A Tale of Two Pretties (13 page)

Feelings of hope zipped up Massie’s spine.

Behind them, the tap troupe was lining up for round two. “I better go.” Alicia said. “Make yourself comfortable. My parents
should be home soon.”

“How much longer do you have to practice?” Massie wondered. Not that Alicia’s parents weren’t nice. They were. But they were
hardly
curl-up-on-the-couch-and-watch-
DWTS material.

“Another hour and a half,” Alicia said, stretching her hamstrings. “After that we can hang.”

“
Why?
Is today special or something?”

“We practice every day for three hours,” Alicia explained.
“We’re trying to get into the competitive circuit. But once school starts again, we’ll probably cut it down to just one hour
a day.” Her eyes lit up like two idea light bulbs. “Hey! Why don’t you join my tap class? You’ll be here all the time anyway.”

Just then an Enrique Iglesias song blared through the studio.

“Maybe…”
If I fall down a flight of stairs, suffer extreme memory loss, and you somehow manage to convince me that before the accident
I thought this was cool.

“Yay.” Alicia smiled and waved as she
click-clacked
off to join the troupe.

Louis, Bean, and Massie returned to the main house. It was still quiet and dark. Long shadows made Bean cower behind Massie.
She whimpered when they passed the tall, forbidding library. It looked the scene of a murder mystery. Massie shuddered. Was
the Rivera house always this lonely?

Massie struggled to pull her suitcase up the grand staircase. She was almost at the top landing when Alicia’s tap-dancing
troupe started up again. The noise pounded into the walls and echoed around corners and down hallways. She ducked into the
first room she saw and closed the door, but the tapping was still there. She tried the next room, and the one after that.
But it was everywhere. Alicia’s tapping was
toe
-dally inescapable. And Bean was
toe
-dally inconsolable.

After another ten minutes of covering her and Bean’s ears in alternating increments, Massie had had enough. She fired
off a “change of plans” text to Alicia and carefully made her way down the stairs—gripping the banister as if her life depended
on it. Which—seeing as she’d rather die than come to in a pair of tap shoes and a bow-tie-bedazzled leotard—it did.

“We both know
Kristen
won’t be dancing,” Massie confirmed as she pulled her suitcase into the Pinewood’s elevator. Bean looked up at her with appreciative
eyes. “For one thing she doesn’t have the room.”

Massie let herself in the front door and found a surprised Kristen doing a crossword puzzle in the living room. The apartment
smelled like hot dogs and warm rolls.

“Surprise!”

Kristen’s light blond eyebrows went from startled, to concerned, to afraid. “What are you doing here?” She quickly glanced
around the room as if looking for evidence of something and then threw some hideous windbreaker under the couch.

“Is someone here?” Marsha called from her bedroom.

“Just Massie,” Kristen called back, finally looking pleased.

Beckham, sensing another four-legged visitor, crept into the room and hissed. Bean growled.

“What are you doing here?” Kirsten asked. “Did you… hear something about me?”

Massie released the grip on her Louis and joined Kristen on the nutmeg-colored couch. The room felt comfortable and lived-in.
Strewn chenille blankets, a coffee table stacked with
magazines, the warm glow of lamps. It wasn’t echo-y and cavernous like Alicia’s or wired like Dylan’s. Of course she much
preferred the clean lines and bright decor of the Block estate. But…

She took a deep breath, preparing to tell Kristen what the others already knew. Her palms felt moist, like she had used too
much L’Occitane shea butter hand cream.

“Last night, I kind of knew something that I didn’t bring up.”

Kristen’s eyes grew wide with terror. “Claire told you, didn’t she?”

“No,” Massie said, not bothering to ask why in Gawd’s name she would ever think
that
. “Claire didn’t tell me, my parents did.”

“How did they find out?”

“That we’re moving to England?” she blurted.

“Oh,” Kristen sighed, relieved. And then, “Wait,
what
? You’re moving to
England
?”

“Yeah, my dad got a job there.” Sadness washed over Massie all over again. Saying the words aloud was supposed to help them
sink in. But it wasn’t working. The news clung to the surface of her skin like lavender oil after a bath.

“You can’t just leave. What about school? What about us?”

