A horrified shudder swept the room.
"Okay, people," Gina shouted, stamping her foot. "Let's get back to work! Show me how you bend those backs!"
Oh no, I thought as everyone around me fell to without so much as a groan. Not again.
I stretched out on the mat, placed my hands on either side of my head and pushed myself up. It wasn't exactly a backbend-my spine was still straight and I was fairly certain I looked like a coffee table-but at least I was up.
"Great work, Sam!" Gina shouted. "Fantastic!"
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Okay, I thought. Clearly, I wasn't made of Silly Putty like the rest of the group, but there was no need to rub it in. I shot her a look. She smiled and gave me a thumbs-up.
"You're doing great," she whispered, then moved away to lead the squad in a rousing rendition of Hustle hustle, use your muscle!
I stared after her as her lean, tanned legs moved away. She actually meant it? How was that even possible?
I glanced down at my aching body. It was the Skin, of course. If I closed my eyes I could feel it working, tingling and powerful against my overtaxed limbs.
Or maybe that was just another muscle spasm.
"Uh, Sam? Need some help?"
I blinked. Jules was hovering over me, arm extended. Loud, atonal music filled the room as the rest of the squad stood, twisting and turning like windmills.
"No thanks," I said, heaving myself up. "I got it."
"You're such a natural," she said. "So much better than Kylie."
I found that hard-okay, impossible-to believe, but after my failed backbend I needed all the support I could get.
"Thanks," I said.
I spent the next twenty minutes trying to
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mimic Jules's moves, pumping my arms, kicking my legs and, when absolutely necessary, breaking out the jazz hands. But no matter how hard I tried, everything I did was slightly off. My leaps were late and unimpressive. My twirls almost caused a domino-style crash with several of my teammates. And even though my body was doing plenty of shaking and wiggling, I was pretty sure it was doing so in all the wrong places.
"The net is open, the hoop is hot...come on, Wolverines, make that shot!"
They're definitely trying to kill me, I thought as I mimed a slam dunk that barely would've reached the top of a Little Tikes hoop.
"Nice work, ladies!" Gina shouted, turning off the techno music. "Looking good! Let's hit those showers!"
I bit my lip and waited for someone-anyone-to faint onto the mat. I didn't want to be the first. After a few seconds, I noticed that nobody else in the room looked like they were in desperate need of a stretcher and some CPR. Several of the girls, like Adrienne and Heidi, had actually opted to extend the workout and were jogging in place.
"Uh, Sam?" Gina said. Her face was serious and completely sweat-free. "Can you hang back for a few minutes?"
Great. Cut from the team after only one
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practice. I guess there are some things even a magical Skin can't cure. Like flab and an overall lack of rhythm.
As the rest of the squad made their way to the lockers I hobbled to the front of the room where Gina was waiting.
"How'd you like practice?" Gina asked brightly, clearly choosing to ignore the pained expression on my face and the fact that I'd sweated through my uniform.
"Uh, it was great," I said carefully. I didn't want to sound too enthusiastic, considering I was about to be axed.
"So listen, I know it's early," Gina said. "But with Kylie gone, there's an opening for co-captain and I was thinking you'd be great."
I stared at Gina for several seconds to be absolutely sure this was real and not some sort of endorphin-induced hallucination. "Wow...but I don't think I'm really ready-"
"You'll be great," Gina said. She waved her hand through the air as if wiping away my anxiety. "We'll have so much fun too! Of course, I have to clear the nomination with the rest of the squad, but I really don't think that'll be a problem."
I smiled weakly.
"And we're always looking for new cheers,"
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Gina continued. "So definitely let us know if you think of any."
Get out of this. This so isn't you.
I opened my mouth, but the words froze in my throat. The thought fell away, replaced by images of me, front and center in the Woodlawn yearbook. And on the field at games, smiling and waving to an admiring crowd. And in friendship collages, like the ones that lined Kylie's walls.
Why can't this be me? I wondered. Everything came at a price. Sure, I'd never imagined popularity's price tag included house music and a bare midriff, but some things are out of our hands.
