Second Skin

by Jessica Wollman

  "It really wasn't that filling," I muttered, but realized it was a mistake as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

  My mother's face twisted with anger.

  I swung my bag over my shoulder and headed for the stairs, hoping to avoid the imminent

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  lecture. "Listen, I'm not gonna be here for dinner. I have to meet some friends at the library. We're doing a report for history."

  "Report? What report?"

  Good question. I really hadn't had time to come up with anything specific. I reached the top of the stairs and turned slowly around, hoping the altitude change would trigger a strike of genius. "That's what we're trying to figure out." I took a deep breath and exhaled yet another lie. "I was thinking the whole ethanol debate might be the way to go."

  My mother frowned. "I don't know," she said slowly. "It's a school night."

  "Well, it's a school project." Oh please say yes, I silently begged. I know I'm evil and heinous-the sort of person who exploits the environment to forward her own petty social agenda-but please don't let that come between me and my date with Tanner Mullins.

  "Okay," my mother said, after several seconds. "But I want you home as soon as the library closes."

  "Definitely!" I said, making a mental note to find out exactly what time that was.

  I closed my bedroom door behind me, then took off my clothes. After a solid ten minutes of hopping, tugging and wriggling in what I'm sure would have impressed onlookers as a spot-on

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  imitation of a Mexican jumping bean, I was out of the Skin and in the shower, wondering whether compulsive lying ran in my family or if, lucky me, I was a Klein original.

  I slipped-again, easily-back into the Skin and squirted myself with body spray. Still petrified to actually wash the Skin but even more petrified of smelling like the wrestling team, I'd settled for the bath-in-a-bottle alternative. It was definitely the Carpet Fresh approach to personal hygiene, but it was the best I could do.

  I pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and what I hoped was a loose-in-a-sexy-sort-of-way T-shirt, and stepped lightly down the stairs to avoid another run in with my mom.

  "Sam!"

  Obviously my sneaky walk needed a little practice. I turned around, trying hard to keep my face clear of any sort of expression that screamed "I'm so busted!"

  "I wanted to give you these before you left," she said, handing me yet another I Am Not a Plastic Bag bag stuffed with papers.

  "What's this?" I asked, sliding my hands through the green felt straps.

  "Just a few articles I've clipped over the years," she explained. "They might help your project."

  "That's right," I said, remembering my faux report. "Um, thanks. This is really helpful."

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  "If you'd like me to proof anything before you hand it in, just let me know."

  Great. Now I was actually going to have to write the stupid fake paper. Like I didn't have enough real homework to do.

  How, I wondered as I pulled the door shut behind me and padded across the front lawn, had I gotten here? How had I become the sort of person who lies to her mother so that she can sneak off with the captain of the lacrosse team?

  Oh my god, I thought as a delicious thrill coursed through me. I'm the sort of person who lies to her mom so that she can sneak off with the lacrosse captain! I reached the end of my street and headed toward the meeting place I'd set up with Tanner. I'd told him I didn't want Kylie to see us together (which wasn't a lie, actually). But my mom would've freaked out.

  I smiled. I couldn't help it. A month ago, the biggest lie I'd ever told my mother involved recycling bins and aluminum cans. ("Why can't everything go into the same bag? Seriously. It just gets mashed up anyway.) And now here I was, sneaking off to meet the hottest guy in school.

  Progress was progress. I was one of those girls. I was a glamazon minus the height and the glam. A perfect minus the perfection. I was a show on Disney. Or maybe ABC Family.

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  "In the mood for a party?" Tanner asked as I pulled open the car door.

  "Sure." I slid in beside him, taking in his wet-from-the-shower blond hair and unfairly high cheekbones. He smelled good too. Deodorant mixed with some sort of cologne.

  Tanner gunned the engine and the car lurched forward. I couldn't believe how calm I felt, considering this was my very first date and Tanner Mullins was, well, Tanner Mullins. Just the thought of attending Kylie's party had been enough to send me into a semipanic, but now here I was, completely relaxed. Even the angry red zit I'd spotted on my chin that morning couldn't sway me.

