Second Skin (9 page)

When I'd first found out about the Skin, Kylie was removing it. And this afternoon she'd taken it off again to shower. So clearly, you didn't have to wear the Skin all the time.

I was making progress already.

But then there was the whole maintenance issue. I had no idea how to wrap my head around that one. I mean, I had the Skin, great. But how was I supposed to wash it? This wasn't the sort of thing you could research on Wikipedia-or by reading a box of Tide. Actually, forget Tide. Maybe I needed special soap. Or was the Skin dry clean only?

Yikes.
What if I accidentally washed the popularity right out?

Maybe it was best to avoid washing altogether, even though Kylie Frank had worn the Skin less than a half hour ago. Or was that completely unsanitary, like buying used underwear or something?
Gross.
What if I got some sort of disease? Kylie seemed really healthy, but you never knew.

I held the Skin up to the light. It looked perfectly clean and smelled like, well, nothing at all. Maybe popularity was impervious to stains and odors.

Since that last thought was the only one that relaxed me, I decided to stick with it.

9i

My stomach twisted as I heaved all the lingering questions out of my head and, before I could change my mind, stripped off all my clothes. I lifted the Skin, running my hands up and down the torso, looking for the zipper.

It was there, in the back. I pulled it down and stepped inside: first one leg, then the other, and finally my arms. I thought I'd have to tug a little-like an actual pair of nylons-but I didn't have to do any work at all. In a matter of seconds, the Skin spilled over me with a gentle
swoosh,
covering my body from neck to toe.

I was inside popularity. And it felt...great.

I edged the zipper up to my neck and looked down. I could still feel the Skin but I couldn't see it anymore. Anywhere. Including my feet (this struck me as particularly odd since, off the body, the Skin's feet weren't divided into toe compartments...but now my toes were totally free and completely wiggleable). As soon as I'd put it on, it had disappeared, melting over me, sleek and luxurious, like a really expensive body lotion.

And there was something else too. Maybe it was because the Skin felt so good. Or it could've been the magic working. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the Skin and was all in my head.

I was
definitely
more leggy blond than Whopper woman.

I was safe for now, but I was definitely in for some ugliness-sooner rather than later.

Relax,
said a voice inside my head-obviously not the same one that had just called me a thief.
Enjoy the moment.

Great advice, I decided. Pulling on my pajamas, I strutted around the bedroom like a Victoria's Secret model decked out in this season's newest nightie (if this season's nightie happened to be a flannel gown from L.L. Bean...but whatever). I was bold. I was confident. I was completely un-me.

I glanced at my window and froze mid-sashay. The blinds were down but even so, I could easily guess what was going on next door. It wasn't hard to picture Kylie Frank, fresh from the shower, her towel-clad form bending over the

A twinge of anxiety worked its way down my spine.

I couldn't help it. I was scared.

Plus, I felt guilty. I hated what I'd done, that my actions had cost someone else. It was collateral damage, sure, but it was awful. And it was all my fault.

On the other hand, my life was on the verge of a major rewrite. I was sure of it.

Popularity loved me. I couldn't just turn it away.

The phone rang in the hallway and my new, semiflattened stomach dropped somewhere below my knees.

Had Kylie Frank figured it out already? I was so dead.

"Sam, Alex!" my mother called from downstairs.

Relieved, I opened my door and cat-walked into the hall. "Hey," I said, scooping up the phone. There was the trace of a giggle in my voice.

"What's so funny?" Alex asked, amused.

"Your cell was off, but I just thought I'd check in. You know, in case you had any questions."

"Tons," I said, smiling into the phone. "For starters, why do people always grab a million more napkins than they'll ever use from those dispensers in the cafeteria?"

Alex laughed. "I meant about geometry. The napkin thing is way out of my league."

"Don't sell yourself short," I told him. I yawned. "Listen, if you're
really
nice to me tomorrow, I'll let you check my work. Deal?"

"Wow, you're the best," Alex said gravely.

