P.S. I Loathe You (18 page)
Jingling along the flagstone path, Massie was feeling little and sad. Almost flulike. Her head throbbed. Her eyes burned. And her stomach was closed for business.
Swollen from crying, yet out of tears, she was driven by the primal need to be comforted by her best friend. To have her sorrow validated. To hear from someone other than Bean that Kristen was two-faced; that Dempsey would never like Layne; and that in a billion years, Alicia would
never
do anything that backstabbingly backstabbing to her.
If Massie could just hear those things, her alpha spirit would soar once again and Isaac would be right. Tomorrow would be a better day.
Festive whooping from the song “Live Your Life” escaped through the open windows of the garage-size dance studio. Alicia had obviously finished her homework. Meaning, she’d be able to focus 110 percent on Massie.
Ignoring the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign, Massie thumb-pressed the iron handle. But the door was locked. “Leeesh!” she called over Rihanna’s pinched robotic voice. But the song was too loud.
“Leeeeesh!” She slammed the heart-shaped knocker.
The music stopped suddenly. The sound of feet scrambling across the hardwood floor was as unmistakable as the shush-ing.
Ehmagawd! A surprise party!
Had the Kristen betrayal thing been part of the setup? Had Dylan been told to ignore her call? Had Claire been supposed to say she was IM-studying with Cam? Was Isaac in on it too? That had to be the case! Nothing else made sense.
Massie fumbled around her
GREEN IS THE NEW BLACK
tote in search of gloss, cheek stain, and Alicia’s dance studio key.
Ha!
Who’s gonna be surprised now?
ALICIA’S DANCE STUDIO
Thursday, October 8th
8:03 P.M.
“Sur-
prise
!” Massie burst into the studio, her smile ready for its close-up.
“The Curse!” a girl shouted.
Eight shocked faces glared back at her, but she only recognized one of them.
Alicia stepped forward. “Um . . . what are you
doing
here?” She was wearing a crisp white button-down (Ralph, obviously) tucked into denim short shorts with red hearts on the pockets and a matching metallic belt, just like the others.
The invisible fist that had been gripping Massie’s stomach all evening reached up and grabbed her throat. Her Socc-Hers uniform, despite its cut-above-ness, was ah-bviously out.
“I thought you said she wasn’t on the team,” hissed a bony brunette in third position.
“What
team
?” Massie dared.
“The new cheerleaders,” offered a curly-headed blonde. “The Heart-Nets.”
“What?”
Massie’s eyes begged Alicia’s to make this all go away.
“You can totally join if you want,” Alicia tried. “I’d love to have you. It’s just that . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“What?”
“I’m sort of already the alpha.” She shifted uncomfortably in her moccasins, which had tiny hearts dangling from its fringes instead of bells.
Massie felt her pores contract.
“I don’t mean the alpha in life. Just in dance. You can totally still be the alpha in life. I mean, I
want
you to be. It’s just that I’m so into dancing and I would really like to try choreo-graphy.” She paused. “Actually, if you want to be co-captain you totally can. It would be great. I’ll deal with the routine and you can deal with the—”
“Shut up, please,” Massie mumbled flatly.
“Huh?”
Alicia seemed slightly taken aback. But come awn. Did she hawnestly think her little speech would make this Brad Pitt–size betrayal hurt any less? The only thing it did was make Kristen’s seem a tad less traumatizing.
“Um, Alicia is my name V?” Massie asked loud enough for her teammates to hear.
“No.”
“Then why would I follow
U
!?” She bolted into the cool night air, only beating her tears her by a fraction of a second.
DYLAN’S BEDROOM
Thursday, October 8th
8:35 P.M.
Ding.
Dylan rubbed her bare feet together with glee. Derrick was ready for their nightly post-homework text session. If only she’d done her math problems instead of lying on the chaise, stewing over her Massie problems, life would be perfect.
Sucking in the little belly bulge that muffin-topped over her turquoise Cosabella boy shorts, Dylan checked the message.
Derrick: Math Blows.
Dylan: Ah-greed!
She kicked her unopened textbook to show she meant it.
The air hung heavy while she waited for another ding.
