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my name everywhere I turned, and people constantly approached me, but it was only to ask pointed questions of the "Do you know Kylie's looking for you?" variety. There were no warm introductions or, even more disappointing, admiring glances from guys.
At least they're talking about me, I thought. At least something's happening. No such thing as bad publicity, right?
It was 3:10 p.m. The final bell had just rung, signaling an end to my Woodlawn High Skin debut. And I was feeling down. Not only was I wearing a magical popularity suit, but Kylie Frank's feverish Sam Klein search had also, inadvertently, triggered a viral marketing campaign. And it all amounted to a big nothing. The Sam Klein buzz around school was still more mosquito than queen bee.
I was hopeless. The pen was uncapped but the page was still empty. The redraft of my life was suffering from major writer's block.
"Well, if it isn't the girl of the hour," Gwen said, coming up behind me, "Seriously, what's going on?"
"What do you mean?" I asked carefully, shoving my head inside my locker as far as it would go. Some conversations were just best conducted without any sort of eye contact.
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"I mean, why did Señora Reynolds have to pass a 'no se habla Sam Klein' rule in my Spanish class?"
"She did?" I asked, trying to sound surprised. Gwen nodded. "Yep. And Kylie Frank started a fire in chemistry."
"Really?" I swallowed.
"She was passing around your yearbook picture and accidentally knocked over her Bunsen burner. Mrs. Hecht had to break out the extinguisher and everything." Gwen eyed me skeptically. "Why would Kylie Frank care about you-or your yearbook picture?"
"Gee, thanks," I said, trying to look indignant despite the fact that Gwen's suspicion more than made sense. "That's a really nice thing to say."
"C'mon, Sam," she pushed. "You know what I mean."
I stared at my feet, too ashamed to tell the truth. Gwen wouldn't understand. She'd hate me.
And she'd be completely justified.
Give it back, I thought. The words flashed red through my brain. It doesn't even work, so just give it back.
I could have stopped it all there. I could have closed the shoe box, relinquishing my almost-hold on the stilettos. I'd taken them out for a practice spin-and fallen flat on my face. Forget Keds. I was more of an orthotics girl.
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But I wasn't ready for the return. I was willing to tough it out. Blisters, calluses, the works. No pain, no gain.
I shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe it's, like, a neighborhood thing."
Gwen stared at me pointedly, as if waiting for an "I'm a big fat liar" thought bubble to burst out of my mouth. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you do something to your hair?"
"No, why?"
"I don't know," Gwen said in a voice laced with skepticism. "You just look different."
Great, I thought. My first day in the Skin and all it gets me is twin interrogations from my mother and my best friend, two people who hate popularity about as much as I hate math.
She glanced down at her watch. "Whatever. Let's go. I'm making osso bucco for dinner and need to stop at Whole Foods on the way home."
I took a tentative step forward, then froze as a fresh problem presented itself to me.
I couldn't go home.
Well, I could, but Kylie would definitely be waiting for me...and it'd be really nice to delay that particular confrontation for as long as possible. Like, till the next millennium.
"Listen," I said to Gwen. "You go ahead without me. I have some research to do in the library."
"Research? For what?"
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"History," I said, talking fast. "Call me later, okay? Hope the osso-whatever turns out great."
"Uh, fine," Gwen said, squinting at me like I was some sort of strange, possibly poisonous mushroom. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I watched her walk away, feeling like something uncomfortable had just started between us. I wasn't exactly sure what it was, but I knew I was the one who'd started it.
Twenty minutes later, I was doing something I'd never, ever done before. I was attending an actual school event. Since I'd chosen randomly and said event hadn't actually started yet, I couldn't, at that moment, give any specifics. But I had a feeling whatever I was about to watch was sports-related. The fact that I was sitting in the bleachers staring at the field was a pretty big giveaway.
It wasn't like I was anti-extracurricular or anything. But freshman year Gwen had vowed never to set foot in Woodlawn High outside of mandatory school hours, and football flyers and homecoming posters just weren't the sort of thing Alex would ever notice. Since the thought of attending one of those events alone was, for obvious reasons, about as unappealing as tofurkey, I'd steered clear.
