Author's Note: Eeek! That was a long time since number one in "Massie's Epiphanies" (The Sandwich; go check it out!). Hope it doesn't disappoint. As with the first one, no real pairings. I'll cop to being a former Teen Vogue subscriber too, (in fact, I think it's a pretty decent magazine!) but it has clearly taken its toll on the PC. Dylan's body issues, much? Massie's major non-existent "pressure"?
Disclaimer: I don't own The Clique, nor do I own any brands, people, companies featured in this fic. Least of all, Teen Vogue!
THE BIBLE,
#2 IN THE "MASSIE'S EPIPHANIES" SERIES
It had been four days since Massie's last epiphany when the force of another— perhaps even greater in size than the first— hit her in the form of a migraine. Like always, Massie was doing some pre-sleepover prepping, which usually involved flipping listlessly through the ever-glossy, ever-fashionable pages of Teen Vogue, her bible.
At least, she had been doing that until her fingers felt surprisingly unfeminine and clammy. Teen Vogue fell to the floor, landing in a crumpled mess of paper on her white shag carpet. Massie's heart did a flip as she saw a tear running through the cheerleader from Heroes' perfect blond head. Oh no…
On any other day, Massie would be scrambling to retrieve the May issue, but perhaps it was something in the air. Daintily sniffing, Massie came to a conclusion: Oh yeah, definitely the air. It smelled like an odd combo of Chanel's latest perfume and all-natural cleaning fluid. Wondering why she wasn't picking up her magazine, Massie let her head fall into her snow-white pillow. Dark locks fanned out, framing her heart-shaped face. She snivelled something inaudible and lay back.
Where is everyone?
Massie adjusted her positively Blair Waldorf-esque headband and let her amber eyes meander over to her row of nail polishes. Something inside her clicked into place and told her to go get Teen Vogue so she'd know this month's It shade. Without it, she was lost.
Black? Blue? Pink? Beige? Green? Orange? Nothing seemed just right. It was then she noticed a bottle, unopened, never-been-used, of deep plum Chanel polish. It wasn't very Pretty Committee; wasn't very Teen Vogue, but Massie liked it so she grabbed the bottle, popped it open and started to paint.
Big toe. Second toe. Middle toe…
It isn't long after the second foot that Massie's mind abruptly stops and thoughts melt into dreams. She sleeps. She sleeps and dreams of a Teen Vogue-free world where girls can where whatever they want and still be considered beautiful by Anna Wintour and Amy Astley and society.
In her dream, Massie's hair is supershort; Kristen short; gamine short and, although she is still the most popular girl in school, she's allowed to be more of a Lauren than a Heidi and although boys still fall at her feet, she knows the boy she'll end up with is one she'll really truly like-like. Maybe even love!
In her dream, Massie borrows Claire's Keds to wear to school every once in a while; she rides Brownie to and fro (Hey! It was a dream, after all!); she has braces that are pink and orange (the ones she wanted but Kendra insisted they were ugly.); and Alicia's boobs are only A-cups. Even smaller than Massie's!
When the brunette Alpha wakes up, she finds her room occupied— by Claire, Alicia, Dylan and Kristen. Oh. Just how long had she been asleep? Alicia is sitting on Massie's bed; pushing Massie into the corner by the wall. The so-called "Spanish Beauty" is in the middle of proclaiming her lust and love for Ralph's new collection. Massie groans as Alicia goes on about pleats and ruffles and lace.
Massie pretends she is still sleeping so she can hear what they say.
Dylan, hair newly straightened, is tugging on a strand of her hair, trying to fix it into its proper place. As if that would cure everything. Solve the world's thousands upon thousands of problems.
Kristen is doing nothing out-of-the-ordinary. She's got a ragged copy of Marie Claire— Dr. Yang from Grey's Anatomy poses on the cover— she obviously took from her dentist's office balanced in her small hands. Make no mistake, though. Kristen Gregory is not like the other girls. She has a paperback hidden beneath the glossy folds of Marie Claire. Salinger. Catcher in the Rye. And it's not even required reading.
Claire bites her nails, cracking the black polish Layne had put on and wearing away her nail beds. "Kuh-laire," Alicia had said, moments ago, taking on Massie's tone. "Bite your nails one more time and you are out— O-U-T out!— of the New Pretty Committee."
Claire is the worst of them all, Massie decided, snuggling closer to her cashmere throw. She doesn't even want this life. But, Massie continues, in a way she wants it more than any of us. She's Jenny Humphrey with less spunk and more bangs.
Alicia is the worst of all. Thinking, believing, that anyone cares about trivial little things like shopping or fashion or Ralph Lauren or Josh's "illness" ("Ehmagawd, he is so lying! 'Illness' my Pilates'd ass! He's probably skipping school to hang out with some other girl! Ehmagawd! I bet he has mono!").
I used to care about those kinds of things, Massie thought to herself, squeezing her hooded eyes shut as tight as they would go. I used to, but I don't anymore.
Pretty short. Any ideas for the third one?
Anyone else love Criminal Minds?
I needneedneed to talk about the season finale!