[Clique #10] P.S. I Loathe You by Lisi Harrison

Author:Lisi Harrison
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Social Issues, Young Adult, School & Education, Girls, Fiction, Social Themes, Realistic, Chick Lit, Peer Pressure, Friendship, Lifestyles
ISBN: 9780316041140
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2009-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

“WE’RE. SOCC-HER!

WE’RE, WE’RE. SOCC-HER!

IF YOU’RE COLD SAY BURRRR.

IF YOU’RE A CAT SAY PURRR.

PARDONNEZ-MOI, MONSIEUR—

JE M’APPELLE SOCC-HER!

YAYYYY!”

The crowd cheered. Massie bowed. Derrington hopped up on one leg and wiggled his butt. Dylan melted.

The players began taking the field. Claire and Alicia cheered wildly when Cam and Josh ran out.

“It’s go time, team.” Massie took a hearty swig of Evian and swallowed with an Olympic-size “Ahhhhhhh.” Rejuvenated, she smacked the cap back on the bottle and got serious. “McNugget, move your hips. Twizzler, less arm-swing. Layne, get a tissue. Kuh-laire, more pop. Dylan, sharper head snaps. Alicia, stop counting us in. That’s my job.” She took another sip. Waves of imported springwater glistened inside the blue-tinted bottle as it slanted toward her glossy lips.

Gawd! What a waste of power, Dylan thought. She’s drinking my future. Swallowing my crush!

If only Massie would have the decency to dump the refreshing taste of the French Alps on Derrington. Splash him with liberty and douse him with desire. He’d be free! . . . Free to limp-run onto the field . . . free to profess his Dylan-love . . . free to lip-kiss her in front of—

The crunch of an empty water bottle slapped her back to reality.

“Missing something?” Massie held a thick red horsetail under Dylan’s chin.

“Oops.” Dylan took the two-pound extension. “It must have fallen off,” she sighed, reluctantly clipping it back into place.

“You know, Dylan”—Alicia stretched her hammy, launching the jingle of a hundred little bells—“you should really be more careful. And Massie, as captain, you should be more strict.”

“Seriously?” Dylan laughed the word out of her mouth, covering it in utter disbelief. It was one thing to be treated like a child by her best friend. But it was two things to be standing near a new crush while she was doing it.

“Yeah, seriously.” Alicia stretched her other leg. “We’re seconds away from curtain. Massie, you need to feel confident that your dancers are ready to take the stage. I advise you not to rescue them anymore. If they mess up, they pack up.”

Massie put her hands on her hips and thrust her neck like a chicken mid-peck. “And I advise you nawt to advise me. Ever. Ah-gain!”

“Funny you should talk about rescuing, Leesh,” Dylan blurted.

“Whaddaya mean?” Alicia’s heavily lined eyes narrowed. She rested her arm on the metal frame of the Tomahawks’ goalie net, or whatever that thing was called.

“I mean”—she cranked up the volume—“weren’t you telling everyone in French that you rescued Massie? And that without your input these routines would be sixth-grade level?”

“Opposite of true!” Alicia stomped her moccasin, a jingle punctuating her rage. “You know I don’t speak French.”

Despite the weight of her ponytail, Dylan cocked her head. “French class.” She paused. “You know the one with Josh and Cam and Derrington, and—”

“—and taking the place of our injured captain,” bellowed the student sportscaster, “our newest player, Dempsey Solomon!”

“Moving awn!” Massie shouted at her friends, then lifted her peacock feather–covered clutches. “We’ve got a job to do, girls.

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