A Tale of Two Pretties (6 page)

“Ahem,” a male voice said over her, his breath smelling like salsa. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation just now.”

“Who is that?” Kristen asked. “Are you visiting your dad?”

Dylan thumbed around for the END button and disconnected the call.

“I hope you’re not in breach of the confidentiality contract.” Dylan recognized the voice. It was the mysterious producer
who always shouted “Back to one” and “Let’s try that again!” over the PA system. Dylan fought to catch a glimpse of him, but
her lids were no match for the super-stick grip of Nicolette’s tape.

“Who, me?” Dylan asked, wondering how one feigned shock without the use of her eyes. “No. I was running lines with my drama
partner. We’re doing
Secret Life of Bees
and, um, I play the bee with the secret.”

“Well, in the end, I hope your bee decides to keep the secret, or the whole hive will come crashing down on her,” he said
with a final blast of salsa.

“Don’t worry.” Dylan forced a smile.

Of course, if the hive didn’t crush her, the weight of this secret surely would.

Claire’s room had become a “before” scene in an episode of
Hoarders
. Claire brushed aside her bangs, opened her closet door, and began pulling clothes. There was already a big lump of “donate
before the PC finds out I wore these,” a small mound of “could wear while studying,” and a midsized pile of “new house–worthy.”
But there was still so much to do. How was she supposed to get it all packed and organized in less than a week?

Massie burst into Claire’s room with a box of her own. Her amber eyes, red and watery, took in the chaos. “Kuh-laire, it’s
so ah-dorable of you to get rid of your ugly things to make room for my cute ones.” She kicked aside a PowerPuff Girls nightgown.
“Just for that I grant you complete wardrobe access. It’s a good thing I’m moving in.”

“Moving in?” Claire screeched. “I thought you were just sleeping over. You know, tonight.”

“Puh-lease. Look outside.” Massie led her to the window. A baggage claim’s worth of luggage sat on the lawn outside the guesthouse.
“Would I bring all of that for one night?”

Claire managed to smile. “Probably.”

“Isn’t that why you’re cleaning out your closets?”

“Of course,” Claire lied, nervously tugging on the zipper of
her light blue hoodie. “Why else would I be doing all of this?”

How could she possibly tell Massie she’d be abandoning her in her greatest moment of need? The girl looked more fragile than
those wide-eyed Precious Moments figurines Grandma Lyons collected.

“Question for you,” Massie began, gripping Claire with the intensity of her glare. “Any chance you told Dylan about my…” She
hesitated, as if her next words might detonate and trigger an explosion. “… my
secret
?”

“No!” Claire crossed her fingers over her heart, twice. “I swear.”

Massie cocked her head.

“Swear on your life?”

Claire lifted her palm. “Swear on my life.”

“Your mom’s life?”

“Swear.”

“Dad’s?”

“Swear.”

“Todd’s?”

“Easy. Swear,” she joked, but Massie still wasn’t convinced.

“What about…” Massie tapped her chin, looked up, and then swooped her glare back down for what she obviously assumed was the
billion-dollar question. “What about
Cam’s
?”

“Swear.”

“Say it.”

“I swear.”

“All of it.”

“I swear on Cam’s life I did not tell Dylan, or anyone, about your secret.”

“The money one.”

“The money one.” Claire sat on the edge of her bed. “I’m almost offended that you think I would tell.”

“Um, are you a busboy?”

“No,” Claire said.

“Then why are you turning the tables?” Massie asked.

“I—”

“That was about me not you. But I believe you now, so let’s move on.”

Claire sighed. She wanted to be there for Massie like Selena was there for Demi, but it was hard when she had her own secret
to keep.

“Hey, Mass…” Claire wondered aloud. “Do you think we’d still be friends if we didn’t live on the same estate?”

Massie did a belly-first dive onto Claire’s bed, knocking the “maybe” pile of clothes onto the floor. “Oh, you don’t have
to worry about that, Kuh-laire!”

Claire felt the knot in her stomach unravel a little.

“Your family will never leave. Which is actually perfect because if mine does—not that they are, but they might… someday—I’ll
move in with you, keep the same address, and no one will know the difference!” she declared, her eyes brightening. “It’ll
be our secret.”

Another one?

Claire knew she had to tell Massie the truth and ask point-
blank if they’d still be friends once they didn’t live together. And even if Massie pulled a Simon Cowell and left, at least
Claire would know the truth and all the secrets would be over.

“This is cute for you,” Massie said to a gray Alexander Wang tee shirt. “Keep this one.”

“You gave it to me,” Claire admitted.

“Oh.” Massie giggled. “Ooops.” Her smile was endearing, a mix of warmth and vulnerability. It stuck with Claire like a sad
movie.

“Maybe you should tell them,” Claire tried. “See what happens.”

“Opposite of great idea,” Massie said, picking through Claire’s old blouses. “ ‘See what happens’ is for ordering jeans online,
not for telling your friends you’re
poor
.” She reached for her necklace and dragged the black diamond along the chain.

“Did you get that for Christmas?” Claire asked innocently.

Massie nodded yes.

“Then you’re not
poor
.”

“Tell that to the frozen fish tank in my dad’s study. We’re selling it to a sushi chef from Ichi San.”

Claire crossed the room and joined Massie on her bed, gently moving the “for keeps” clothes to her desk chair. “The point
is, friends are there for each other no matter what. Did you bail on Kristen when you found out she wasn’t rich?”

Massie paused to consider this. “Interesting point. Run with it.”

Empowered, Claire sat taller. “It’s just that you’ve been there for them so many times…”

“Name ten,” Massie said, as if the alpha’s greatest hits just slipped her mind. “Not including the one you just said.”

