"Hey, babe?" Tanner asked, glancing up from an article entitled "The Best Badass Movie Weapons."
"You're still timing me, right? I mean, I just don't want you to break your concentration or anything. It's, like, my tan has to be even, you know?"
"Eight minutes left," I assured him.
He leaned over and gave me a quick, rough peck, then settled back into the sand and closed his eyes.
Yeah, the guy was a little vain. And his kisses were hardly the mind-blowing affairs I'd dreamed of. Still, he was an all-star lacrosse
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player and Woodlawn god. Plus, he was too hot for words.
It wasn't that my ultimate was less than ultimate. Real Tanner was just a little different from dream Tanner. A tiny bit of disappointment, I reasoned, was only natural. Expected, even.
Besides, the most important thing was that he liked me. Enough to ask me to Spring Fling on the drive home. We were a couple. The couple. And that was amazing.
I swung my backpack over my shoulder and followed Alex out of the room.
"See you next session," Alex said coolly, moving past me down the hall. He didn't wave or look back. Not once.
For a few seconds, I considered going after him.
You don't need to, chirped a little voice inside my head. You have everything you want.
It was true, too. For the new Sam Klein, the halls of Woodlawn High were lined with low-hanging fruit.
I was definitely in season.
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TWENTY-FIVE
" I think it's a tragedy that this school won't give us money for refreshments," Gina announced, with maximum drama. She shot an accusing glare around the table, as if each member of the Spring Fling planning committee was personally responsible for what was shaping up to be a pretzel-free evening.
"Seriously," Jules said, nodding emphatically. "What does that tell us about Woodlawn?"
Absolutely nothing? I thought as I pushed my face into what I hoped was a look of serious outrage. I glanced down at my watch. How was it possible that only twenty minutes had gone by?
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"Isn't there any money left over for food?" Heidi asked, looking up from her knitting.
Gina opened her green I Am Not a Plastic Bag bag and pulled out the black bankbook where we logged our expenses. She flipped through a few pages and frowned. "We spent it all on the DJ."
I stifled a yawn and forced myself to pay attention. Ever since I was a freshman, I'd invested hours-entire days, even-fantasizing about events like Spring Fling and fall fashion show. But I'd never actually wondered how they came to be or what sort of planning was involved.
Well, now I knew.
The committees worked hard. Really hard. And at incredibly boring things. Like deciding which brand of poster board was the most cost-effective and which cleanup crew would be the most reliable.
And they took everything so seriously, too. That was the most amazing part about it. Every glue stick purchased represented a heated twenty-five-minute debate. The theme selection alone had practically resulted in a shoot-out between those in favor of "A Space Odyssey" and those who believed "Love Is All You Need" (after a bloody battle, space kicked love's butt).
It wasn't that I didn't want to go to the dance. I did. I'd even bought my dress-a black mini with
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a scoop neck and buttons down the back--along with my first pair of real stilettos (they were cloth, not leather, so I figured my mother would only throw a half fit). It was the sort of ensemble that just a few months ago had seemed off-limits but now I felt completely entitled to.
But I just couldn't seem to match the rest of the committee's enthusiasm for tissue paper and disco balls.
"I guess we'll just have to hold off on the refreshments for now," Gina said, the same way another person would say "I have six weeks to live." She sighed forlornly and glanced down at her clipboard. "Okay," she said, shaking off her despair. "Moving on. Decorations. Any ideas?"
"Pastels?" Adrienne suggested.
"Too girly," Heidi said, waving a knitting needle. "Besides, the theme's space."
Adrienne wrinkled her nose. She'd lobbied heavily for love and was obviously still feeling bitter.
"Glitter," I blurted out, surprising myself. Color rushed to my cheeks as the heads around the table swiveled in my direction. "It's just, well, since the theme is space maybe we could cut the solar system out of cardboard and cover everything in glitter or even buy those glow-in-the-dark stars...." I gulped, absorbing
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the stares and painful silence. "Or not," I finished weakly.
Gina flashed me a smile. "Fantastic," she declared as the room erupted into the sort of appreciative murmurs and congratulatory remarks usually reserved for Academy Award winners. "Just great."
