A Tale of Two Pretties (11 page)

“Except it’s completely different!” Massie tried to swallow, but her throat refused to cooperate. Her whole body felt just
like the brownies her parents had tried to bake: over and done.

“You’ll be going to a wonderful private school,” William continued, trying to sound encouraging. “And my office is right down
the street from our castle, so I’ll be able to spend more time at home.”

William started to tell her more about life in England, but his lips looked like they were moving in slow motion. Massie put
her hand on the kitchen counter to brace herself, but it seemed to shrink and move out of the way.

She thought her father started to say something about changing their last name from Block to Bloke, but she couldn’t focus.

“Am I London Bridge?” she mumbled.

Kendra held her ice-cold hand up to Massie’s forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Then why am I falling down?”

Just like her father’s financial statement, Massie was in the black.

“Layne, we told you. We’re not wearing those,” Harris said, tapping his drumstick with every syllable.

“No way, no how,” Derrington added.

“What’s wrong with them?” Layne asked incredulously. She pointed to Claire. “You like them, right?”

Claire surveyed Layne’s outfit. It had been hard not to notice it when she arrived at the Fishers’ garage for another band
practice, but it was only now, under the bright lights that Cam had set up to make the garage seem more stadium-like, that
she could see the intricacies that made it, as Massie would say,
Layme
. A silver-and-blue unitard with gloves ran the length of her arms with a matching headband. She’d painted silver streaks
on her cheekbones and was sporting silver lipstick.
Avatar-u serious?

“Well,” Claire started to say. “I think they’re really orig—” But her eyes quickly moved to Cam, who was making a “cut it
out” sign with his hands. “They’re… well, you know me, Layne. I still wear flared jeans, so what do I know?”

“I just don’t understand why you guys insist on wearing regular street clothes,” Layne protested. Her breath echoed into the
microphone as she glared at the band. “We have Lady Gaga and Katy Perry to compete with!”

“Who?” Derrington asked.

Claire giggled.

“No costumes,” Harris said. “And that’s final.”

“Boys!” Mrs. Fisher opened the door that led to the house. She was pretty for a mom, with dark brown hair, green eyes, and
a warm smile. It was obvious where the boys got their looks. “Come say goodbye to your grandparents.”

Harris stood up from his drum set.

“Be right back,” Cam said to Claire. “Grandma always sneaks me a twenty when Mom’s not looking.”

“Anyone want some chips?” Derrington asked, trailing behind them.

Claire shook her head no, grateful for the alone time with Layne.

“I seriously can’t believe we’re going to be neighbors.” Layne said, joining Claire on the old brown corduroy couch facing
the band. “I rewired my walkie-talkies so your house is in range and clocked the bike ride between our places. Nineteen seconds
if you take the left side and sixteen if you take the right. The curve near the Adelmans’ adds time but the sidewalk on that
side has fewer nicks so it’s kind of a win-win.” She dug out a Slim Jim from somewhere within the depths of her costume and
began chewing loudly. Claire swapped her one for a Swedish Fish, and they munched, happily imagining the possibilities.

“We should make sure to have copies of each other’s house keys, too,” Layne continued. Bursts of crumbs flew out of her mouth
and landed on the unitard, smearing orange powder
over the stretchy silver fabric. “That way we can borrow each other’s clothes all the time. And we can probably build some
sort of secret underground passage from my bedroom window to yours. We can smuggle homework answers back and forth!”

Claire tried to picture borrowing from Layne’s closet. She couldn’t imagine what Massie would say if she showed up at OCD
in silver spandex. She shook her head to clear the image.

“What’s wrong?”

Tears gathered behind Claire’s eyes. “I’m so excited to be your neighbor and to have our own house,” she started. “But… what
if moving off the Block estate means I’m moving out of the Pretty Committee? What if I was only there because Kendra forced
Massie to let me in?”

“What did Massie say when you told her?” Layne asked, seeming as normal as one could in an avatar costume.

Claire sighed, too embarrassed to admit she hadn’t found the courage to tell the alpha yet.