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But today was different. I was wearing the Skin...and a watch, too. And the latter told me I had some serious time to kill. I had to be home by seven for dinner, but when I said goodbye to Gwen it was barely four. The way-too-wide window posed a serious threat to my Kylie Frank avoidance plan.
The flyers in the hall had summed up my choices: the drama club's dress rehearsal of Our Town, a Mathletes competition or a model Congress.
It was pretty slim pickings, which was why I'd wandered out to the field and climbed onto the bleachers, joining the definitely-cooler-than-model-Congress crowd.
And really, it's not so bad, I thought as a bunch of hot guys in cleats jogged onto the lawn. Everyone cheered.
As soon as I saw the lacrosse sticks, though, I knew I'd miscalculated. If this was a lacrosse game, surely Tanner Mullins-captain of the lacrosse team-would be playing. And, of course, his loyal girlfriend, Kylie Frank, would be watching.
As if on cue, Tanner clomped onto the field and raised his lacrosse stick high above his head. The crowd went wild.
I craned my neck and, sure enough, spotted Kylie Frank standing in the very front between
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Jules and Ella. Even from a distance, I could tell something wasn't right. She wasn't smiling or cheering, and her claps were distinctly un-enthusiastic. She turned, scanning the sea of sports fans.
I should've gone with the Mathletes, I thought, shooting straight up. What was I thinking? Tanner Mullins was a super-jock. He and Kylie were A-listers. This was their domain.
I pushed my way down the bleachers. I had about three minutes before Kylie Frank spotted me.
I was wrong. No sooner had I navigated the long line of limbs that separated me from the aisle when I ran smack into Kylie Frank.
"Where've you been?" she snapped, breathless. Behind us, Ella and Jules stared. Ella looked concerned; Jules looked interested. "I was looking for you all day."
"Uh, really?" I said, wishing desperately for a trapdoor I could escape through. "I didn't know."
Kylie tossed her hair over her shoulder and shot me a puh-lease look. "We need to talk."
"Sure. What's up?" I asked, trying to keep my voice equal parts calm and clueless.
"Not here," Kylie said, her voice beyond annoyed. "Someplace private."
Leaving Ella and Jules gaping in her wake, she turned and marched down the bleacher
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stairs. I followed her inside, legs wobbling. I was tempted to run-try to make a break for it-but it was hopeless. I couldn't outrun her. And after what I'd done, a confrontation was inevitable.
Besides, the entire school was on Sam Klein alert. If I tried to escape, I'd be blocked by one of Kylie's many minions before I even cleared the field. After all, this was her school. For years to come, Woodlawn High would remember Kylie Frank. Skin or no Skin, I was just passing through.
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FIFTEEN
A ll in all, it was a pretty convincing performance. I'd been rehearsing the Kylie Frank confrontation in my head for going on twenty-four hours and, though I'd secretly been hoping it wouldn't happen, I felt fairly well prepared when it did.
"Give it back," Kylie said
as soon as the heavy aluminum doors closed. We were standing in the hallway outside the gym. Behind us, the glass trophy case gleamed, highlighting decades of Woodlawn High victories, back to a time when the school actually had its own bowling team.
"Give what back?" I asked, wondering if
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maybe I should've tried to prop the door open. I didn't want anyone to overhear our conversation, but Kylie looked furious and part of me worried she'd hit me. Her hands were bunched into tight, tiny fists and her wide eyes had taken on sort of a pogo stick effect, jumping up and down the hall with a weird speed and ferocity.
I edged back toward the door. If things got too out of control, I could just shoot out.
Kylie snorted. "Please. Don't waste my time acting all innocent and clueless. I know you have it, so just give it to me."
"Really, I wish I could help," I said, trying to keep my argument simple and on message. "But I don't know what you're talking about."
Kylie rolled her eyes. "Right." She looked at me as if trying to decide how full of it I actually was. "The Skin. It's gone."