"Really," breathed Jules, as if I'd just handed her a lifetime supply of Gamier. "I can't believe we didn't think of that."
Hmmm...
I shifted in my chair, trying hard to appreciate the praise and accept it all at face value. But it was sort of tough. I knew my idea was cute, but it was hardly Nobel Prize-worthy. It wasn't even particularly original. If I hadn't suggested it, I was pretty sure someone else would have.
I rubbed the Skin through the sleeve of my sweater. Was that all this was? If I stepped into the bathroom and slipped the Skin off (assuming I could-this morning it took me almost a half hour to wriggle out of it), would I return as invisible as I'd been this time last year? Was all the worship triggered by the stolen Skin?
You could put it to the test, murmured an incredibly unwelcome--and extremely annoying-voice in my head. You could remove the Skin and see where that leaves you.
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So I did.
Abruptly, I stood and walked out of the room. When I reached the bathroom, I locked myself into the first stall, ripped the Skin from my body (literally-at this point, the Skin put superglue to shame) and stuffed it into my backpack. Then I took my plain old one-skinned self out for a test drive.
I made it about halfway down the hall. That was when the panic set in. I remembered the A-list's snooty disregard for the pre-Skin me. All those nights babysitting, channel surfing and wondering when my life was actually going to happen. What if I had to go back to that? I couldn't deal. I wasn't ready.
I needed the Skin.
I ran back to the bathroom and slipped it back on, relieved as it poured over my body. I headed back to the meeting, not minding the Skin's supersqueeze.
"Are you okay?" Gina asked as I pulled in my chair. "You ran out of here so fast. We were worried."
"Yeah, I, uh, just realized I forgot to say goodbye to Tanner. I wanted to catch him before he left."
Jules smiled teasingly. "It's so cute how you guys are so in love."
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I leaned back. Maybe I was being too hard on myself before. Maybe my idea wasn't as generic as I'd thought. Maybe nobody else knew about glow-in-the-dark stars...
"So, I guess that settles it," Gina said. "Thanks to Sam's brilliance, we've got the decorations all figured out."
"So that just leaves refreshments, right?" Heidi asked, unwinding some more yarn.
Gina frowned. "It's a real problem. After all our other expenses, we have less than fifty dollars to spend on food-and we need enough for the entire school."
"I know someone who might be able to help," I said, surprising myself again. Okay, so maybe my decorations idea wasn't all that groundbreaking. But this was pure genius.
"Really?" Gina asked. "Who?"
"I'll go talk to her now," I said, ignoring the question and leaving out the not-so-minor detail that the person I had in mind for the job was no longer speaking to me.
"Uh, great," Gina said as I grabbed my bag and raced out the door.
"Want some company?" Jules called after me, her voice hopeful. "I'll come with."
But it was too late. I was already gone.
***
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The p
lan was simple, I decided as I tore through the mall fifteen minutes later. All I had to do was get Gwen to stop hating me and agree to cater Spring Fling for free. It was a tall order, definitely, but not completely impossible.
When I'd called Gwen, her mom had told me that she was at Williams-Sonoma. I found her standing in front of the Le Creuset display, testing the weight of a blue frying pan. "Oh!" she said sweetly as I plowed down the aisle. "If it isn't Woodlawn High's celebutard of the moment."
Okay, I was dead. Beyond dead. I was puree.
"I'm really sorry about everything," I gushed, struggling to catch my breath. (All those torturous pep squad practices and I still couldn't run through a shopping center? How was that even possible?) "I wanted to call you and straighten things out but I-"
"Forget it," she said, cutting me off with a snort. I took an involuntary step backward. There was something a little menacing about the way she was shifting the pan from one hand to the other. "I'm the one who should be apologizing." She looked at me, her eyes stormy. "I'm sure your high-gloss, highlighted friends are pining away for you at this very moment."
"Listen," I said, suddenly exhausted. "I'm really sorry. I know I've been unreliable and
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I'm sorry if I've been so out of touch. But you know, you and Alex are the ones who stopped talking to me."
