“This is perfect.” Gabby had grabbed one of Skylar’s most recent purchases—a silky lilac tunic—off a hanger. “I have leggings in my gym locker—did you know that I have a whole emergency closet in there, practically?—plus a belt and my crappy black boots. I’ll be all set.”
Skylar marveled over the fact that despite the lingering puffiness under Gabby’s eyes—and the fact that her hair was clipped back, which it almost never was—Gabby still looked pretty, even in the harsh fluorescent glare of the Ascension High hallway lights.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Skylar said, pulling a vial of ibuprofen out of her purse. “Want some?”
“Savior!” Gabby shook two capsules into her palm and threw them in her mouth, followed by a swig from her Poland Spring water bottle.
As she did so Skylar sighed dramatically. “Speaking of savior . . . I was hoping you might be mine, too.”
“What’s up?” Gabby asked, gulping back the pills.
“I spilled coffee all over my shirt last period. . . . Do you think you could lend me something to wear just for the meeting? From your emergency stash? I don’t want to smell like coffee the whole time.” Skylar made her eyes as wide as possible and pointed to her shirt, which did, in fact, have a bit of coffee on it.
“You can barely see it! You’re being paranoid,” Gabby said, linking arms with Skylar and turning in the direction of the committee meeting.
“Gabs, please? I just don’t want to give people one more thing to laugh at, okay?” Her voice shook slightly, and for a split second Skylar didn’t even know if the tremble was fake.
Instantly Gabby’s expression softened. “I totally get it,” she said, swiveling in the opposite direction. “But we have to run. I don’t want to be late for the committee.”
“Here’s the thing,” Skylar said as though she’d just thought of it. “I have to stop in and see Mr. Capron really quickly about my French homework. Why don’t I do that, you run to the gym, and we’ll reconvene at the meeting?”
As they went their separate ways, Skylar felt a rising sensation of both panic and exhilaration. Her plan was working. Sure, she’d had to lie (there was no homework in French today), and she’d stained one of her favorite shirts (on purpose), and yes, there was a chance the whole thing could blow up in her face, but it was worth it. It was all worth it. She kept channeling her conversations with Meg. If you want something badly enough, you have to be willing to do anything to get it. She felt a nagging thirst at the back of her throat, the same itch that used to overcome her backstage at pageants. She cleared her throat violently.
This was her chance.
She walked confidently into the classroom where the planning committee meeting would take place; everyone else had already arrived.
“Hi, guys,” she chirped brightly, slinging her bag under a desk as she slid into her chair. It felt like her senses were on superalert—she could feel the smooth plastic chair through her boot-cut jeans, and the air seemed to slice through her shirt. “Jeez, is the AC on in here or something?” She made a show of wrapping her scarf—the skull scarf—tighter around her neck. Then she cleared her throat again before continuing. “Gabby asked me to start the meeting without her. She had to run down to the gym,” Skylar said, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. “And I’m glad, because I am too excited to wait for her. You all know that the Dusters said yes, right?” There were nods indicating that they did. “Well, now I have even better news—I thought of a theme, you guys!”
“You did?” Photo Boy, a.k.a. Jeff, looked surprised.
You’d be surprised what I can do, buddy, Skylar thought with a small flicker of triumph. But instead, she adopted a shy, closed-lipped smile, and went on. “I think the theme of the dance should be . . .”—she added a dramatic pause before continuing—“Smoke and Mirrors! I thought of it the other night when Gabby and I were hanging out. I was thinking that we could get a fog machine and hang giant veils from the ceiling so everything’s all hidden and dreamy? We’d set up a bunch of mirrors, of course. We could even hire a magician—”
A girl named Mara laughed. “A magician? This isn’t my sixth birthday party.”
Skylar started feeling warm, but she held her ground. “Well, the term ‘smoke and mirrors’”—she put air quotes around the words—“comes from magic tricks, when magicians used to make things look like they were appearing or disappearing by using mirrors, or smoke.”
“Thanks for the history lesson,” Mara said dryly.
“And there are, like, cool magicians,” Skylar added with a note of defensiveness.
“I actually think it’s a great idea,” said Sara.
“I agree,” Jeff said. “Smoke and Mirrors is an awesome idea, Skylar.”
Just then Gabby ran into the room, clutching a blue T-shirt in one hand. She looked confused. “Um, hi? Sorry I was late, I was just—”