“Better. Better,” Mrs. Sealer says.
I don’t know if she means it or not, but at least the giggles are gone. I glance at her in the hopes of catching sight of a smile, but she’s busy staring down at her clipboard.
Finally, Mrs. Sealer looks up. “Missy, you’re next,” she announces. I allow myself to think: Maybe she’ll smile at me now? Naturally, that’s when she chooses to squash any remaining hope that I actually made real progress. “Show our little Tay Tay how it’s done.”
Uggh, not that again. “Taylor,” I say.
Mrs. Sealer simply shrugs. Then turns her attention to Missy, making it perfectly clear that she’s done with me for the day.
I look down at my feet and glumly trudge off the stage. The Ugly Duckling is back with a vengeance.
thirty-nine
“No way!” Hannah yells, limping across her carpet toward her bed. “Who am I going to get to wear designs for a six-foot-tall model?”
I roll my eyes, pulling off the pinned faux-fur vest Hannah’s working on.
Hannah falls back on her bed and places her hands in front of her eyes. “Saying you want to quit the fashion show is completely freaking me out. And this is just adding to my horrible day.” She sighs.
“Banana, I didn’t know you had a bad day! What happened?” I ask.
“I didn’t want to upset you. I screwed up my ankle attempting another ollie after school at the skate park.” She shows me her bruised ankle.
“Oh my gosh.” I don’t know what to say. I should have asked Hannah about her limp right away. I’m so selfish. And I don’t want Hannah to be in pain AND model-less.
“I know, right? What is it a full moon or something?” She shrugs.
God, I’d be a horrible friend to quit now. “Fine. I’ll do it.” I plop in front of Hannah’s desk, type in Zach’s name, and click on his page. I’m surprised to see that it still says “in a relationship,” since I never accepted his request. Not so surprising is the one wall post from Nick that says “3B.” Yeah, three-B all right.
“I don’t get it. Why would Zach try to write that he’s in a relationship with me if he was only trying to collect points for some stupid list?” I look over at Hannah who’s still sprawled across her bed.
“First off, who cares? Second, I guess guys like Zach know how girls think.” Hannah faces me.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You need me to tell you?”
I look at her, totally clueless.
“Only that guys who are ‘in a relationship’ are way hotter than guys who are single,” Hannah answers, knowingly.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seems that Zach’s a very smart guy.”
I click on my page and reply to Jessica’s post, saying that yes, I will tutor her in math after school tomorrow. Then I robotically fulfill my other duties. “Maybe he was just doing the list thing because he’s on the basketball team and feels pressure from his teammates.”
“Are you freaking insane?” Hannah shakes her head.
I give Hannah the one answer that I know will make her stop hassling me about my boy problems. “Come on, let’s just do my fittings.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” She gingerly bounces off her bed, keeping weight off her injured right ankle, and grabs her tape measure. “Now, I just need one more measurement so I can put the finishing touches on the top.”
I walk over to her so she doesn’t have to put pressure on her poor ankle.
She wraps the tape measure across my chest. “You are going to look so fab. Zach will totally regret ever using you as his ‘bonus babe.’ ”
I try to hide my quizzical expression.
Fortunately, Hannah doesn’t notice that I’m not buying what she’s selling. She’s too intent on measuring me . . . and on sharing her thoughts on the Zach issue. “Tay, you have to admit that being worth more points is way better than being a regular five-pointer.” She playfully punches me in the arm.
“Yeah, it’s great.”
She pulls the tape measure tighter across my boobs. “Perfect.”
I wonder if there is any difference between my chest measurement and my actual boobs. Can it be negative? Am I a scientific marvel?
“Just one more finishing touch.” Hannah locks arms with me, and I shoulder her weight as she limps down the hallway toward her design room. When she arrives at the doorway, she grabs a hold of the wall and hobbles into the room.
Meanwhile, I hear Violet’s voice downstairs. I peek over the banister and into the open foyer. Matt is standing with her. At first, all I can make out is mumbles. So, not being someone who’s willing to pass up on this kind of opportunity, I quietly slip down the steps until I can hear actual words.