Layne, like the best friend she was, guessed it anyway. “She doesn’t
know
?”

Silence. The question hung in the air like Todd’s cologne.

Finally, Layne gripped Claire by the shoulders. “Do you seriously think that girl would be your friend because Mommy made
her? Did you block out your first few months in Westchester? The ones where her mother wanted her to include you? The ones
where she threw smoked salmon at your body?” She giggled.

“What?” Claire asked, not finding the memory particularity funny. In fact it brought back full body pains that could have
passed for tetanus. “Why are you laughing?”

“I said, ‘block out.’ Get it? Pretty clever, right?”

Despite her anguish, Claire couldn’t help smiling. Her phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Minutes later a loud horn sounded outside and honked until Claire pulled up the creaky garage door. Glaring headlights from
a limousine aimed directly at her.

“Kuh-laire!” called Massie, waving from the open moon roof. “Ditch the avatar and get in!”

Her head disappeared and Claire looked at Layne, who rolled her eyes. “Maybe now’s a good time to tell her about the house.
It seems like she’s in a good mood—better hurry before the wind shifts.”

“I can’t just run out like that,” Claire said, even though she was dying to know where the limo came from. Because if she
used the sale money for—

The horn honked again.

“Practice is probably over anyway,” Layne offered. “I’ll tell Cam you had to run.”

That was all the encouragement Claire needed. She high-fived Layne and ran down the driveway. The door opened from the inside
as she approached.

“Claiiiiirrreeee,” Dylan burped in greeting, her red hair catching the moonlight.

“Come in, come in!” Kristen squealed, pulling Claire’s arm. She climbed inside and settled between Alicia and Dylan.

“Please don’t tell me you wasted all our money on
this
,” Claire said.

Ignoring the question, Massie passed her a champagne glass filled with sparkling pomegranate juice. As her arm brushed past
Claire, an unfamiliar bracelet caught the light and twinkled like a constellation. She blinked in awe.

“Massie, are you a ski resort?” Claire asked.

“No,” the alpha said, raising an eyebrow in a
this-better-be-good
sort of way.

“Then what’s with all the black diamonds?”

Everyone burst out laughing, even Massie. Claire’s teeth chattered with joy. Then she turned to Alicia. “What are we doing
here?” she whisper-asked.

“Gawd,” Alicia snapped. “Just because I ran point on the sale doesn’t mean I’m in charge!”

Claire held up her hands. “Sorry. Just asking.”

“Attention,” Massie called, tapping her lip gloss onto the side of her champagne glass so it chimed. “This is an emergency
GLU meeting.”

Claire’s stomach dropped. Had Massie found out about Claire’s new house—and that Claire hadn’t told her? Or was it something
even worse? She glanced around. Dylan was chewing on her hair and then spitting it out, looking disgusted at
the taste of it. Alicia was bouncing her left leg up and down so fast, it was like she was inventing a new dance routine.
And Kristen was retying her ponytail again and again. They all stared at Massie with wide, guarded eyes. Claire didn’t have
to borrow Alicia’s sterling monogrammed Chanel compact to know that she probably looked just as concerned as the rest of them.

And then Massie broke into an earring-to-earring grin. “So,” she began, “I was thinking of changing my name to nachos.”

“Why?” Alicia asked for the rest of them.

“Because I’m fully loaded!” she roared, her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree—the ones Sven decorated, not the sad, pathetic
one from this year.

Claire’s jaw dropped. Alicia’s leg stopped moving. Dylan’s hair settled around her face. Kristen’s ponytail hung limply. The
only sound was of the limousine’s tires skating along the icy roads outside.

“I’m rich again!” Massie explained to their blank faces.

And then a thunderstorm of cheers rang out. The limo driver shut the partition while the girls squealed with delight. Claire
was practically rendered deaf when Alicia screamed, “You’re still the alpha!”

