capabilities. Imagining Landon, Ankle-Bird, and Bark together inside was like imagining her parents lip-kissing: too horrible to consider. So she hadn’t. Instead, she’d indulged with some online retail therapy to numb the pain in her heart. If she couldn’t have Landon, there was always Lanvin.
Bean let out a tiny, defeated snore. Stroking her puppy’s warm ears for comfort, Massie checked the clock on her cell for the billionth time. Maybe she should just give up and take Bean home. After all, her heart wasn’t the only part of her that was numb: She’d lost feeling in her fingertips somewhere between ShopStyle.com and CoutureCandy.com.
Just then, Landon’s front door swung open and Ankle-Bird emerged, with Bark at the end of a Burberry leash. With slow, pained steps, Bark inched his way down the brick walkway, whimpering under his breath. Ankle-Bird bent down and massaged Bark’s paw, murmuring something under her breath.
“Ehmagawd, Bean,” Massie whisper-snapped. “Bark’s more of a drama queen than Layne.”
Bean’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of her crush’s name. When she saw Bark, she leapt up and tried to bolt for the driveway. Massie gripped her by the cashmere cowl-neck and pulled her back into hiding.
As Ankle-Bird led Bark down the driveway, Massie stared at the front door, waiting for Landon to emerge. Where was he? And where was Ankle-Bird going without him?
Bean bared her professionally whitened canines, obviously wondering the same thing.
“Only one way to find out,” Massie said, pushing herself to her feet. The tingling feeling in her boots was partly because she’d been sitting on her feet for the past hour. But it was partly from fear too. Not knowing what Ankle-Bird was up to was like not finding out you’d tucked your corduroy mini into your tights until last period: Being in the dark was humiliating, but finally finding out the truth was humiliating squared.
Massie shook the tingling feeling from her feet one at a time, brushed away the leaves smashed to her butt, and got ready to follow that bird.
The second Ankle-Bird and Bark turned onto the road, Massie scooped up her puppy and tiptoed across the leaf-strewn lawn, hot on the trail. The sound of Bean’s excited panting in her ear spurred Massie on in her quest for the truth. Landon Crane was her most adorable, stylish, mature crush yet. And she wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. Even if it was a totally unfair fight, with MINI Cooper convertibles and naturally frizz-free hair involved.
When Massie and Bean veered onto the maple-lined street, Ankle-Bird and Bark were only a few steps ahead, since Bark’s drama limp was slowing him down more than complex carbs. Massie ducked behind a black luxury SUV parked in front of the house next to Landon’s, her knees slamming into the pavement. Pain radiated through her, and she stifled a yelp. Bean nosed her way behind a front tire.
Slowly, Massie inched her way out from behind the SUV, falling into step behind Ankle-Bird.
“Um, I know you’re back there.” Ankle-Bird’s voice floated back to Massie. “I can smell your granny perfume.”
“Ex-hu-use me?” Massie’s fear tingles turned to anger. Her grip tightened protectively around Bean, who let out a delicate sneeze.
“It took Landon two bottles of puppy shampoo just to get that smell out of Bark’s fur last night,” Ankle-Bird said coolly.
“At least I don’t smell like liver,” Massie snapped, wishing she’d had more time to come up with something better.
Ankle-Bird stopped walking and whip-turned around. Instinctively, Massie took a step back, then instantly regretted it. High school girls were like dogs: They could smell fear.
Kneeling to the pavement, Ankle-Bird opened her palm, revealing a small red liver treat. Bark lapped it up happily, and Bean squirmed in Massie’s arms, desperate for her crush and a snack.
Puh-lease. No wonder Bark loved Ankle-Bird so much. Massie could have been bribing the puppy all this time too. Except she hadn’t thought of that.
“Of course, torturing Bark’s poor nose is nothing compared to what you did to his foot.” Ankle-Bird swooped down and lifted Bark from the pavement, tucking him under her arm.
“Ehmagawd. That was an accident!” Massie could feel her cheeks starting to flush the same color as her tunic.
“Yeah?” Ankle-Bird blinked. “And what about those ugly booties? Were those an accident too?”
Those were LAYNE’S FAULT! Massie wanted to scream. Not that she had to explain herself to Ankle-Bird.
Massie’s iPhone buzzed in her back pocket. Dropping Bean to the pavement, she reached for her cell. Bean scampered over to Bark and started tongue-kissing the side of his face. Puppy love was so much simpler than people love.
Claire: Hey. Think we could talk sometime this—
Massie shoved the phone back in her pocket without even finishing it. Claire would understand. She was apparently into ditching her friends for high school girls now.
“I’m just saying,” Ankle-Bird continued with a self-righteous hair toss. “You did some serious damage. You’re lucky those booties didn’t make his fracture worse.”
Guilt gripped Massie’s stomach and squeezed it like Kendra’s SuperJuicer5000. The fall breeze that fluttered through the trees and grass seemed to be getting colder by the second, nipping at Massie’s clammy skin.
When the guilt settled, anger took its place. Who did this girl think she was? Just because she had an inked bird on her leg didn’t make her a pet expert. It was like saying Dylan was qualified to be a judge on Top Chef just because she had the number for Happy Dragon takeout perma-scribbled on her palm.