“Yup. We’re all set,” Violet says, handing Matt something in an envelope.
An envelope? Money? I scale a couple more steps. Is Vi running a dating ring? Is she the new B-Dub madam?
“You know I’d do anything for you,” Vi adds, wrapping her arm around Matt’s shoulders.
They walk away, and I lose sight of them. Then, I hear some lip smacking coming from the great room.
My curiosity quickly wins out. I tiptoe down the rest of the steps and peek in. Unfortunately, from my vantage point, I can’t spot the happy couple. Time to take another step. I close my eyes and count to three. One, two, three. . . . Opening them, I hold my breath and see . . .
Vi sprawled out across the coach, licking a lollipop. Matt is gone.
“Hey, Taylor!” Hannah’s mom, Celia, steps next to me, her matching Montgomery-platinum hair bouncing as she walks.
I try to come up with a spur-of-the-moment lie. “Uh . . . I was . . . uh . . .” Lying has never been my thing. “Thinking about getting something to eat, but then I changed my mind.”
“How’s basketball?” She smiles, oblivious to my sleuthing. “Sorry to hear about Richland. Can you believe you’re going to face them again on Saturday?”
My stomach flips for a zillion different reasons. Why was I spying on Vi and Matt? And how am I going to prepare for the biggest game of my life on Saturday?
After I’m done chatting basketball with Celia, I climb the steps two at a time (spider long-legs are good for something) and join Hannah in her bedroom.
“While I’m stuck in here, why don’t you raid my closet for an outfit for tomorrow?” Hannah says, moving the mountains of ripped magazines surrounding her on her bed.
Ignoring her, I grab the remote and flick the TV on. My head is spinning.
Hannah’s sprawled on her bed again, this time with her foot resting on a pillow. “Come on. Grab my Rebecca and Wolf ebony blazer and a black pair of heels.”
“I’m a size ten,” I remind her.
“Well, okay, Tay, I’ll give you that. But you need practice. Like basketball. You need to wear the heels the rest of the week so you won’t be so nervous on the runway.”
I stare at her like she has ten heads. Why do people keep thinking that shoe sizes are irrelevant?
“How about the heels you wore today during the rehearsal?” Hannah pulls the caramel threaded needle through the fur.
I move toward the door to grab the red heels from my bag. “These?”
Hannah scrunches her nose at my scarlet pumps. “Never mind.” She rests the fur vest on her lap. “Grab my black blazer and pair it with skinny jeans and a cool, loud tee. Then, see if your mom can take you out to snag a pair of black heels or something. Save the red ones for the show.”
I smile and tug the blazer off the hanger. “It’s too small.”
“Shrunken blazers are hip right now. Trust me.” Hannah grabs a magazine off her bed, shuffles through a few pages, and holds it up to me. “See. Now find a tee like this one.” She points at the skinny-mini model.
I peruse the closet for a T-shirt big enough to fit me. “How about this one?” I peek out, holding a lavender Billabong V-neck with white embellished flowers across the front.
“Perf
ect.” Hannah grins, satisfied.
Then I eye Hannah’s denim selection. It’s one thing to squeeze into one of her tees, but forget about her size-two jeans. Time to cut my losses. “And I have the perfect pair of jeans at home.” I say, mustering up enthusiasm I didn’t know I had.
“Sweet,” Hannah says, a grin the size of Beachwood’s football field on her face. “Don’t you just love the creative process?”
“Yeah. Love it.” I pump my fist.
Although fashion is Hannah’s thing, I’ll admit it—it’s kind of growing on me. Especially ever since I began walking the runway. I’m actually getting the hang of this outfit thing, loving all the attention (even if it was only for the 3B list), and think I’m starting to feel . . . well,pretty.
forty
I hightail it home from Hannah’s when I realize it’s past nine and I haven’t touched my homework. After I rush through my back door, I scale the steps.