Gwen flipped the frying pan over to check the price, sighed and dropped it back on to the table. "Please. Don't even try to blame-shift. You're guilty of blow-off." She paused, considering. "In the first degree."
Clearly, this wasn't working. I needed another tack.
"Look," I said slowly as Gwen flipped open a book entitled Tarts for a Tart. "I'm sorry I messed up, but I'm here now. And I actually wanted to talk to you about something."
"I wonder if I could replace Grand Marnier with Cointreau," Gwen mused loudly, head bent over a recipe entitled, "Tart and Tipsy!"
"I really have to get my hands on a fake ID so I can start buying liqueur."
"Well, um, next weekend's Spring Fling and, you know, I'm on the planning committee." Ignoring Gwen's disdainful eye roll, I pushed on. "We're having a little trouble deciding what to do about refreshments, since we want them to be really good." I took a deep breath and did my best to ignore the "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire" chant that was now blasting through my head. "So I mentioned your name."
Gwen gaped at me. "Me? Why?"
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"I thought you might want to cater."
"What do you mean cater?" she asked, clapping the book shut. "All you need is a few bags of cheese curls and some punch and you're good to go."
"Not if you take the job," I persisted. "You could serve anything you wanted. Meringues. Biscotti. Eight different kinds of brownies. Go crazy."
"I don't think so," Gwen said, narrowing her eyes, which, I noticed, had started to shine with interest. "You know I never set foot in Woodlawn outside of mandatory school hours."
"Okay," I said, thinking fast. "Then treat it as a job, not a social event. You'll be working."
"I do need to break in my new ramekins," Gwen murmured, eyeing the tart book longingly.
"Great," I encouraged heartily, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn't know a ramekin if one bit me. "The committee can't pay a lot, but-"
"I can't scrimp on quality," Gwen cut in. "But the manager at Marvelous Markets gives me a frequent-shopper discount. Besides, I wouldn't be doing this for the money." She paused, then added: "If I do this."
"Definitely."
Gwen leaned back against the bookshelf and folded her arms across her chest. "Fine," she announced loudly. "But I have some terms."
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Oh my. "Anything," I said, plastering an accommodating smile on my face.
"I'm in charge of the menu, not Jules or Gina or anyone else." She sniffed loudly. "If I see a single Dorito or Frito-or any other sort of ito-I quit."
"Got it. You're in charge."
"And no cheesy pop music."
I looked at her. "Um, I think that might be sort of hard," I said. "It's a high school dance."
Gwen sighed. "Fine. Then how about nothing in the top ten?"
I shook my head.
"Come on," Gwen pleaded. "I can handle top twenty, but anything under ten makes me gag."
"Fine," I said. "I'll see what I can do."
Gwen grabbed the tart book and started flipping through the pages. The touch alone seemed to trigger a contact high. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes wide and shining. "I think I'll make something with pears," she muttered. "And maybe almonds."
You did it, I thought, resisting the urge to give myself a brief round of applause. I'd found a way to set things right with Gwen and prove that she had a place in my new-and-improved life. And I'd solved Spring Fling's refreshment woes, too. The pep pack was going to love me. Even more.
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"Are Clementines still in season?" Gwen wondered aloud. She pushed her face so close to the cookbook she was practically making out with the page.
Should I feel guilty about this? I wondered. Gwen was obviously thrilled at the prospect of her very first catering gig, but did the fact that she was also solving a problem for me-and didn't even know it-mean that I was using her?
At this point it was sort of hard to tell. I sighed and reached into my bag to grab my cell phone. It was, of course, ringing.
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TWENTY-SIX
F orty minutes. I had forty minutes to get home, change, write a paper on the New Deal and study for a biology quiz. Then I had to head back to school to catch the rest of the lacrosse game and brainstorm fund-raising ideas for pep squad.
Plus, I had nineteen new voice mails.
Nineteen.
If I didn't start callbacks now, the number would double by the end of the day. I'd be up all night wading through messages. Plus, there was the geometry situation to deal with. I'd probably end up copying Jules's work. Again. And even though cheating off her was both crime
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and punishment rolled up in one, it was still cheating.