Was her reply too boring? Should she have tried to sound more upbeat? Did he think she was a triple B?
Derrick: Mr. Morgan looks like a big toe.
Dylan laughed out loud and then told him so.
Derrick: He’s a square root.
Dylan: An odd number.
Derrick: A player eight-er.
Dylan: The ew-y decimal system.
Derrick: LOL!
Dylan felt drained but completely satisfied, like she had just won a grueling tennis match or finished an entire cold-cut combo from Subway. Who was it who’d said, “Every rose has its thorn?” Shakespeare? Oprah? Reebok? As far as she could tell, Derrick’s only
thorn
was an ex-crush named Massie Block. And it was very prickly.
Derrick: Cheesy Friday tomorrow @ Slice of Heaven. All u can eay mozrela stix! Wanna hit it after skl??
Dylan’s thumping heartbeat practically drowned out Tyra Banks’s muffled voice on her sister’s flat screen next door.
This was their first official nondetention date!!!
A swarm of outfits, hairstyles, and conversation topics buzzed through her brain.
Jeans or a dress? Updo or down? Big bones or little ones?
And then the queen bee swooped in, waving a flag that said,
FRIDAY NIGHTS ARE FOR SLEEPOVERS AT MY HOUSE
, and chasing them all away.
It was so unfair. Massie owned Derrick
and
Friday nights.
Derrick: U still there?
Dylan’s thumb hovered over the
y
, longing to answer yes to both his questions. But where would that leave her and Massie? Not that she should concern herself with someone who had called her a triple B . . . but she did.
Dylan: Hold on. Mom just walked in. Text u back in 5.
She needed to run this problem by someone, but her someone
was
the problem. So she opted for the next best thing.
“Mommmmmm.” Dylan padded down the rose petal–-covered carpet.
“In here, Dyl Pickles,” Merri-Lee called from her bathroom.
Dylan slid the frosted glass door open and stepped into what felt like a gardenia-scented disco ball. Every wall, cabinet, and appliance was made of mirror, right down to the custom toilet. It reflected Dylan, from every angle, along with her mother, who, unfortunately, was naked and slipping into a bubble-filled tub. Out of pure desperation, Dylan perched herself on the edge, next to the flickering pink candle.
“Mmmmmmmm.” Merri-Lee closed her eyes and sank into the white froth. “What’s up?” she mumbled like she was talking in her sleep.
“Um.” Dylan suddenly realized she had no idea how to explain her situation. Only a member of the PC could possibly understand. “You know how you took Jennifer Aniston’s side during her split with Brad?”
Merri-Lee’s green eyes shot open. “Why? Is Angie’s publicist here again?”
“No.” Dylan gestured for her mother to lie back down. “I was just wondering if you would have taken her side if she’d told you she was over Brad before Brad hooked up with Angie.”
“That shameless PR team! They’re using you to get to me, aren’t they?”
“No, Mom, I swear.” Dylan rolled her eyes, her frustration reflected across the bathroom from every angle. “It’s one of those moral-type questions some friends were playing at school, and I wanted to see what you’d say.”
“Oh, okay. Start over.” Merri-Lee inhaled deeply, ready to concentrate.
“Let’s say Jennifer and Angie were best friends, and then Jennifer broke up with Brad, and
then
Angie started liking him. Would that be bad?”
Merri-Lee rubbed sea salt on her arm while considering this. “Not
as
bad, I suppose. Why? What do you know? Do you have a source?”
“No!”
Dylan snapped. “I just want to know if sometimes it’s okay to choose a boy over your friends.” She paused. “You know, if that boy’s available.”
Merri-Lee turned off the water. “I don’t think so.”
Dylan’s heart nosedived. “So you should choose your friend?”
“No.”
“The boy?”
“Neither.” Merri-Lee shrugged as if it were all so simple.
“Huh?”
“You shouldn’t have to choose. A good friend wouldn’t intimidate you and a good guy wouldn’t pressure you.”
Merri-Lee lifted her wet hand and placed it on Dylan’s knee. “You deserve both.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Dylan kissed her mother’s dark roots.
Now she knew exactly what to text Derrick. It wasn’t going to be easy. But it would be right.