“Spider!” My dad flips the television off and stands up. His face is red. “First, you skip your trainer appointment, then you show up at home past nine when you still have to work out?”
“Sorry. I lost track of time.” I stop at the bottom step. “I’ll go work out now in my room.” I jump the steps two at a time.
“Zach called me today,” Dad announces.
“What?” I snap my head back to face him.
“Are you parking with him in the hills?”
Did my dad seriously just ask me that? “No. What did he want?”
He raises his right eyebrow. “Zach wants to practice with me. He wants me to train him.”
“Seriously?”
My dad’s twisted face relaxes a bit. “So, he’ll be coming around a few times a week.”
Yikes.
“Anyway, remember to do your shoulder, quad, and calf work since you missed training today. The last thing you need is an injury.”
I muster up a grin, even though I’m exhausted. “Thanks, Dad,” I say and barrel up the rest of the steps.
Before I turn into my room, I cross the hallway to the master suite and peek in on Mom. Empty. I guess she’s out on one of her so-called auditions. Why is she never around lately? I could really use some motherly advice right about now.
Once I’m in my room, I grab a Nerf ball from my desk.
“Collins passes the ball to Thomas. She sets up for the three . . .” I take a step backward and take a shot. “And the crowd erupts! I’ve never heard them cheer this loud before for a state championship game. Amazing!”
I pick the ball up off the floor, back up, and run toward the net, dunking over and over again until I’m exhausted. “Watch Thomas dunk,” I announce in my commentator voice, and giggle at the made-up WNBA commentary. One day I’ll dunk for real.
After I finish a quick workout, my homework beckons, so I begrudgingly crack open Catcher in the Rye and log onto my computer. I should tackle my critical essay, but before I do, I quickly type a “happy birthday” to Zoe, chat with Tamika, and check my messages. In between, I make a short list:
Reasons Why Zach Did the 3B List1. It he didn’t do it, the guys would kick him off the team.
2. The team threatened to beat up his little sister.
3. His mom is sick and the prize for winning is something she’s always wanted.
4. He really is a jerk ☹
And then I pass out before ever touching my paper.
forty-one
The next day Hannah taps me with one of her crutches as I adjust my blazer. (She calls it “shrunken.” I call it “teeny tiny.”) Speaking of Hannah, I took her advice and paired the blazer with the loudest shirt I could think of—an oversized bright orange T-shirt from basketball camp. (Her Billabong tee ended up being too short by three inches). Then I threw on stonewashed blue skinny jeans from my mom’s L.A. High days and my red pumps. I figure it’s best to practice in the shoes I’m actually going to be wearing. In my pre-fashion show days, I wouldn’t have had the guts to wear something like this, but at this point, who cares? I survived life as a bonus babe and dogged my SoCal tryout. I might as well tackle the fashion scene. What else do I have to lose?
Looking at Hannah with her crutches, I realize that there are more important things to be worrying about than my new ensemble. “So, Banana, what did the doc say?” I ask.
Hannah leans on her crutches. “It’s a third-degree sprain. No skateboarding for six weeks.”
I let out a deep breath and fall into best-friend mode. Bending down to hug her, I stumble a bit on the heels and have to catch myself on my locker. “What about the fashion show?”
“The doc said I can still do it. But, it’s going to totally stink.” She blankly stares. “I feel like I’m never going to be able to pull it off. I have so much to do.”
“I’ll help you.” I smile and shut my locker.
Hannah takes another look at me. “What the heck are you wearing?”
“Like it?” I spin around the way Mrs. Sealer taught us and stumble some more on my heels.
“It’s, uh, different,” Hannah says, blinking her eyes a few times.
“I knew you’d be impressed.” I even open up my blazer and jut my hips out Violet-style. “I took your advice after all.”
“Okay, as your best friend it’s my duty to tell you . . . Taylor, your outfit is . . . shall we say, not working?”
“What? I did what we talked about.” I say, defensively.
