a matter of maturity.
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((chapter 2))
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disclaimer: el libro " clique" no es mío.
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maturity: recognizing that the world is full of good and evil and that everyone and everything are capable of both, and then coping appropriately with this knowledge
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claire
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Claire sat cross-legged at the dinner table. It was unorthodox, perhaps, but it was Claire. The laces of her newly dirt encrusted white Keds dangled off the edge of the chair. The rest of her still shook from the encounter with Massie earlier today. Well, more like eighteen minutes ago today, but hey! who's counting?
In my dreams I hear the echoes of the recent battle.
Massie threw her off-balance in a way more unexpected than she imagined. Claire knew it would be strange to have her here. Claire knew she would be "a tad difficult," as Kendra had put it to Judi. Claire knew she would be dying. Claire was ready for all that. But she was not ready when Massie fell out of the taxi cab looking both skinnier and more beautiful than a runway model. She was not ready when Massie opened her lips and fired verbal bullets at her, before she even had a chance to try and explain herself. Not that she'd be able to. Self-defense was so not Claire's best subject.
Lost and wounded as the faded cries begin to settle, for the night.
Both of her parents asked if something was wrong through the course of the meal. Claire opted not to share anything with them. She did share some of her green beans with Todd. And get this: he enjoyed them. When everyone finished eating Claire said she'd do dishes. Judi squealed with obvious approval. Claire hardly ever offered to wash the dishes after a meal; so actually, the proposal practically screamed "something is totally wrong."
But the words you use to hurt me now…
Luckily, Judi was convinced Claire's proposition was a direct result of the talk she'd had with the family during the days leading up to Massie's infamous arrival. Judi told her husband and children they would definitely all need to lend an extra helping hand while they had "such a special guest." Judi kindly forewent mentioning what exactly made her so special. Judi elbowed Jay who then offered to clear the table for Claire.
Yes, Judi really had that much of an effect on the Lyons clan.
Claire spent her time at the sink mulling over Massie in entirety. She couldn't figure her out, not that she had too much to work with. After finally relenting to the fact that what she didn't know outweighed what she did, Claire gave in. There might be more to Massie than anyone would ever expect. You never know, Claire decided, Massie might even be good for everyone.
Only seem to make me strong somehow.
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At nine-thirty in the morning Claire laid on her stomach across her bed, flipping through a magazine. Usually Claire was not one to read in on celebrity gossip or fashion, but after seeing how Massie out-dressed any cover of US Weekly, Lucky, or People, combined, she knew it was high time she got her "fashion on." Perhaps Judi would even take her shopping, if she suggested Massie tagged along. Claire wouldn't even mind if she did; Massie obviously would know what was and wasn't cool.
Her mother, father, and Todd left ten minutes ago for breakfast. Her mother mentioned causally that someone needed to stay home with Massie right after "the family" made the decision to "let Massie adjust" and not hassle her by asking if she wanted to join them. Judi said they wouldn't want to "bother her."
Hmmm, really?
No one had so much as a peep from Massie since her broomstick landed. Judi's hospitality and friendly checking-ons were met with a double bolted door and nonexistent replies; Massie cam equipped with her own locks. Maybe, just maybe, her mother wasn't as dense as Claire thought. It was apparent Judi would never admit it, but Claire had a feeling that even she was now fearful to approach Massie. Claire wasn't sure what, but she was certain it took a lot of something to derail her mother, and Massie Block succeeded, possibly without even trying.
Since the incident yesterday—as she had dubbed it—Claire had started to look at—well think of—Massie differently. After deciding that what had happened was a complete fluke and that Massie had been sound asleep for hours at the incident—after all, there were a great deal of reasons why this simply had to be the plausible truth, and those reasons certainly outnumbered the ones for why Massie would act that way on a regular basis (at least in Claire's mind they did)—Claire saw Massie's arrival as an opportunity to make a new friend.
So what if said new friend was cool.
In my dreams I break the chains that hold this place together.
Claire hadn't ever considered herself cool; a feat she convinced herself the vast majority of the world never conquers. She was an original, a real McCoy, if you will. Okay, so, she was flat out weird. The kids at school seemed to agree with her perspective, as did Todd. Claire was pretty sure her own father didn't even think she was cool. Her mother was, well, another story. Every time Claire came home from school puffy-eyed and red-faced because of something nasty Alicia or Dylan or Kristen had said to her Judi told her that she probably had only misunderstood them. Occasionally Judi would inquire to as whether or not these girls were "nice girls," but before Claire ever got the guts to speak up she'd suggest Claire invite them over for a "play-date" or "slumber party."
Yeah, right.
But in my dreams the consequences would be so much better.
It wasn't like this sort of thing was a once in a lifetime occurrence either. No, it happened pretty regularly. In fact, Claire had it marked down to the nanoseconds on the calendar tacked on the baby blue wall in her room. Claire attracted eccentricity like a white fleece attracts lent in an overused dryer. And the girls her mother suggested she have over for a play-date were about as accepting of it as summertime Arizona was of a blizzard fit for the Antarctic.
Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen were the "it" girls of BOCD. BOCD, Bar Harbor Oakes Country Day, was named after philanthropist and gold miner extraordinaire Sir Harris "Harry" Oakes, a famous resident of Bar Harbor. Sir Harry, ironically, was murdered just before the inauguration ceremony. The structure of BOCD schools were as follows: kindergarten through fifth grade were in one building, the lower school; grades sixth through ninth made up the middle school; and the upper school consisted of tenth grade to twelfth.
This summer was the year before tenth grade; Claire's last summer before the upper school. The more Claire thought about it, the sicker she got of being different. Her mother always told her that everyone was special. But wasn't that just another way of saying no one is?
Then they are; 'cause beyond the walls that hold us here, skies that stretch across the atmosphere…
And the more she became convinced that Massie might be her glimmer of light—aka insta-popularity—in the dark tunnel that would be high school.
ooh, a revolution is near.
Her Massie induced reverie was interrupted by the doorbell.
Claire glanced automatically out the rusted-stuck window. Her face paled. Standing eagerly at her door were no other than Cam Fisher and Derrick Harrington. Had all hell finally frozen over? The next thing she noticed was a black sedan operated by Harrington's driver, James, speeding away. Great, they planned on staying! Derrick's family lived only a few houses down, and yet he seemed unable to walk that far. The chauffeur, never leave home without him!
Claire snorted.
Hey! sometimes living in a town saturated with rich snobs who only lived here to escape "real life" can really get to a girl.
Claire clenched her eyes shut. She told herself that if she ignored them, odds were they would go away. Unfortunately the odds have not been very dependable of late. A minute later the doorbell rang again. And again. And again. Asides from an eternal chauffeur, the occupants of this town, save the Lyons, hadn't waited a day in their luxury filled lives. Two minutes of unexpected silence passed. Claire cautiously peaked out her window and realized there was something worse than finding Cam Fisher and Derrick Harrington on your porch at ten in the morning: Finding your terminally ill house-guest on your porch with them, looking very, very, angry.
oooh, a revolution is here.
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sorry about typos; mechanics and i are devastatingly worse than oil and vinegar.
