Hey people!
A week ago, Lisi Harrison, our adored author of the Clique, has posted some very bad news.
The Clique. Is. Officially. Ending. For. Good.
I am soooo upset. I love those books. I have read every single one. And never ever ever wanted it to die.
On the slightly warm side, we still have 2 more books to go. But it ends. On book number 14.
Anyways... Back to blogging.
Lisi is planning on writing a new series. Something new. Fresh. Unrelated to the Clique. So we have yet to read (along with Alphas, which I loveee)
We have upcomming books to read.
*These Boots Are Made For Stalking- A CLique Novel- in stores March10th
*Movers And Fakers- The Alphas- in stores March 10th
*My Little Phony- A CLique Novel (Which will switch to a very cute snakeskin cover)- in stores July 10th
Sigh. How I will miss the Clique.
Here are the two first chapters of TBAMFS!
THE MARVIL ESTATE
MERRI-LEE MARVIL’S CLOSET
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30th
4:35 P.M.
“Rate my costume,” Massie Block demanded, spinning around in a circle so the Pretty Committee could see her black silk Theory jumpsuit and red patent-leather Brian Atwood pumps from every angle. Hands on hips, she ran her tongue over her fang-enhanced smile and dared her friends to give her anything less than a 9.2.
Alicia Rivera and Dylan Marvil conferred like they were front-row fashion critics and Merri-Lee Marvil’s two-story walk-in closet was the main tent at Bryant Park. Dylan’s mom had given the girls permission to accessorize their Halloween costumes with anything from her closet that had passed the Best if Worn By tags dangling from their hangers.
Claire Lyons flashed a pointy-eye-toothed grin. “Nine-point-eight!”
“Heart it.” Alicia applauded.
“To die for.” Kristen Gregory grabbed a lacy camisole that hung from the crystal wall sconce like a cobweb.
“Suuuuuuuck iiiiit, Bellllaaaaahhhh,” Dylan burped, reaching for another chewy ghost peep.
Without warning, an electric shiver shimmied down Massie’s spine. Maybe it was the sting of her new lip-plumping Glossip Girl Bite Me Berry stain. Maybe it was the eerie flicker of the Belle Fleur Cacao Tabaq soy candles Dylan had lit to get her friends in the Halloween spirit. Or maybe it was the thrill of knowing that the Pretty Committee was back together and tighter than Massie’s abs after a two-hour Zumba-thon.
Alicia lifted her palm and Massie leaned down to victory-five it. When their palms met, waves of understanding flowed between them. Without saying a word, it was clear that Alicia would never try to be the alpha of her own clique again, like she’d done with the Soul-M8s, her failed boy-girl clique. And Massie would try to be a little less Bumble & Bumble super-hold hairspray and a little more Frederic Fekkai flexible hold.
“Are you sure Landon won’t think it’s juvenile?” Massie asked, adjusting her black lace gloves. Now that she had an ah-dorable, fashion-savvy ninth-grade crush, the margin for fashion error was slimmer than a pair of J Brand Skinny jeans.
“Did you ask him to go trick-or-treating yet?” Kristen pushed herself to her feet, then teetered to the far wall in platform Jimmy Choos to riffle through the hanging clothes. Polaroids of Merri-Lee wearing the outfits hung from the hangers, expiration dates inked in red.
“Not officially,” Massie admitted. “But we’ve been texting about hanging out tomorrow night. He’s probably just waiting for me to let him know the plan.” She nibbled her bottom lip, wishing she could sneak a quick text check.
“Josh’s been tweeting all week about how pumped he is to see me in my costume.” Alicia reached for a blood orange slice and popped it in her mouth.
“Derrington’s definitely coming,” Dylan announced, pretending to examine her flat-ironed red locks for split ends.
“Good.” Massie flashed a reassuring smile, to prove she was fine with Dylan and Kristen crushing on her exes. So getting two of her crushes stolen had left her with more trust issues than the U.S. Treasury. But thanks to her new subliminal confidence-building CD, Surviving Male Betrayal, she was guaranteed to lose those issues faster than Nicole Richie shed her baby weight. Or else Oprah and her book club would have some serious explaining to do.
Just then, a deep, evil laugh boomed from the intercom.
“MUUUUUUUUAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAAAAAA.”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” the whole PC screamed. Claire panic-flung a gummy foot across the room. Dylan grabbed the top off a Prada shoe box and held it in front of her like a shield. And Bean, Massie’s black pug, leapt off a bed of Hermès silk scarves and made a beeline to Massie, her red silk cape fluttering behind her like she was an ah-dorable superhero.
