models.”
“I don’t model.” Rader took a huge bite of whatever meat was masquerading as chicken-fried steak and glared at the rest of the lunchroom. He looked cranky. But then, he always looked cranky. Ever since he and Rachel had broken up their sophomore year, Rader had been in a foul mood.
Losing Rachel inspired years of mourning. Years. She was that kind of girl.
“Me either,” Isaac said around a mouthful of food. His mom had packed his lunch today—two ham sandwiches and three bananas. Isaac had a strange and unnatural love of bananas. He probably ate more in one week than your average marmoset. It was amazing he hadn’t overdosed on potassium.
“It’s for charity.” Rachel cocked her head and pushed her bowshaped lips into a pout. I could feel the boys wavering, wondering if it wouldn’t be worth the shame of prancing around at the fashion show in the name of making Rachel Pruitt happy.
“I wore a dress for charity yesterday.” Isaac’s reason for refusing was different than the first time around, but I was relieved all the same.
Not everything today had gone down the same way it had before. It was only little things that were different—the reading assignment in AP English, the cracked mirror in the girls’ bathroom—but little things were enough to make me nervous. A part of me wished I could fast-forward to my birthday and be done with my do over. Or at least fast-forward to my gran’s arrival in five days.
Talking to someone else about the locket would really have made me feel better. Too bad she still hadn’t answered the phone at her hotel. Dad said she’d probably changed hotels without bothering to let him know—Gran was over eighty years old and forgot things all the time—but still . . . her vanishing act made me worry. Just a little.
“You wore a dress?” Rader asked, scooting away as if he feared Isaac’s dress-wearing cooties would jump across the table and infect him.
“Dude, I bet that was hysterical! Cross-dressing the bridge, right? I saw some pictures of that on Facebook last night.” Rachel’s best friend, Ally, poked Isaac on the arm. “I didn’t see you, though. Did you look fabulous?”
“Of course. I was wearing a tiara,” Isaac said, a hint of flirtation in his voice. Isaac was a flirt, always had been, but I knew it didn’t mean anything. “So I’ve done my part for the less fortunate. But Katie will help. She’s into charity. She organized that Full Pantry Project thing last year.”
Oh, no. Here we were again, the place where Rachel sweetly infers that I’m too ugly and misshapen to model with the rest of the girls and would be better off running the light grid in the dark to spare the masses my hideousness.
I buried my face in my turkey and cheese, doing my best not to attract attention. Maybe no one had heard Isaac.
“Yeah, that’s great, Katie,” Rachel said.
Maybe not.
“I saw you signed up to work at the Belle Meade fall festival,” Rachel continued, turning her soft brown eyes in my direction. “We’ll have to try to get you assigned to work the Junior League bake sale with us.”
“That would be great.” I forced a smile. I could do this. I’d had a practice run, I didn’t have to make a fool out of myself the second time around. “And Isaac’s right, I’d love to help at the fashion show.”
“Well, that’s—”
“But there’s no way I’d feel comfortable modeling,” I said, cutting her off before she could tell me that she doubted there would be anything “that would compliment my build or coloring” at Ziggies, her mother’s ultra-expensive, ultra-fashionable, ultra-snotty boutique. “I could help out some other way, though. Maybe do sound, or lights? I’ve had training on all the systems in the theater.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up. She looked . . . relieved.
A strange thought bloomed in my mind, a hothouse flower growing in the arctic tundra. Maybe Rachel hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings before,
“I don’t model.” Rader took a huge bite of whatever meat was masquerading as chicken-fried steak and glared at the rest of the lunchroom. He looked cranky. But then, he always looked cranky. Ever since he and Rachel had broken up their sophomore year, Rader had been in a foul mood.
Losing Rachel inspired years of mourning. Years. She was that kind of girl.
“Me either,” Isaac said around a mouthful of food. His mom had packed his lunch today—two ham sandwiches and three bananas. Isaac had a strange and unnatural love of bananas. He probably ate more in one week than your average marmoset. It was amazing he hadn’t overdosed on potassium.
“It’s for charity.” Rachel cocked her head and pushed her bowshaped lips into a pout. I could feel the boys wavering, wondering if it wouldn’t be worth the shame of prancing around at the fashion show in the name of making Rachel Pruitt happy.
“I wore a dress for charity yesterday.” Isaac’s reason for refusing was different than the first time around, but I was relieved all the same.
Not everything today had gone down the same way it had before. It was only little things that were different—the reading assignment in AP English, the cracked mirror in the girls’ bathroom—but little things were enough to make me nervous. A part of me wished I could fast-forward to my birthday and be done with my do over. Or at least fast-forward to my gran’s arrival in five days.
Talking to someone else about the locket would really have made me feel better. Too bad she still hadn’t answered the phone at her hotel. Dad said she’d probably changed hotels without bothering to let him know—Gran was over eighty years old and forgot things all the time—but still . . . her vanishing act made me worry. Just a little.
“You wore a dress?” Rader asked, scooting away as if he feared Isaac’s dress-wearing cooties would jump across the table and infect him.
“Dude, I bet that was hysterical! Cross-dressing the bridge, right? I saw some pictures of that on Facebook last night.” Rachel’s best friend, Ally, poked Isaac on the arm. “I didn’t see you, though. Did you look fabulous?”
“Of course. I was wearing a tiara,” Isaac said, a hint of flirtation in his voice. Isaac was a flirt, always had been, but I knew it didn’t mean anything. “So I’ve done my part for the less fortunate. But Katie will help. She’s into charity. She organized that Full Pantry Project thing last year.”
Oh, no. Here we were again, the place where Rachel sweetly infers that I’m too ugly and misshapen to model with the rest of the girls and would be better off running the light grid in the dark to spare the masses my hideousness.
I buried my face in my turkey and cheese, doing my best not to attract attention. Maybe no one had heard Isaac.
“Yeah, that’s great, Katie,” Rachel said.
Maybe not.
“I saw you signed up to work at the Belle Meade fall festival,” Rachel continued, turning her soft brown eyes in my direction. “We’ll have to try to get you assigned to work the Junior League bake sale with us.”
“That would be great.” I forced a smile. I could do this. I’d had a practice run, I didn’t have to make a fool out of myself the second time around. “And Isaac’s right, I’d love to help at the fashion show.”
“Well, that’s—”
“But there’s no way I’d feel comfortable modeling,” I said, cutting her off before she could tell me that she doubted there would be anything “that would compliment my build or coloring” at Ziggies, her mother’s ultra-expensive, ultra-fashionable, ultra-snotty boutique. “I could help out some other way, though. Maybe do sound, or lights? I’ve had training on all the systems in the theater.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up. She looked . . . relieved.
A strange thought bloomed in my mind, a hothouse flower growing in the arctic tundra. Maybe Rachel hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings before,
Similar Books
