Free Invasion of the Boy Snatchers by Lisi Harrison Page A

something,” Dylan gushed.
    “Puh-lease. I was totally going to
wait
.” Massie reached for another handful of Claire’s hearts and checked her watch. “There, I think nine seconds is appropriate.”
    Nina shook her head and looked away.
    MASSIE: Done.
    “Looks like we’re going to the playoffs,” Massie sighed. “Whatever
those
are.”
    “Meowsea! Now I finally have someone to watch the games with.”
    “Count me in.” Nina smirked. “The only thing I love more than football is the cute players.”
    Massie leaned in and whispered to Claire and Layne, “If she really loved it, she’d know it was called
soccer
, not football.”
    They giggled.
    “What?” Kristen asked. “Why are you laughing?”
    “Is it because I’m fat?” Dylan said.
    “
You’re not fat!
” Everyone shouted.
    “It had nothing to do with you.” Massie smirked at Nina.
    “Yeah, right.” Dylan coughed. She turned her back to Massie.
    “I love the way you Europeans call soccer ‘football.’ It’s so ah-dorable.”
    “I know.” Nina slowly turned her head and smirked at Massie. “It is, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah, if you like sounding clueless,” Massie said.
    Dylan and Kristen shot Massie a That-wasn’t-a-very-nice-thing-to-say look. And Massie responded with a very direct Watch-it-girls-or-I’ll-crush-you.
    Claire could sense that alliances were starting to shift. She had a feeling that her friendship with Massie would put her on the winning side, but these days, it was getting harder and harder to know for sure.

T HE B LOCK E STATE
M ASSIE’S B EDROOM
    Friday, January 30th 6:40 P.M.
    “Quiet, Bean!” Massie snapped, even though she secretly loved that her puppy was barking at the enormous sweaty man from the Barbarian Moving Co. He deserved it for dropping heavy boxes where ever he felt like it and turning her perfect bedroom into a storage closet.
    “This is only temporary,” she sighed.
    “Huh?” Claire was kneeling on the floor below Massie’s bay window, digging though one of the boxes, looking for her pajamas.
    “Nothing.”
    Claire looked up and bit her bottom lip. “Don’t hate me because I’m a pack rat.”
    “As long as you don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” Massie tried to mask her frustration, but it wasn’t easy. There were six boxes and two scuffed-up army-style duffel bags in the middle of her bedroom. If they had been YSL trunks, maybe Massie could have looked at them without feeling like her eyes were going to bleed. But the only initials Massie saw were
CSL
, for “Claire Stacey Lyons,” and they were written in black magic marker.
    “Well, that’s the last of ’em,” said the stocky moving man as he loosened his weight belt and arched his back. He made a loud yawning sound on his way up. “Where are you going to put all of this stuff? This is a big room, but still . . .”
    Massie lifted her palm. “My problem.” She showed him to the door, slamming it shut when he left.
    Claire dropped to her belly and rested her head on a heap of clothes. “He’s right. Where are we going to put all of this?”
    “Clue: It’s green, plastic, and gets picked up every Wednesday morning by a loud truck,” Massie said.
    “I am so not throwing this stuff in the trash! I’ve had it since I was little.”
    Massie clenched her fists so hard, her fingernails dug into her palms She didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to keep up the patient friend routine. She took a deep breath and shook out her hands. “I think it’s time for an unpacking montage.”
    Claire crinkled her blond eyebrows. “A what?”
    “You know in the movies? When the characters have to clean up after a raging house party before the parents come home?”
    “Oh, I love those scenes.” Claire clapped her hands together.
    “Well, have you ever noticed how they always manage to get the job done by the end of the song?”
    “What song?”
    “Whatever song they’re playing in the movie.”
    “Yeah, I guess,”