“No, no, I still think they should be together!” Gabby’s protest was high-pitched but earnest. “Like, if I can’t take him right now, she should. She’s totally adorable, and so is he.”
Skylar tried to stop her legs from shaking. Here she was, Gabby Dove’s pathetic charity case. Taking Gabby’s leftovers, or the stuff she didn’t want.
She listened to Gabby and Em leave and leaned against the inside of her stall door, letting the cool metal press against her forehead.
What about Skylar? The words echoed around in her mind; their pitying tone made her want to throw up.
She could barely contain herself during fourth and fifth periods. She called Meg immediately at lunch.
“Are you working today?”
“No, why?” Meg answered.
“Can you drive me somewhere?”
She skipped last period, met Meg in the parking lot, and directed her to Gabby’s house.
“Wait down here,” Skylar said as they pulled into the bottom of Gabby’s long driveway. Skylar could see that there were no cars parked at the top of it; the Doves were still at work, and Skylar knew that Gabby had a spring cheerleading prep meeting after school. She was in the clear, at least for a little while.
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?” Meg said, grinning. Skylar knew that Meg loved surprises.
“I’ll tell you later. Just wait at the end of the driveway, on the street. I’ll only be a few minutes.” She pushed out of the maroon Lincoln and ran up the driveway toward Gabby’s house. She was buzzing with anxiety; her fingers felt numb in her gloves. At the front door she rang the bell, just in case. No answer. Then she ran around to the back and knocked on the panes—again, she was just being cautious. But there was obviously no one home, and the Doves didn’t lock their back door. Everyone who knew Gabby knew that. She and her mom were always forgetting their keys.
“Hello?” Skylar said as she stepped into the Doves’ gleaming kitchen, where pictures of Gabby and her brothers covered the stainless steel refrigerator.
Skylar ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and into Gabby’s bedroom. She took it all in. This was a reconnaissance mission. On the opposite side of the room, next to Gabby’s neatly made bed, was a dresser, on top of which were all of Gabby’s hair and face products. Her curling iron. Her face cream and scented moisturizers. Her makeup.
Next to the dresser was a chair where scarves and leggings and dresses were heaped haphazardly. Next to her small closet—“the absolute bane of my existence,” Gabby was fond of saying—was a shoe rack, crammed with Gabby’s trademark wedge heels in every color. Gold, red, teal, madras plaid. Straw heels, wooden heels, stacked heels.
Skylar allowed her fingers to brush against the downy, creamy comforter. It was hard not to think of Lucy as she made her way around Gabby’s room, her feet sinking just barely into the plush wall-to-wall carpeting. Lucy, too, had had a room filled with pictures and trophies and stuffed animals—probably given to her by boyfriends. Lucy, too, had had clothes that fit her perfectly, and makeup that accentuated her perfect skin. Not like Skylar, whose closet was filled with clothes that would look good “once she lost a few pounds,” whose makeup bag was packed with various tubes of cover-up to hide her seemingly constant rotation of breakouts.
Her determination started to wane. Her intent was to study Gabby and find her imperfections, but in this perfect room it was hard to imagine that Gabby had any weak points. Even as Gabby’s own admission rang in Skylar’s head—I’m just tired. People expect me to be perfect—it was becoming difficult to see anything but the pretty flawlessness of Gabby, her room, and her life.
Skylar felt the familiar sensation of jealousy beginning to boil, its hot fingers coiling around her veins, her throat, her tongue. It was impossible now to tamp down the burning shame that rose up every time she thought about what had happened at her Haunted Woods party, which was supposed to be her big “coming out”—instead, she had looked like a freak, and the only thing that actually “came out” was the color of her thong. No wonder Pierce would always choose Gabby over her.
Her sister had so fondly reminded her hundreds of times: Some people are just late bloomers. Of course, there was a tacit corollary to that statement: Some people have it all, right from the get-go. Her skin started to crawl with heat, as though she was in the spotlight of the unbearable pageant stage lights . . . as though she was covered in sticky, unflattering makeup . . . as though the laughing crowd was bringing a blush to her cheeks.
Skylar thought she heard a footfall behind her and spun around. Of course, she was alone. Lucy wasn’t here anymore. Lucy would never hurt her again.