"Well, unless you want to blowtorch the cash box," I said, surprising myself, "it seems like you don't have a choice." I was tempted to toss in a "tough noogies" for good measure but decided to quit while I was ahead.
"God, you're pathetic," Kylie spit, but a muscle under her eye had started to twitch and I could see that I'd gotten to her.
"Tell me," I said. "Or bye-bye bay window."
"Look, I can't," she sputtered. Her hands were still behind her back and she stood rigid, as if she were afraid to move. "I'm not supposed to...you don't understand."
"I understand that money is often exchanged for goods and services," I pointed out.
Kylie sighed. Her shoulders drooped a little as she slowly pulled the catsuit out from behind her back.
I stepped closer for a better look. As I moved, the suit winked at me.
"Uh, that's not Victoria's Secret, is it?" I guessed. "I mean, what
is
that?"
Kylie stared down at the Skin with a wistful, almost reverent expression on her face. "This," she whispered, "is popular."
A ripple of anxiety shot down my spine.
"Look, why don't you keep the money?" I reasoned, thinking that my chances of becoming popular would be even more diminished if I was chopped up and living in Kylie's freezer. "It's okay. I'll just go now and you can, um, find your clothes and call Home Depot. The combination's really easy-two-four-six-eight-but I can write it down if you-"
"What, you don't believe me?" Kylie said, sauntering across the carpet toward her dresser. My discomfort seemed to have restored her confidence. "Well, it's true."
"What's true?" I asked.
"The Skin," Kylie said as she opened the bottom drawer and tucked the suit neatly inside. She pulled out a T-shirt and slipped it on over her head.
I was so relieved she wasn't naked anymore I actually felt a little faint. "The Skin?" I asked.
"You should be happy, you know," Kylie continued, plucking a pair of bikini undies from the drawer. "Everyone thinks popularity is a quality-like thick hair or a great sense of humor-when really it has nothing to do with any of that."
I stared at her. "It doesn't," I repeated, but the way it came out, it sounded more like a question.
"I don't get it," I said, shaking my head for what felt like the hundredth time. "You're saying that that
thing
is why you're so popular? How?"
Kylie flashed me a smile. "You know, I have absolutely no idea. I got it the night before freshman year-it was just sitting under my pillow along with a user's manual and a set of rules. I've been wearing it ever since."
I stared at her, waiting for a big laugh and a loud
"Kidding!"
When neither came, I finally spoke.
"And you didn't find this just a little strange?"
Kylie swiped a pair of terry-cloth sweatpants off her floor and pulled them on. "Well, sure. I mean, I almost threw the whole thing out." She reached up and swept her long blond hair into a high ponytail. "But then I read the rules and it..." She trailed off as if trying to remember. "I guess it just seemed too good to pass up. The note said there was one in every school, so I figured, why not?" She shrugged. "You know what I mean."
"Okay," I said, gathering my thoughts together. "You're saying that these
skins
are, like, everywhere?"
"And that's what makes them It-girls? Isn't that a little
Invasion of the Body Snatchers?"
Kylie snorted. "Hardly. I mean, this isn't a mind-control sort of thing. I'm still the same person, with or without the Skin. I guess it's just sort of..." She frowned, searching for the right word. "I don't know. Magic?"
I stared at her, not sure what to say.
"Listen, you can't tell anyone about this," Kylie warned. "I'm serious."
"I won't," I muttered. "It's too crazy for gossip."
Kylie laughed. "This from the girl willing to fork over her entire life savings just to sit at the cool table." She shot me a look. "It's not that crazy."
I snapped my head up and looked at Gwen. We were sitting in her kitchen, surrounded by cookbooks and various pots and pans. Her arm was extended, holding out a mixing bowl filled with some sort of bright yellow jelly.
I peered inside. "Mmm...looks good. Can I taste?"
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Thanks for tuning in. I've only been asking you for the past five minutes."
I swept my finger around the rim of the bowl and into my mouth. "Yum," I said. "Lemon?"
"It tastes great," I assured her. "Really."
"I'm not sure I can trust you," Gwen said, shaking her head. "What with your recent lobotomy and all."
"What lobotomy?" Alex asked, strolling into the room. He was carrying Gwen's Cuisinart in one hand and a pair of pliers in the other. "I think I fixed it," he told her, placing the machine on the counter. "But you have to quit overstuffing it. That's why it jams."