Have some faith in yourself, I thought. Or in the Skin.
Was there even a difference anymore? "Sounds great," I told Gina, though my voice sounded as wobbly as my legs. "I can't wait."
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TWENTY-ONE
"Eww!" shrieked Heidi as she watched Thad Rubin dunk his head into a huge bowl of spaghetti and wiggle it around. "That's disgusting!"
Thad lifted his tomato-stained face out of the bowl and turned to Tanner Mullins. "Dude. You owe me ten bucks."
Tanner made a big show of snapping open his wallet and pulling out the bill. "Here ya go, man. That's some hard-earned cash."
I laughed along with everyone else, but I really wasn't paying attention. For the first time ever, I was eating lunch at the A-list table. They were all there: Jules, Gina and the rest of pep
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squad...along with Tanner Mullins and his jock crew.
It was pretty thrilling.
I hadn't done it on purpose. Until today, I'd always sat with Gwen and Alex. But when the bell rang for lunch, Gina and Jules were perched by my locker door, waiting for me. We walked to the cafeteria together, and after that it just seemed like the natural thing to do.
I was having a great time too. I know the words cafeteria and glamour don't really go together, but that was how it felt. My eyes swept the room, knowing that almost everyone was wondering what was going on at my table. I'd wondered myself, just a few weeks ago.
Of course, ever since I'd sat down I could feel Gwen and Alex watching me. Without even looking at them, I could see the expressions on their faces: hers was harsh and critical, his was baffled.
Whatever, I thought. Don't let this ruin your lunch. You're allowed to sit anywhere you want.
I made a mental note to call Gwen that night.
"Hey, Sam," Tanner said, snapping me back to reality. "You coming to the game tomorrow?"
He really is so cute, I thought. "Wouldn't miss it," I squeaked.
He stood and grabbed his tray. The entire row
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of jocks did the same. "I'm gonna hit the gym," he announced to the table at large. As he turned, he flashed me a smile and my heart fluttered. "Seeya around, Sam."
I watched him walk away. I wasn't sure what a swoon was exactly, but I was pretty sure I was on the verge.
"Oh wow, he's so into you," Jules informed me as she patted her curls. "It's awesome."
"Who knows," I said. But the whole nonchalance thing was hard to pull off when all I really wanted to do was scream.
I rubbed the Skin through my shirt. Thank you, I thought. Thank you so much.
I woke up the next morning with a smile on my face and the Skin stuck to my body. When I tried to slip it off for my usual lightning-fast shower, I couldn't.
At first, I thought I was just sore from another merciless pep squad practice. After three hours of jumping, kicking and twirling, every single one of my muscles had rebelled to the point of civil war. Even my elbows hurt. I'd barely been able to climb into bed the night before.
Anyone who's ever made fun of cheerleading has obviously never tried to do a left Herkie (and
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no, that's not some sort of variation on jerk chicken, in case you're wondering).
I reached up behind my back and trie
d again, tugging at the zipper. This time it slid grudgingly down my back. But when I tried to slip my arms out, the Skin wouldn't move. It had sealed somehow while I was sleeping. I'd been laminated overnight.
Okay, don't panic, I ordered myself.
I tugged at my arms.
"Ouch," I said. The Skin was definitely coming off, but-ow-it felt like a giant Band-Aid was being ripped from my body. My whole body. Slowly and with maximum hair-stickage.
This wasn't right. The Skin had gone from smooth as silk to extreme control-top in less than twenty-four hours. How was that even possible? It definitely wasn't a weight-gain thing. After last night's torture session, I couldn't have gained an ounce. A quick visit with my bathroom scale confirmed as much. I'd actually lost half a pound, thank you very much.
Still, there had to be some sort of explanation. The Skin had felt fine yesterday, even during prime pep hours. Or maybe that was the problem. Maybe the Skin was as out of shape as I was.
I wrenched my body with one final and
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incredibly painful twist, and the Skin came loose. I rolled it off and rubbed my bright red arms and legs. I'd heard one had to suffer to be beautiful, but that was nothing compared to what popularity put you through. The Skin made a bikini wax feel like a tickle session.