  I leaned back against the seat and looked up at the starless black sky. A month ago it would have seemed creepy, but not tonight. Not now. I was popular. And popularity made everything shine.

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  TWENTY-THREE

  "Love your bag! Where'd you get it?"

  I stood helplessly in the doorway as Jules lunged forward and grabbed the I Am Not a Plastic Bag bag, which, I suddenly realized, I'd forgotten to leave in Tanner's car.

  "It's, um, you know, green," I said as she slipped her arms through the handles and checked out her reflection in the foyer's full-length mirror.

  Jules blinked, either surprised I was pointing out something as obvious as the bag's color or wondering if Green was Marc Jacobs's new line.

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  "It's sooo cute," she cooed, recovering. "Is it from Barneys?"

  I shook my head as Tanner's hand wrapped around mine. A thrill shot through me, followed quickly by a grimace as his fingers tightened. And tightened.

  Ow.

  I took a deep breath and silently repeated a "no pain, no gain" mantra as we walked together into the house, a big gray Colonial. It was owned by one of Tanner's jock friends, a football player named Chuck Todd, whose wide, squat body and lust for bench-pressing made him look more refrigerator than person.

  Until the Skin, my only experience with Chuck had been indirect, through Gwen. On our third day of freshman year, he'd invented her nickname, Pot Roast Connolly. Now, as I watched him pull a can of dip out of his pocket and burp, I realized that, coming from him, the term was almost clever.

  The place was packed, but as soon as we walked in, all attention had drifted our way. A tiny circle of lacrosse players and pep squad pepsters quickly pooled around, moving with us as we stepped farther into the house.

  "I'm so glad you're here," Gina confided in my left ear. She'd grabbed the green bag from Jules and was now peering inside, inspecting its

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  contents. "Jules has been driving me crazy. She won't stop talking about Spring Fling, but it's like, hello! I'm cochair."

  "I need a beer," Tanner announced to no one in particular. His hand released my sore fingers as he turned and pushed his face into mine.

  And then he kissed me. Just like that. It was quick, rough and, to be honest, a little wet. Hardly the innocent-yet-fiery first kiss I'd hoped for.

  Still, my pulse kicked up a notch. Me. Tanner Mullins was kissing me.

  He pulled back and turned away. "Where's the keg?"

  "He's so cute," Jules whispered to me as the circle of jocks swept Tanner toward the kitchen and, I assumed, beer.

  "He is," I murmured, though for some reason the words felt a little hollow. Was it rude that Tanner had just stolen a kiss, then walked away? He hadn't even offered to get me a beer. Not that I wanted one-the house already smelled and the floor felt sticky. It was sort of a turnoff. Besides, the Skin felt tighter tonight than it had during the day, and I was pretty sure that consuming much of anything would only make things worse.

  But wasn't that the sort of thing that happened on dates? Guys got drinks, held open doors

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  and placed their coats over mud puddles to protect their dates' footwear.

  Let it go, I told myself. He's Tanner Mullins.

  "You guys make a great couple too," Jules assured me. "Way better than Tanner and Kylie." She toyed w
ith a long, stiff curl. "I have no idea what he even saw there in the first place."

  I stared at her, wondering if she really and truly didn't remember more than a year's worth of Kylie-focused suck-up conversations.

  I remembered. Every single one. Word for word.

  "Whatever," Jules continued, glancing around the room to check out the crowd. "At least he came to his senses."

  I followed her gaze, absorbing the sea of mini-me's in the room. Over the past few days, a huge outbreak of curly hair had swept through Woodlawn, and almost every girl wore a variation of my own outfit or one I'd worn in the recent past. There were no-name jeans, thermal tops and several dozen loose, long-sleeved T-shirts. I should have charged Lands' End for the free promotion. Woodlawn was looking more and more like a fishermen's wharf each day.

  I smiled to myself, waiting for the familiar thrill to curl my stomach.

  Only it didn't come. Not this time.

  Easy.

