Second Skin (17 page)

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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

"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

"You guys make a great couple too," Jules assured me. "Way better than Tanner and Kylie." She toyed with 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.

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.

"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.

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.

"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.

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.

"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