“It’s like…” Claire leaned forward in Layne’s corduroy papasan chair and wrapped herself in a rainbow-colored mohair throw, searching for the perfect metaphor to convey just how casually her friends were treating the idea of ditching their crushes. “It’s like the boys are basic Prada hobos they ordered off Saks last season. And then this season’s trendy Proenza Schouler totes came out and they thought, ‘Hey! These bags are waaaaay more mature.’ And so now they want to exchange the hobos for the totes, which is the worst idea ever, because the hobos are cute and sweet and funny and go with everything!” Claire surfaced for air, refocusing her gaze on Layne, who was sitting cross-legged on her glow-in-the-dark duvet.
Layne’s jaw dropped. “English, please.”
Claire collapsed back into the cushion, staring up at the plastic stars glued to Layne’s ceiling. Her head was throbbing, and this time she couldn’t blame it on the combination beef jerky–mothball–vanilla Glade smell of Layne’s bedroom. “It’s like their old crushes are vintage Salvation Army finds and now they want shiny new ninth-grade crushes from Macy’s.”
“Ohhhhhhhhh.” Layne nodded. “Got it.”
Claire whipped the mohair throw onto the floor in despair. It landed with a loud crumple on top of an empty jumbo bag of Funions. Layne’s bedroom floor was strewn with cut-up issues of National Geographic, Entertainment Weekly, and Martha Stewart Living. Three colorful bolts of fabric were balled in the corner, and a hot glue gun had leaked what looked like a glittery blue booger onto Layne’s cream throw carpet. But Layne’s room felt neat and ordered, compared to the swirling chaos of Claire’s brain.
“Does this include Kristen?” Layne drummed her fingers together, her brows wiggling over smudges of bright purple shadow. In the neon glow of the red lava lamp on her bedside table, she looked like an exchange student from hell. “Because if Dempsey’s available—”
Claire glare-silenced her. “Layne.”
“Sorry. Refocusing. So what does Cam say?”
“Nothing. I haven’t told him yet.” Claire sighed miserably. All day, Cam had been texting about the post–trick-or-treating fun he and the boys had had at Josh’s. About how he’d eaten so much candy corn that his skin was starting to look orange, and how Dempsey and Josh had toilet-papered Derrington after he’d fallen asleep. But what was Claire supposed to text back? Don’t tell Alicia or Dylan—they think mummies are immumture?
“The guys don’t deserve this!” she said, the panic in her stomach hardening into anger.
“Yeah!” Layne nodded, bolting upright and pumping her fist into the air. Each of her fingernails was painted a different neon color. “What did Dempsey ever do to Kristen?”
“Nothing!” Amped-up energy rushed to Claire’s head like sparkling cider bubbles to the top of a champagne flute. “So Derrington wiggles his butt and Josh likes to dress in drag. It’s funny, right?”
“Right!” Layne leapt up on her bed, bouncing on her mattress. “Well, it’s actually not really my thing, but whatever!”
“We have to do something!” Claire decided, jumping from the papasan chair to the floor. She landed on a pile of Layne’s dirty clothes and hopped over the fabric bolts, the glue gun, and an open jewelry box filled with tiny fake jewels to get to the bed.
“We have to do the right thing!” Layne declared, crouching down to pull Claire up. The girls gripped each other’s hands, bouncing up and down on the bed.
“Because eighth-grade crushes everywhere need our help!” Claire barked, her bangs flop-fanning her forehead.
“It’s up to us to save the males,” Layne declared.
“Yessssssssssss!” Claire huffed, feeling all the built-up tension from the night before slowly drain from her body as she sailed in the air, the crooked Broadway show posters on Layne’s wall spinning in a blur around her. “What’s our first mission?”
“This!” Layne stuck out her bare foot, tripping Claire and sending both girls flopping onto the mattress in a heap of giggles.
Out of breath, Claire rolled onto her back. “We do… actually… need a… plan,” she heaved. “Something to make the girls think ninth-grade crushes are a terrible idea.”
Layne waved her away. “I’ll come up with something. Gimme a second.”
The girls stared at the greenish glow-in-the-dark universe overhead, lapsing into silence. Her head a little clearer, Claire tried to brainstorm ways to convince Massie that eighth-grade boys were ten times better than ninth-grade ones. But instead of a plan, her brain drifted to images of Cam. Cam on his bike, coasting down Massie’s driveway, his blue eye bluer than the sky while his green one made the manicured grass look faded and dull. Cam in his ump-pire costume, which he’d picked to go with her trampire costume so the whole world would know they were crushes. Cam on the soccer field, easing the soccer ball effortlessly toward the net. Cam with a giant baggie of gummies, slipping them into Claire’s candy ba—
“Got it!” Layne slapped the duvet with her palm, jolting Claire out of her daydream. “And it’s totally inspired.”
“What?” Claire flopped onto her stomach and kicked off her giraffe-printed Keds. They landed with a thump on the bedroom floor.
Layne shook her head. “It’s top secret,” she said mysteriously.
“Layne!” Claire swatted her with one of the puff-painted pillows strewn across Layne’s bed. “It can’t be top secret from me! This mission was my idea in the first place!”
“The less you know, the better.” Layne grinned, obviously enjoying herself. “Meet in the café Tuesday at oh-twelve-hundred hours. Don’t be late.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”
“Please. Have I ever steered you wrong?” Layne turned to face Claire, her frizzy brown flyaways tumbling over her eyes. “Trust me, dahhhh-ling.” She wiggled her pinky finger.
Claire latched her pinky with Layne’s and shook on it. She wanted to believe Layne had the perfect, foolproof plan. That by lunchtime on Tuesday, Massie and the girls would rediscover their crushes and fall in love with them all over again, like the boys were rare vintage handbags that seemed even better the second time around.
Eighth-grade crushes might be endangered—like blue whales or the African wild ass—but if Claire had anything to say about it, they were nawt going to become extinct.