“Okay, ten…” Claire thought hard. “Keep in mind I’ve only been here a year.”

“Ten.”

She stood and began pacing. “One. You helped Alicia buy her first minimizing bra. Two, you supply Kristen with new outfits
every morning before school. Three, you designed their dirty devils Halloween costumes. Four, you had Jakob fix my bangs after
Layne butchered them when I was trying to be Old-Claire for Cam. Four, you helped Dylan when Mr. Myner was dating her mom.
Five, you formed the NPC after OCD became BOCD! Six, you started an underground clinic to teach lip virgins how to kiss. Um…”
She searched the sticky corners of her mind for more. “Okay seven.”

“You skipped seven.”

“Seven, you turned the overflow trailers into Tiffany’s boxes so they wouldn’t feel like losers. Eight, you hosted billions
of sleepovers—and spa days—so that’s eight. Nine, you sawed off Nina’s heels when she stole our crushes. And ten…”
Come on, Claire, don’t choke now… you’re almost there…

Massie sat cross-legged on the bed, folded her arms across her chest, and glared expectantly.

“Ten. You introduced them to me,” Claire said with a playful smile.

Massie arched her brows.

“My bangs and Keds made them feel better about their own hair and shoes. So you helped boost their confidence.”

“Kuh-laire, are you a ballerina?”

“Why?” she snapped, angry at herself for even bothering. “Because I’m so
leotarded
? Or because I’m a
tulle
?”

“No.” Massie jumped to her feet, “Because you’re so on pointe!”

“I am?”

“I’ve been an ah-mazing friend!” The light had returned to her friend’s amber eyes. “Don’t poor people always say that’s worth
more than all the money in the world?”

Claire nodded enthusiastically.

“And poor people would know that better than anyone, right? I mean, it’s not like they can afford cable or magazines or computers.
They probably huddle around an open oven and analyze this kind of stuff for fun.”

Did she honestly believe that?
Not that Claire would ever ask. Challenging Massie while she was boosting herself was like waking a sleepwalker: It could
lead to danger.

“Gawd, you are so right…” Massie began texting, her fingers flying over the touch screen with a renewed sense of purpose.

She hit send. Claire was the first to respond.

And then:

“
Ehmagawd!
” Massie threw her iPhone on Claire’s bed like it had been sprayed with Todd-snot. “The poor people were wrong! They know
that I’m not rich, and they’re over me!”

“Do you seriously think they like you for your money?”

“You tell me!” Massie snapped, waving her phone in Claire’s face. “You’re the alpha?” she spat. “Alicia is ah-bviously mocking
me! Dylan just spent ten days with her family! That’s more back-to-back family time than they’ve had the last five years combined.
And Kristen? A soccer thing during December break?
Puh-lease.
Change your name to Jesse James and lie to me again!” She smashed Claire’s tasseled pillow into her face and groaned.

Claire searched her mind for a reasonable explanation for the Pretty Committee’s flakiness but found nothing. Dylan
never
hung out with her family. Alicia
never
acknowledged her beta status. And Massie was right: What kind of crazy-intense team practices over Christmas break? What
if Massie was right? What if the PC was breaking up with her now that
her family was broke? And if they were so willing to dump a no-money Massie, there was zero hope for an off-estate Claire.

But were the girls really that callous? Had their friendships been that superficial? It wasn’t possible. Even for them. Right?

Claire snuck a gummy. But even the sweet candy couldn’t wash away the sour taste in her mouth.

Massie was more stiff than the marble statue Sotheby’s had just removed from her front yard. She was standing in the center
of the Blocks’ barn-turned-spa-turned-cold-spa while Alicia, Kristen, and Dylan avoided her gaze. As a result, she avoided
Claire’s gaze because this whole stupid thing was her idea in the first place. Not that Claire noticed. She was biting her
nails like they were made of sugar. Alicia was petting Bean, Dylan kept checking her phone, and Kristen was nervously rolling
her foot back and forth on a soccer ball—like that would somehow convince Massie that her bogus story was true. The alpha
wanted to scream, but could only manage a yawn.

Last night Claire had slept peacefully in a sleeping bag on the floor, while Massie had tossed and turned in her foam-filled
comforter. The white numbers on her iPhone had flitted by, like they were counting down to Massie’s execution. Just as the
French peasants had lopped off Marie Antoinette’s head over cake, the Pretty Committee were about to ax her over dough.

“So what’s going on?” Alicia finally asked. “Is this an intervention? Did I do something?”

“
You?
” Kristen said. “I thought everyone was mad at me.”

“No one’s mad at anyone,” Massie managed.
Yet.

“Phew.” Dylan wiped her forehead, “I thought it was me.”

“Like maybe we were
lashing
out at you?” Alicia teased.

Dylan giggled. “We got them on our vacation.” She blinked. “You like?”

“You better be careful crossing the street, Bambi,” Kristen cackled. “If you see headlights, look down.”

Claire shot Massie a
tell-them
glare. Massie shot back a
Kuh-laire-are-you-a-JanSport-then-get-off-my-back
glare.

Still, she pressed on. “I wanted to let you know—” Massie paused to scoop up Bean and took a long whiff of puppy smell. The
pug licked her back.
Why couldn’t everyone be this loyal?

Eight eyeballs were fixed on her. Waiting… wondering… Her future hung in the balance of their blinking lashes. And Massie
wasn’t so confident on the brightness of said future. Because for every one of the great things she had done for them, there
was a not-so-great-thing she had also kinda done.

She hadn’t let Claire be a Dirty Devil.

She’d kept Alicia out of the
TeenVogue
photo shoot (although Alicia had deserved it for cheating on the OCD uniform contest).