Don't think about it, I thought as I tucked the Skin into the shoe box and headed for the bathroom. Everything's falling into place. You're popular. Woodlawn loves you.
Besides, I reasoned, it was stupid to beat myself up with questions I'd never be able to answer. I didn't have the user's manual. After my failed Google search, I'd visited Wikipedia and scoured my magazine collection, hoping to unearth some sort of Skin-related intelligence. But nothing turned up. And I couldn't, for obvious reasons, ask Kylie for pointers. That meant the niggling worry in the back of my mind-the one that proposed a link between the new pore-stifling Skin and my overall vileness-could never be confirmed.
And for that, I was just a little bit thankful.
Twenty minutes later, I'd showered, changed and slid back into the Skin. (Why was it hard to take off but still so easy to slip on? That made absolutely no sense.) It felt a little tighter than usual, so I did a few deep knee bends. Maybe it
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could be stretched, like just-washed jeans. Then I grabbed my bag and rushed down the stairs.
I stopped breathing somewhere around the last step.
Tanner Mullins's bright red Mustang convertible was parked in my driveway. He was in the driver's seat, adjusting something on his dashboard. When he looked up, he smiled at me.
My stomach jumped as I cast a quick, panicked glance toward the kitchen. I had maybe twenty seconds before my parents noticed me or (yikes) the yummy boy decorating their front lawn.
I opened the front door and, as softly as I could, pulled it closed. Meet the parents definitely wasn't happening today.
"Hey," Tanner said, rolling down his window as I approached. His blond hair flopped across his forehead, casual but perfect. In the morning light his blue eyes looked, if possible, even bluer than usual.
"Hi," I said, chewing on my lower lip.
Tanner settled back into his seat and smiled again.
I waited for an explanation. Something about ditching Kylie and being hopelessly, completely in love with me. Or perhaps the slightly less dramatic "I was in the neighborhood and thought you might want a ride."
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Nothing happened. After a few seconds, Tanner popped the locks. and turned his eyes back to me, expectant.
I walked around to the passenger seat and got in.
"Um, nice car," I said as he shifted into reverse and edged out of the driveway.
He frowned. "You think? I might trade it in for an XTerra." He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror and smoothed his hair. "I'm not really sure the whole windswept thing is working for me anymore."
"Oh no, it's great," I assured him, hating the thin, simpering sound of my voice.
He smiled. "Cool. Thanks."
Okay, clearly Tanner's agility on the lacrosse field didn't extend to the art of conversation. On the other hand, it was the first time we'd hung out for longer than three minutes, so I had to cut the guy a break. And not just because of his perfect smile and impossibly cute dimples.
"So listen," he said, turning in to the parking lot. (We were at school already? How was that even possible?) "I was thinking maybe we could go out tonight." He winked. "You know, as sort of a thank-you for supporting the team."
"Oh. Cool," I managed to gulp. I forgot about Kylie. I forgot about the Skin. I forgot about the fact that it was Thursday and no way would my
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parents let me go out with a guy they didn't know (and who didn't drive a hybrid and, I'd be willing to bet, wasn't familiar with even the most basic ground rules for recycling). None of it mattered. Tanner Mullins and not fainting. At that moment, those were the only things I cared about.
"Cool," Tanner repeated as his eyes swept the parking lot. His face brightened as his gaze fell on a group of letter jacket-clad guys. "Yo, butt cheese!" he yelled, opening his door. "You suck!" He turned to me. "So I'll catch up with you later, okay? I gotta go pound some sense into those boys."
"Sure," I said. "No problem."
I got out of the car and headed toward the front door just as Jules climbed out of the silver BMW she'd received for her sixteenth birthday.
"Oh wow," she breathed, her eyes wide. "Tell me you didn't just get out of Tanner Mullins's car."
"Uh, actually I did," I said, allowing myself a tiny, quasi-smug smile.
