It's Not Easy Being Mean Read Online Free PDF Page A

squeaking, slamming metal locker doors. The moment of truth was upon them.
    Massie lifted her bronzed arm in the air and snapped twice.
    It was time.
    They made a sharp right and merged flawlessly with the heavy flow of student traffic.
    A mix of flowery perfume, fruity hair products, and sweet bubble gum replaced the stale church smell that hovered around the teachers' section. The water fountains seemed lower and the halls narrower than Claire remembered. But other than that, girls were whizzing and whirling in a mad rush to make it to class on time, just like they always had. Claire took in the scene and sigh-smiled. Everything was more or less exactly how she'd left it.
    “You guys! They're back!” shouted Allie-Rose Singer, who towered a good foot over every other girl in the seventh grade. The black-haired green-eyed beauty was far too tall to be in the Pretty Committee, according to Massie, which was a shame, since her wardrobe was filled with all of the desirables—cashmere cowl-neck sweaters, dark skinny jeans, silk tunics, sweater dresses, and shiny Marc Jacobs flats in every color. But everything was too long to share, rendering Allie-Rose and her fabulous wardrobe useless.
    “Welcome!” She dropped the stack of textbooks she had been clutching, smoothed her navy button-down shirtdress, and clapped.
    All of a sudden, everyone in the halls noticed them and joined in the applause.
    Like a school of colorful sunfish, the Pretty Committee stopped at the exact same time. Claire, who was still walking to “Don't Cha,” stepped on the back of Massie's red leather flat, causing her heel to slip out. She felt her cheeks flush in anticipation of the stretch-limo-size verbal slap she would undoubtedly get. But like a true professional, Massie slipped her foot back inside without so much as a wobble while waving to her devoted public with the grace of a prom queen.
    Technically, starting the day greeted by hordes of stylish, adoring fans was a good thing. But for some reason, Claire found the attention overwhelming. What was she supposed to do with her hands? Let them dangle at her sides? Wave? Applaud
them
for applauding
her?
And what about her expression? Should she appear shocked and humbled? Or deserving and proud? The only thing Claire knew for sure was that all of this hooting and hollering made her cheeks burn and her head all light and tingly. Her face felt like a giant red helium balloon and her body a flimsy string.
    All she could do was take advantage of her position in the back row and take cover behind the girls.
    “Ta-da!” Allie-Rose yanked a string above her head. Dozens of purple balloons fell from a net above her locker.
    “Ehmagawd, purple's my favorite color,” Massie gushed, like it was some sort of coincidence.
    “We know,” beamed Penelope Rothman, whose dimples dented her freckled cheeks like giant fingernail marks. She pointed to the purple-glitter-soaked “GR8 2 C U” banners with the grace of a seasoned flight attendant.
    “Ooooh,” squealed Alicia, once she saw the life-size cardboard cutouts of her and Massie, taken straight from the glossy pages of
Us Weekly
. “I heart
those!”
    Pictures of them swimming with Conner Foley in his Malibu Beach pool were plastered on the outside of the girls' lockers alongside blown-up shots of Dylan and her talk-show-host mother Merri-Lee Marvil, taken from an old article from
Vanity Fair
about celebrities and their daughters.
    “Hurry, before the bell rings,” announced Paige Winman, who managed to get away with her too-short-even-for-a-boy cut because she was the best abstract painter at OCD. She was leading a swarm of girls armed with Sharpie minis and cell-phone cameras. She forced her way between Dylan and Kristen, red-rover style, waving a color copy of the not-yet-released
Dial L for Loser
movie poster. “Claire will you
please
sign this? I've had it pressed in my atlas for days, waiting for you to get back.”
    Claire giggled when she