"Thanks," Gwen said as she poured an entire tray of ginger snaps down the Cuisinart's neck, ignoring Alex's glare. She nodded toward me. "I was just telling Sam she's been a serious space case lately."
I raised a hand in protest. "Please. I prefer the word
preoccupied."
"I don't know," Alex said slowly. He pulled out a stool and sat down at the counter.
"Preoccupied
sounds a little intellectual. Like you're trying to stop global warming or something."
"Hey!" I said. "How do you know I haven't been?"
Gwen and Alex shared a look, then burst out laughing.
I scowled. "Fine. So I've been a little out of it. Big deal."
He cleared his throat and straightened. "So, uh, how was geometry? I never heard from you this weekend."
I squinted my eyes, trying to remember the test I'd taken only the day before. There had been shapes, definitely. And numbers. None of it had made any sense, but I'd somehow managed to plow through, handing in the papers without thinking of their inevitable return to me: marked up with angry red slashes and a bright red "See me" at the top.
That was what happened when I attempted math without Alex.
"It was fine," I muttered. "I haven't gotten it back yet."
Alex pursed his lips. "Seriously, Sam, what's going on?" he asked, his voice quiet.
I looked back and forth between my friends. Three days had passed since I'd found out about the Skin and I still hadn't said a word. I felt
The truth was: I didn't want to tell them. I'd been trying, semisuccessfully, to convince myself that this was their fault. They were the ones with the ultranegative attitudes, the ones who mocked everything high school. So what, I reasoned, made the Skin any different?
Given what I'd just learned, I guess they kind of had a point. After all my coveting and craving, being popular wasn't such a riddle after all. It wasn't reserved for thin-limbed girls named Ashley. And more importantly, it wasn't some sort of indecipherable code specifically designed to keep people like me, with subpar hair and fashion-challenged wardrobes, out.
Teen Vogue
had been right all along. Popularity wasn't about who you were.
It was about what you wore.
I wish I could say that the realization was liberating, that the secret helped me get over the whole thing. I wish it helped me stop caring.
But knowing that popularity was as simple as
All I needed was the Skin.
Sadly, that was the only thought that felt truly liberating. I'd spent all of high school so far wishing I could trade up. Myself, my hair, my clothes. I'd wasted so much time and energy trying to become a better version of myself. I'd memorized every "How to Be Popular" article published in the last decade, to the point where I could recite not only the contents but also the author and date of publication. I'd suffered through so many painful and just plain stupid self-improvement ploys-from lazy push-up bras that refused to push up anything to body sugaring. (Don't ask. Just don't do it.) And all because I thought
I
was to blame for the total nonevent that was my high school career.
Well, now I knew. My lack of polish and social grace had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Popularity wasn't personal. The only thing keeping me from the top of the spirit pyramid was a thing. Apiece of
hosiery.
This was the real reason I kept the Skin to myself. If I said as much to Alex and Gwen, they'd only argue with me. They'd be completely disgusted, if they even believed me. And they'd definitely try to talk me out of what I was certain would be my next move.
I was going to steal the Skin.
It was an awful thing to think-and do-but really, the more I thought about it the more sense it made. Besides, what choice did I have? Kylie Frank had been wearing the Skin for almost two years. She'd used my hard-earned money to fix her window and, crisis averted, had plunged seamlessly back into her fab life. Wasn't there something wrong with that? Wasn't it time for her to share?
I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to shut out all the ugliness.
"Sam," Alex said. I opened one eye and looked at him. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Oh my god. The persimmons. Do you think you have food poisoning?" Gwen gasped and spun around. "I think we have some Pepto in the bathroom."
"No, no," I said, laughing in spite of myself. "I'm fine. I swear. I just..." I looked at Alex and said the first thing that popped into my head. "The test was a disaster. I shouldn't be allowed to
Alex smiled easily and placed his hand lightly on my shoulder. "Is that what's bothering you? Forget it. We'll crush them on the next one."
Gwen bent down and pulled open the oven door. The room immediately filled with comforting, familiar Gwen-scents: Cinnamon. Melted butter. Vanilla.
"Here," she said, deftly extracting a sheet of brightly covered pastries. "Persimmon squares make everything better."
"Plus," Alex told me, "they're squares. So technically, you're studying."
"Thanks," I said, leaning toward the sheet and pointedly ignoring the little twang in my chest.