Massie Block was very, very angry.
She sulked, crossing her arms. Then uncrossing them. Then closing her notebook dramatically, over and over again. And then she pretended to faint on the couch, nearly dropping her notebook.
Her parents were forcing her to get a job. They were forcing her to work. They were forcing her to develop a character.
THEY WERE FORCING HER TO BE A SLAVE. A SLAVE. WHO DID THEY THINK SHE WAS? KRISTEN?
Of course, Massie wasn't going to oblige. She was a Block. Her bloodline ran through generations of, um, bricklayers. She was much too pure and elegant to work for anybody.
When she told her parents this, they threatened to cut off her credit cards.
"Alright," Massie had said sourly. "I'll get a job."
Massie pronounced job like one more book of this teenage s-
"But," Massie had continued. "You have to follow this list of guidelines. It's for when you hire someone to find a job for me."
Since Massie's parents were complete pushovers, and allowed her to do anything she wanted-
(A/N: The Halloween party with an ice skating rink. The clothes that had a bigger price tag then a car. The fact that she got KICKED OUT OF SCHOOL AND THEY LET HER GO TO CALIFORNIA TO PURSUE AN ACTING CAREER.)
This was why Massie was sitting on the living room couch, holding her diamond-plated notebook, writing down all her requirements for this job.
MASSIE'S REQUIREMENTS FOR THIS JOB
1. I will not, under any circumstances, work for a place that serves food.
2. The idea I will go to work in a normal car is totally absurd. You will buy me a limo, and hire a person to drive me there. The limo must fit all of my friends. Because they all revolve around me. I'm like, the world.
3. And by friends, I mean all my friends from MySpace.
Seven hours later, Massie was still writing. Her notebook was almost completely filled.
1,987. I will not sell cheap knockoffs. They're about realistic as Alicia being a virgin.
Finally, after fatiguing penmanship, Massie was done with the notebook. Sauntering out of the living room, she bounded up the stairs and knocked on her parent's door.
A monstrous object with short straw-like hair and a green, slimy face answered. Massie screamed.
"Aw, honey." The object said. "It's just your-"
"Mom?" Massie asked, frowning. Not just frowning, actually. She was downright shocked. "Is this what you look like without make-up? Ohmigod. Am I going to look like that?"
"I guess I could get surgery.." Massie added with an afterthought. "But still-"
"-Dad." The object finished, ignoring the earlier comments. "Your mom is sleeping. It's three A.M. I can't believe you would come in here this early, especially when I'm not wearing make-up. Can't you wait until morning? Give me your notebook, and go to bed, or I'm putting you up for adoption."
The next morning, Massie was still stuck in an angry teenager mode.
She put on her most dark, gothic outfit. She strapped on her ebony stilettos, which matched her charcoal halter top. Her cloudy nails tapped on her dusky mini-skirt, which kind of looked like a belt.
"I look like an emo pinup!" Massie said, smiling. Then she practiced her depressed face. "Like that kid from that band. My Biology Romance, or Panic! At the Bloomingdales. I am beyond cool. So completely awesome."
Her dog barked from under the white bed. Massie's dog was refusing to leave it. The veterinarian diagnosed it with OCD.
"No, Bean." Massie sighed. Dogs didn't get it. "I'm not a funeral slut. It's not Halloween yet. Now shut up, or I won't feed you for another week."
When she was done over-doing her eyeliner, Massie walked silently down the steps. Her mother was sitting in the kitchen, reading a book on the Atkins diet. Breakfast was prepared as usual by their housekeeper, who smiled all the time and was almost plastic.
Massie slammed down into the chair, and gave off the impression of being completely hostile. She grabbed one of the banana muffins from the middle of the table.
"Wow," Kendra Block said, setting her book down. "You're certainly amiable today. I take it your father told you where you're going to work."
Massie looked at her mother. Her face was unsympathetic. Which was a big surprise, since Massie's parents normally bended to every beck and call that spoiled girl had, from invitations to exclusive club openings to designer lunches.
"Where?" Massie asked, looking a bit worried. Her act hadn't worked.
"You've tried to own us since you were born, Massie." Kendra smiled aloofly. "I destroyed your rule book with my laser eyes-"
"I knew it!" Massie narrowed her eyes. "You're a Stepford wife! I've suspected it, since you wear nothing but pearls, even when you're ordering someone to do the laundry!"
"Took you long enough to figure out I'm a robot. Anyway, your father and I decided you'll work at the…"
Massie felt dizzy. Her world was crashing down on her.
"…Ice cream parlor."
There you go. Massie has been forced to actually enter the real world.
(It's not that I don't like Lisi Harrison's books, but there just so-
SHALLOW. I enjoy reading them, but they've got no depth, and more plot holes then Smallville. Don't get me wrong, I do like them a lot. They're pretty nice for a quick read, and are more addicting then a soap opera. But they're so easy to make fun of. I'm kind of surpised I'm the first parody..)
And don't forget review, my sweet orange candies. I'll give you a cherry popsicle if you promise not to blow up my house with your flames..