KRISTEN’S BEDROOM
Thursday, October 8th
11:29 P.M.
Sleep was nawt an option. It required relaxation, mental clarity, and steady breathing. None of which Kristen had.
“Ugh!” She kicked the covers in frustration.
“Re-owww.” Beckham leapt to the shag carpet and zipped under the bed.
Great. Now the cat was mad at her too.
Typically Kristen was an alpha problem solver. But tonight, she couldn’t decide which problem to solve first, let alone
how
to solve it. Prioritizing was impossible. Each dilemma was crucial and needed immediate fixing.
There was:
1) Get Dune to forgive her for lying about the necklace.
2) Get Massie to forgive her for lying about Layne.
3) Get Layne to forgive her for denying their friendship.
4) Get Massie to forgive her for not honoring the pledge. (
“PC support day or night!”
)
5) Get Layne to forgive her for not honoring her promise (to help her get Dempsey).
6) Get Alicia to forgive her for ignoring her all night. (Eleven missed calls!)
7) Get Beckham to forgive her for keeping him up past his bedtime.
She considered all seven. Even if she knew which one to tackle first it wouldn’t matter. Everyone was fast asleep. E-mailing apology appetizers was the only option.
Dune,
Sorry I lied about the necklace. Didn’t want u 2 know I lost it. Didn’t know Layne found it. Please forgive me.
XOX,
K
Kristen kissed the computer screen for luck and hit send.
Massie,
Sorry I lied about being friends with Layne. I know u don’t like her and I didn’t want u to be mad. Which is funny (not in a ha-ha way in an ironic way) cuz now u r. Also sorry I didn’t help you get Dempsey or honor our pledge. I will start doing both tomorrow. Please forgive me.
XOX,
K
Kristen kissed the screen twice for extra luck and hit send.
Layne,
Sorry I didn’t Defend you in front of Massie. U know how she can be. Also sorry I didn’t work harder to help u get Dempsey. I was trapped in the middle. We made a promise and I will honor it tomorrow. Please forgive me.
XOX,
K
Kristen kissed the screen one last time and hit send. She had done everything she could right now. The only person left to contact was Dempsey and ask him, straight up, who he liked. But that would have to wait until morning.
Of all the conversations, his would have made the most sense to have via e-mail or text. After all, asking a boy to choose between your best friends can be awkward. But for some reason Kristen wanted to see him when she asked.
Or maybe she just wanted to see him.
MASSIE’S BEDROOM
Friday, October 9th
1:27 A.M.
Suddenly, everything went quiet.
After lying in fetal position, listening to motivational audio books for three and a half hours, the battery on Massie’s iPod died . . . just like everything else that mattered.
She kicked the covers off her aching body and tried to sit up. But vertigo—from crying on an empty stomach—had left her weak and dizzy. Massie collapsed back on her salt-stained purple pillowcase, unable to escape the weight of hopeless desperation.
Adversity was not new to her. In the last year she had triumphed over a Clique-crasher, a cheating Fannish beta, unrequited crushes, a Spanish boy-snatcher, lip-kiss anxiety, a lost movie role, expulsion, an eighth-grade alpha, a boy invasion, class in a trailer, a job in the Hamptons, one week in Kissimmee, and a boyfast. But
this
was different.
Today, all of her friends had betrayed her at the same time. Claire had abandoned her for Cam. Kristen for Layne. Alicia for the Heart-Nets. And Derrington for some mystery beta. All she had left was Dylan, who refused to answer her phone. Oh, and Dempsey, who still hadn’t thanked her for the get-well package she’d left outside his door. She had become a human headband, something everyone obsessed over and then tossed.
A fresh stream of tears pooled in her eyes. It was painful to think of the countless hours she’d spent trying to keep the Pretty Committee on top. The homework missed. The plans hatched. The money spent. The clothes bought. She’d opened up her heart, her bedroom, and her closets to these girls. And despite the countless efforts to hold them back and keep them from moving on, they still . . .
OMG
.
Massie shot up like the waking dead. Something about all this seemed familiar.
“Bean!” She pulled the black pug onto her lap and stroked her tiny head. “Remember you went through that phase of not wanting to go for a walk?”