“Bean!” Massie swooped down to rescue her puppy. Bean’s custom white fangs tipped with OPI’s Vampire State Building polish chattered in fear.
Seconds later, Layne Abeley appeared in the arched double doorway in a ghouls just wanna have fun T-shirt and neon orange skinny jeans.
“Ehmagawd, Layne!” Massie said, her heart racing in her chest. “You almost gave Bean a heart attack!”
“Sorrrrrry.” Layne plopped down next to Claire like she belonged there.
The PC insta-grabbed their phones.
DYLAN: K, DID U INVITE LAYNE?
KRISTEN: NOPE. U?
ALICIA: THE SHIRT SUCKS.
DYLAN: AND THE PANTS BITE.☺
MASSIE: OUTFIT SHOULD B 6 FT UNDER.☺
DYLAN: WONDER IF C INVITED HER?
MASSIE: PROBS. JUST IGNORE HER.
Massie took a giant gulp of her Draculatte to wash down the guilt lump starting to form in her throat. The truth was that when Layne had complained in second-period French about not having a costume, Massie had mentioned where the PC would be after school. Which meant she’d semi-invited the LBR. But she hadn’t really had a choice. When Dylan and Kristen had stolen ex-Derrington and ex-Dempsey, Layne had produced her brother Chris Abeley’s ninth-grade friends. Including Landon Crane.
But most important, when Massie had been forced to hire actors for her new clique to make the old one jealous, Layne hadn’t told a soul (or a Soul-M8).
“What’re you guys supposed to be anyway?” Layne piped up, double-knotting the green glitter laces on her black Converse sneakers.
Dylan rolled her eyes. “We’re going as trampires.”
“Huh?” Layne’s under-plucked brows inched toward each other as she helped herself to the tray of bite-size brownies, blood oranges, and dark chocolate–covered popcorn.
“Trampires,” Alicia repeated, tightening the silver braided belt she wore over a strapless slate gray Alexander Wang dress. “Hawt vampires.” She’d ripped holes in a pair of Merri-Lee’s DKNY fishnets and painted tiny bite marks on her leg with a scarlet YSL lip liner. “Genius, right? Massie thought of it.”
Dylan smile-thanked Massie for the idea before yanking down the hem of her black Cosabella slip.
Massie beamed You’re welcome. This year, every girl in eighth was either dressing up like Bella Swan or one of the Cullen girls, which meant the vampire trend was deader than dead. So she’d added an alpha twist.
“I get the tramp part.” Layne inspected Claire’s lace-trimmed burgundy slip. “But what’s the pire part?”
“We’re not spray-tanning this year,” Massie explained. “So we’ll be super-pale.”
“Come on, Layne,” Claire said. “Let’s go find you a costume.” She pushed herself to her feet, then gripped Layne’s hands and pulled her up too.
“Okay. But nothing trampy.” She followed Claire up the spiral staircase to the second floor.
“Style-sucker,” Alicia called after them. Her dark hair looked glossier than usual in the candlelight.
“Ah-greed,” Massie giggled, settling on the floor next to Kristen. Being back together with her friends felt better than one of Jakkob’s post-highlight scalp massages. She pinky-swore to herself that she would never let crush issues crush the Pretty Committee again.
Massie’s iPhone buzzed again.
LANDON: IS BEAN UP 4 A DATE W/BARK 2MORROW NITE?
“Ehmacrush!” Massie giggle-beamed at her iPhone. She pulled Bean into her lap, fingering the silver charms that hung from the pug’s purple silk charm collar. The collar had been a gift from Landon and his pug, Bark Obama. Bean refused to go anywhere without it.
Kristen and Alicia dove toward Massie’s cell.
“Whasshesay?” Dylan wobbled across the closet and crouched behind Massie.
“You’re so gonna lip-kiss tomorrow night,” Alicia predicted.
“Prah-bly,” Massie said coyly, even though the thought of lip-kissing an older man made her gloss sweat.
Bean jumped from Massie’s lap and scampered in hyper circles around the girls, her tiny pink tongue flapping in the cacao-scented air.
“Hey!” Layne bellowed, bending over the railing above. She was wearing a long red silk bathrobe. “I’m Little Dead Riding Hood!” Claire was drawing bloody gashes on Layne’s face with a cheap Wet N Wild lip liner.
