Second Skin (6 page)

Dressing quickly, I flew down the steps and out the front door, careful not to let it slam. Then I cut across the front yard and positioned myself behind the tree closest to Kylie. When I poked my head out, I saw what had her so upset.

The picture window on the first floor of her house was shattered. The remains were scattered everywhere-the grass, the keg, the porch. It was a mess.

"I can't believe it," Kylie was saying into the phone. She was still wearing her outfit from the night before-a gray trapeze dress with knee-high black patent leather boots. And even though her clothes looked slept-in and her hair was a little more rumpled than usual, she looked way better than I did despite my perfect bedtime hygiene and nine-plus hours of sleep.

"Seriously," she continued. "How drunk can you get? They threw a
keg
out my window." She paused as the person on the other end responded. "Okay, fine. The beer funnel was a bad idea. But Ella, my parents get home
tomorrow.
They're going to
kill
me."

I leaned forward a little, then stepped out

"I
did
ask them to pay for it," Kylie snapped. "Nobody has any money." She frowned slightly, raking her hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help. Listen, I'll call you back, okay? I need to think."

I watched as Kylie flipped her phone shut and buried her head in her hands. My pulse kicked up a notch as the realization hit. For the first time in my whole, completely lackluster high school career, I had something that Kylie Frank needed.

I ran back up to my bedroom and grabbed the pink metal cash box my grandmother had given to me when I was eight. At the time I'd used it for my various collections-candy, marbles, shells-but I'd cleaned it out when I'd started babysitting. At this point it was stuffed. Almost nine hundred dollars, not including the forty I'd made Friday night. I had no idea how much Kylie needed-I wasn't sure if she knew. Still, it was something.

As I walked downstairs and back outside, I racked my brain for a proverb about kegs and opportunity. The equivalent of "when one door closes another opens." The closest I got was "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer," which actually

But when I reached Kylie, I hesitated. The usual anxiety triggered by close proximity to A-listers twisted my stomach. Money or no money, this was Kylie Frank. Sure, I'd sat behind her. I'd walked near her. I'd studied her from a safe distance and listened in on her conversations. But my one and only attempt to engage her in an actual conversation had crashed and burned. Completely.

I looked down at the cash box and winced. It reeked eighth birthday. Why hadn't I just shoved the money into my pocket?

Quit
stalling,
I ordered.
It's now or never.

I opened my mouth. "Hey," I said.

Kylie looked up at me, her eyes narrowing slightly, like she was trying to place my face somewhere in her full, party-soaked life. Her expression reminded me of all the times I'd stood in front of my closet searching hopelessly for clothing I simply didn't own. Kylie Frank could think all day; she'd never find me.

It was painful to watch.

"I'm Sam," I said quickly. "Your neighbor. And I, uh, sit behind you in homeroom."

She waved toward the broken window. "Um, I'm sort of in the middle of a crisis here."

I took a deep breath. "Right. I mean, that's why I came over. I think maybe I can help." I flipped open the cash box and pushed it forward.

Kylie's gaze settled on the neat roll of bills, her blue eyes widening with surprise. "I don't get it," she said, after a minute. "You came over to give me all your money? Just like that?"

I shrugged. "Um, sort of. Well, maybe not all. But some. And I'm not
giving
it to you. It's more of a loan."

Kylie leaned back against the steps and stared up at me, cool and expectant.

"We could work out, like, a payment plan," I said, pushing out the words.

"A payment plan," Kylie repeated, her voice flat.

I cleared my throat. Why was this so hard? "Right. Weekly. Or, I don't know, monthly, if that works better for you."

She straightened slightly. "Why?" she asked. For the first time ever, she sounded genuinely interested in my answer.

I stared down at my feet. What could I say? You're
the most popular girl in school and by

"I don't know. It's just-" I swallowed. "Why do you care? You need the money. I have money-"

"I don't know," Kylie said. "It just seems weird."

I looked at her. She was trying to sneer now, but something held her back.

Nerves,
I realized with d rush.
Kylie Frank is nervous.

Go on,
whispered a little voice inside my head. You're
making progress. She needs you.

