Part 2 (1/2)
”Actually I can can believe they paid for it.” Layne's green eyes widened and filled with horror as ”All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasted through the four white speakers that hung from the corners of Claire's ceiling. ”What I can't believe is that they finally let you toss Ma.s.sie's dead grandmother's old furniture and get new stuff. I felt like I stepped out of a time machine every time I came over. It took days to get the smell of mothb.a.l.l.s out of my hair.” believe they paid for it.” Layne's green eyes widened and filled with horror as ”All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasted through the four white speakers that hung from the corners of Claire's ceiling. ”What I can't believe is that they finally let you toss Ma.s.sie's dead grandmother's old furniture and get new stuff. I felt like I stepped out of a time machine every time I came over. It took days to get the smell of mothb.a.l.l.s out of my hair.”
Claire chuckled and was suddenly overcome by a rush of warm appreciation for Layne, her special friend: the one she could let her guard down with, shop at Target with, eat sugar and fat with. Layne was not part of the Pretty Committee and probably never would be, and that was more than fine with Claire. It was nice having a friend who saw Westchester the same way she did, through the eyes of a coat-check girl at a black-tie affair.
Claire's emotions had been up and down like this for days. Whenever she thought about Cam, every bone in her body felt like it had been stuffed with lead. She'd sigh a lot and stare off into the distance, wondering if she'd ever be able to smile again. Then, minutes later, she'd share a moment of true friends.h.i.+p with Layne or Ma.s.sie and her teeth would start chattering with joy. But one thing had been for sure: both the highs and the lows usually ended in tears.
”Why are we listening to Christmas music in February?” Layne pulled a pair of bile yellow Converse sneakers out of her Suns.h.i.+ne Tours bag. She dumped a Ziploc bag of black rhinestones on Claire's bed and reached for the glue gun she'd ”borrowed” from art cla.s.s.
”Cam burned this for me.” Claire curled up in a ball on a stack of pillows on the floor by the window. Inez, the Blocks' live-in housekeeper, had made them from Claire's old T-s.h.i.+rts from Orlando. It was either that or Ma.s.sie was going to use them to pull poo-berries off her dog Bean's b.u.t.t, and Claire had given in. She had lived in Westchester for six months, which was long enough to know that the ”right time” to wear an oversize Lisa Simpson tee would never, ever present itself.
”I should have known Cam was behind this cheddar-filled mix.” Layne smeared glue all over the rubbery tops of her sneakers. She pinched a rhinestone and dropped it on the sticky surface. Then she slowly dragged it into position and reached for another one. ”Are you going to do your new Keds?” Layne waved a Ziploc full of pink rhinestones in Claire's direction.
Claire shrugged and curled up into a tight ball. The sound of Layne slurping forced her to lift her head.
”What's with you and those Go-Gurts? They're gross.” The thought of gooey liquid yogurt in a tube made Claire's insides churn almost as much as they did when she thought about Cam.
Layne spit a wad of Bubble Yum into the empty tube and tossed it into Claire's blue gla.s.s trash can. ”Why so cranky?” Layne asked during a long wet burp.
”Efort was now just a memory. Just like Cam.
”You should put a rhinestone C C on each one of your shoes,” Layne suggested. ”You know, one for on each one of your shoes,” Layne suggested. ”You know, one for Claire Claire and one for and one for Cam.” Cam.”
”We're done,” Claire blurted out.
Layne lifted her head. ”Why?” She ran her fingers through her teased brown hair. ”Is it because I'm using glue on your new bedspread?”
”Huh?” Claire crinkled her pale eyebrows. Then she shook her head and exhaled sharply though her b.u.t.ton nose. ”No, I mean me and Cam. We're done. He dumped me.” The sound of those words coming out of her own mouth brought a swell of tears to her eyes.
”What?” Layne jumped off the bed. She crouched beside the nest of T-s.h.i.+rt pillows, unb.u.t.toned her tight pink cords, then let herself drop to the floor. ”What happened?”
Claire wanted to tell Layne the truth, but what if she didn't understand? Or worse, what if she sided with Cam?
”He said he lost interest,” Claire murmured to her cuticles. ”He didn't want to be tied down.”
”Cam Fisher Fisher said that?” Layne asked. ”About said that?” Layne asked. ”About you?” you?”
