“I’ll finish the risotto,” she called upstairs to Aunt Nora, hoping it hadn’t gotten sticky after being abandoned. Her stomach was actually growling now.
She poured some chicken broth into the pot and stirred the rice, which fortunately hadn’t congealed into a gloppy mess. The clams glistened and the shrimp was pink and plump. She stirred absentmindedly, trying to distract herself from Em’s prying questions by thinking about the dance, Gabby, and Pierce. She had barely seen Pierce in the past few days, and he still hadn’t approached her about the dance as he had said he would. She had seen him with Gabby several times. For once, though, Pierce and Gabby weren’t what plagued her. Em’s words resounded in her ears. Was there truth to them? Em had said Skylar shouldn’t trust Meg, Ty, and Ali. But as far as Skylar was concerned, those three were the only ones on her side.
She thought about all the advice Meg had given her since they’d met. That she shouldn’t allow herself to be so intimidated by everyone. That people might seem perfect, but it’s just a matter of seeing people’s weaknesses as well as their strengths. Em’s weaknesses were clear enough: She was out of her frigging mind.
And what else had Meg said? That you had to want something badly in order to get it . . . because once you wanted it badly enough, you could do anything.
Skylar knew what she wanted.
But what were Gabby’s weaknesses? Skylar was convinced she had none. And just then, as she poured more broth into the risotto, it hit her. The clams, the shrimp, the flaky bits of haddock—they reminded her of what Gabby had told her, right in this kitchen, last week. About her shellfish allergy, and how when she’d had a spot test for it, hives had popped up on her skin.
Bingo.
Skylar felt a surge of excitement. Meg had been right the whole time. Skylar was never going to get Pierce’s attention if Gabby was always stealing her limelight—whether she was doing it purposefully or not. She needed to get Gabby out of the picture, just for a few days. Out of sight, out of mind, right?
If she just mixed a tiny bit of clam juice into Gabby’s La Mer night cream—just a teensy bit—it would give her a rash, like Gabby said. And what’s a few hives? Just enough to make Gabby über-self-conscious, to put her in the background momentarily, which would allow Skylar to step in and show Pierce how awesome she was instead. It was just a practical joke. And a way to buy herself some time.
“Dinner’s ready, Aunt Nora!”
Skylar spooned out the risotto as if she was dishing up liquid gold.
? ? ?
On Saturday afternoon Skylar asked her aunt to drop her off at Gabby’s on her way to run some errands. “I just need to drop something off,” she said. “Something for the dance.”
Though Gabby had been acting aloof since the upset at the dance committee meeting, she seemed to relent a little bit when Skylar arrived at her house bearing a gift: a sparkly Vanessa Lorent headband that Gabby had been eyeing to go with her Spring Fling ensemble but was sold out at the VL store in the mall.
“I found it online,” Skylar chirped, although the weird, coincidental truth was that Meg had given it to her in a bag of accessories. (“I was cleaning out my closet,” Meg had said. “I figured you might look cute in some of this stuff.”)
“Wow, thanks, Sky,” Gabby said, pulling the towel she was wearing tighter around her torso. “It’s freezing. Want to come in? I’m just in the middle of a home wax, but I’ll be done soon. Maybe we could have a cup of tea. I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week.”
“Sure,” Skylar said. “I’ve never done a wax. Does it hurt?” She followed Gabby up the stairs.
“You get used to it,” Gabby said over her shoulder. “The things we do for beauty . . .” Then she disappeared into her bathroom, leaving Skylar alone in her plush bedroom.
“Oh, and I have your sweater, from the other day?” Skylar called into the other room. “I washed it.” She took out the carefully folded sweater from her bag.
“Cool,” Gabby shouted back. “Just throw it in the hamper—I’ll have to rewash it. Allergic to detergents.”
Skylar looked at the carefully folded sweater—she’d even dabbed it with a tiny bit of perfume, just like she’d done for Pierce when she’d borrowed his sweatshirt—before sighing and dumping it into the hamper. Nothing she ever did was quite right.