I slapped the lid over the cash box and gave the combination dial a playful twist. "You're right," I said cheerfully. "Just forget it. Tell your parents I'm really sorry about the window. And let me know what homeschooling's like."

I spun around and headed back across the yard. I'd barely cleared the porch when Kylie's voice rang out.

"Wait!"

I turned as Kylie walked toward me.

That's right. Kylie Frank-the Kylie Frank-was following
me.

"I'll take it," Kylie said, extending her hand. "Let me get the window fixed and we can work something out. That payment plan."

Kylie shot me a measuring sort of look, as if trying to decide something about me or the situation in general.

"I won't ditch you," she said finally. "I'll get you the money. I don't have a job or anything, but I'll figure it out."

Gingerly, I placed the cash box in her hand. "Deal," I said, relieved.

I watched as Kylie opened her front door and disappeared inside. She hadn't bothered to thank me, but I decided not to let that bother me.

I was at my front door when I remembered the cash box's lock. Kylie would need the combination if she ever wanted to spend the money. Turning around, I walked back to Kylie's house and rang the bell. I could hear music playing-something loud and poppy I'm sure every high schooler in the country would recognize except me.

"Hello?" I called out, rapping my hand against the door. It swung open and I stepped inside.

Kylie's house had the exact same layout as mine. It was trashed from the party the night before.

Still, it looked a lot cooler.

"Kylie?" Following the music, I headed up the stairs and walked down the hall toward an open door.

The room was empty, but the television and stereo were both on and I could hear water running. Standing in the doorway, I studied the room, absorbing the pale blue walls covered with friendship collages and framed pictures. There was' Kylie in her pep squad uniform, making poly-blend look sexy. There she was again, just the perfect amount of soaked, washing cars for Unicef with the rest of the A-listers. It was all there, right in front of me: homecoming queen, Spring Fling, fall fashion show...the high school life that existed for everyone but me.

I turned away from the pictures and then really wished I hadn't.

Kylie Frank was standing in front of me, completely naked.

So sure, the au naturel factor was definitely disconcerting. But there Was something else going on too.

Something far more disturbing.

Kylie lifted her arms up behind her neck and unzipped her skin.

The material started to shimmer. The looser it got, the more it sparkled. What had moments before spread over Kylie's body and disappeared like a second skin now looked more like a nude-colored catsuit. Or a body stocking dusted with glitter.

Was it a girdle? But I was pretty sure nobody but my grandma Frieda even wore girdles anymore.

Or did she? I narrowed my eyes slightly as Kylie stepped completely out of the suit. She still looked good: flat stomach, toned limbs and not a ripple or pucker in sight. But her skin had lost its tawny, sun-kissed glow. It looked pastier, like the pale, dry midwinter skin everyone on the East Coast-myself included-suffered through.

Whatever it was she'd been wearing was better than spring break and a tanning bed combined.

"What is that?" I blurted out.

Startled, Kylie turned her head, met my gaze and screamed.

"What are you doing here?" she shrieked. The suit was now completely off, and it rested in her hands, limp and twinkling. When she saw me looking at it, she shoved it behind her back and out of sight.

I wiped my suddenly clammy hands on my jeans. Even though Kylie was the naked one, there was something in her tone that made me feel vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I-I just wanted to give you the combination to the cash box-"

She was panicked. I could see it in her face. Her eyes were wide and jumpy and her cheeks were drawn. It was weird to see her like this, so anxious and, well, scared.

But it also gave me strength. Because I knew, right then and there, that there was more to Kylie's mystery undergarment than seamless support and an invisible panty line. And-call it insight born from years of frustrated popularity fantasies-I also knew that it was somehow tied to my social success.

"What were you wearing before?" I demanded, trying desperately to keep my eyes focused on her face. I'd never actually had a conversation with a completely naked person, and it was very disconcerting. Not to mention icky. "You have to tell me."

Kylie shook her head. "If you don't get out right now, I'll call the cops."

I squared my shoulders. "Good idea. Maybe they'll fix your window and roll the keg off the lawn."

Her eyes flashed. "I mean it! Leave!"

I crossed my arms over my chest and forced what I hoped was a don't-mess-with-me look onto my face. "Not until you explain."