Read Online Second Skin by Jessica Wollman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Wollman
Tags: Fiction
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I'll see you tomorrow."
"Definitely."
I pushed the Off button and dropped the phone onto the floor next to my bed. It was a drain on the batteries and pretty much guaranteed a lecture from one or both parents on waste, but I didn't care.
I had the Skin. I had everything.
96
THIRTEEN
A new life, I decided the next morning, definitely deserved a new wardrobe.
I stood in front of my open closet, searching the depressing landscape for a Skinworthy outfit. I'd woken up early, strangely refreshed and surprised I'd been able to sleep at all considering that today was the day. Sam Klein was being re-launched into society, new and improved. And she had the power of the Skin behind her.
I was ready. More than ready.
Unfortunately, my wardrobe, having stalled somewhere around 2007, wasn't. Not by several seasons.
97
I flipped through the hangers, eyeing and dismissing each item in a matter of seconds. There were jean overalls (No thank you, Old McDonald), a brown burlap smock dress I was certain had been designed by Mr. Potato Head and green wide-wale cords that were perfect for Earth Day.
It's not like I expected to wake up to a whole new life, with a truckload of admirers, a brand-new Lexus and a closet filled with expensive bags and shoes. (Okay, that's exactly what I expected.)
But it wasn't my fault, I reasoned. How was I supposed to know how the Skin worked? I didn't have the manual or the rules.
This was definitely going to be a problem. Since I had no idea what sort of time restrictions, if any, applied to removing the Skin, I'd decided to sleep in it. This morning I'd taken it off to shower, since I'd seen Kylie do the same. I'd tucked it into a pink shoe box and, just to be safe, slid it under my bed. Postshower, it had slipped back on, smooth as silk. But I still had so many questions about its wear and use...and no place to go for answers.
All the It-girls have them, I heard Kylie saying. One in every school.
I straightened. If that was the case, then the world was filled with secret-Skin-wearing
98
homecoming queens. Maybe there was some sort of network I could tap into. A support group for the magically popular? Or even better-a chat room.
I walked over to my computer and turned it on, carefully avoiding e-mail and IM. I googled the words second skin and sat back, waiting to be connected with A-listers around the world.
The results were a little disappointing. Second Skin was a blister treatment, a lab in Northern California, a gay bar in Chelsea and a foreign film that looked mildly pornographic. But not, according to my laptop, a magical wet suit.
Slightly frustrated, I got up and plucked the most neutral items I could find from the closet-black jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt. They'd have to do. Besides, I was already wearing the most important item of all.
I checked my watch. It was only seven a.m. I was more than an hour early, which was perfect. I had to be out of the house by the time Kylie Frank woke up and pounded on my door. I shot off a quick IM to Gwen (Don't pik me up. G2G early 4 geo.), grabbed my knapsack and headed downstairs.
My parents were at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the paper.
Both wielded scissors. This was their morning routine-massacring the newspaper and saving
99
relevant articles for their various issues-related scrapbooks. The angry-looking albums filled our shelves-an alphabet of activism, from "Animal Rights!" to "Toxics!" peppered by the occasional organic cookbook.
Why, I wondered for the millionth time, can't my parents just read mysteries and romances like normal adults? If I ever found a Harlequin anywhere in my house, I'd seriously have it framed.
"You're up early," my mother chirped. She looked at me, her eyes widening slightly. "Are you wearing makeup?"
My heartbeat kicked up a notch. "No," I said, swiping a hand across my cheeks as if to prove my blush-free status. "Why?"
"I don't know," she mused, still studying me. "You
"Definitely."
I pushed the Off button and dropped the phone onto the floor next to my bed. It was a drain on the batteries and pretty much guaranteed a lecture from one or both parents on waste, but I didn't care.
I had the Skin. I had everything.
96
THIRTEEN
A new life, I decided the next morning, definitely deserved a new wardrobe.
I stood in front of my open closet, searching the depressing landscape for a Skinworthy outfit. I'd woken up early, strangely refreshed and surprised I'd been able to sleep at all considering that today was the day. Sam Klein was being re-launched into society, new and improved. And she had the power of the Skin behind her.
I was ready. More than ready.
Unfortunately, my wardrobe, having stalled somewhere around 2007, wasn't. Not by several seasons.
97
I flipped through the hangers, eyeing and dismissing each item in a matter of seconds. There were jean overalls (No thank you, Old McDonald), a brown burlap smock dress I was certain had been designed by Mr. Potato Head and green wide-wale cords that were perfect for Earth Day.
It's not like I expected to wake up to a whole new life, with a truckload of admirers, a brand-new Lexus and a closet filled with expensive bags and shoes. (Okay, that's exactly what I expected.)
But it wasn't my fault, I reasoned. How was I supposed to know how the Skin worked? I didn't have the manual or the rules.
This was definitely going to be a problem. Since I had no idea what sort of time restrictions, if any, applied to removing the Skin, I'd decided to sleep in it. This morning I'd taken it off to shower, since I'd seen Kylie do the same. I'd tucked it into a pink shoe box and, just to be safe, slid it under my bed. Postshower, it had slipped back on, smooth as silk. But I still had so many questions about its wear and use...and no place to go for answers.
All the It-girls have them, I heard Kylie saying. One in every school.
I straightened. If that was the case, then the world was filled with secret-Skin-wearing
98
homecoming queens. Maybe there was some sort of network I could tap into. A support group for the magically popular? Or even better-a chat room.
I walked over to my computer and turned it on, carefully avoiding e-mail and IM. I googled the words second skin and sat back, waiting to be connected with A-listers around the world.
The results were a little disappointing. Second Skin was a blister treatment, a lab in Northern California, a gay bar in Chelsea and a foreign film that looked mildly pornographic. But not, according to my laptop, a magical wet suit.
Slightly frustrated, I got up and plucked the most neutral items I could find from the closet-black jeans and a long-sleeved gray T-shirt. They'd have to do. Besides, I was already wearing the most important item of all.
I checked my watch. It was only seven a.m. I was more than an hour early, which was perfect. I had to be out of the house by the time Kylie Frank woke up and pounded on my door. I shot off a quick IM to Gwen (Don't pik me up. G2G early 4 geo.), grabbed my knapsack and headed downstairs.
My parents were at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the paper.
Both wielded scissors. This was their morning routine-massacring the newspaper and saving
99
relevant articles for their various issues-related scrapbooks. The angry-looking albums filled our shelves-an alphabet of activism, from "Animal Rights!" to "Toxics!" peppered by the occasional organic cookbook.
Why, I wondered for the millionth time, can't my parents just read mysteries and romances like normal adults? If I ever found a Harlequin anywhere in my house, I'd seriously have it framed.
"You're up early," my mother chirped. She looked at me, her eyes widening slightly. "Are you wearing makeup?"
My heartbeat kicked up a notch. "No," I said, swiping a hand across my cheeks as if to prove my blush-free status. "Why?"
"I don't know," she mused, still studying me. "You
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