Lisi Harrison - Kristen

Copyright 2008 by Alloy Entertainment

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Bad Boys by Ian Lewis (Rock Pop Music, Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp.). All rights reserved.

Poppy

Little, Brown and Company

Hachette Book Group USA

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

For more of your favorite series, go to www.pickapoppy.com

First eBook Edition: July 2008

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-316-03275-9

CLIQUE novels by Lisi Harrison:

THE CLIQUE

BEST FRIENDS FOR NEVER

REVENGE OF THE WANNABES

INVASION OF THE BOY SNATCHERS

THE PRETTY COMMITTEE STRIKES BACK

DIAL L FOR LOSER

ITS NOT EASY BEING MEAN

SEALED WITH A DISS

BRATFEST AT TIFFANYS

THE CLIQUE SUMMER COLLECTION:

MASSIE

DYLAN

ALICIA

KRISTEN

CLAIRE (Coming August 5)

For you

WESTCHESTER, NY

Friday, July 17

11:43 A.M.

Rate me.

No.

Come on, Ms. Gregory. Rate meeee.

No.

Kris-ten! Come on, pleeeease. You always rate Massie.

Thats different!

Just say a number.

Fine. Nine.

Ehmagawd! Im a nine! Ripple Baxter hugged the shell-framed mirror on the living room wall of her fathers sea-inspired Westchester summer rental. I knew this pink snakeskin headband was a must. She petted her deep-fried blond hair.

Correction. Kristen Gregory sat on the wood-plank floor, then placed her over-sweetened lemonade on the nicked surfboard coffee table. Its not your score. Its your age. Youre nine. You have to be twelve or older to qualify for a rating. Kristen leered at Ripple from across the musty furnished-by-garage-sale cottage. Speaking of nine, did you know its the square root of eighty-one?

Ignoring her, Ripple turned sideways and examined her new outfit. A long, pale pink hoodie, meant to cover the hips, practically swallowed the top two thirds of her short, muscular frame. Her knees could have easily been mistaken for extremely saggy boobs, had her purple rhinestonecovered flip-flops not been so close.

Ripple, your dad is paying me to teach you math and if you dont

Ms. Gregory, he does not, not, not care about math. Ripple fluffed the dark lashes around her light brown eyes. All he cares about are waves. He just wants someone to look after me so he can drive out to Long Island and surf. Youre more like a tutor-sitter. Heavy on the sitter.

Funny. Lately Kristen felt heavy on everything. How could she not? While she was sweating in a six-week summer school program, Massie was in Southampton, Alicia was in Spain, and Dylan was in Hawaii. Even Claire had left town. True, shed gone back to Orland-ew, but it was better than tutor-sitting a bratty nine-year-old for eighth-grade wardrobe money. When would it be her turn to make memories? And when would Ripple stop calling her

Ms. Gregory! Ripple flipped up her pink hood and checked her reflection in the mirror again. The only thing you can teach me is how to be Massie Block.

You could start by lowering that hood, Kristen blurted, then immediately hate-pinched her own leg for encouraging the little wannabe.

Ripple did as she was told, then reached into her Coach Heritage Stripe Swingpack knockoff and pulled out ten plastic purple bangles. Glued around them was a white price tag that said 5 FOR $2. Left or right? She lifted her wrists. WWMD?

Kristen stood and shuffled across the uneven wood floor in Steve Madden cork wedges, her pleated Diesel denim mini swaying below her tight yellow Lacoste halter. Massie wouldnt do either! She grabbed Ripples soon-to-be-bangled wrists and pulled her back to the coffee table. Theyre H&M!

Well, then, what would she do? Ripple widened her light brown eyes in anticipation and propped her elbows on the surfboard table.

Kristen squeezed the gold Coach locket Massie had sent her for her birthdaycomplete with a group photo of the Pretty Committee insideand thought, What would Massie do? But not being an alpha, Kristen wasnt completely sure.

She would do her homework, okay? Kristen lied, flipping open Ripples crisp, unused math textbook. Now, if a carton of eggs was one-fifty yesterday and is fifty percent off today, how much are the eggs? A, a dollar; B, two twenty-five; or C, seventy-five cents?

Ripple plopped down on the green and blue Hawaiian printcovered futon, annoyed. Why wont you help me?

Because its illegal to help a stalker. Kristen ran her hand along her stubbly calf, thinking that the best part of her pathetic day might be the leg-shave bath she had scheduled before bed.

I am not, not, not a stalker! Ripple whipped the purple bangles across the room. They bounced twice before settling into a cheap plastic heap.

Then focus and answer the question! Kristen shouted, grateful that they were the only ones home.

Wait, I have a better question. Ripple sniffled. If your three-week crush told you surf chicks were cute n allshe air-quotedbut that some sophisticated older girl named Massie Block was super hot, what would you do? She stood and paced. Would you A, want to figure out the price of eggs; B, stay true to your surfer roots; or C, ask your dad to hire you the summer math tutor who just happens to be Massies BFF?

Kristens stomach lurched. Youre using me for Massie info?

Ripple smeared glittery pink drugstore gloss on her droopy bottom lip. Its not using if youre paying.

Kristen felt dizzy. In that very instant, her entire world had just been turned upside down and dumped like a giant handbag. Yes, she was getting paid, but that was supposed to be for her alpha mind, nawt her alpha friend. So what made her special now? Once again, being Massies BFF was her only claim to fame. Her intelligence was meaningless. Gawd! If the game Rock, Paper, Scissors were real life, it would be called Brains, Beauty, Brawn. And Beauty would beat Brains and Brawn every time.

Someone kicked the front door open. Hello? Anyone home? A thick beam of sunlight seeped inside the dark cabin. There stood a shirtless boy. It was as if hed been summoned by God and delivered by angels.

Dune? Ripple ran to greet her brother. Whatre ya doin home?

The thirteen-year-old surf star dropped his salty backpack and took off his white straw fedora. Blond hair the color of Baked Lays swung above his shoulders as he lovingly hugged his sister back.

Awwww.

Coach kicked me off the team. He shrugged like someone who cared but didnt want anyone to know.

Why?

Last night, the Atlantic was all lit up with phosphorescence. It was past curfew, but I had to paddle out and

In the dark? Ripple gasped, finally sounding like a nine-year-old.

It was totally worth it. He rubbed his bare chest. I caught a six-foot left and the water was glowing all green and everyone came out to watch and He stepped down the single step that led to the sunken living room and plucked a plastic McIntosh from a bowl of fake fruit on the rickety end table. Whos this? He tossed the red apple in the air and caught it.

Kristens skin stung the way it had when Principal Burns announced, to the entire school, that she had been named captain of the soccer team. He looked right at her, and she blushed as though there were a hundred of him.