Saturday, December 6th
10:56 A.M.
“Kiwi Strawberry?” suggested Dylan.
Massie shook her head. “Landon once told me kiwis make his lips itch.”
“Well, then you could scratch his lips with yours!”
“Eww!” Alicia tossed a fuzzy slipper at Dylan’s head.
“Candy Cane?” Kristen called out.
“Then he’ll think she’s trying to cover up bad breath.” Alicia turned toward Massie. “I mean, not that you would be.”
“Cayenne Pepper?” Dylan asked.
“Too hawt to handle!” Massie joked.
Kristen squinted at a green tube. “This looks like mold.”
“Toss it,” Massie instructed. “I never liked the Caesar Salad flavor.”
“Okay, what about Passion Fruit!”
“Or Vanilla Bliss.”
“Vanilla KISS!”
“Ha ha,” Massie said drily.
She’d awoken that morning with a smile on her face. Two sets of fresh footsteps had led away from the guesthouse, meaning she’d successfully defriended Claire the previous night. But then she’d received a text from Landon, reminding her that it was T-minus three days until their first lip kiss, and her heart had plummeted faster than Tiger Woods’s career. Now she and her friends were standing in front of Gloss Row, a glass-encased wall of her closet that contained her entire lip gloss collection, trying to decide which gloss would be most effective for kissing an older man.
Alicia pushed her dark hair off her shoulder. “We should play gloss tarot to see what the kiss will be like.”
“What’s that?” Dylan asked.
“Massie closes her eyes and picks a gloss from her collection,” Alicia answered. “Then whatever flavor it is, it’ll tell her something about what the kiss will be like.”
Massie rolled her eyes, but Kristen and Dylan nodded eagerly.
“Where’d you learn that?” Dylan asked.
“My cousin Nina went to this psychic last weekend who said that if you have a question and you concentrate on channeling the energy of the question out into the universe, you can tell your fortune with almost anything.” Alicia shrugged.
Massie was about to make a crack about Alicia’s cousin’s brain being out of the universe, but a wave of kiss-anxiety hit her, so she closed her eyes and plucked one of the glosses from the pile.
“MASSIE!”
Massie’s eyes flew open as Claire burst into her bedroom. She wore ripped, straight-leg jeans and a blue-and-yellow striped waffle tee under a fleece vest. She looked ready for a day of hiking—or arguing over the bargain bin at T.J. Maxx. “I. DON’T. HAVE. LICE.”
Massie smirked. “I never said you did. I just asked Layme why she thought Todd had to have his head shaved.”
“All my friends left because of you!” Claire put her hands on her hips. “You were trying to ruin my party.”
“Puh-lease.” Massie rolled her eyes. “The only thing that ruined your sleepover was frizzy hair and bad music.”
Massie and Claire glared at each other, while Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen exchanged nervous glances. The tension was as thick and goopy as expired nail polish.
“Well,” Massie said finally, “I hate to add insect to injury, but do you know what this sleepover has in common with the Oscars?”
Claire didn’t speak or move a muscle. She stood there, arms crossed, unblinking.
“What?” Dylan said finally, clearly trying to release the tension.
“It’s only for the A-list!”
With that, Claire turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
“Wow.” Dylan breathed. “She was totally bugged out.”
“I take my hat off to you, Massie.” Alicia fake-curtsied.
While the Pretty Committee continued to joke, Massie rested her forehead on her window. Outside, Claire was stomping her way back across the snow-covered lawn. The Pretty Committee continued to joke, and Massie knew she should feel triumphant. She had bombed Claire’s sleepover into oblivion with one fake lice-infested snow hat. But as Claire kicked the snow-Cam, Massie’s pride melted into something more akin to regret.
Sure, Claire didn’t know anything about footwear or fashion. She had no idea how to pick a deep conditioner or a facial scrub. But unlike the rest of the PC, she was an experienced lip-kisser with nearly a year of practice, and she would never judge Massie for being nervous about kissing an older guy. Had Massie just alienated her only hope for helpful lip-to-lip tips?
“Hey, Mass,” Alicia said. “What flavor of gloss did you pick?”
Massie snapped back into focus. She looked down at the gloss in her hand. When she saw the writing on the tube, her cheeks flamed like a bonfire doused in lighter fluid.
“Spaghetti Bolognese,” she mumbled. Laughter filled the room.
Massie bit her lip and didn’t even bother to try to laugh along with her friends. Because if she didn’t manage to figure out how to kiss like a ninth-grader—and soon—she’d be dead meat.
| IN | OUT | |
| Hair scare | Hair care | |
| Old enemies | New friends | |
| Dissing lice | Kissing advice |