My Little Phony - 13 Read Online Free Page B

returned. Only this time, they were real. And even better than she had imagined.
    Claire and her mom had transformed their cozy living room into a veritable Candy Land. Overflowing bowls of marshmallows, graham crackers, Hershey’s chocolate bars, gummy feet, and jelly beans tempted her guests to indulge their sweet teeth and fatten their funny bones. Sugar substitutes and the dreaded
f
-words—“fat” and “free”—were not invited.
    “Beep… beep… beep,” Layne said, impersonating a truck while she backed a triple-decker s’more into her mouth. Her nostrils flared as she attempted to chew the wideload. Claire gagged a little as Layne’s green eyes began to water.
    “Ahhhhh.” Layne finally swallowed. “Those remind me of Girl Scouts.”
    “You were a Girl Scout?” Cara asked while sideswiping her bangs.
    “No.” Layne lay back on the sage-colored carpet and rubbed her protruding belly. “I’m talking about the cookies. If they gave out badges for eating those things, I’d look like a patchwork quilt.”
    “You’re going to look like a duvet if you don’t ease up,” Claire joked.
    Layne lifted her head and shot her friend a pained glance. It stung like a slap on the cheek.
    Claire quickly apologized. Not so much because she’d insulted Layne, but because her comment had sounded judgmental and controlling. In fact, it bordered on fat-phobic. It was a Massie comment. Like a cough that lingers after the cold is gone, Claire still had traces of the alpha in her system. For that she truly was truly sorry, and she popped two marshmallows in her mouth to prove it.
    Layne showed her that all was forgiven with a soft smile and the renewed desire to decorate her toenails with mini rhinestones.
    Syd sat cross-legged at the wooden coffee table, sewing soda-can tabs onto a sustainable metallic clutch, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her gold-glossed lips. Cara was making an eco-friendly makeup brush holder out of recycled Popsicle sticks.
    “Do you think I should make a separate one for eyeliner or just put them all in the same holder?” Cara asked.
    “What leaves a smaller carbon footprint?” Syd replied, with a sewing needle between her lips.
    “Smaller carbon feet,” Layne offered.
    The girls burst out laughing.
    “Like these?” Claire wiggled her toes inside her fuzzy, googley-eyed frog socks, and the girls laughed even harder.
    Massie would have thought Layne’s joke was lame times ten—and that Claire’s socks were an insult to amphibians. But Claire quickly reminded herself that Massie’s opinions no longer mattered. Sure, the hat was a nice gesture. But it wasn’t enough to make Claire turn against her new friends. Nothing was—or would ever be again.
    “Hey, Syd,” Layne said, waving her rhinestones dry. “Do ninth-grade boys like independent women?”
    Syd pushed her clutch aside and contemplated the question. She obviously took great pride in being the only girl at the sleepover with a high school boyfriend. And she clearly wanted to give her impressionable students sound advice. “I think it depends on the guy.” She sat up on her knees and folded her hands on the coffee table. “Like Doug, for example. He’s glad I have plans with you guys tonight, but that’s only because he doesn’t have band practice. If he had practice, he’d definitely want me there.” She glanced at the home screen on her phone. It was a picture of Doug and his reggae band, Smells Like Uncle Hugh, standing in front of a Bob Marley poster at Spencer Gifts. “So I guess it’s all about balance and communication.”
    Cara nodded in agreement.
    “So which musicians make the best boyfriends?” Claire asked.
    The girls looked at her with devilish curiosity.
    “No,” Claire giggled nervously. “It’s not like that. I was just wondering. I swear. Cam and I are great.” Her cheeks burned.
    “Well”—Syd leaned forward on her elbows—“if you’re ever looking for an upgrade, I’d say