These Boots Are Made for Stalking by Lisi Harrison Page B
Authors: Lisi Harrison
Tags: JUV023000
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was a threat if she couldn’t rate her hair?
Bean bared her teeth at the screen as Bark licked Ankle-Bird’s hand happily. Massie wanted to soothe her puppy, but how could
she when she needed soothing herself? She closed her eyes, desperate to regain control.
“You are strong. You are confident,” she said, repeating her confidence mantra. “And no one can take your strength away from
you….”
Opening her eyes, she snuck another peek. Watching Landon with another girl was like watching
The Biggest Loser:
It hurt, but she just couldn’t help herself.
Next to Landon, Ankle-Bird produced an envelope from the green Diesel messenger bag slung across her torso. Then she handed
it to him.
Was it a bill? A note? A love letter?
Landon tore it open, obviously curious. At the top of the page, an ink paw print was followed by a date and time that were
too blurry to make out.
An invitation to a high school party.
Massie took a slow, deep breath that turned into a heaving, rasping choke.
Because instead of handing Ankle-Bird a note that said, I MASSIE BLOCK AND WOULD SOONER WEAR GENERIC-BRAND DENIM THAN ATTEND A PARTY WITHOUT HER , Landon folded it carefully and slipped it into his back pocket.
He may as well have stabbed Massie in the heart with Ankle-Bird’s gray suede heel.
Ankle-Bird lifted Bark from the floor and stood up. Landon followed, and soon, all Massie could see was his empty room. Suddenly,
the John Mayer poster seemed cliché, the Pradas outdated. Massie hadn’t noticed before, but those were definitely two seasons
old. At least.
Swiping her emergency sample vial of Chanel No. 19 from under her pillow, Massie speed-spritzed it and sucked in the flowery
scent of jasmine and ylang-ylang, like the vial was an inhaler and she was a band geek in the throes of a debilitating asthma
attack. The familiar scent slowed her breathing slightly.
Who was she kidding? Landon was still perfect for her, John Mayer and outdated Pradas aside.
Screwing her eyes shut, Massie tried her confidence mantra again.
“You are strong. You are confident. And no one can take your strength away from you.”
She wanted to believe it was true. But the words felt more fake than those ninth-grade girls’ spray tans on Halloween night.
She slapped her laptop screen shut and curled up in a terry cloth–covered ball, waiting for the tears to come. But instead
of sadness, all she felt was anger.
There was no way she was going to have another crush stolen from her. Not again. Landon Crane was the most alpha ninth-grade
crush a girl could ask for, and Massie was his plus-one. Together, they scored a perfect ten. If Massie had to fight to keep
Ankle-Bird out of the equation, she’d fight. But first, she had to find the tattooed crush-stealer.
Those gray suede booties could run, but they couldn’t hide.
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
OUTSIDE THE NEW GREEN CAFÉ
Monday, November 10th
12:25 P.M.
Claire had made the trip from her locker to the New Green Café so many times before, she could have done it blindfolded. But
today, everything about her usual route felt different. The cast of musical theater kids belting the entire score of
Wicked
outside the auditorium seemed free-spirited instead of off-key. The PETA Club papering the lockers with enough I’D RATHER GO NAKED flyers to wipe out the rain forest seemed progressive instead of self-righteous. Even the girl in seventh who spent every
lunch period reading
The Lord of the Rings
on a picnic blanket next to her locker seemed like a mysterious, brooding intellectual instead of just a speed bump along
the way to the café.
It was as if Claire had gone through her entire life at OCD with blinders on, and now she was seeing everyone her school had
to offer with Lasik-sharpened vision. How could she have been so worried about finding new friends? The social options at
OCD were endless. All she had to do was choose.
The traffic in the halls was rush-hour
Bean bared her teeth at the screen as Bark licked Ankle-Bird’s hand happily. Massie wanted to soothe her puppy, but how could
she when she needed soothing herself? She closed her eyes, desperate to regain control.
“You are strong. You are confident,” she said, repeating her confidence mantra. “And no one can take your strength away from
you….”
Opening her eyes, she snuck another peek. Watching Landon with another girl was like watching
The Biggest Loser:
It hurt, but she just couldn’t help herself.
Next to Landon, Ankle-Bird produced an envelope from the green Diesel messenger bag slung across her torso. Then she handed
it to him.
Was it a bill? A note? A love letter?
Landon tore it open, obviously curious. At the top of the page, an ink paw print was followed by a date and time that were
too blurry to make out.
An invitation to a high school party.
Massie took a slow, deep breath that turned into a heaving, rasping choke.
Because instead of handing Ankle-Bird a note that said, I MASSIE BLOCK AND WOULD SOONER WEAR GENERIC-BRAND DENIM THAN ATTEND A PARTY WITHOUT HER , Landon folded it carefully and slipped it into his back pocket.
He may as well have stabbed Massie in the heart with Ankle-Bird’s gray suede heel.
Ankle-Bird lifted Bark from the floor and stood up. Landon followed, and soon, all Massie could see was his empty room. Suddenly,
the John Mayer poster seemed cliché, the Pradas outdated. Massie hadn’t noticed before, but those were definitely two seasons
old. At least.
Swiping her emergency sample vial of Chanel No. 19 from under her pillow, Massie speed-spritzed it and sucked in the flowery
scent of jasmine and ylang-ylang, like the vial was an inhaler and she was a band geek in the throes of a debilitating asthma
attack. The familiar scent slowed her breathing slightly.
Who was she kidding? Landon was still perfect for her, John Mayer and outdated Pradas aside.
Screwing her eyes shut, Massie tried her confidence mantra again.
“You are strong. You are confident. And no one can take your strength away from you.”
She wanted to believe it was true. But the words felt more fake than those ninth-grade girls’ spray tans on Halloween night.
She slapped her laptop screen shut and curled up in a terry cloth–covered ball, waiting for the tears to come. But instead
of sadness, all she felt was anger.
There was no way she was going to have another crush stolen from her. Not again. Landon Crane was the most alpha ninth-grade
crush a girl could ask for, and Massie was his plus-one. Together, they scored a perfect ten. If Massie had to fight to keep
Ankle-Bird out of the equation, she’d fight. But first, she had to find the tattooed crush-stealer.
Those gray suede booties could run, but they couldn’t hide.
OCTAVIAN COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
OUTSIDE THE NEW GREEN CAFÉ
Monday, November 10th
12:25 P.M.
Claire had made the trip from her locker to the New Green Café so many times before, she could have done it blindfolded. But
today, everything about her usual route felt different. The cast of musical theater kids belting the entire score of
Wicked
outside the auditorium seemed free-spirited instead of off-key. The PETA Club papering the lockers with enough I’D RATHER GO NAKED flyers to wipe out the rain forest seemed progressive instead of self-righteous. Even the girl in seventh who spent every
lunch period reading
The Lord of the Rings
on a picnic blanket next to her locker seemed like a mysterious, brooding intellectual instead of just a speed bump along
the way to the café.
It was as if Claire had gone through her entire life at OCD with blinders on, and now she was seeing everyone her school had
to offer with Lasik-sharpened vision. How could she have been so worried about finding new friends? The social options at
OCD were endless. All she had to do was choose.
The traffic in the halls was rush-hour
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