Dylan raised her sparkling juice for a toast to congratulate Massie, and everyone quickly joined in. Claire tried to smile,
too, but she found it harder than lying to Layne about her costumes for the band. Swedish Fish sloshed around in her stomach,
and the sharp turns the limo driver was making
weren’t helping. Because if the Blocks were rich again, it meant they probably weren’t moving.

Which meant she needed to tell Massie the Lyonses
were
. Ay-sap.

Massie watched as Dylan shut the limousine door and then waved goodbye as she limped up the driveway to the Marvils’ house.
Now that everyone had been dropped off, Massie dropped her smile and allowed the muscles in her face to take five. The audience
had gone. She could stop performing. Of course Claire was still there, but she didn’t count.

As the familiar streets of Westchester rolled by, Massie tried to imagine London. Would her new neighborhood be cobbled and
dusty, with flower sellers trolling for tuppence? Would their castle have a moat to distance them from the masses? Would the
clip-clop of horse hooves make her long for Brownie? Would she ever eat sushi with her best friends again?

Massie tried to keep her glossed lip from quivering as she replayed the scene in the limo. How could she possibly tell the
Pretty Committee she was leaving? Their relationship was symbiotic. She was their hero; they gave her life meaning. They were
the planets; she was their sun. They revolved around her; she brightened their world. Without her they’d be as dark as Seattle;
without them she’d just be plain old hot.

When they passed OCD, Claire’s voice cut through the silence. “So, tell me what’s really going on.”

Massie turned away from the window. Was she that transparent? Or did Claire know her too well?

Claire was staring at her with a look of open concern, wearing one of her
I’m-here-for-a-heart-to-heart
expressions. The pane that divided the backseat from the driver was already up but Massie pressed it again, just in case
it had failed to make a complete seal.

Claire’s voice grew hushed. “Are your money problems really over or did you use the sale money to rent this limo?”

“Puh-lease, I would never do that!” she snapped, genuinely insulted.
“
I wasn’t lying. My dad got a new job. And he’ll be making ah-lot.” She hesitated. “But you know how it goes. Mo’ money, mo’
problems.”

“Um, not really,” Claire smiled, to show she wasn’t offended.

Massie sighed. Maybe telling Claire would feel like a Dylan-burp after a big meal.

“We’re moving,” she began, sampling the taste of truth on her tongue.

“Really?” Claire beamed.

“Don’t look too upset,” Massie hissed.

“No, it’s just that I’ve been meaning to tell you something all week and this kind of makes it easier.”

Massie hiccupped. Other than a sneeze here or there it was the first time Claire ever heard her body betray her. “What?” she
asked wearily, like one more surprise and she’d stroke out.

“My parents bought a house. It’s right near Layne’s,”
Claire broke the news gently. “We’re moving, too… Ohmigod, where are you going? Maybe we’ll be neighbors!” She lowered her
blue eyes. “You know, if you still want to hang out and stuff.”

“Why?” Massie practically spat. “Now that we’re not sharing a house you don’t want to be friends?”

“No!” Claire insisted. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore.”

Massie would have been flattered if she hadn’t been so annoyed. Of course she wanted to stay friends. Why was that even a
question? And more importantly, wasn’t this about
Massie’s
move?

“Kuh-laire, are you a female sheep?”

“No.”

“Then why are we even talking about ewe?”

“So that’s it?” Claire asked. “I’m still in the Pretty Committee?”

“Depends.”

Claire bit her thumbnail. “On what?”

“On whether there
is
a Pretty Committee.”

“What?”

“My dad’s job isn’t in Westchester, Kuh-laire. It’s far.”

Claire considered this. “Far like Manhattan? Or far like… California?”

“Across the pond, far.”

“
New Jersey?
” She looked horrified. Massie had taught Claire enough in the past year to know that Jersey and Massie went together like
fro-yo and OJ.

A strangled sob escaped from Massie and she felt a tear slip through her Givenchy-ed lashes. “We’re moving to some castle…
in England.” Her black diamond bracelet glinted in the moonlight. It felt like a handcuff, binding her to a future of uniform
schools and a Madonna accent.