"I know. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Definitely."

I pushed the Off button and dropped the phone onto the floor next to my bed. It was a drain on the batteries and pretty much guaranteed a lecture from one or both parents on waste, but I didn't care.

I had the Skin. I had everything.

I stood in front of my open closet, searching the depressing landscape for a Skinworthy outfit. I'd woken up early, strangely refreshed and surprised I'd been able to sleep at all considering that today was
the
day. Sam Klein was being re-launched into society, new and improved. And she had the power of the Skin behind her.

I was ready. More than ready.

Unfortunately, my wardrobe, having stalled somewhere around 2007, wasn't. Not by several seasons.

It's not like I expected to wake up to a whole new life, with a truckload of admirers, a brand-new Lexus and a closet filled with expensive bags and shoes. (Okay, that's exactly what I expected.)

But it wasn't my fault, I reasoned. How was I supposed to know how the Skin worked? I didn't have the manual or the rules.

This was definitely going to be a problem. Since I had no idea what sort of time restrictions, if any, applied to removing the Skin, I'd decided to sleep in it. This morning I'd taken it off to shower, since I'd seen Kylie do the same. I'd tucked it into a pink shoe box and, just to be safe, slid it under my bed. Postshower, it had slipped back on, smooth as silk. But I still had so many questions about its wear and use...and no place to go for answers.

I straightened. If that was the case, then the world was filled with secret-Skin-wearing

I walked over to my computer and turned it on, carefully avoiding e-mail and IM. I googled the words
second skin
and sat back, waiting to be connected with A-listers around the world.

The results were a little disappointing. Second Skin was a blister treatment, a lab in Northern California, a gay bar in Chelsea and a foreign film that looked mildly pornographic. But not, according to my laptop, a magical wet suit.

Slightly frustrated, I got up and plucked the most neutral items I could find from the closet-black jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt. They'd have to do. Besides, I was already wearing the
most
important item of all.

I checked my watch. It was only seven a.m. I was more than an hour early, which was perfect. I had to be out of the house by the time Kylie Frank woke up and pounded on my door. I shot off a quick IM to Gwen (Don't pik me up. G2G early 4 geo.), grabbed my knapsack and headed downstairs.

My parents were at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

Both wielded scissors. This was their morning routine-massacring the newspaper and saving

"You're up early," my mother chirped. She looked at me, her eyes widening slightly. "Are you wearing makeup?"

My heartbeat kicked up a notch. "No," I said, swiping a hand across my cheeks as if to prove my blush-free status. "Why?"

"I don't know," she mused, still studying me. "You just look...different." She rose from the table, placing her hands on her hips. "It's fine if you want to experiment with a little makeup, Sam, but please use a brand that doesn't animal-test. I can get you a list if you want."

"And don't buy anything from Walmart," my father added as his scissors moved swiftly across his paper. "Talk about union busting."

"Okeydoke," I said happily. Instead of being annoyed-my normal response to my parents' PC inquisitions-I actually felt hopeful. If my mom had noticed the difference, I hadn't imagined it:

My mother sighed loudly. "Just keep animal testing in mind. What goes on in those labs is criminal." She gave her head an angry shake. "Now, how about some oatmeal before you go?"

"I don't eat breakfast," I informed her. Again.

"Suit yourself." She shrugged, looking like I'd just told her I was dropping out of school to join a Kiss cover band. "It's only the most important meal of the day."

I glanced at my watch. "Fine," I muttered. We went through this every morning. "I guess I have time."

One bowl of organic mush later and I was on my way. I was halfway out the door when my father came rushing after me.

"Almost forgot these!" He handed me a stack of flyers. "I can't believe it's January already."

Every month, my father's law firm printed up a new flyer exposing the latest corporate criminal. Even though I'd never volunteered for the job, he'd appointed me "head of youth marketing," which basically meant I was supposed to post the flyers around school.

I usually stuck a few in the girls' room and ditched the rest.