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economy.”
    Sell?
    Kendra sigh-nodded.
    Tamara turned to Massie and pasting a big smile on her unevenly lined lips. “I know one girl who’s ready to say good-bye to
     this room.”
    “’Scuse me?”
    Tamara gestured to the boxes and tapped on the Smart Board. “It looks like you’re excited about the big move!”
    “Big move?” Massie asked, heart pounding. “You mean to Claire’s?”
    “Tamara, why don’t I show you the rest of the house,” Kendra suggested, steering the realtor toward the hall.
    As Tamara inspected the doorframe, Massie glared at her mother. She felt like Bristol Palin while Levi Johnston was pitching
     reality shows in Hollywood: totally left in the cold.

THE MARVIL HOUSE
MERRI-LEE’S BATHROOM
Sunday, December 26th
4:17 P.M.
    Dylan tried blinking but it was impossible. Her eyes wouldn’t budge. She struggled to sit up, but that, too, proved futile.
     A pair of strong arms held her against the massage table in Merri-Lee’s spa bathroom. She was stuck.
    Nicolette, the network’s aesthetician, playfully swatted at Dylan’s arm. At least, Dylan thought it was a playful swat. But
     with her eyes taped shut, she couldn’t be sure.
    She was sure of one thing, though: Attaching eyelash extensions took longer than growing them from scratch.
    “Stop moving,” Nicolette demanded, her Tic-Tac-scented breath slithering up Dylan’s nostrils and cooling her brain.
    Dylan felt something dangerously sharp touching down on her lid and then a gentle tugging of her upper lash line. Blindness
     was so not fun. She flashed back to a history class about the various methods of torture enacted upon prisoners during the
     Middle Ages. She’d be willing to bet her hefty
Marvilous Marvils
paychecks that remaining still while getting eyelash extensions topped the list.
    “Can I at least make another phone call?”
    “If it keeps you from complaining, I’ll dial the numbers myself,” Nicolette said gamely.
    “How about someone with Sprint this time. AT&T toAT&T drops more than Beyoncé drops singles. Try Alicia.”
    Alicia’s dad was a hotshot lawyer. Maybe he’d be able to help her sidestep the confidentiality situation.
    Nicolette held the phone against Dylan’s ear.
    “Heyyy,” Alicia said, after two rings. “Merry Christmas! How are you? Are you back? How was the Caribbean?”
    “Caribbean-y…” she joked, not wanting to talk about her ten-day cleanse, but rather the fastest way to cleanse her soul of
     the secret she was carrying. “So, Leesh, question: What would you do if you were sworn to secrecy about something but wanted
     to tell?”
    “Same thing I always do: run a gossip points cost-benefit analysis. If the gossip points are bigger than the trouble I might
     get in for telling, I risk it. If not, I don’t.”
    Dylan pressed the phone to her lips and whispered, “This is more serious than gossip points. People could go to jail for telling.”
    Alicia was quiet.
    “Hullo?” Dylan said, shaking her phone. “Not again. Gawd, I hate AT&T. Leesh, are you there?”
    “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, I was just thinking.”
    “And?”
    “And this is a question for an alpha. Not me. Ask Massie.”
    “I’m thought you could help because your dad—”
    “Hold on, Dylan,” Alicia said. “What, Mom?” she called. “
Dinner?
”
    Now?
Dylan couldn’t open her taped eyes to check the timebut the trace of balsamic in her burps meant only one thing: Lunch was still digesting.
    “I have to go,” Alicia said. “Mom freaks when the paella is cold.”
    “But—”
    The line went dead.
    When did Alicia start choosing carbs over gossip?
    “Nicolette?” Dylan said, lifting her phone over her head. It smashed up against something hard.
    “
Ouch!
My chin!”
    “Sorry. Would you please dial Kristen?”
    The aesthetician jammed the ringing phone against Dylan’s ear so hard the post of Dylan’s diamond stud almost shattered her
     skull. She was about to scream when—
    “Okay, how tan are