Cross My Heart and Hope You Cry | The Clique Fanfiction

20

The Castilla Adrieux Estate

Formal Sitting Room

Saturday, September 20th

11:00 AM

The large grandfather clock to the side of the room chimed loudly as the hour struck, the large double doors opening just as the hand struck eleven as if it were on a timer. The first thing Kristen saw was one of Cassia's effortlessly long legs, adorned with a sparkling green, pointed-toe heel that reminded her of Tinkerbell's iconic shade. She'd been sitting on the sofa that the housekeeper (or cook, or nanny, or whatever the female version of a butler was . . .) had gestured to for twenty minutes, tapping the toe of her sneaker anxiously against the chevron wood floor as she stewed in her anxiety. She couldn't even properly take in Cassia's beautiful house, or the luxurious room she'd been settled in, too worried about the conversation that was just about to take place.

She'd stood quickly as the door opened, and was now completely still as Cassia walked in, looking even more stunning as she usually did. A shimmering green, double-breasted suit dress matched her sparkling shoes, along with a sparkling turtleneck underneath and jewelry that glimmered off of her ears and fingers. For once, her skin wasn't shimmering (she wasn't sure how it always looked like Cassie had just descended from Heaven itself—did she cover herself in glitter?) as her clothes were giving her all the shine she needed.

"Gregory," Cassia said coldly, snapping her from her stupor as the door shut behind her. Suddenly the room was almost suffocating, Cassia's overbearing presence making it stifling just like Massie would whenever she walked through the door. She sees more similarities between them now that she's right in front of her. Truthfully, they're both spoiled rich girls who probably wouldn't survive very long if she switched lives with them. Both were always used to being the center of attention—to being the most important person in the room. They were different in a multitude of ways (mainly, how they treated their friends), but their likeness was so clear as well that it made her face pinch in the middle as if she'd just sucked on a particularly sour lemon. She wondered if Cassia was the better choice over Massie. After all, she'd known Massie for three years now and you know what they say: better the devil you know than the devil you don't. She supposed it was too late to back out now: she was here, Claire would be waiting for her at the froyo shop in two hours, and Massie would be expecting her for a spa day with Alicia and Dylan afterwards. Depending on how things went today . . .

She shook her head, not wanting to think about it.

"I-I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here," she started nervously, reaching up a hand and tugging at the end of her side plait in a nervous tic.

Cassia raised a perfectly condescending eyebrow and drawled, "Obviously." It sounded so similar to the way that Massie said it (with such a strong intonation on the 'o' that it sounded more like Ah-viously) that she nearly winced. Cassia sniffed rather snobbily and made her way over to the armchair by the side, the clicking of her heels seeming obnoxiously loud since it was the only sound that was being made. She settled down into the leather armchair, but her back stayed ramrod straight as she eyed her with a cold gaze. "Sit," she demanded. Her butt met the upholstered fabric of the chair so quickly that Kristen didn't think she'd ever moved that fast before, even on the soccer pitch.

Cassia eyed her shrewdly, and she noticed how her emerald eyes perfectly matched her emerald outfit. If she'd worn this to school Massie would've been seething in jealousy.

Cassia leaned back slowly, every move precise and calculated in a way that made sweat gather at Kristen's forehead. No, she had been wrong before; Cassia was much more terrifying, much more commanding, much more formidable, much more everything than Massie could ever be. She wasn't sure if that made her decision a good or bad one. Cassia settled into the tufted, tall, straight back of the leather armchair, crossing one leg over the other then laying laced fingers on her knee.