Second Skin (19 page)

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

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?"

"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."

"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.

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.

Plus, I had nineteen new voice mails.

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

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

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 stab 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

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.

"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

"I still think it looks weird," Adrienne said. Her eyes skipped to my face and she added a hasty, "But if you think it's fine I'm sure it is."

I climbed down from the ladder and looked around the room. Not bad. Not too bad. Sure, the Little Dipper was upside down, and the black circle hanging from the ceiling looked more black eye than black hole. But all in all, the place was really shaping up. Nice and spacey. And we were just about done.

It was a good thing too. After almost a solid week of decorating, my hands were covered in paint. I could do just about anything with a glue gun, and I was pretty sure I'd be washing glitter

I faked a yawn and tried to lift my arms above my head. I got about as high as my shoulders before I flinched. The Skin was holding me back. When I'd woken up that morning, it felt tighter than ever. Like I was wearing a child's wet suit.

"Oh!" Jules squealed, bending and stretching alongside me. "Pre-dance calorie burner!" She tilted her head toward me knowingly. "My dress is so tight if I eat even one Twizzler I won't be able to zip it up."