P.S. I Loathe You (19 page)
The puppy sighed.
“I thought it was the cold sidewalks so I bought you those mint green Gucci booties and the white poncho. I sang to you. I gave you Kobe beef treats. And I even got you a pedicure. But you still didn’t want to go. Nothing worked until I got you that long leash. Remember?”
Bean looked lovingly at Massie with wet black eyes.
“You just needed more space.”
Once again, Massie’s spirits plunged like Pam Anderson’s necklines. She started crying again.
“But why do
they
want space from me? I gave them
everything
.” She sobbed herself empty.
By 2:30 A.M., Massie’s breathing had steadied. She had run out of tissues and tears. Her face had the bloat of someone who’d eaten salty movie popcorn at 35,000 feet. Yet her insides had never felt emptier. Any more wallowing and she’d lose her beauty, the only thing she had left.
Massie opened her purple glitter notebook and reviewed the key notes she had taken before her battery died.
AUDIO BOOK #1
How to Make People Like You in 90 Seconds or Less
By: Nicholas Boothman.
Key point: The best way to make a person like you is to make yourself be like that person.
AUDIO BOOK #2
25 Ways to Win with People
By: John C. Maxwell & Les Parrott Ph.D.
Key point: Compliment people in front of others. Encourage their dreams.
AUDIO BOOK #3
How to Get What You Want
By: Zig Ziglar
Key point: Set goals.
The last one was easy. Her goal was to get her friends back without looking desperate. The rest would play out in a well-crafted text message. Because the only things Massie was willing to face in the next twelve hours while she pretended she was too sick to go to school were a cucumber eye mask, a bottle of Visine, and her mother.
After several drafts and several more hours, Massie’s heartfelt plea was complete.
Dear Alicia, Claire, Dylan, and Kristen,
I understand why you strayed. And I forgive you. I’ll forget the past if you will. Let’s go back to the way things were. If you agree, which I know you will, show up for our regularly scheduled sleepover tomorrow night. We’re closing the pool for the winter. Let’s crank the heat to 100 degrees and have one last dunk. See ya then. It’s gonna be hawt!
P.S. I won’t be at school tomorrow because I ate bad sushi. But I’ll be fine for the pool party. Don’t be late.
Massie hit send and instantly felt a billion times better. She recalled that proverb, Forgiveness is next to Gawdliness . . . or was that cleanliness? Either way, she embodied both. And she did it without having to throw out a bunch of desperate-sounding compliments or hollow dream encouragements. No offense, motivational speakers, but when it came to “making friends and influencing people,” there was only one true expert.
And she was exhausted.
KRISTEN’S KITCHEN
Friday, October 9th
7:17 A.M.
“No texting at the table,” Marsha insisted, dumping two spoonfuls of sugar in her red mug.
“I’m not
texting
, I’m reading. And this isn’t the table, it’s the breakfast counter. And you’re not even sitting with me—you’re standing by the coffeemaker!”
“All technicalities.” Marsha kissed her daughter on the head. “Maybe if you shared whatever it is that has you so captivated I’d understand.” She moved the crumpled
New York Times
and half-eaten bowl of Cheerios aside to make room for her mug, then sat on the stool next to Kristen. Her nurse’s uniform smelled like antibacterial soap.
“It’s nothing. Just a text from Massie,” Kristen insisted, trying to read. “Just the details for tonight’s sleepover. I guess she forgives me.” She smiled with her entire body. Her mom-approved mustard crew-neck wool sweater stopped itching. And her tired eyes ceased to burn. She had not been exiled from the Pretty Committee! All was forgiven!!!
“I knew she would.” Marsha checked the clock on the microwave. “I better go.” She slung a worn black leather tote over her shoulder. “Does this mean Isaac will be picking you up, or do you need a ride?”
Kristen chugged her orange juice. “Isaac,” she lied, knowing Massie was taking a bad-sushi day.
Really, she was hoping to tag along with Dempsey and ask which girl he liked. But first she needed to change out of last year’s church sweater.
The elevator doors banged shut. Peering through the peephole, Kristen made absolutely sure her mom was gone and then slipped on Massie’s old turquoise-and-brown striped Trina Turk sweater minidress. As luck would have it, her ex-Socc-Hers moccasins matched perfectly. She yanked off the bells, stuffed the “before” clothes in her Hedgehog LeSportsac gym bag, gave Beckham a big kiss on the head, and bolted.
It was a new day.
Dempsey was standing outside her apartment, balancing on crutches when she opened the door. His ah-dorable disheveled-chic cargos, worn-in burgundy Harvard tee, and mirrored aviators caught her off guard. He looked like a J. Crew model without the scarf.
“Ehmagawd,
sticks
?” She heard herself giggle nervously.
“Yeah.” He blush-nodded. “Ankle fracture. My soccer career is over.”
“Awww, I’m so sorry.” Kristen tried to look sad while her mind filled with questions.
Does he think I look cute in this dress? How cute? Sister cute or model cute?
“How are you getting to school?” he asked, pressing the elevator button with the bottom of his crutch. “Wanna ride with my mom and I?”
My mom and me!!!!
“Um . . . I dunno . . . maybe,” she stammered, knowing she’d never pull off a heart-to-heart with his mother around.
The elevator doors squeaked open.
Dempsey hobbled inside and sigh-leaned against the back wall for support.
Kristen quickly pressed
L
, trying to appear helpful. The elevator began to dip. Impulsively, she darted forward and hit stop. A bell rang, but neither of them looked the least bit scared.
“What’re ya doin’?” he chuckled, amused.