“Excuse me, but are you Secret Service?” Massie sucked in a deep breath and planted her hands on her hips.
“What?” Ankle-Bird tilted her head slightly to the side, looking confused. “No.”
“Then why are you on Obama’s tail 24/7?”
Ankle-Bird chuckled, her eyes softening from icy blue to a warm sapphire.
Massie’s Chanel No. 19 seared at her pressure points. Was Ankle-Bird making fun of her?
“Cute,” Ankle-Bird smiled, scratching Bark’s back with the tip of her boot. “Actually, I’m his physical therapist.”
His what? Ankle-Bird fished two more liver treats from a pouch attached to her belt. Massie resisted the urge to snatch Bean’s treat from Ankle-Bird’s hand and feed it to her puppy herself. The last thing she needed was to lose Bean to Ankle-Bird too.
“My parents are Bark’s vets, so when he hurt his paw I offered to do his therapy,” she explained. “I’m going to NYU next fall to major in pet PT.” She tucked a dark, shimmering wave behind her ear. “I’m Mary, by the way.”
“Massie.” Massie’s lower lip dropped slightly, feeling chapped.
“I know,” Mary said simply.
Suddenly, the last two weeks seemed a little clearer, like Massie’s eyes had been dilated and the world around her was starting to come back into focus. But she refused to let hope inch its way to her heart. Just because Ankle-Bird was a professional didn’t mean she didn’t still have a major OWCH factor. Think of all the celebs who’d crushed on their employees: Britney and her agent, Jude and his nanny, Madonna and her personal trainer, Madonna and her other personal trainer… and now Landon and his puppy PT?
“Guess Landon got two for one,” she said, digging her toe into the road. “A physical therapist and a crush.” She kept her eyes on the pavement, not wanting to see the truth in Ankle-Bird’s pore-free face.
“Crush?” Ankle-Bird snorted, her hammered-gold chandelier earrings clinking in amusement. “No way.”
Massie’s head snapped up. She searched the older girl’s eyes for signs that she was lying. But all she saw was a flawless liquid-liner job.
“Landon’s adorable and all, but I’m not really into younger guys.” Ankle-Bird grinned. “My boyfriend’s a freshman at Columbia.”
“Seriously?” Massie’s voice shook with relief, shame, and embarrassment. Tears burned the corners of her eyes, threatening to ruin her eye makeup and her reputation. Why hadn’t she kept her sunglasses on? And why hadn’t she gone with waterproof mascara, today of all days?
“Seriously. You okay?” Mary stepped toward Massie and tilted her head slightly, in a way that said, You can tell me everything. I’m leaving for college in the fall, and I’ll take your shameful secrets with me.
Massie shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to bury her face in Mary’s canary yellow shoulder and sob until her insides were parched. She pursed her lips together, as if she could lock all her crush insecurities inside and keep them there.
“C’mere.” Mary slid her arm around Massie’s trembling shoulder, guiding her to the curb. “What’s going on?” she asked, sitting down on the side of the road and patting the cement next to her. Massie sank down next to her as Bark and Bean curled up between the girls.
Maybe it was the concern in Mary’s older, wiser eyes. Or maybe it was the rough warmth of Bean’s tiny tongue. But suddenly, Massie couldn’t hold it in any longer. Staring down at the ground, she spilled like Perez Hilton. She told Mary everything: about how she’d gotten ditched by every real crush she’d ever had. About how she was about to lose Landon too. About how the upgrade had been her idea in the first place, and now all her friends were moving full-speed ahead with older friends or crushes, while her relationship had stalled out.
When she was done, Mary nodded in a been-there sort of way. “Sounds like you’ve had a lot of crushes, but they just weren’t right for you.”
“Until Landon.” Massie shuddered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Yeah. He’s pretty great,” Mary smiled, nudging Massie’s knee with hers. “Sounds like he’s a way better match.”
Massie nodded miserably, feeling a fresh wave of tears spring to her eyes as she thought of his Pradas.
“Plus, sounds like you actually like Landon for Landon,” Mary said. “I mean, did you really like those other guys, or did you just like the idea of having a crush?”
Massie blinked, clicking through her crush history. There was Derrington, with his seasonally inappropriate wardrobe choices and embarrassing booty shake. Then there was Dempsey, who couldn’t talk about anything other than Africa, the environment, and helping other people. Plus, how many soccer games had Massie sat through, her butt frozen to the bleachers, when she’d rather have been at the mall with her friends?
Was Mary more relationship-savvy than Oprah?
“The perfect guy for you isn’t the one who makes you want to pretend to be someone you’re not,” Mary said wisely, scratching behind Bark’s ears. “The perfect guy makes you want to be exactly who you are.”
Massie nodded slowly, soaking up Mary’s wisdom like it was La Mer moisturizer. Maybe her exes hadn’t been right for her. Maybe they’d just been there to show her what she really wanted in a crush: style, an adorable puppy, and an aversion to shorts in the winter. And she’d found all those things in Landon Crane.
“Thanks,” she said hurriedly, leaping off the curb. “I gotta go find something.” Tucking Bean underneath her arm like a football, she fixed her gaze on Landon’s mailbox and speed-headed toward her crush.
“What?” Mary called after her.
Massie closed her eyes, feeling the crisp breeze slip past her love-flushed cheeks. “Myself!”