Massie held up a hand, silencing the chatter, then fired back a reply.
MASSIE: PAWS-IBLY.☺ BRING BARK BY MY HOUSE AT 7:45. TRICK-OR-TREATING STARTS AT 8.
LANDON: CAN’T. MOVIE SCARE-A-THON @ A FRIEND’S. WANNA JOIN?
“He wants me to hang out with his friends,” Massie said slowly. Her Draculatte swirled violently in her stomach.
Dylan’s dark chocolate–stained lips melted into a thin, pursed line. “What’re you gonna do?”
Bean stopped mid-circle and rapid-blinked at Massie.
Alicia and Kristen leaned forward slightly, begging her with wide eyes not to ditch them for her crush. Bean pleaded to see Bark, her black eyes round and moist with hope. “Bark!” she yapped, in case Massie didn’t get the point
Massie reached for her latte, stalling for time. On the one hand, the thought of Landon not seeing her in her trampire costume made her blood run cold. On the other hand, hadn’t she just pinky-sworn to herself that she would never let a crush crush the Pretty Committee?
The drops of red food coloring staining the frothy white latte foam in her cup caught Massie’s eye, reminding her that she and the PC weren’t just friends. They were like blood-sisters. And blood-sisters didn’t desert their friends for boys. Not even if those boys were fashion-loving, pug-owning, ninth-grade-attending hawties.
She swallowed. “I’m obviously going trick-or-treating,” she said definitively, as if she’d never considered another option.
Dylan, Kristen, and Alicia breathed a sigh of relief, then fanned out to complete their costumes. Bean sulk-yapped, collapsing on the floor in defeat.
Before Massie could change her mind, she texted Landon.
MASSIE: CAN’T.TRICK-OR-TREATING W/THE GIRLS. BEAN=☹.
Massie felt like someone was stiletto-stabbing her in the heart, then filling the hole with a million insecurities. She re-glossed quickly, to seal them in.
Bean lifted her head hopefully at the sound of Massie’s buzzing phone.
LANDON: WANNA BRING BEAN 2 THE SCARE-A-THON? AT LEAST THE PUPPIES CAN HANG. I’LL CHAPERONE.
Massie paused. She’d never let Bean out of her sight for an entire night before. But then again . . .
“Bean!” she said. “Want me to drop you off at Bark’s tomorrow?”
Bean leapt up and barreled full-force into Massie’s lap, her charm collar jangling happily.
Massie giggled, breathing in the warm scent of her puppy’s customized vanilla bean shampoo. At least if Massie couldn’t be with her crush on Halloween, Bean could be with hers. And if dropping Bean off at Landon’s led to a) Landon witnessing Massie looking ah-mazing in her trampire costume, b) Landon ditching his friends in favor of trick-or-treating with the PC, or c) Landon vowing never to leave Massie’s side again, then so be it.
Besides, there were other perks. Massie scratched underneath Bean’s collar, pinching the tiny silver dog-bone charm between her index finger and thumb. The charm was a SnoopDawg; it had a tiny camera inside that sent a video feed to the SnoopDawg Web site so pet owners could monitor their pets 24/7. All Massie had to do was activate the charm and check the site from her iPhone tomorrow night, and she could watch Bean’s every move.
And Landon’s.
Massie giggle-grinned to herself, feeling her insecurities retreat. It was the perfect way to keep an eye on her new crush. She knew it was sneaky, but who cared? She’d promised to work on her trust issues. And she would.
Starting Monday
MASSIE’S CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION
IN
OUT
Trampires
Vampires
Friday, Oct. 31st
Friday the 13th
SnoopDawg Charm Collar
Tiffany & Co. Charm Bracelet
WESTCHESTER, NEW YORK
HEMMING WAY
Friday, October 31st
8:13 p.m.
Claire Lyons linked arms with Massie, who linked arms with
Alicia, who linked arms with Kristen, who linked arms with
Dylan. Together, Claire and her fellow trampires charged
through the darkness toward the first house of the night,
Guerlain-powdered faces deathly pale and Crest Whitestripped
fangs gleaming. David and Victoria Beckham, a Masai bush-
man, a bloody-fanged ump-pire, and Chewbacca from Star
Wars followed close behind. The click-clack of the girls’ heels
on the pavement pierced the crisp night air, sending clusters
of drugstore costume–wearing amateurs scrambling out of
the way.
