Part 25 (2/2)

That was when I lost it. I started giggling, tried to cover it with a cough, and might have succeeded, if I hadn't heard a strangled little sound escape from Quinn. Her mouth was tight but her shoulders were shuddering as she tried to hold in the laughter. Mine were, too, and then squeaky sounds started seeping out of Phoebe, too, until we were overcome.

”What?” Mom asked. ”What's so funny?”

We were trying to explain and pointing at her face and our own when Dad came around the side of the house, caught sight of us all there with the black clay all over our faces, and shrieked.

Mom looked at him, then at us, and that's when it dawned on her. She doubled over laughing. We all ran, howling, for bathrooms while Daddy, bewildered, kept asking what had happened to our faces.

Later, after we'd washed up, revealing our healthy glow, we put on pajamas and wandered back downstairs, not ready to go our separate ways yet. All five of us fell asleep entangled on the couches in the family room, watching TV, and when we woke up at two in the morning and wandered off to our beds, Dad whispered to me, ”Sweet dreams-tomorrow, well, today, will be the first day of the rest of your life,” editing what he used to say when I was little. I had a jolt of fear, since that reminded me of what was about to happen that day, and I thought I'd never fall back to sleep. I did, though, way easier than I'd antic.i.p.ated, with the picture of me, my mother, and my sisters cracking up in our hideous masks, and feeling absolutely beautiful together.

27.

I WALKED THROUGH THE WALKED THROUGH THE double-height gla.s.s doors on the thirty-fourth floor of the office building, clutching the bag of clothes I'd brought (better prepared this time) and clenching my jaw. I headed down the long hallway, pa.s.sing huge blowups of past double-height gla.s.s doors on the thirty-fourth floor of the office building, clutching the bag of clothes I'd brought (better prepared this time) and clenching my jaw. I headed down the long hallway, pa.s.sing huge blowups of past zip zip covers on both sides. They were beautiful. It was like being in a really cool museum. The receptionist, sitting in front of a bronze wall hanging of the covers on both sides. They were beautiful. It was like being in a really cool museum. The receptionist, sitting in front of a bronze wall hanging of the zip zip logo, looked me down and up after I told her my name. logo, looked me down and up after I told her my name.

”And you are here for?” she asked.

”For...I'm a...an interview. A finalist,” I babbled. ”Allison Avery.”

”Ah,” she said, ”yes,” and pointed across the room. There was a red leather couch with a long, gangly girl on it already, her slick black hair pulled back from her angular, dark face. I sat down on the other side of the couch. She smiled, revealing the whitest, straightest teeth I'd ever seen, and asked, ”You're a finalist?”

”Weirdly enough,” I said, and shook her outstretched hand.

”I know what you mean,” she said, and I considered feeling horribly offended, in fact was working up to it, when she continued, ”I've spent my whole life feeling hideous, like a freak. Apparently the only ones who disagree are these people.”

I felt myself smiling back at her, and said, ”But you're gorgeous.”

”Me? No way,” she said. ”You are. My own grandmother told my mother not to worry, I wouldn't always look like this.”

”Mine said I was interesting-looking interesting-looking!”

”Oh, that's awful,” she agreed. ”I'm Siddhartha.”

”Filonia mentioned you!”

”How I knocked over the whole tray of makeup?”

”No,” I a.s.sured her. ”How great you were.”

”Allison Avery?” the receptionist called.

”Oh, Siddhartha was here first,” I said.

”I don't care,” the receptionist answered.

”I'm way early,” Siddhartha said. ”Nervous. Good luck!”

I doubled back for my bag and to say thanks thanks and and you too you too; then had to sprint after the receptionist in her stilettos. I tried not to clomp, since our steps echoed in the hallway. At the end, she swung open a frosted-gla.s.s door and said my name.

I stopped short in the doorway when the devil himself smiled at me from behind his desk.

”Go in,” the receptionist said.

I did.

”It's you,” I managed to say.

He stood up and came around the desk, looking at me, and said, ”Allison Avery.”

”Yes.” The door closed behind me. He gestured to a chair in front of his desk. I went to it and sat down, while he leaned against his desk, never taking his eyes off me.

”Do you need a drink of water?”

I shook my head.

Noticing that I was s.h.i.+vering a little bit, he asked, ”Too cold for you? These buildings are always over-air-conditioned.”

”Usually I'm sweaty,” I said.

”Me, too,” he said, though he looked so perfect and cool in his linen suit it was hard to imagine he ever over-heated.

”You are a very interesting girl,” he said, and then-I guess I looked a little panicked-he patted a paper on his desk. ”Your interview gives us a good potential angle.”

”Oh?”

He reached behind him and picked up a big glossy photograph. It was a cover of zip zip, one I hadn't seen before, really dramatic-looking; the girl was gorgeous and crying; I then realized that The New Teen The New Teen was written across the bottom. Then I saw that the gorgeous girl in the picture was me. was written across the bottom. Then I saw that the gorgeous girl in the picture was me.

I looked at his face when I could tear my eyes away from the image. ”I don't get it,” I whispered.

”Very timely, as well as quite arresting, obviously.”

”What is?”

”The angle.”

”I don't...” I was staring at the picture again. It didn't look like me, but it did; it was disturbing but kind of beautiful; it was hard to stop making eye contact with the broken, angry, vulnerable girl in the picture, even knowing that she was me.

”Of course you do, Allison Avery,” he said. ”Don't play dumb; it's unbecoming.”

I looked at him again, and he smiled. ”The new teen. Coping with her family's slide into poverty. The heartbreak of losing her house, her home, her social standing. Very newsworthy, and of course you photograph magnificently. A little tightness in the lips, which you should work on.”

”They tend to disappear,” I said.

”Don't let them. After this you'll go down the hall for the shoot, where we'll get some different looks. For the inside. Versatility-sporty, sweet, innocent-but I think this should be our cover look, to give it punch. But first we will need to get more details, of course, fill out the story. That's your ticket to winning.”

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