Bean and Beckham were still growl-hissing. But the girls were too caught up in their own drama to interfere.

“I was hoping that maybe I could stay here, at least until the end of the spring semester. And then maybe by then—”

“Mom,” Kristen called before Massie could even finish. “Can Massie stay with us for a while?”

“As long as it’s okay with her parents,” Marsha called back.

Massie had yet to run this idea with William and Kendra, but how could they possibly object? It was a win-win for all of them.
“They’re fine with it,” she called back.

“Done.” Kristen smiled, quickly folding the ruby red blanket by her feet and draping it over the back of the couch. “I mean,
we’d have to share my room and the animals might have a hard time at first, but we’ll figure it out.”

“We can host the Friday night sleepovers here!” Massie announced, trying to imagine five girls jammed into a closet-sized
bedroom. “Or in the limo,” she joked.

Kristen bit her lip. “Maybe you could have them at Alicia’s or something.”

“I was just kidding about the—”

“No, it’s not that.”

Massie narrowed her eyes.

“I won’t really be able to stay up that late on the weekends for a while.”

“Why? Are you sick or something?”

“No.” Kristen began stacking and restacking the magazines. “I’ve been meaning to tell you… I got this real cool opportunity.”
She walked two coffee cups into the kitchen. “I’m an All-Star Soccer Sister,” she called.

“Like where you mentor underprivileged soccer players?” Massie wondered aloud.

Kristen padded back to the couch and pulled out the crinkly windbreaker. “Soccer Sisters. It’s a competitive traveling soccer
squad. I got accepted last week. And…” She hesitated. “Well, it means that my weekends—and my life—are pretty much all about
soccer now.”

“But what about the Pretty Committee?” Massie asked. Claire had her new house, Dylan had her TV show, Alicia had tap, and
Kristen had soccer. A loneliness flower bloomed inside Massie’s stomach.

“You guys are still my best friends,” Kristen said, meaning it. “I promise that will never change.” She held up her pinkie.
Massie hooked hers around Kristen’s. They shook on it.

“Hi, Massie,” Kristen’s mother said, walking into the kitchen in a robe, her wet hair twisted in a faded pink towel. “I was
just going to make some hot chocolate. Would you girls like some?”

“Is it sugar-free?” Kristen asked, for Massie’s sake.

“No,” Marsha said, confused. “Why would—”

“That’s okay,” Massie said, knowing she’d have to ease up on some of her rules if she was going to be someone’s guest.
When in Pinewood…
“I’d love some.”

“Same,” Kristen said.

Massie found herself grinning and Kristen unfolded the blanket and laid it over their legs. Kristen’s mother served them sugary
powdered hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in a chipped mug. It was the best hot chocolate Massie had ever tasted.

After a cozy night of TV, Massie and Bean snuggled under
the mismatched blankets on Kristen’s daybed. Kristen flipped off the lights and soon the room was filled with a symphony of
breathing—snotty purrs from Beckham, guttural groans from Bean, and raspy snores from Kristen. Moonlight cut across Kristen’s
window, casting a white beam across Massie’s face. She covered her head in a rose-scented pillow and tried to drown it all
out.

Reee reee reee reee reee!

What felt like minutes later, Massie shot up. Her eyes felt like they had been loofahed. “What is that?”

“Sorry!” Kristen whispered. “It’s just my alarm. Go back to sleep.”

“What’s going on?” Massie wondered, freeing herself from a straitjacket of wool blankets. “It’s still dark out. Where are
you going?”

“Ssshhh, go back to sleep,” Kristen said.

“
Back
to sleep? I don’t think I even had a chance to
go
to sleep in the first place!”

Kristen ignored her, pulling on sneakers and double-knotting their laces. Massie searched the room for a clock and found it
on Kristen’s dresser, where it glowed “4:47
A.M
.”

She gasp-gaped. “What are you doing up at 4:47
A.M.?”

“Training,” Kristen said, acting surprised that anyone would ask. She jumped to her feet and tied her hair up into a high
ponytail.

Massie was so shocked and sleep-deprived that she couldn’t speak for a moment.

“How often does this ‘training’ happen?” she croaked.

“Every morning!” Kristen chirped. “Well, except for Fridays. That’s my day off.”