“Caaaaaaaannnndy,” Dylan droned like a zombie, staring
down the driveway that led to a looming Tudor-style mansion.
Smoke from the glowing paper luminaries lining the drive
mixed with the warm smells of melted caramel, burnt marsh-
mallows, and Massie’s signature Chanel No. 19 perfume.
Goosebumps prickled Claire’s bare arms, but she was too
excited to care. Her gray fleece didn’t exactly go with Merri-
Lee Marvil’s burgundy D&G slip dress and black satin Ferrag-
amo peep-toes. And claiming the chills would give Claire the
perfect excuse later to snuggle up to her crush, Cam Fisher.
“Guh-ross.” Alicia flashed her fangs as the PC led their
crushes and Layne around a tiered stone fountain in front of
crushes and Layne around a tiered stone fountain in front of
the estate. Hundreds of rubber eyeballs bobbed in the churn-
ing water, which had been dyed dark red to look like blood.
“Huuarughhhh,” grunted Layne from beneath her rubber
Chewbacca mask. Her brown, feather-covered unitard was
stuffed with fluffy down pillows for extra padding.
Claire giggled, secretly loving that Layne had turned down
her offer to be a trampire so she could dress like Chewie.
“Sweet!” Derrington yelled, rushing the fountain and
scooping a handful of the painted rubber eyeballs from the
water. “Ammo!”
Dylan rolled her eyes, but a smile twitched at the corners
of her mouth as Derrington punted the spheres at Dempsey.
“Hey!” Dempsey swung at the eyeballs with the ten-foot
spear he’d used to accessorize his tiny red loincloth. “My mom
got this at a tribal ceremony in Africa! She’ll kill you if it gets
messed up.”
“And she’ll kill you if she realizes her skirt’s missing from
her display case,” Kristen chided her crush, tugging at the
pewter Undrest chemise she wore over lumpy metallic leg-
gings; she had a ski suit on under her costume in case she ran
into her mom and had to do a quick change. The overall effect
was more sumo wrestler than sexy trampire.
Out of eyeballs, Derrington ran back over and punched
Josh-slash-Victoria Beckham in the shoulder. “Dude, this is a
family show. Keep it clean.”
“Huh?” Josh Spice glanced down. Without Alicia’s C-cups
to hold it in place, the black strapless minidress he’d borrowed
from her was starting to inch down his chest. “Whoops. I
guess I need a smaller size.” He grinned, cracking the perma-
Posh-frown he’d painted on with lip liner.
Alicia’s cheeks flushed to match her Stila-stained pout.
“It’sbigonmetoo.”
Cam let out a quiet snicker and Claire elbowed him swiftly
in the ribs. Not that she was actually mad. Even in an umpire
mask and blood-tipped fangs, Cam looked adorable. The furry
bat on his shoulder had been Claire’s idea, and it was the per-
fect finishing touch for his ump-pire costume.
“Claire, are you a judge on Dancing with the Stars?” Mass-
ie’s voice jolted Claire from her Cam-coma. Or, as Massie liked
to call it, her Cam-a.
“Nope.”
“Then quit checking Cam’s every move.” Massie resumed
her strut, leading the girls and their crushes toward the
house.
Busted. Claire grinned, relieved that Massie was in a good
mood despite being crush-minus for the night. She was even
more relieved that the Pretty Committee was finally back to
normal. And it was partly thanks to her. When she’d figured
out that Massie had hired actors for her new crew, Claire had
taken matters into her own hands. She’d secretly convinced
the actors to act clingier than a cheap jersey dress so Massie
would realize who her true friends were. And now the PC was
back and stronger than Zac and Vanessa.
When they reached the end of the driveway, Dylan
whipped her red feather boa around her neck with a flourish
and tromped up the stone steps toward the arched wooden
door.
Claire burst out laughing at the sight of a very tiny Luke
Skywalker coming down the steps, swishing a neon light
saber at an imaginary opponent.
“Huuuuuuuuuargh,” Chewie squealed.
“Layne,” Massie snapped, the tips of her fangs showing
slightly. “English, puh-lease.”
Chewie swung her wrinkly rubber face in Claire’s direc-
tion.
“Method acting,” Claire explained. “She can’t break char-
acter.”
Massie rolled her kohl-lined eyes. “Actors,” she said, just
loud enough for Dempsey to hear. Then she planted her Chanel
Black Satin–polished nail on the doorbell, and a ghoulish wail
echoed inside the dark entryway.
