Lucy taking one glance over her shoulder, rolling her eyes, and saying, Her? That’s my sister. She’s special, if you know what I mean. Lucy laughing and Skylar’s face getting hot. She’s supposed to start high school this fall . . . but my mom and I don’t know if she’s ready to go to school with normal kids.
Skylar backing away, turning to go, to get away from this. Tripping on a shopping bag handle. Face-planting. And then Lucy helping her up, whispering in her ear, I was just teasing, Sky. You have to learn how to take a joke. Those guys are jerks, and I didn’t want them flirting with my baby sis. Brushing her off. Skylar standing motionless, burning with embarrassment, the sound of the boys’ laughter echoing in her ears.
“Want a sip?” All of a sudden Pierce was next to her, offering her a sip of his milk shake. “It’s vanilla. Might put a smile on your face, Skylar.”
Skylar’s heart leaped and the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile—but not because he had shared the milk shake, or even because it was her favorite flavor. Pierce knew her name!
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“Yeah, pageants are big in the South,” Skylar told Gabby on the ride home. Gabby had asked about her old life in Alabama. “We grow up with them.” She rubbed her temples. She didn’t want to talk about her past, but Gabby had pressed her for details.
“That is so crazy,” Gabby said, eyes wide. “I mean, I’ve only seen them on reality TV. Did you ever, like, win anything?”
“I won three crowns,” Skylar heard herself say. And at that moment she knew she would keep lying. She would lie about the pageants and she would lie about her sister and she would lie about her whole damn life if it made her sound more like someone Gabby would be friends with.
“Really?” Gabby whipped her face toward Skylar, her curls bouncing as she did. “You’ll have to teach me the walk. I’ve always wanted to walk like I’m on a runway.”
Skylar knew Gabby was just being nice. She was clearly comfortable walking everywhere in three-inch heels—obviously the girl knew how to carry herself. But the idea of being able to teach Gabby anything—even a useless skill like pageant marching—was intoxicating. Skylar kept talking.
“My mom taught me the basics,” she said, “before she got sick.” In reality, her mom taught Lucy the basics before she got drunk and yelled at Skylar. But this version was so much nicer.
Gabby looked concerned. “So that’s why you moved to Ascension? Your mom got sick?”
“Yeah . . . ,” Skylar said, biting her lip. “She’s off at some spa-rehabilitation place in Europe. It’s recommended by all the best doctors.” It’s not like Gabby would ever check up on her story. She could say whatever she wanted. That her mom loved her. That she won pageants—even though the most memorable competition she ever attended was one in which she split her supertight pants during a performance of “Let Me Entertain You,” revealing polka-dot underwear and earning her the nickname Dot-Crotch.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” Skylar said it firmly, looking out the window and fidgeting with the tassel at the end of the skull scarf.
“Wow,” Gabby whispered. “I’m so sorry that you had to move. But you know what?” Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Gabby used the other to pat Skylar’s shoulder. “I’m really happy you’re here.”
Skylar’s body tingled with pride . . . with the beginnings of transformation.
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She hadn’t been home from the mall for long before her phone dinged. As she walked to pick it up her skin prickled with anxiety. Back in Alabama she’d been used to getting “checkins” from her mom right around this time of night, curt messages to the tune of: Won’t be home tonight. For a moment Skylar’s stomach ached with a familiar, sharp loneliness. Then she remembered that she wouldn’t be getting any texts from her mom in jail.
The message turned out to be from Meg: How did it go??? Wow. Meg really was an amazing friend to remember Skylar’s “date” with Gabby—and to realize how important it was to her.
Skylar texted back: It was great. I’m going to a dance committee mtg 2moro!
Awesome, Meg replied. Check yr email before bed. Hope to c u for lunch.
When Skylar turned on her computer, she found an email from Meg, sent earlier that afternoon. Hope you’re having fun, it read. Here are a few songs from that Boston band I was telling you about—they’re totally going to be the next big thing. See you soon! There were a few MP3s attached to the email, and Skylar listened as she got ready for bed. The band—called the Dusters—was pretty good. A little rockabilly, a little indie. She downloaded the songs onto her iPod and went to bed humming them, her voice echoing in the old house. She prayed she would dream of her new life, not her old one.
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