Kristen zipped up her windbreaker and grabbed an old iPod Dylan had passed down to her.

“Ready?” Marsha poked her head in the room. She was dressed in sweats and ready to jog.

What was wrong with these people?

“Just feed Beckham whenever you feed Bean,” Kristen said, and then she squealed. “How fun is this?”

“So fun,” Massie managed as she curled into a fetal position and moaned.

Next thing she knew a damp nail file was rubbing up against her earlobe. “What the—” Massie whipped around and bashed into
Beckham’s cold nose. He meowed and then began pawing her highlights. “Stop!” But he didn’t. He kept pawing and meowing. “I’m
not feeding you now. It’s too early.”

Bean shimmied out from under the covers and swatted Beckham. Beckham swatted back. Minutes later, the daybed was covered in
fur, $300 highlights, and a note that said:
Change of plans. Had to go.

“This Louis is a looseeer!” Massie declared as she emptied her luggage into her walk-in closet and unceremoniously dumped
its contents on the plush carpet. She couldn’t believe how much bad luck it had brought her the past few days. Just looking
at the Diane von Furstenberg silk pajamas she’d tried to sleep in at Kristen’s house, the baggy boyfriend Diesel jeans she’d
worn as she ran through Alicia’s abandoned hallways, and the pumps she’d been filmed in at Dylan’s made her so sick to her
stomach that she couldn’t even sip the steaming hazelnut latte she’d had her temporary driver pick up for her.

She sighed loudly and then looked forlornly at Bean, who had curled up in the zippered pouch inside Louis. She blinked at
Massie and then cocked her head to the side.

“You’re right, Bean,” Massie concurred, nodding seriously. “It’s not Louis Vuitton’s fault that my Goldilocks mission failed.”

The realization didn’t stop Massie from feeling like she’d just eaten bad sushi. After arriving back at the Block estate before
the sun had even been able to melt the icicles off the trees, she’d finally fallen into a deep sleep, where she dreamed of
never-ending hallways lined with cameras and tap shoes. When Bean licked her cheek and woke her up sometime mid-
afternoon, she’d been so disoriented she couldn’t figure out whose bed she was in—Claire’s in the guesthouse? Kristen’s in
her tiny bedroom? Hers, in her new castle in England?

Massie shut her closet door and tried to apple-X the memories of the past few days. She crossed her bedroom to peer out the
windows. When she saw what was going on in the guesthouse, her stomach heaved and swirled again.

“This is
nawt
happening!” She tapped frantically on the window, hoping her nails on the glass would be loud enough to attract the attention
of the people going in and out of the guesthouse. But it was futile. She was too far away, and her nails were too weak to
make more than a whimper. “That’s what I get for stopping my weekly nail strengthening treatments!” she hissed, frowning at
her cuticles. Then she grabbed Bean and raced downstairs and out the back door, dumping her hazelnut latte in the melting
snow on her way. It left a slushy, poo-colored stain in the pristine white lawn.

“Kuh-laire!” she called as she ran inside. She dodged a stack of boxes and a tall, broad man carrying an empty moving dolly,
who quickly left the room when he noticed the expression on Massie’s face. Then she stopped. Hard.

The guesthouse was empty.

Massie felt fear climb up her body like it was Jack and she was the beanstalk. Even Bean shuddered in her arms at the sight
of it. She’d completely forgotten. The Lyonses weren’t supposed to be moving until the weekend, and it was Thursday—moving
day.

With the exception of a few rows of boxes lined up by the
door, the guesthouse looked exactly like it had two years ago, before the Lyonses had moved in. All of their personal touches
were packed up—the homemade quilt Claire liked to curl up in when she and Massie watched old movies on the couch; the pile
of board games the Lyonses used for family game nights; the collection of winter coats and hats and boots that Todd liked
to leave by the front door. What was left was picture-perfect Ethan Allen décor. It almost looked like no one had ever lived
there.

Massie gulped. She remembered the day her parents had told her that William’s college friend and his family would be staying
with them for a while. She had hated the idea of being forced to be nice to Claire, with her Flori-
dull
wardrobe and earnestness. Looking around, Massie remembered all of the mean things she’d said to Claire when she first arrived
in her overalls and Keds.