Seconds later, a silver-haired man in a cornflower blue
cardigan and a neon green Frankenstein mask answered the
door. A giant glass bowl overflowing with colorfully wrapped
goodies was cradled under his left arm.
“Trick-or-treeeeeeaaaat,” Claire bellowed along with her
friends.
Except for Massie, who was sneaking a peek at her iPhone.
And Chewie, who grunted, “Huuua huuaaaarrghhhhh!”
The trampires extended their bags. They’d chosen the roomi-
est designer totes they owned, to maximize candy-filling poten-
tial. The boys and Layne had brought Hefty garbage bags.
“Well,” a muffled, grandfatherly voice leaked from the rubber mask. “Aren’t you all”—the mask surveyed the tram-
pires’ barely there costumes—“something.”
“Given.” Alicia beamed.
“Fill ’er up,” Dylan interrupted, elbowing her way to the
front door and yanking open the black patent Versace rolling
trolley she used for overnight trips.
Frankenstein peered skeptically inside the suitcase, then
dropped a tin of chocolate hazelnut espresso beans into the
empty tote. It landed with a hollow thud.
“Thanks.” Dylan didn’t budge.
Frankenstein took the hint, digging a small gold box of
chocolates and a pack of colorful gummies from the bowl. He
dropped those in the bag too. Claire’s mouth watered and she
shifted impatiently in her peep-toes.
“Dylan.” Massie had stashed her iPhone back in her bag.
“Are you a Barney’s twenty-four-hour sale?”
Dylan shook her head, sending her professionally straight-
ened locks swinging in a shimmering velvet curtain around
her shoulders.
Massie glanced at Alicia, Claire, and Kristen.
“’Cause you’re taking ALL DAY!” the girls cackled, hip-
bumping Dylan out of the way.
Claire tried not to gawk as Frankenstein filled the rest
of the PC’s designer candy bags. Comparing Halloween in
Orlando to Halloween in Westchester was like comparing
Keds to Kors. Here, Claire’s tote was filled with chocolates
from the Godiva G collection, Dean & Deluca butter caramels,
and gummy vampire fangs from Dylan’s Candy Bar. In Florida,
the best Claire could hope for in her plastic pumpkin was a
mini Snickers. Once, she’d gotten a tube of denture cream.
Yip! Yip! Yip!
Massie blushed under her pressed powder and hugged her
bag to her chest.
“What was that?” Claire demanded as they made their
way down the steps.
“What was what?” Massie asked lightly. They passed a
gaggle of sixth-graders dressed as the cast of High School
Musical who were pelting one another with reject candy.
Ducking to avoid taking a cellophane-wrapped candy apple
to the head, Claire furrowed her brow at Massie’s tote.
“Your bag barked.” Claire cocked her head slightly to the
right, staring directly into Massie’s eyes. It was the same
look Massie gave Alicia when she suspected her of withhold-
ing good gossip.
“Puh-lease. I invented that look.” Massie shook her head,
staring over Claire’s shoulder into the chilly darkness.
But Claire had learned from the best and she refused to
look away.
Massie sighed. “Fine,” she said, unzipping her bag and
pulling out her iPhone. “It’s the SnoopDawg Web site. It
barks every time Bean shifts positions.” She tilted the phone
in Claire’s direction.
“Uh . . . I don’t see anything,” Claire said into the black
screen.
“I know,” Massie huffed. “The charm got twisted around
or something. It’s recording Bean’s throat.”
Claire shook her head, swallowing a giggle. “Come on,”
she coaxed. “Put the phone away. Bean’s fine.”
“Fine.” Massie chucked her phone into her bag. “Happy?”
But the gleam in her amber eyes proved she wasn’t really
mad.
“Let’s move, people,” Dylan interrupted. “There’s still six
houses on this street.”
Claire and Massie linked arms with Alicia, Dylan, and
Kristen and turned to go.
“Wait. Where’d the boys go?” Alicia sucked in her breath
and stopped dead in her tracks, yanking Claire and the rest
of girls to a halt. Keeping her elbow locked with Claire’s, she
dragged the PC chain in a 180-degree turn, making them look
like the Rockettes prepping for their finale in the middle of
the driveway.
