Part 4 (1/2)
Ripple nodded like she was finally starting to catch on.
”When deciding between two sizes, always try the bigger one on first. That way you get to parade through the store in something that's too big, asking for a smaller size. The fat people will be totally jealous.”
Ripple licked her lips, eating it all up.
”Oh, and skin is in.” Kristen suddenly recalled the last thing Ma.s.sie had e-mailed the Pretty Committee before leaving for riding camp. ”The more you show, the better.”
”Like, how much skin?” Ripple slid her hands under her b.u.t.t. Her sweaty palms rubbed against the leather seat of the couch and made a low farting sound that neither of them acknowledged. The moment was too serious.
”As much as you can afford, I guess.”
Ripple crinkled her brows in confusion.
”Snakeskin,” Kristen clarified. ”Nawt Ripple-skin. Now me. What does Dune like?” She stood and flip-flopped over to a rack of breezy feminine dresses full of fresh colors, playful patterns, and fetching adornments like heart-shaped b.u.t.tons and braided straps. ”What about this one?” She pulled an orange T-s.h.i.+rt dress off the rack that had white dandelions st.i.tched across the bottom. In the poster on the far wall it had been paired with chunky turquoise beaded bracelets. The sight alone would have given Ma.s.sie a rash. But it filled Kristen with the buzz of springtime. And springtime filled everyone with love-even surfers. Kristen clarified. ”Nawt Ripple-skin. Now me. What does Dune like?” She stood and flip-flopped over to a rack of breezy feminine dresses full of fresh colors, playful patterns, and fetching adornments like heart-shaped b.u.t.tons and braided straps. ”What about this one?” She pulled an orange T-s.h.i.+rt dress off the rack that had white dandelions st.i.tched across the bottom. In the poster on the far wall it had been paired with chunky turquoise beaded bracelets. The sight alone would have given Ma.s.sie a rash. But it filled Kristen with the buzz of springtime. And springtime filled everyone with love-even surfers.
”Dune likes gray,” Ripple said flatly. Her announcement felt like the arrival of storm clouds at a Fourth of July barbecue. Ripple held up a pair of knee-length cargoes covered in more pockets than a Kipling backpack. ”I would put it with one of these.” She offered a dull beige racer-back tank and a faded red short-sleeve hoodie.
”Really?” Kristen asked, letting go of the dress. It swung back into place on the bar with the other girly dresses to the teasing schoolyard tune neh-neh-neh-neh-nehhhh, you ca-ann't-have-meeeee. neh-neh-neh-neh-nehhhh, you ca-ann't-have-meeeee. After a few more mocking swings, Kristen finally punched it. After a few more mocking swings, Kristen finally punched it.
With little enthusiasm, she tried on the shorts and the red hoodie (at least it had some some color) and found that, unfortunately, they fit. color) and found that, unfortunately, they fit.
”He's gonna love them.” Ripple clapped her hands together like an overly zealous wardrobe stylist. ”Now, let's go buy some skin.”
”Sounds good.” Kristen did her best to sound upbeat. She even managed to smile when she handed the cas.h.i.+er the last of her tutor-sitting money-a move that would have been a lot less painful had she bought the cute orange dress.
But it was too late.
She was now the proud owner of a baggy outfit in drab winter colors that made her look more like Cesario than Viola. And, according to the receipt in her clammy hand, all sales were final.
THE PINEWOOD.
KRISTEN'S BEDROOM Tuesday, July 21 July 21 1:07 P.M.
Kristen was already seven minutes late for GAS Park when the backside of her silver Guess Carousel watch beeped.
Ugh!
She locked her bedroom door, pulled her laptop out of David Beckham's kitty litter, stuck in the code key, and quickly slapped on her Cleopatra wig. There was no time for a wardrobe change, so instead of wearing the white Greek G.o.ddess dress, she tilted the computer's camera up, hoping no one would notice her baggy gray cargo shorts and faded red hoodie.
The screen came to life. And the members of the Witty Committee stared back at their alpha.
EINSTEIN (Layne Abeley) BILL GATES (Danh Bondok) Disguise: tweed coat, bushy mustache, wiry gray wig Disguise: gla.s.ses, light blue b.u.t.ton-down, dark blue blazer Expertise: physics Expertise: technology OPRAH (Rachel Walker) SHAKESPEARE (Aimee Snyder) Disguise: wavy black wig, gold hoop earrings, pumpkin orange blouse Disguise: gray bald-in-the-front, curly-in-the-back wig, mustache, white collar sticking out of a black cloak Expertise: anthropology (the study of humankind, not the cute and affordable shabby-chic store) Expertise: affairs of the heart and the Romance languages
”What do we stand for?” Kristen asked, never tiring of the routine.
”BOB,” they answered.
”And what does BOB stand for?”
”Brains over beauty!”
She smiled, her stress melting like Creamsicle-flavored Glossip Girl in the sun. Nothing validated her more than the WC, not even David Beckham's loving neck licks.
”State the reason for this meeting,” Kristen insisted in her best robot-meets-no-nonsense-CEO voice.
”We've been waiting for a progress report and never got one.” Oprah fiddled nervously with one gold hoop earring. ”Did you take my advice? Did you and Ripple help each other?”
”Looks like it,” Einstein snickered, straining to see beyond the camera's reach. ”What are you wearing wearing?”
”Hey, are those shorts from Quiksilver?” Bill Gates asked, nudging his round gla.s.ses a little farther up his s.h.i.+ny nose. ”I have the same pair.”
”You shop in the girls' section?” Kristen asked.
”No, you shop in the boys' boys',” he countered. ”B-but they look good on you. I mean, you know, you can totally pull them off.”
”You wish,” Shakespeare muttered.
Einstein and Oprah giggled.
Bill Gates turned red.
”Wait!” he screeched. ”I didn't mean it like that that. I meant-”
”It's okay.” Kristen hurried him along, angling the computer even farther up. ”I know know what you meant. And thanks for checking in, but I'm fine. . . . Actually, I'm late. Dune is at GAS Park right now, so I better go.” what you meant. And thanks for checking in, but I'm fine. . . . Actually, I'm late. Dune is at GAS Park right now, so I better go.”
”Question.” Oprah's round dark eyes seized Kristen, refusing to let her go. ”Is that what you're wearing?”
Kristen nodded yes.
”Then we'll get moving on plan B right away,” Oprah announced.
”What's plan B?” Kristen asked. ”Why are we moving to it? I never approved it.”
”Because I'm not so sure plan A is working.”
Kristen, about to protest, looked down at her outfit and sighed. She couldn't argue with that. But Ripple had sworn by the dude-duds. And when it came to Dune, she was smarter than any of them. . . .
Right?
GAS PARK.
HALF-PIPE.
Tuesday, July 21 1:41 P.M.
The way Kristen threw her leg over her bike, with uninhibited force, gave her pause. Usually she slid back on the gold banana seat, lifted on to her left toes, and swung her leg over with grace and modesty. Then she'd lower down and roll back her shoulders with the posture of a world-cla.s.s gymnast. But something about the long, baggy shorts, formless sweats.h.i.+rt, and fat black DC sneakers made her feel more lad and less lady. And she ambled into GAS Park with the side-to-side swagger to prove it.