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  The word popped into my head before I had a chance to block it out. It was true, too. There was something about the situation-all of it-that was way too easy. I hadn't done anything. I hadn't said a thing. And here I was, front and center on Woodlawn's red carpet. A month ago, I was so far from the carpet I could barely make out its color; today I was practically a fiber. And while I definitely wasn't ready to abandon my post, there was something a little eerie about it.

  I shifted my weight, searching for a comfortable position. The Skin had moved past the point of control top and was heading for iron girdle territory.

  "Can I borrow this sometime?" Gina was asking me. Her arm curled protectively around the I Am Not a Plastic Bag bag, giving off the distinct impression that by "borrow" she meant "take" and "sometime" meant "right now."

  "Sure," I said, smiling at her. "No problem."

  "How sweet are you?" Gina said, then pushed on. "So listen, I wanted to talk to you about Spring Fling committee."

  Okay, that worked. At the mention of Spring Fling-Woodlawn's social event of the year-any misgivings I had about my recently acquired social status flew out of my head like a Frisbee.

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  "Really," I said, trying not to sound too interested. "What about it?"

  "Well, you know Kylie was the other cochair," Gina said, looping her arm through mine like we were about to take a stroll through a croquet-friendly esplanade. "But now that she's crazy, we have to let her go." She waved her hand through the air dismissively. "So that leaves an open spot. We all think you'd be perfect."

  I nodded, feeling excited and guilty and then even guiltier because I was so excited. Maybe, I rationalized, Kylie Frank's situation had nothing to do with me. Maybe she was headed for a crack-up anyway. How could I really know? After all, I'd only had one or two real conversations with her.

  You deserve this, whispered a little voice inside my head. I'd spent last year's Spring Fling watching Gwen break in her new Dutch oven, and this year I was cochair of the whole dance. Me. I'd get to plan the invitations, paint the posters and decorate the gym...and, more importantly, I'd be there. At Spring Fling. Maybe even with Tanner.

  I frowned slightly. Where was he, anyway? It didn't take this long to get a beer. Even I knew that.

  I walked through the living room toward the kitchen.

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  "Classic!" Chuck Todd screamed. He was standing at the kitchen door, peering out at the backyard. "Mull-man rules."

  "What's going on?" I asked, pushing my way through the crowd.

  Will Graves, captain of the tennis team, turned to me. "Man's making history," he said, pointing at the window.

  Tanner was squatting at the edge of Chuck's swimming pool, surrounded by plastic cups. His head was bent and at first I thought he was simply studying the water, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to dive in.

  And then he puked into the water. His body convulsed, producing a gag so loud I could hear it through the glass.

  The jocks around me hooted appreciatively.

  "Dude!" Chuck shouted. "I gotta bronze that filter."

  I thought about all the Saturday nights I'd spent wondering what the A-list was up to. Wondering about what went on at all their parties, all the post-game busts. Wondering how it would feel to be the sort of person who was included rather than overlooked.

  Mystery solved, I told myself as I went to look for Jules to ask for a ride home.

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  TWENTY-FOUR

  " C ome on," Alex chided. We were sitting in a corner at independent study, huddled over my geometry book. "You know what an acute angle is."

  I shook my head. Was it my imagination or was I getting dumber? I vaguely remembered some sort of acronym or play on words-a cute little angle, maybe? Some sort of quip that successfully branded the definition into every brain but mine. I stared down at my last geometry test. The paper was filled with so many angry red marks and slashes I was tempted to get it an Ace bandage.

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  I was way past mnemonics.

  "You need to stop spacing out in class," Alex told me, his voice hard. I hadn't spoken to him or Gwen since that day in front of my locker. Whenever they passed me in the hall, I could feel their gazes drop to the floor in purposeful avoidance. If Alex hadn't officially signed up as my geometry tutor, I was pretty sure he would've skipped the session.

  I scowled, annoyed he was holding such a grudge. "I pay attention," I insisted. "It doesn't help."

  "Um, I hate to argue with you, but..." Alex trailed off as he flipped through the pages of my geometry book. They were covered with doodles.

  "Drawing helps me focus," I said quickly.

  "You have to study or you're gonna flunk," he said matter-of-factly and without a trace of warmth.