Claire squint-searched for Cam. “Um, there.” She pointed
to the front lawn, where her crush, the rest of the boys, and
Layne were rearranging a giant spider lawn ornament in the
yard to make it look like it was humping a defenseless jack-
o’-lantern. Claire blushed.
Kristen sighed.
Alicia lowered her eyes to the pavement.
“Come on. The boys’ll catch up later,” Massie ordered,
steering them toward the street.
At least it’s dark, Claire thought to herself, embarrassed
for their crushes and Layne. Maybe no one would recognize
Cam in his ump-pire mask. Josh Spice, on the other hand . . .
“Hotz! Hotz! Hotz!” Suddenly the boys sprinted past the PC, egging Josh on as he ran barefoot into the street. He held
the giant lawn spider over his head like an Olympic trophy.
“My pumps!” Alicia wailed, speed-leading the PC in the
boys’ wake. “Those were vintage!”
Behind them, Layne pity-patted Alicia’s shoulder with a
hairy paw.
“Yip! Yip! Yip!” Bean’s bark leaked from Massie’s bag
again. She reached for her phone. Again.
Massie stare-silenced Claire before she could say a word.
“It just so happens, Kuh-laire, that this is the longest Bean
and I have ever been apart. What kind of mother would I be
if I didn’t—”
“No lights.” Josh huffed as the girls caught up to them in
front of the next house on the street. He bent over like he was
cramping from too many soccer sprints.
“And no decorations,” Dempsey shuddered, his bare legs
starting to turn a grayish-purple in the cold.
“Which means no good candy.” Dylan leaned against her
rolling suitcase, narrowing her eyes at the modest two-story
brick house in front of them. A single, unlit jack-o’-lantern
sagged on the front stoop.
“Steeeeeeeer-ike three!” Cam called, baring his fangs.
Claire’s heart fluttered in her chest.
“Opposite of worth it,” Alicia decided after a quick
re-gloss.
“Skip it,” Kristen declared.
“No way,” Claire said firmly. “N.H.L.B.”
“N.H.L.B.?” Kristen echoed.
“No House Left Behind,” Claire explained. “That means we
hit every house, every year. No exceptions.”
Cam’s blue eye filled with admiration. So did his green
one.
“We’re not in it for the candy, Kuh-laire,” Massie said
dismissively. “We’re in it for the costumes.” She crossed her
arms over her jumpsuit.
“I’minitforboth,” Dylan clarified.
Claire shrugged at Massie. “Whatevs,” she said, Cam’s
encouragement fueling her like a mid-morning gummy fix. She
stepped onto the front lawn, her satin-covered heels immedi-
ately sinking into the grass.
Dylan popped another fistful of espresso beans, then leapt
onto the lawn. “Coming!”
Layne grunted her approval, lumbering slowly behind
Dylan. Cam and the boys followed.
“This better be good,” Massie sighed.
Claire led her friends though the cold, wet grass, exhila-
rated. Last year, Massie definitely wouldn’t have given in to
her so easily. It felt like catching Massie without gloss in the
morning—a rare moment of vulnerability. Or maybe the alpha
was finally letting go of her Lycra ways.
Claire was the first to reach the door. An orange plastic
bowl filled with candy sat on the front steps of the dark house,
and a handwritten sign was taped to the bowl.
take Whatever you Want. then leave.
“Done and done.” Just as Claire was about to dig into the
bowl, flickering lights to her left caught her eye. In a glass-
enclosed sunroom off the side of the house, a giant flat screen
broadcast a larger-than-life image of Janet Leigh showering
in the Bates Motel.
“Move it or lose it, Kuh-laire.” Massie and the other tram-
pires crowded onto the stoop.
“It’s Psycho!” Claire said, pointing to the TV. “My all-time
favorite horror—”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” High-pitched screams erupted
from inside, and bright white light from the screen illumi-
nated a group of girls and guys crammed onto a leather sofa
together. Two tiny puppies were curled up in a bowl on one
of the girls’ laps.
Claire froze at the sight of three very familiar faces:
Landon Crane. Bean Block. And Bark Obama.
On the screen, a dark, knife-wielding figure appeared
behind the white curtain. Blood swirled down the drain. But
the horror on-screen was nothing compared to the scene
unfolding next to Claire.
Massie’s eyes narrowed and her fangs gleamed in the
blue light. Claire’s heart plunged lower than Josh’s neckline.
Landon Crane had no idea, but his Halloween scare-a-thon
was about to get seriously terrifying.
Love.
xoxo