Claire nodded. At that moment, it was physically impossible for her to look Layne in the eye.
”Did you check for hidden cameras?” Layne asked sincerely. ”Maybe you were on some prank show. I mean, there's no way Cam would-”
”He did, okay?” Claire snapped.
A heavy, uncomfortable silence hung over their heads like one of Mr. Block's giant striped golf umbrellas.
”I've got it.” Layne jumped to her feet, refastened her cords, and lifted her index finger in the air. She started pacing back and forth.
”Maybe he misses the old you.” Her green eyes flickered. ”You know, the girl he first fell in love with.”
”Huh?” Claire wished she had the guts to tell Layne the truth.
”We have to get you back to the old Claire. The one Cam first noticed.”
”What old Claire?”
”Claire B.P.C.” Layne said with a proud smile, like she had just said something brilliantly clever. Claire stared at her blankly.
”Before the Pretty Committee!” Layne wheeled Claire's industrial-looking full-length mirror across the room. ”See for yourself.”
Claire pushed herself up and stood in front of the mirror with her hands on her narrow waist.
”You've lost your Florida charm. Your cute Disney bangs have grown out, you traded in your cherry ChapStick for lip gloss, and you wear boot-cut jeans instead of overalls,” Layne said. ”You're not the girl Cam first fell in love with.”
Even though Claire knew the real reason Cam had dumped her, she couldn't help but wonder if Layne had a point.
”Maybe you should cut bangs again,” Layne said. ”I bet once Cam saw the old Claire, he'd want you back.”
Claire knew this was ridiculous, but like any desperate person, she felt compelled to take a leap of faith and give it a try. Who knew, it just might be the thing that worked.
”Fine.” Claire sighed. ”Maybe I'll ask Ma.s.sie to call Jakkob for an appointment.”
Layne stopped pacing, put her hands on her chunky hips, and shook her head. ”You just don't get it, do you?”
”Get what?” Claire felt a wave of p.r.i.c.kly heat under her arms. She hated being left out of an inside joke, especially when it was at her own expense.
”Ugh.” Layne lifted her hands in frustration. ”Claire B.P.C. would not call Ja-kkkkkkkob for a cut.”
”She wouldn't?”
”No, she'd do it herself.”
Layne stomped over to the bed, grabbed her Suns.h.i.+ne Tours bag, and dumped it upside down. Chewed pencils, three quarters, two dimes, six pennies, one Susan B. Anthony dollar, red hair elastics, two bottles of nail polish-one black, one fluorescent yellow-liquid eyeliner, two tubes of vanilla Go-Gurt, Carmex, Kleenex, a mini pink calculator, a h.e.l.lo Kitty money clip filled with Big Red gum, three loose house keys, a disposable digital camera, a rolled up Delia's catalogue, and a baby blue Miss Army pocket knife spilled onto the freshly bleached hardwood floor.
Layne reached for the Miss Army knife and unhinged a few of its hidden tools: a nail file, a mirror, and a pair of tweezers. ”Where are those cute little scissors?”
”You're so not cutting my hair with that Swiss Army knife thing.” Claire jumped to her feet.
”Got 'em.” Layne unfolded the collapsible scissors and forced her fingers into the tiny holes. ”They're a little stiff, but they'll do the trick.”
”No way.” Claire darted for her bedroom door, grabbed her red bike helmet off the hook, slammed it on her head, and tightened the chin strap. ”Let's see if those tiny scissors can get through this.” this.” Claire knocked on the metallic plastic and giggled. Her mood suddenly s.h.i.+fted again and she felt light and giddy. She almost felt like Claire B.C.E.-Before Cam Ended. Claire knocked on the metallic plastic and giggled. Her mood suddenly s.h.i.+fted again and she felt light and giddy. She almost felt like Claire B.C.E.-Before Cam Ended.
”No problem.” Layne sc.r.a.ped her foot along the floor three times, like a charging bull, and ran headfirst into Claire's stomach.
”Get off of me.” Claire was laughing so hard it sounded like ”Offa eeee.”
Layne tackled Claire, throwing her onto the bed. She climbed on top of her and pinned her down by kneeling on her thin arms. Claire squirmed and bucked. But Layne held firm.
”Stop moving or I'll Go-Gurt fart on you.”