  Study? When? After Gina's Spring Fling invite, a slew of others had followed. There was fall fashion show, prom, dance and knitting club (I didn't know how to dance or knit, but that didn't seem to matter). Not to mention all the phone calls, IMs and mani/pedis with Gina, Jules and the rest of the pep pack-as Gwen sometimes called them. I was overbooked, overscheduled and completely exhausted. I had no time for

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  geometry, which was why I'd been copying from Jules, who, it turned out, was even more of a math moron than I was.

  "Just spend a good two hours every day working on this stuff," Alex said as the bell rang. "I'd start today if I were you."

  I sighed. "I'm not sure I'll have time. I have a meeting after school. I think this one's about decorations." I frowned, trying to remember. "For something."

  "Fine. Then tomorrow."

  I shook my head. "Tanner has a game."

  Alex snorted. "Well, that's definitely more important," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Why are you doing this, Sam?"

  I clicked my mechanical pencil until the lead was about three inches long. "Doing what?"

  "Changing," Alex said, shaking his head. "I just don't get it. It's like you've gone totally crazy."

  "I'm just trying new things," I told him. "What's wrong with that? You've got your telescope and soapbox cars. Gwen cooks." I looked at him. "How about me? What do I do?"

  Alex rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "For starters, you drink Snapple with a straw," he said, tilting his head toward my lemonade. "You read."

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  "I don't think People really counts."

  "You study everyone around you," he continued. "And you draw." He looked up at me, his dark eyes wide. "Look, Sam, maybe the things you're interested in aren't that..." He frowned, searching for the right word. "Formed. But so what?" He tapped a doodle of my geometry teacher, Mr. Slater, getting beaten up by Sponge-Bob. "You're good at all of them."

  I felt my shoulders lift. I missed Alex, I realized suddenly. I missed hanging out with him. As the second bell rang, I found myself wishing my afternoon were clear. I could go watch him work on one of his cars or something, just like before. If only I had time.

  It's probably just as well, I thoug
ht as I started to pack my things. Tanner didn't seem like the sort of guy who'd ascribe to the whole guys-and-girls-can-be-friends theory.

  Tanner Mullins.

  Even after a week and a half of coupledom, the four syllables still sent little shivers up and down my spine. Every once in a while, from out of nowhere, his name would flash through my head like an alarm, followed by the thought: I can't believe he likes me...

  ***

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  The day after Chuck's party, Tanner had shown up at my house and apologized. Sort of. "It happens," he'd explained. "When my boys and me get together, things can get a little out of hand."

  Okay, so maybe it wasn't an apology. At all. But he'd sworn he wanted to spend the day with me, as a makeup for the night before. We'd driven out to the beach, and even though it was February-way too cold to swim-I was sort of looking forward to the trip. I pictured us skipping stones, building a bonfire. A repeat of my day with Alex, except with kissing.

  As soon as we got to the beach, though, Tanner stripped off his shirt and stretched out on the sand.

  "Aren't you freezing?" I asked, trying hard not to stare at the neat row of muscles that lined his abs. Even in the hard winter light, the skin on his chest looked smooth and toned.

  He shrugged. "I want to build up a base before June," he explained. "That's when the serious sun hits." He tilted his chin up to the sky. "Listen, can you do something for me?"

  "Sure, anything." Here it comes, I thought. He's going to ask me to Spring Fling.

  "Can you time me?" he asked.

  I blinked. "Time you?"

  Tanner nodded. "I want to do ten minutes on each side." He glanced down at his perfect torso,

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  as if that explained everything. "You know, so I don't get lines." He pointed at my watch, his face darkening with concern. "You do have a second hand on there, right?"

  "Uh, sure," I told him. "Don't worry. Ten minutes."

  "Nice. You're the best."

  I watched as Tanner turned away from me and flipped open the latest issue of Maxim. I considered reading the Cosmo I'd stuck in my bag, but after one glance at the ocean, I closed my eyes and dove headfirst into the memory of my quarter birthday. Alex and I had collected seashells on this very same stretch of beach, just a few yards away. I giggled, remembering his bright green face.