corner of the room.
"I'm about to start dinner," she said. Her voice was clipped and reminded me of when she'd mistaken me for one of Kylie's friends. "Have you finished your homework?"
"Not yet. I'm working on it."
Mrs. Frank frowned. "Those boxes aren't going to just pop open and unpack themselves, Kylie."
"I know. " A slight edge had crept into Kylie's voice.
"Well, we've been here for a month. Your father and I are almost done with every other
85
room in the house," her mother said as her eyes zeroed in on Kylie's cell phone. She sighed. "Please don't tell me you've been on the phone this whole time."
"I wasn't."
Mrs. Frank turned and placed her hand on the doorknob. "I'm heading back downstairs. I thought I'd just make some pasta and a salad."
"Sure," Kylie said. I could tell she was relieved. She'd definitely gotten off easy.
"Please don't make me take away your phone," her mother said quietly.
She closed the door behind her and I watched as Kylie sank back down onto the bed.
So, I thought. There are certain things the Skin can't protect you from. Like parents.
Was Kylie wishing, like I had so many times, that she had a different sort of mother? A mom you could take shopping without fear of public humiliation? The sort of mom who offered advice without judgment and enjoyed the occasional ice cream pig-out slash heart-to-heart?
Maybe Kylie Frank and I shared something else in common besides nine hundred dollars and the secret to popularity.
Kylie walked across the room through an arched doorway I assumed led to her bathroom. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of water
86
running and Kylie returned, stripping off her clothes.
There was the Skin-smooth and perfect. I watched as she reached behind her neck and unzipped, then peeled the whole thing off. It hung limply in her hands as she stepped across the room, opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and tucked it neatly inside.
My heart pounded as Kylie stepped back inside the bathroom and shut the door.
It was now or never.
There was only one small problem. Okay, two: my legs had stopped working, and I was on the verge of hyperventilating.
I took a deep breath. I've never stolen anything in my life, I thought. And, really, what has Kylie Frank ever done to me?
I remembered Kylie's face as her mother was lecturing her. She'd looked small, somehow. Not nearly as poised. Or perfect.
I pushed myself onto my feet. I couldn't do it. It just wasn't going to happen.
I walked across Kylie's room, fully committed to my decision.
I was halfway to the door when it hit me. Full force.
Popularity was everywhere: on the friendship collages that wallpapered Kylie's bedroom; the twelve new e-mails that had just popped up
87
on Kylie's iBook; and in the framed picture on Kylie's nightstand...of Kylie kissing Tanner Mullins.
Kylie was kissing Tanner Mullins.
I stared at the picture. It was a great shot. Tanner leaned into Kylie, their faces flushed with excitement. Kylie's head tilted off to one side, playful in a sexy, kitten-heels sort of way.
They looked so perfect. So romantic. So very, very high school...
I turned my back on the picture and retraced my steps across the room.
Slowly, deliberately, I opened the chest and grabbed the Skin.
I held my breath and tiptoed out of the room. A door was open at the end of the hall and I could hear the murmur of voices. Kylie's parents, I guessed.
I stepped carefully down the stairs, trying to avoid any attention-grabbing creaks, and shot out the front door.
And then I ran.
88
TWELVE
C heap nylons. If you're wondering what it feels like to hold popularity in your hands, head directly to the hosiery aisle at your nearest Target and rip open a carton of nylons. Avoid name brands; they're way too high-end. Popularity is more Hanes than Donna Karan. It's totally synthetic, without a touch of silk.
And it was mine. All mine. When I got back to my room, I shut my door and spread the Skin out on my
"I'm about to start dinner," she said. Her voice was clipped and reminded me of when she'd mistaken me for one of Kylie's friends. "Have you finished your homework?"
"Not yet. I'm working on it."
Mrs. Frank frowned. "Those boxes aren't going to just pop open and unpack themselves, Kylie."
"I know. " A slight edge had crept into Kylie's voice.
"Well, we've been here for a month. Your father and I are almost done with every other
85
room in the house," her mother said as her eyes zeroed in on Kylie's cell phone. She sighed. "Please don't tell me you've been on the phone this whole time."
"I wasn't."
Mrs. Frank turned and placed her hand on the doorknob. "I'm heading back downstairs. I thought I'd just make some pasta and a salad."
"Sure," Kylie said. I could tell she was relieved. She'd definitely gotten off easy.
"Please don't make me take away your phone," her mother said quietly.
She closed the door behind her and I watched as Kylie sank back down onto the bed.
So, I thought. There are certain things the Skin can't protect you from. Like parents.
Was Kylie wishing, like I had so many times, that she had a different sort of mother? A mom you could take shopping without fear of public humiliation? The sort of mom who offered advice without judgment and enjoyed the occasional ice cream pig-out slash heart-to-heart?
Maybe Kylie Frank and I shared something else in common besides nine hundred dollars and the secret to popularity.
Kylie walked across the room through an arched doorway I assumed led to her bathroom. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of water
86
running and Kylie returned, stripping off her clothes.
There was the Skin-smooth and perfect. I watched as she reached behind her neck and unzipped, then peeled the whole thing off. It hung limply in her hands as she stepped across the room, opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and tucked it neatly inside.
My heart pounded as Kylie stepped back inside the bathroom and shut the door.
It was now or never.
There was only one small problem. Okay, two: my legs had stopped working, and I was on the verge of hyperventilating.
I took a deep breath. I've never stolen anything in my life, I thought. And, really, what has Kylie Frank ever done to me?
I remembered Kylie's face as her mother was lecturing her. She'd looked small, somehow. Not nearly as poised. Or perfect.
I pushed myself onto my feet. I couldn't do it. It just wasn't going to happen.
I walked across Kylie's room, fully committed to my decision.
I was halfway to the door when it hit me. Full force.
Popularity was everywhere: on the friendship collages that wallpapered Kylie's bedroom; the twelve new e-mails that had just popped up
87
on Kylie's iBook; and in the framed picture on Kylie's nightstand...of Kylie kissing Tanner Mullins.
Kylie was kissing Tanner Mullins.
I stared at the picture. It was a great shot. Tanner leaned into Kylie, their faces flushed with excitement. Kylie's head tilted off to one side, playful in a sexy, kitten-heels sort of way.
They looked so perfect. So romantic. So very, very high school...
I turned my back on the picture and retraced my steps across the room.
Slowly, deliberately, I opened the chest and grabbed the Skin.
I held my breath and tiptoed out of the room. A door was open at the end of the hall and I could hear the murmur of voices. Kylie's parents, I guessed.
I stepped carefully down the stairs, trying to avoid any attention-grabbing creaks, and shot out the front door.
And then I ran.
88
TWELVE
C heap nylons. If you're wondering what it feels like to hold popularity in your hands, head directly to the hosiery aisle at your nearest Target and rip open a carton of nylons. Avoid name brands; they're way too high-end. Popularity is more Hanes than Donna Karan. It's totally synthetic, without a touch of silk.
And it was mine. All mine. When I got back to my room, I shut my door and spread the Skin out on my
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