"Nice," she squealed and, of course, tacked on an "I called it, didn't I?" She smirked. "He asked
I turned to her, surprised. "Really? You knew?" How did Jules manage to log so many
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hours at the hair salon and still have time left over to gossip and go to school?
"Uh-huh," Jules said, holding the door open for me as we walked into the building. "Who do you think gave him your address?" Jules giggled. "I wonder if Kylie saw you guys. She was probably spying on you through the window. What a fur-reak."
A fresh stab of guilt churned my stomach. No relief. No pleasure. Just pure, well-deserved guilt.
And when I rounded the corner to find Gwen and Alex waiting for me in front of my locker, the feeling only intensified.
They'd stopped by my house this morning to pick me up. Just like they did every day. Only this morning, I wasn't there. I'd completely blown them off. And, I realized in a horrified flash, I'd never called either of them last night to explain about lunch. It was totally on my list, but I'd had so many other calls to make....
I had some serious apologizing to do. I didn't really feel like doing it in front of Jules, but there was no time to get rid of her.
Jules followed my gaze, her expression darkening. I could tell that she didn't approve of my old friends-and the feeling was definitely mutual. Still, when she spoke her voice was
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carefully noncommittal and envy-free. "Oh, look. It's Gail and Alvin."
I didn't bother to correct her. "I'm so sorry," I started in as we approached the locker.
"Well, that's great," Gwen said, her voice sharp. "But you know, you might want to call your parents. They had no idea where you were either."
"I, uh, left a little early. They weren't up yet." Okay. Half true and half not. Maybe the sentences would sort of cancel each other out. I leaned forward to open my locker. "Look, I really am sorry. You know, you could've called me if you were so worried."
"I tried. Your phone was turned off and your voice mail was full." She turned to Jules, her face closed. "So listen, are you gonna pick her up from now on? Because I'd appreciate a little notice."
Jules smirked. "Don't look at me," she said.
"Tanner picked me up," I said quietly. I drove my gaze straight down into the linoleum but it didn't really work. I could still feel Gwen and Alex staring at me,
their expressions surprised and judging.
Alex grabbed his backpack from the floor. "I gotta get to class."
"Bye, guy," I said, tapping him on the back as he walked. away.
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Gwen glared at me.
"What?" I asked. God, why couldn't she just let this one go? She made such a big deal about everything.
"You know," she said slowly, "there's clueless...and then there's just plain old dumb." She shook her head. "Have a nice life, Sam."
"Omigod, I can't believe she actually said that to you," Jules said as Gwen pushed past us. "That was so rude. I mean, what was that even about?"
"I don't know," I told her. It was a lie, of course. I knew exactly why Gwen was mad. And I also knew I deserved it.
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TWENTY-TWO
M y mother was waiting for me when I got home after school. I had just enough time to give my still-pepped-out shoulder muscles a quick squeeze, grab a few Frookies (fake Oreos supposedly sweetened with fruit juice but with an aftertaste closer to Pepto) and brainstorm some possible excuses for why I absolutely had to go out on a school night, and then she pounced.
"What is this?" she asked, waving a fragrant piece of wax paper in my face.
I blinked, remembering. After pep squad, Jules, Gina and a few of my other new A-list BFFs had headed over to Wendy's to eat. And once I sat
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down with my burger and fries, everyone else hopped aboard the cellulite train, expanding their "Diet Coke only" orders to include onion rings, fries and-oh my!-even the occasional Frosty.
I thought I'd buried the evidence in the trash as soon as I got home, but obviously I hadn't done a very good job.
I swallowed my last bite of Frookie. "It was just a burger," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "A plain burger. I stayed away from the Baconator and didn't even have dessert."
My mother looked at me as if I'd just suggested we open a food court in our living room. "That," she said, placing a judgmental hand on her hip, "is completely beside the point and you know it."
"It's really not a big deal."
"Who are you?" my mother snapped. "Because you're certainly not my daughter. My daughter knows that chomping on one fast-food burger is the equivalent of eating fifty-five square feet of rain forest. That's almost the size of our kitchen, Sam!"
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