Clique Summer Collection 1 - Massie by Lisi Harrison

Author:Lisi Harrison
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2008-04-01T07:00:00+00:00

THE BLOCKS’ SOUTHAMPTON ESTATE

THE BACK PATIO

Wednesday, June 17

11:08 A.M.

The warm onshore breeze did things to Massie’s naturally wavy hair that Galwaugh’s dry forest gusts could only dream of. It added curl and bounce and a flirty playfulness that said, “Lip-kissed by nature and loving it.” But secretly, Massie would have given anything to be back at horse camp. There, she was a winner. But here, the whole jobby thing was making her feel like a total L—

Massie shook the thought from her head. It was a new day. There was still hope.

On the back patio, she set her tiny cappuccino cup down on the marble-and-wrought-iron table with a clink. She pushed her dark Ferragamo sunglasses up her nose, unfolded a laminated map of Southampton, and examined it like a general planning the invasion of a small, wealthy country.

“This is serious, Bean.”

The pug paced at Massie bare feet.

“Yesterday was a disaster.” Massie sharpened a Be Defined lip pencil, releasing eggplant purple shavings into the bright, salt-scented air. She drew X’s over Frizzy Lindsey’s and Kelsey’s streets. “So we’re going to have to try another tactic.” She circled Herrick Road, where the less-fortunate year-rounders lived.

Bean let out an anxiety sneeze.

“I know! But it’s our only chance.” Hopes of her purple streak were disappearing faster than marked-down Zac Posen at a Barneys sale. “No one loves inner beauty more than unattractive wannabes. They’ll be all over this stuff.”

Massie scooped Bean up with renewed determination. Nothing made her feel more streakworthy than her mother’s vintage Pucci halter dress, which she’d paired with white skinny Citizens, emerald green Tory Burch flats, and wood bangles from Calypso. Massie knew one thing: If she could pull off skinny white jeans, she could pull off anything.

“Isaac!” she called, heading for the driveway. “To the year-rounders on Herrick Road!”

“Are you sure about this?” Isaac turned onto Herrick Road and parked the Range Rover in front of the first house on the street.

“Ew.” Massie peered over her sunglasses at the small, cottage-style house with pink flowered curtains in the window. A green flag with appliquéd flowers hung from a pole above the screen door. If the décor was any indication, whoever lived here was in desperate need of guidance.

She tiptoed to the front door to avoid catching her heel in the weed-infested cracks in the pavement. The potted geraniums on either side of the porch were wilting in the heat. And Massie knew exactly how they felt. She pinched the brass knocker, pulled it back, and dropped it as if it were made of rayon.

“Yeah?” A girl Massie’s age dressed in an oversize New York Knicks basketball jersey opened up and peered suspiciously at the Range Rover. Her burgundy-from-a-box shoulder-length hair was stringy, and her poo-brown eyes bulged more than Bean’s. Massie was grateful she was wearing her dark Ferragamos, because the girl’s unsightly smattering of upper-lip hair was making Massie’s eyes water.

“Beauty is truth,” Massie began, rattling off the speech with ease. “At Be Pretty Cosmetics—”

“Who’s there, Cora?” a woman called, then coughed violently.

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