"Wow, I'm really-That's awful," I said. "What happened?"
Kylie flipped her hair back indignantly. Under normal circumstances, I'm sure the move would've intimidated me to the point of admission, but today Kylie, and her hair, really weren't at their best. Both looked tired and stressed out, dingy rather than vibrant.
Was that from Skin withdrawal? I wondered. Or simply stress? Was the Skin in some way responsible for Kylie's perfect looks?
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"Nothing happened," she spit out. From her tone, I could tell that she'd retraced the events of last night at least a million times. "That's the thing. I took it off to shower and when I got out it was gone." Her eyes flashed over me. "And you're the only one who knew about it."
"Well, me and whoever it is that sent it to you in the first place," I said coolly.
Kylie blinked and I could tell there was a part of her that had considered the exact same thing.
We stood there for a few seconds, neither of us saying anything.
"I should never have told you about it," she mumbled, breaking the silence. "I broke the rules. That's why this is happening."
Rules. What were these mysterious rules? I wondered, rubbing the Skin through my shirtsleeve. It was still there, feeling great. But would it last? Was I breaking the rules right now? I had absolutely no idea.
Then again, this really wasn't a good time to ask.
"Calm down," I told her. "I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere."
"I looked all night. It's gone." Kylie groaned. Her eyes flicked over me, and she took in my appearance for the very first time. "You look different," she announced in an accusing tone.
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Her gaze dropped pointedly to my arm, as if she'd recently developed x-ray vision.
Despite the tenseness of the situation, I was tempted to roll my eyes. Unbelievable. So far the Skin had only succeeded in attracting negative attention-something I'd never needed help with before.
"I got my hair cut," I lied. "And bought some of those nose strips-you know, for blackheads?"
Kylie fixed her cool blue eyes on me but said nothing.
"Look, I wish I could help," I said, almost wincing at my insincerity. You never really know how low you can sink until you sink that much farther. "But I really can't. I mean, sure, you showed it to me that day, but other than that, I really don't know-"
"You'd better not be lying," Kylie warned. I could tell she was torn, unsure what to believe.
"I'm not," I insisted, my pulse racing. I felt sort of sweaty, too. Criminal activity was quite the workout-way more strenuous than thirty minutes on a treadmill. "But if I think of anything, I swear I'll let you know."
"Whatever," Kylie said, pushing past me. "I'm going home to look some more."
I listened to her angry steps retreat, feeling a mix of relief and fear. The confrontation was
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over and I'd survived. Actually, I'd won. I still had the Skin and I'd planted enough doubt in Kylie's brain that, while I was still her number-one suspect, she wasn't absolutely convinced.
But the exchange had definitely made its mark. I had no idea how life in the Skin would play out, but each scenario had its downside. If it didn't work, I was stuck with my loser self and a defective Skin. And if it did work, well, Kylie Frank wasn't stupid. She'd figure things out, probably sooner rather than later. And when she did, I'd have an enemy.
Who wanted to rip my Skin off.
I wandered back out to the game and watched the now mud-covered players club each other with wooden sticks. I had no idea how lacrosse was played-from what I could tell, it was a pretty brutal sport-but I was in desperate need of a distraction. And since Tanner Mullins was team captain, I could've watched for hours.
Someone blew a whistle on the field and the two teams trotted off to the sidelines. It seemed like the game was over and, based on the claps and cheers around me, Woodlawn had won. I rose to my feet, feeling a little disappointed. I could've used a few more minutes of sweat-soaked hottie watching. But it was just as well. I had to head home soon-I didn't want my parents
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to worry. Besides, the bleachers were emptying quickly.
"Hoping for a replay?"
I looked up. Tanner Mullins was a few rows ahead of me, packing up his sports bag. His shaggy blond hair was streaked with mud and his cheeks were still red from the game.
And he was looking at me. Yes, me.
I swallowed, waiting for the-what? Panic? Nausea? Overwhelming cramps? I'd never been in a cute-guy-talking-to-me sort of situation before, so I had no idea how I'd respond. I was pretty sure it'd be ugly.
