Part 26 (1/2)

”No,” I said. ”I told Nico, that...that's private.”

He c.o.c.ked his head. ”But that's the story.”

I shook my head.

”Allison,” he said, ”we can't just have a picture of a crying girl with no story. The story makes the picture. It will all, certainly, be in only the best taste. If anything makes you uncomfortable, we won't print it.”

”Oh,” I said. ”Okay.”

”The more details you can provide, of course, the more real it will feel to our readers, and the more likely you are to win.”

”I thought it was just about how you look in a picture,” I said.

He smiled wickedly. ”Is anything so simple?”

”I guess not.”

”A picture is an invitation, a question mark. Like beauty itself. What is it that makes one person beautiful and another not? Is it a cream, a blush, an arrangement of fabric? A billion-dollar industry, in which I am a cog, insists that it is. Is it anatomy? Symmetry? Or something more ephemeral? Thomas Aquinas, an old buddy of mine, said three things are needed for beauty: wholeness, harmony, and a killer mascara. No, wait, not mascara. Radiance. That's what he said. Radiance. Not a single plug for a brand of concealer from him. And you, Allison Avery, what is your theory?”

I shrugged.

”It's a simple question. Let's say you are our cover girl. What is beauty, to you?”

”Um,” I said, thinking, They didn't say there was going to be a test They didn't say there was going to be a test. ”I guess it is...feeling beautiful?”

”Ah,” he said. ”A tautology. Beauty is feeling beautiful.”

”Or that's what it comes from,” I said. ”You are most beautiful when you feel beautiful.”

”Do you really believe that?”

”No,” I admitted. ”I don't know. That's what I wish were true.”

”And yet you manage to feel beautiful,” he said. ”Despite the fact that like so many other teens in these difficult economic times, your mother has lost her job, you are losing your house, your summer plans have evaporated, your friends.h.i.+ps and social standing are under stress...”

”No,” I said. ”I didn't...”

”You texted responses to my a.s.sistant. We have them on the record.”

”I did not.”

He held up a typed paper. ”I have it all right here.”

I stood up. ”You can't have texts from me that I never sent you.”

He held out the paper. I only glanced at it but saw, highlighted in yellow, the names Tyler Moss, Jade Demarchelier, Roxie Green, Quinn, Tyler Moss, Jade Demarchelier, Roxie Green, Quinn, and and Phoebe Phoebe.

”No,” I said. ”You can't use it. No.”

”Sit down, Allison. Let's keep chatting.”

”No,” I said.

”Don't you want to win?”

”Yes,” I said. ”I do.”

”Winning isn't easy.”

”I know.”

”There are sacrifices we make if we want success. Do you think your mother got to where she got by shying away from a challenge? Do you think any successful person backed down at the first scary obstacle? If you want to be famous, if you want to be somebody somebody-and I think you do-there is a cost. You have to put yourself out there.”

”Myself is one thing,” I said. ”This is my family.”

He shrugged. ”What price beauty?”

”It would destroy my mother.”

”It would make you.”

I opened my mouth but no words came out.

”Your mother has had her turn,” the devil said softly. ”It's your turn now. This is your chance, Allison Avery. This picture is gorgeous, and the story is so timely it will catapult you straight into the talk shows. Vogue Vogue would want it, would want it, Cosmo Cosmo, certainly all the other teen rags. We've already leaked the possibility to Oprah; she's drooling. It's happening, Allison. You've got the look, and you've got the story to propel it. If we pierce the veil of privacy, go behind the hedges in the estates of privilege...”

”Our hedges aren't even that high.”

”Or you can choose to be afraid. You can say no. It is your choice. But let me be clear: If you walk away from this opportunity, another is highly unlikely to present itself.”

”But if I'm so gorgeous...”

His eyes narrowed. ”You make your reputation with every decision, day by day. And if your reputation is that of a gun-shy s.h.i.+rker, thus will you ever be. There is no turning back. Think carefully. The choices we make determine who we are. Who are you, Allison Avery?”

I swallowed hard, trying to think. Picturing myself on covers of magazines, famous, successful beyond my wildest dreams.

”You are poised to live the fantasy,” he said. ”How many girls would sell their souls for this chance?”

I blinked and felt a smile start on my mouth. ”Not me.”

”No?”

”I didn't,” I said, and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. ”I just sold my cell phone.”