“Um.” Kristen’s dropped her bags on the ground and tucked her blond hair behind her ears. “I kinda need to ask you something.”
Intrigued, he raised his eyebrows like a CW hottie. Cheerios churned in Kristen’s stomach. Why was she so nervous? This was about Massie, Layne, and Dempsey. This had
nothing
to do with her. Still, she couldn’t seem to come right out and ask.
“So,” she managed to say. “Let’s play a game.”
“You wanna play a
game
?” he said to the flashing emergency light.
“Yeah, it’s called Who Would You Rather. I give you choices and you tell me who you’d rather lip-kiss.”
“Okay?” he asked like he was helping himself to one of her potato chips.
Kristen wished she had the guts to come right out and ask him. But she didn’t want to know the truth. Not yet. Because no matter who he chose, one of her friends would get hurt. And she’d have to break it to them.
“Serena or Blair?” she asked, hitting snooze on the inevitable.
“Blair,” he stated like it was obvious.
Hmmmm. He chose the brunette.
That boded well for both Layne and Massie, though not Kristen. Not that it mattered.
“Hilary Duff or Vanessa Hudgens?”
“Hudgens.”
Another brunette.
“Ms. Dunkel or Principal Burns?” Kristen giggled at her own joke.
“Ugh!” He wince-waved the notion away like it was bad BO.
“You okay in there?” Willard called up from the lobby.
“Yup,” Kristen snapped, annoyed by the interruption.
“The maintenance crew should have you out in a jiff,” he shout-cough-choked.
“’Kay,” Kristen answered. She couldn’t hit snooze any longer. It was go time.
Flashing orange lights illuminated the numbers above their heads, their rhythm frenzied and anxious, just like Kristen’s heart. Still, she glared up pensively, as if pondering something utterly profound. “Hmmmm.” She tapped her bottom lip.
“One.”
Tap
.
“More.”
Tap
.
“Question.”
Tap. Tap.
“How ’bout . . . uh, I dunno. . . .”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Layne or . . .”
Tap. Tap. “
Mmmmassie?”
“Seriously?” He cocked his head in a “do you
really
mean that” sort of way.
Kristen nodded that she absolutely did.
Her body buzzed with suspense. His answer would be life changing. She wasn’t sure how. Or for whom. Just that it would be.
“Ew,” Dempsey said flatly, eyeing his sock-covered foot.
The elevator jolted suddenly, then began to descend.
“
Ew?”
Kristen heard herself screech.
“No.” He lifted one of his crutches and poked her calf.
“You.”
She peered at the lenses of Dempsey’s mirrored sunglasses, trying to picture Massie and Layne with a guy like him. But all Kristen could see was herself.
The elevator doors opened quickly.
Too quickly.
And there was Dune. Standing there. Looking cozy-cute in a brown Hurley sweatshirt, a black wool cap, and deliciously faded jeans. He was holding a bouquet of crispy fall leaves bound by a shark-tooth necklace and his sweetest smile.
LOBBY
Friday, October 9th
7:33 A.M.
Ehmagawd, had Dune heard their conversation?
Kristen’s cheeks ignited at the thought. Or was it the word
you
stirring in the burnt coffee-–scented air?
“Is everyone okay?” Willard asked, his neck meat trembling with concern. “Because, you know, that’s never happened before.”
“We’re cool,” Dempsey promised with a reassuring grin.
“Your parents aren’t going to sue, are they?”
“Not today,” Dempsey joked.
Relieved, Willard shuffled to his desk to greet the UPS deliveryman.
“Dune, what are you
doing
here?” Kristen asked, still inside the elevator. Dempsey’s confession had evaporated into a cloud that was now raining tension and guilt all over her.
“I thought we could double to school.” Dune pointed at the gold beach cruiser propped against the outside of the building.
The doors began to shut.
Dempsey stuck his crutch out and stopped them before they closed. He hobbled out.
“Fun game,” he mumbled as he passed. “Even though I lost.”
“No. Wait!” Kristen called, aware that Dune was standing beside her holding a fistful of forgiveness-leaves in the same way one might notice the hum of an air conditioner.
“Yeah?” Dempsey turned, grinning hopefully.
A tsunami of relief washed over her entire body.
And that’s when she knew for sure. Dempsey had turned into a serious crush. The kind of crush that kicks you out of the driver’s seat and grabs hold of the wheel. The kind that shuts off the GPS and takes you down a different road. The kind that reminds you that crushes don’t always follow the rules. And sometimes they don’t make sense. They make
non
sense. And trying to force them or deny them is like trying to wear a maxi-dress when you’re four feet tall. Just because you want it to work doesn’t mean it’s going to. And sometimes, the less popular choice—the one nobody will approve of but you—is a perfect fit.
“What is it?” Dempsey pressed.
“Uh.” Kristen’s words dissolved in her mouth like a Listerine breath strip. “See ya later.”
Dempsey held his hopeful gaze, as if there might be more. “That it?”
“Yup,” Kristen chirped, stiffly chipper.
He smiled like his mouth had been glued shut, then turned to leave. Her heart gripped onto his good leg, and he dragged it into the chilly morning air.
“Ready?” Dune asked once Dempsey was gone.
“Yup,” she chirped again.
“Heyyyyyy,” called a familiar voice from the open window of a Lexus. The car pulled up in front of the building. “Wanna ride?”
“Layne?”
Kristen squinted even though she had perfect vision. Was that really an orange sequin–covered bathing cap on her head? “What are
you
doing here?”
“I heard Massie ate bad sushi.” She sounded pleased. “I thought you might need a ride.”