“Yeah . . . you did. But maybe you took things a little too literally. If you’re going to wear a camp T-shirt, then stick with a smaller version and pair it with your usual sweats and sneaks. And if you’re going for the blazer, skinny jeans, and heels look, then you need a more form fitting, longer tee underneath. Or else, just go back to the way you used to dress. At least it’s consistent.”
“But, you told me to wear a loud T-shirt.” I look down at my orange shirt.
“A loud, small one, like the one I gave you or something cute. And red pumps don’t match jail-cell orange.” She juts out her lower lip.“ Sorry.”
I force a smile and swallow a lump in my throat, not wanting Hannah to see that ever since the 3B list, I’m feeling pretty low. I mean, she has enough stuff to deal with right now without her BMF (Best Model Friend) getting all emotional. “I’ll just change in the locker room.”
“Do you have an extra pair of sweats in your locker?” She sighs.
“I’m good.” This whole fashion thing is way too much hassle. Jeans and T-shirts from now on.
Hannah whimpers, resting her crutches next to my locker. “How am I going to walk the runway with you at the end of the show?”
“You can trick out your cast and your crutches and be the most stylish gimp out there.”
She smiles and lifts her crutch in the air, staring at it. “You’re right. Screw my ankle.” Hannah snatches back the Volcom tote.
I give Hannah one last hug before the bell rings. Then, I head toward English class and Matt who is probably enjoying a post-Vi afterglow. Yuck.
forty-two
I make a right into the classroom and settle into my seat. Fortunately, Mr. Ludwig is scribbling on the board, so he doesn’t notice that I’m a minute late. I open up to a blank page in my notebook and frantically write my Word of the Day. Since I fell asleep without touching my homework, I’ve spent the whole day trying to catch up. Plus, I can’t stop thinking about my mom. When I went into her room this morning, she was still sleeping, and normally, she never misses an opportunity to send me off to school.
All of a sudden, I feel the point of something hard digging into my back. I reach around to grab for it, and am excited to discover that the offending object is Matt’s leather bound notebook.
“What’s this, party boy?” I turn around and pry the notebook from his grasp.
“Easy there. You better simmer down now or I won’t show you what I wrote last night.” Matt’s M&M eyes are the size of saucers.
“That’d be difficult seeing as I’m already holdi
ng a certain something in my hands.” I wave the notebook at him.
“Oh, you think you’re so fast, Miss Center?”
“You know it!” I smile at him and open up the notebook.
Red
Lips.
Cheeks on a cold winter day.
Hearts.
Tell me, Sunshine, what should I say?
When I’m finished, I stare at the poem for a few more seconds, wondering if sex really does make a guy into mush. At least that’s what Hannah always says. She says girls have power over some guys. By the looks of this poem, I think she’s right. I mean, Vi certainly has a strong hold on Matt. She’s turning him into a complete mess, especially when she wears red silk tanks, like she did yesterday.
“Are you two sharing your Word of the Day?” Mr. Ludwig stops at our desks. Matt quickly shuts his notebook.
“Ummm. Yup, Mr. Ludwig. We bring in extra assignments to go with our Word of the Day theme.” Matt grins, showing off his chipped incisor.
“I see.” Ludwig lifts his round glasses for a second and eases into a smile. “It’s nice to see you both going the extra mile.” He puffs his chest out a bit and moves on to his next victim.
We both smirk and I hand him back his book.
“Anyway, about your poem . . .” I begin, tentatively. “Are you and Vi . . .”
That’s when I’m rudely interrupted. “Hey, Matthew,” Allison Webb yells from across the room after Mr. Ludwig steps into the hallway to speak with the assistant principal. “We had fun last night.”
Matt gives Allison a small grin.
“Are you hooking up with Violet?” I blurt out.
Matt cracks his knuckles. “Uh . . . I don’t know if you would exactly call it hooking up. We’ve hung out a few times.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Hey, Teri!” Allison motions at me with one hand and runs her fingers through her ebony hair with the other. “Teri,” she says again.
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