dressed. I
103
shoved the magazine back inside my knapsack and swung open the stall door.
But what if the Skin didn't work? I was sure I was its most challenging case. Could my dorkiness melt all of the magic?
I paused at the row of sinks and checked out my reflection in the mirror.
It was me, all right. Round face. Way-too-curly hair. So-so brown eyes and a nose that was verging on too big but, for the time being, at least, had settled for prominent. I guess my cheeks looked a little flushed from my acrobatics inside the stall, but other than that I couldn't really see the difference my mother was talking about. Any sort of supermodel effect I'd expected from the Skin definitely hadn't kicked in yet.
Bummer.
"Aren't you Sam Klein?" asked the girl standing next to me. She was tall and skinny, with dyed black hair and a nose ring.
Abby Lawton, I thought. She sat two seats away from me in geometry but hadn't spoken to me all year. She usually spent the class hunched over, peeling the black polish from her nails.
"Um, yeah," I said, surprised she even knew my name. I rarely spoke in any of my classes, but in geometry I was borderline catatonic.
"I think Kylie Frank is looking for you. I
104
heard something about it in the hall." She turned back to the mirror. "Cool shirt."
I stared at her. Wait, what? A compliment? Nobody at Woodlawn complimented me. They didn't talk to me. As far as I knew, they couldn't even see me.
Was this the Skin? Or maybe I'd misunderstood. I could be going deaf. That was definitely more believable.
I was on the verge of asking Abby to repeat herself when the second bell rang. I had about thirty seconds to get to English, otherwise Mr. Hill would lock me out. He lived for that.
I grabbed my bag and pushed my way through the door.
And that was when I heard it: "Sam Klein." Up and down the halls, the school was almost pulsing with the name. My name.
Sam Klein.
105
FOURTEEN
"Hey, that's Sam Klein, right?"
"Wait, where?"
"Oh, that's her."
I moved down the hall toward my locker, soaking up the attention as it swirled around me.
Of course, I assumed it was the Skin doing its thing, working its magic. I could almost feel the boost as I skipped several rungs up the Woodlawn High social ladder.
I was wrong.
People were definitely talking about me. The Abby Lawton thing hadn't been a fluke. But it
106
wasn't because of the Skin. It was because of Kylie Frank. When the most popular girl in school demands a sit-down with a total nobody, it tends to rouse curiosity. And trigger a lot of talk.
In history, Kim Price and Georgia Beeler-soccer players who, before today, definitely had no clue who I was-approached me.
"Kylie's looking for you," Kim announced as I unpacked my bag.
"Yeah, what's up with you guys?" Georgia chimed in, eyeing me with a new, almost hungry interest. "How do you even know Kylie?"
"She, uh, lives next door to me," I explained, shrugging a shoulder and doing my best to hide my disappointment. With or without the Skin, I was still a nobody. And Kylie Frank still ruled. How could that be possible?
It was like that in every class, all day long. After a lifetime of invisible-girl status, people were finally seeing Sam Klein, only it was through the lens of their Kylie Frank worship. My newfound celebrity was simply a testament to her unflinching power-hold over the student body. I'd come to school expecting the halls of Woodlawn High to have magically transformed into a friendly neighborhood coffee shop, but it just wasn't like that. Sure, I heard
107
my name everywhere I turned, and people constantly approached me, but it was only to ask pointed questions of the "Do you know Kylie's looking for you?" variety. There were no warm introductions or, even more disappointing, admiring glances from guys.
At least they're talking about me, I thought. At least something's happening. No such thing as bad publicity, right?
It was 3:10 p.m. The final bell had just rung,
103
shoved the magazine back inside my knapsack and swung open the stall door.
But what if the Skin didn't work? I was sure I was its most challenging case. Could my dorkiness melt all of the magic?
I paused at the row of sinks and checked out my reflection in the mirror.
It was me, all right. Round face. Way-too-curly hair. So-so brown eyes and a nose that was verging on too big but, for the time being, at least, had settled for prominent. I guess my cheeks looked a little flushed from my acrobatics inside the stall, but other than that I couldn't really see the difference my mother was talking about. Any sort of supermodel effect I'd expected from the Skin definitely hadn't kicked in yet.
Bummer.
"Aren't you Sam Klein?" asked the girl standing next to me. She was tall and skinny, with dyed black hair and a nose ring.
Abby Lawton, I thought. She sat two seats away from me in geometry but hadn't spoken to me all year. She usually spent the class hunched over, peeling the black polish from her nails.
"Um, yeah," I said, surprised she even knew my name. I rarely spoke in any of my classes, but in geometry I was borderline catatonic.
"I think Kylie Frank is looking for you. I
104
heard something about it in the hall." She turned back to the mirror. "Cool shirt."
I stared at her. Wait, what? A compliment? Nobody at Woodlawn complimented me. They didn't talk to me. As far as I knew, they couldn't even see me.
Was this the Skin? Or maybe I'd misunderstood. I could be going deaf. That was definitely more believable.
I was on the verge of asking Abby to repeat herself when the second bell rang. I had about thirty seconds to get to English, otherwise Mr. Hill would lock me out. He lived for that.
I grabbed my bag and pushed my way through the door.
And that was when I heard it: "Sam Klein." Up and down the halls, the school was almost pulsing with the name. My name.
Sam Klein.
105
FOURTEEN
"Hey, that's Sam Klein, right?"
"Wait, where?"
"Oh, that's her."
I moved down the hall toward my locker, soaking up the attention as it swirled around me.
Of course, I assumed it was the Skin doing its thing, working its magic. I could almost feel the boost as I skipped several rungs up the Woodlawn High social ladder.
I was wrong.
People were definitely talking about me. The Abby Lawton thing hadn't been a fluke. But it
106
wasn't because of the Skin. It was because of Kylie Frank. When the most popular girl in school demands a sit-down with a total nobody, it tends to rouse curiosity. And trigger a lot of talk.
In history, Kim Price and Georgia Beeler-soccer players who, before today, definitely had no clue who I was-approached me.
"Kylie's looking for you," Kim announced as I unpacked my bag.
"Yeah, what's up with you guys?" Georgia chimed in, eyeing me with a new, almost hungry interest. "How do you even know Kylie?"
"She, uh, lives next door to me," I explained, shrugging a shoulder and doing my best to hide my disappointment. With or without the Skin, I was still a nobody. And Kylie Frank still ruled. How could that be possible?
It was like that in every class, all day long. After a lifetime of invisible-girl status, people were finally seeing Sam Klein, only it was through the lens of their Kylie Frank worship. My newfound celebrity was simply a testament to her unflinching power-hold over the student body. I'd come to school expecting the halls of Woodlawn High to have magically transformed into a friendly neighborhood coffee shop, but it just wasn't like that. Sure, I heard
107
my name everywhere I turned, and people constantly approached me, but it was only to ask pointed questions of the "Do you know Kylie's looking for you?" variety. There were no warm introductions or, even more disappointing, admiring glances from guys.
At least they're talking about me, I thought. At least something's happening. No such thing as bad publicity, right?
It was 3:10 p.m. The final bell had just rung,
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