But the humiliation and regret-triggering reaction never came. Instead, and almost involuntarily, I felt my spine straighten and my mouth curve into a smile.
"Hey," I said, in a voice so calm and relaxed Tanner Mullins could've been the checkout girl at Rite Aid. "I'm Sam Klein."
Tanner blinked. "Sam Klein. Where have I heard that before?" He shrugged. "Well, it's really cool of you to support the team. And you stayed to the end." He scanned the empty bleachers, his expression almost pouty. "Not everybody does, which is totally lame."
He's talking about Kylie, I thought.
A fresh shot of guilt twisted my stomach. But
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as Tanner swung his bag over his shoulder and smiled, it melted instantaneously away.
"Listen," he said, his dimples winking at me. "I got to get cleaned up, but we have another game Thursday if you're interested. It'd be cool if you stopped by."
Was all this attention-and my calm and collected response-courtesy of the Skin? I had absolutely no idea. But whatever was happening, I liked it. A lot. And I wanted more.
I tilted my head to one side in what I hoped was an exact replica of Kylie Frank's pose in her kissing-Tanner picture. "Definitely," I said, smiling back at him. "I'm in."
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SIXTEEN
W hen it happened the first time, I thought it was a fluke. Maybe that was stupid of me, but I couldn't help it. It was almost February and I'd spent a good solid week in the Skin, with little to no results. Sure, I'd been dealt the occasional smile in the hallway and I still had my Tanner moment to cling to, but other than that, my life really hadn't changed.
And neither had Kylie Frank's. Of course, it was hard to tell since she was as busy as ever, cheer-leading and partying and color-coordinating her outfits. But I saw her in homeroom every morning, could feel her glares as she walked
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down the aisle toward her desk. Her suspicion hadn't ebbed, which, despite my guilt, made increasingly less sense. She was still queen and I was just a serf. The planets hadn't shifted at all.
It was disappointing, to say the least. In the Skin, I'd expected lightning-fast change. I wanted to feel it hit, pinpoint the exact moment in time. It was like choosing a crash diet over the more practical W
eight Watchers. Rapid-fire results weren't just a perk, they were the main appeal.
I hadn't even lost water weight.
I was pretty sure the Skin was a dud. Still, I persevered. Stripping it off was tantamount to giving up, sealing my socially inferior fate forever. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. But my hopes were definitely dwindling. Each day that closed with my "loser Sam Klein" status still intact took a little something out of me. So when, on that cold gray morning, I walked into homeroom to find Jules Johnston perched at her desk smiling and waving at me, as warm and friendly as Oprah's wave to her studio audience, I completely froze.
Jules waved again and, after a few more shocked seconds ticked by, I pulled myself together enough to go sit down.
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"So, did you hear?" Jules asked, like we'd been best friends for years. She scooted her chair over and leaned her head so close to mine I got a huge, sinus-busting whiff of her perfume. (I'd smelled it before, I remembered, in the pages of one of my magazines. The scent was so cloying I'd had to toss the entire issue.)
"Um, I don't think so," I said, wondering if Jules's peroxide abuse had finally pushed her over the edge. I still couldn't believe she was talking to me.
She smiled coyly, obviously enjoying her role as news breaker. "Kylie and Tanner had a big fight," she announced, pausing slightly for maximum drama. "Huge."
I swallowed; the weirdness of the situation temporarily forgotten. "Um, about what?"
"I heard Kylie's been blowing off Tanner's games. And she stood him up at the gym, too." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "I tried to ask her about it, but she wouldn't talk. She's been such a freak lately I can't even deal."
"Wow, that's too bad." I shifted in my chair, trying to stay calm. It was hard, considering the fact that two overwhelming realizations had just struck. The first told me that finally-/ finally- the Skin was working. (It had to be the Skin. I knew better than to think Jules was talking to me for
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any other reason.) The second confirmed that I was, without a doubt, an evil, horrible person. Who else would so happily profit at someone else's expense?
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