Because the more I thought about it-and over the past few days it had been the only thing I thought about-the more I wondered: if popularity was so easy, then why couldn't I have it? Why not me?
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.
78
And I wanted it. Desperately.
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
79
open a geometry book without you around to chaperone."
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.
80
ELEVEN
I t's possible to justify anything. Because, really, aren't there at least two sides to every situation? Isn't that what's so wrong with the paparazzi's relentless persecution of celebrities?
This is what I told myself as I snuck across the Franks' yard and swiped the spare key from underneath the flowerpot, like I'd seen Kylie do a hundred times before.
This isn't evil, I reasoned as I slid the key into the lock. It's active. Proactive. I was trying to turn my life around. I was evening the social scale...and if I happened to tip the balance a little in my favor, well, I was only human.
81
I let myself into Kylie's house and climbed the stairs. I'd been stressing about the whole breaking-and-entering thing for almost a week but it turned out to be a lot easier than I'd expected. So easy, in fact, I wondered why my whole street wasn't robbed more often. Like on a daily basis.
Even though I was sure no one was home, I tiptoed all the way to Kylie's bedroom, just to be sure. I
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.
78
And I wanted it. Desperately.
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
79
open a geometry book without you around to chaperone."
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.
80
ELEVEN
I t's possible to justify anything. Because, really, aren't there at least two sides to every situation? Isn't that what's so wrong with the paparazzi's relentless persecution of celebrities?
This is what I told myself as I snuck across the Franks' yard and swiped the spare key from underneath the flowerpot, like I'd seen Kylie do a hundred times before.
This isn't evil, I reasoned as I slid the key into the lock. It's active. Proactive. I was trying to turn my life around. I was evening the social scale...and if I happened to tip the balance a little in my favor, well, I was only human.
81
I let myself into Kylie's house and climbed the stairs. I'd been stressing about the whole breaking-and-entering thing for almost a week but it turned out to be a lot easier than I'd expected. So easy, in fact, I wondered why my whole street wasn't robbed more often. Like on a daily basis.
Even though I was sure no one was home, I tiptoed all the way to Kylie's bedroom, just to be sure. I
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