Part 5 (1/2)

As we settled into a two-seat, I noticed that Roxie had a manila envelope in her hand. I asked her what it was, so she handed it to me. In the envelope were three identical pictures of Roxie. I pulled one out. In it, she was even prettier than in real life, her freckles gone and her eyes more sparkly than usual, her head ducked slightly enough to make her look simultaneously innocent and s.e.xy.

”Wow,” I said, turning it over to read her stats and resume.

”It's from last year,” Roxie said casually. ”Doesn't look like I'll end up tall enough to do runway or anything, but maybe I can keep doing commercials and catalogues.”

”Uh-huh,” I said. We just sat there not talking the rest of the ride in. A model, A model, I was thinking. And ugly-duckling me. What a joke we must look like. Why hadn't I thought of putting on at least some of the makeup Jade had given me over the past year? If Jade thought I was mildly unattractive, what must a legitimate model think? I sank down low in my chair for a private little self-hate-fest. I was thinking. And ugly-duckling me. What a joke we must look like. Why hadn't I thought of putting on at least some of the makeup Jade had given me over the past year? If Jade thought I was mildly unattractive, what must a legitimate model think? I sank down low in my chair for a private little self-hate-fest.

”What do you think of Emmett O'Leary?” Roxie asked as we got swept up in the crowd getting off the train.

I made a slightly nauseated face at the thought that maybe she somehow knew I'd totally crushed on Emmett O'Leary when I was in seventh grade, and asked why.

”Nothing,” she said, pulling me to the left and down a big flight of stairs. ”Seems like a nice guy. Kind of sweet.”

”I guess,” I said, unsure if she was trying to fix me up with him because I had no shot at Tyler. Not wanting to seem too anything, I added the only criticism I could come up with of Emmett: ”Pale.”

”Yeah, but who cares?” She whipped a thin plastic card out of her wallet and skimmed it through a reader. ”Go,” she told me, so I went through a turnstile ahead of her, squished together so it only made one turn.

A subway train roared by on a middle track. I stuck my fingers in my ears when Roxie did, and thought how babyish and followerish I must seem to her. Ugh, Ugh, I thought. I thought. I have become Serena! Somebody shoot me now! I have become Serena! Somebody shoot me now!

Just kidding, I added silently, not looking at the two scary guys to my left. I added silently, not looking at the two scary guys to my left.

We smooshed onto a packed subway car and jostled our way to the middle of the crowd on the train. I had no idea where I was or how to get home from there. Quinn was right, Quinn was right, I admitted to myself as a huge woman whapped me with one of her six bags. I was an absolute idiot. I admitted to myself as a huge woman whapped me with one of her six bags. I was an absolute idiot.

”This is us,” Roxie said after a few stops. I followed her off the train, up a steep set of stairs that smelled like pee. As she practically jogged along the street and I hustled to keep up, I checked my cell phone, considering calling home and asking someone to come pick me up. I knew I wouldn't, though. I'd just end up in trouble if I did. Meanwhile, Roxie was stalking down the block and into a line of tall, beautiful girls stretching down the block outside a squat brick building.

She spread on lip gloss and leaned against the bricks. I hid behind my hair. I checked my cell phone again. It was still being completely normal and silent. Not even a text from Jade asking where I was.

We waited some more. Roxie checked her hair and smile in a mirror from her bag. I checked my watch.

”Do you like the Black Eyed Peas?”

I shrugged, not sure what black-eyed peas were, exactly. ”Do you?”

”Sure,” she said. ”I like all bands with colors in their names. Black Eyed Peas, Plain White T's...”

”Green Day,” I added, and when she smiled, I was relieved. I'm actually pretty out of it, music-wise, and kind of pulled that name out of nowhere-I was scared for a sec it wasn't even the name of a band.

”Exactly,” she said. ”That's what I like about you, Al. You totally get it.”

She couldn't have been more wrong, but I wasn't about to correct her on that. I wasn't who she thought I was. I was even more n.o.body than usual, because I was also nowhere. At least, n.o.body knew where I was. n.o.body knew who I was. Like so many great poets, I was anonymous. Maybe I could be a poet, I decided. Too bad I can't write poetry.

After about an hour, we got through the door and up to the desk, where a skinny guy with spiky peroxide hair and dark-rimmed gla.s.ses sat at a desk in front of the sign-in book at 12:12. Roxie bent down to sign her name.

The guy pointed behind him, so Roxie and I started heading toward the line of bored-looking girls waiting there.

”You have to sign in,” he said to me.

”I'm not really here,” I explained.

”My mistake,” he said. ”Where are you, then, in school?”

I smiled. ”Yeah, fourth period.” Then I started around his little desk toward Roxie.

He grabbed my wrist and said, ”You want to be seen, you have to sign in.”

”But I don't want to be seen.”

”Well, then, you forgot to sprinkle on your fairy dust this morning, darlin', because I see you.”

”Even though I didn't sign in?”

He took a weary sip of his coffee. ”Don't be a pain in my a.s.s, huh, dear? Sign in or leave.”

”Come on,” Roxie yelled. A very tall, gaunt woman was holding open an elevator door and beckoning the girls.

I bent down and scribbled my name, leaving out one of my L's-Alison Avery, I wrote. To be more anonymous. Or less me, less there.

”Phone number?” the guy said. ”Preferably cell.”

I smiled to myself and, as I was writing down my number, muttered, ”My cell phone is possessed by the devil.”

”Aren't they all?” he answered.

I smiled up at him and then dashed across the concrete s.p.a.ce toward Roxie. The elevator door closed behind me and up we went.

7.

FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE I was one of the shortest girls in the room. These girls were practically giraffes. We could've taken on the Knicks. If anybody needed a can of stewed tomatoes from a top shelf, we were totally on the job. I was one of the shortest girls in the room. These girls were practically giraffes. We could've taken on the Knicks. If anybody needed a can of stewed tomatoes from a top shelf, we were totally on the job.

And there might have been three percent body fat in the room, on average. Not that I was obese, but you know how they say if Bill Gates walked into a room of a thousand homeless people, the average net worth in the room would shoot up to millions per person? Yeah, well, I was like the Bill Gates of body fat in that room.

The widest part of the girl's legs on the metal chair beside me was her knees. It was seriously alarming.

n.o.body talked or smiled. We all just sat there gorgeously wasting away, except for me. I just sat there.

One by one our names were called. Knees Girl was right before Roxie, so when she went to door number two, Roxie held my hand. Hers was clammy. I squeezed it. When a bored-looking guy with a British accent called her name, she crossed her eyes at me and strutted across the room. I had to smile. She was way prettier than any of those other skeletons. But I did notice, as she crossed the room away from me, that she was really skinny, too.

My phone started playing unrecognizable jazz. I was grabbing it out of my pocket when Mr. British Empire frowned like something smelled rancid and said, ”No cell phones.”

”I'm not...” Just as I got it out, it died completely.

”That's better,” he said. The door to room three opened and he sighed, saying, ”Alison Avery.”

I stood up to explain my situation as a six-foot-tall girl ambled out of the room, biting her puffy pink lip and holding a sultry, much more attractive picture of herself in her long fingers.

”Go in, phone girl,” English Accent Guy said. ”Go in, unless we're interrupting you.”