But what choice did I have? There just wasn't enough time.
I glanced at my watch and tried to pick up my pace. Gina had offered me a ride but I'd turned her down. I'd been in the mood to walk. Or maybe it was that I wanted to be alone, I realized now as I stepped into a huge puddle of gray slush. Lately, whenever I moved, I was either on my cell or with an entourage-always answering, responding or reacting. It felt nice not to do that.
I looked up and found myself staring at a sign featuring two ultrasmiley men with entirely too much hair. Ben and Jerry. Even though it was freezing outside, I was tempted to order a cone. I'd skipped lunch for knitting club and hadn't eaten a thing all day.
Through the window, I perused the list of flavors, then remembered my abbreviated pep squad uniform. It showed every roll, pad and bulge. On the other hand, it didn't seem to matter. And I was already late. Why not indulge?
I placed my hand on the door, then froze when I saw the store's only two customers.
Ella and Kylie were sitting on the black stools that lined the counter. A huge bowl of ice cream rested between them, smothered in brownie chunks, whipped cream and pretty much every
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other topping imaginable. I narrowed my eyes, focusing on Kylie. I hadn't really thought about her since the pep squad meltdown a few weeks back. After a few days, the talk around school had faded and even though I saw her every morning in homeroom, she and Ella kept to themselves. I barely noticed Kylie Frank anymore.
Inside the store, Ella's lips moved and Kylie threw her head back and laughed. She wasn't wearing any makeup and her hair was pulled into a messy ponytail that swung back and forth, skimming her gray sweatshirt. Unlike her first days without the Skin, her cheeks were flushed with pink and her face was smooth and worry-free. She looked fresh, as if she'd just stepped off the set of an Ivory soap commercial. And she looked happy. She looked, I realized with the first sta
b of envy I'd felt since donning the Skin, better than ever.
Now both Kylie and Ella were laughing. Actually, laughing was an understatement. They were borderline hysterical, clutching their stomachs and convulsing. Their mirth was so intense I could push my face up against the glass for a better look without even worrying they'd see me.
I tried to remember the last time I'd had an afternoon like that. No meetings. No practice. No
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pressure. Just hanging out and getting silly. I couldn't pretend it had ever happened with Jules or Gina. The closest I'd come to hysterics with them, or any other member of the pep pack, was when I'd tried to do a split and couldn't get up. Nope, nothing like the persimmon-square afternoon at Gwen's house had happened with my new friends.
Okay, enough, I told myself, backing away from the door. What are you even thinking? You ruined Kylie's life and you're still jealous of her? You're a nightmare. Get over it.
I turned roughly away and trudged down the street. Sure, Kylie Frank had time to relax. What else did she have to do? Her rung had dropped considerably on the popularity ladder. Mine, on the other hand, was shiny and polished. Numero uno. My life was perfect. I had no reason to complain, because, really, I could do whatever I wanted.
So long as popularity gave me the go-ahead.
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TWENTY-SEVEN
" I think Jupiter looks sort of crooked," Adrienne announced, frowning up at me as I stood on the stepladder desperately trying to balance a jumbo roll of masking tape, a cardboard planet and myself.
"Wait," I said, teetering slightly. "Is it droopy or just tilted? Because it's supposed to be tilted. All the planets are on an axis."
"God, how do you even know that?" Jules said proudly, as if I were her kid and had just made the honor roll.
I shrugged, sending a silent thank-you to
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Alex. If it weren't for him, my knowledge of space would still be limited to the occasional bowl of Lucky Charms and TBS airings of Star Wars. Our geometry tutorials were still tense, but last session I'd managed to convince him to blow off the Pythagorean theorem and give me a crash course in astronomy. It had taken the entire period-easily twice the amount of time a normal, science-friendly brain would've needed-for the information to soak in. And while I was still no Carl Sagan, I'd walked away armed with enough information about orbits, planets and moons to transform the Woodlawn High cafeteria into a galaxy far, far away.
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