The Cinderella Society (13 page)

My butterflies perked up their little heads. I distracted them with a swallow of water.

“Kee’s right,” SJ said. “You should unveil Jess 2.0 at the party. It’ll be like your debut.”

Parties and launches and Ryan, oh my
.

With shopping strategies set, we hit the mall like Cindys on a mission. Not only had everyone come prepared with lists, but Mel had come armed with fabric swatches. The pageant circuit had taught her well.

In less than an hour, they’d managed to cross off nearly everything on their lists. I found a few accessories but mostly stood in awe of their shopping expertise.

With everyone else in good shape, they turned their attention to helping me find something for the party.

I never saw it coming.

SJ marched us down to the biggest department store at the mall and had me describe my fun-feminine-sporty signature style. Even a few hours later, I was still a little geeked at how natural that style felt for me.

“Who’s up for a little contest?” Sarah Jane asked as we wandered to the Juniors section.

“I know that look,” Kyra said, grinning. “You want a PSC.” She turned to Mel and me. “A Power Shop Challenge. It’s great for keeping your fashion skills sharp. We each have to pick out three outfits on a certain budget in twenty minutes.”

Mel looked game, but no way could I hold my own with this crowd. “I’ll sit this one out and watch the pros at work.”

Sarah Jane tucked her arm in mine. “That works out great, since you’re our model. You tell us what kind of outfits you’re looking for, your size, and the colors you’re after, and we do the rest. Think of us as your personal shoppers.”

The only catch was that I had to try on everything—even if I looked hideous in it—so they could give it the thumbs-up or thumbs-down. Which, of course, made SJ remind everyone in her most serious, don’t-mess-with-the-Big-Sister voice that my personal thumbs were the only ones that mattered.

Like I’d really trust my judgment over theirs.

I gave them my sizes, what I was looking for (two casual outfits and one dressy thing), Stephan’s color advice, and a very limited budget to keep my debit card from conking out on me. Sarah Jane tossed in her two cents about what she’d liked on me that morning, we synched our watches (you
think I’m kidding, but no), and they scrammed to different sections.

I met them at the dressing room twenty minutes later. With only seconds to spare, the shopping queens handed over their outfits and stood guard outside the door. Nine outfits of varying cut and color were draped around the small room. Most of them would’ve made Stephan proud, but a few were flashy enough to make my palms sweat. And that was inside a locked dressing room.

True to my word, I donned each one and headed out to the mirror at the far end of the dressing rooms, bracing myself for their comments. But instead of giving me simple yea or nay reactions, I got my second master class of fashion that day.

Sarah Jane showed me how certain fabrics draped better on me, Mel was all about how tiny tweaks in tailoring could make the clothes perfect for my figure, and Kyra gave me a crash course in how to combine patterns without looking like Krusty the Clown. We studied the colors against my new highlights and makeup palette, deciding that Stephan was right on the money with his “clear, crisp colors” analysis.

They smoothed out wrinkles, had me turn this way and that. I felt like a fairy princess with a whole team of fairy stylists at her disposal.

The last outfit was a not-too-girly-but-still-flirty dress that I never in a billion years would’ve picked but that made me feel totally knockout. I put it on, did a little spin in the dressing room to watch the fabric swirl, and I knew it was the one. Kyra was the queen of dress shopping.

I walked down the dressing-room hall, only to hear a commanding “Stop!” from Sarah Jane as I approached the mirror. “How do you feel in that dress?”

“Awesome,” I admitted, unsure why it warranted a major halt in the action.

“Look at your profile.”

I turned to the side and saw that I looked every bit as confident and powerful as I had during my walk of fame in Lorraine’s studio. I hadn’t even thought about posture or walking or anything. I’d just let the dress’s happy vibes get the best of me.

I ended up choosing four outfits, because the Cindys had been such awesome bargain shoppers: the killer coral dress (Kyra), a cute shorts outfit for knocking around in (SJ), embroidered capris and a gauzy shirt and cami set (SJ again), and a dynamite mini-and-tank combo (Mel). The funniest part was that even though I looked completely Mt. Sterling–worthy, nothing I bought was major name. Not even one. Proof that you could definitely dress hot on a budget, with a little help from the Cindys.

We took the four outfits to the accessories department and played with different combinations that fit my fun-feminine-sporty style. I’d never been a big necklace fan, but the tiny silver chain with the swirl-enameled butterfly begged to be taken home. Combine that with a pair of small silver hoops (I’d never be a dangly earring kind of girl) and a thin pearly watch (for time-obsessed me), and I was a happy shopping camper.

A trip to lingerie for a low-back bra and some no-show panties and we were on our way out. Even with the extras, I had a few dollars to spare on my debit card until next payday. Enough to celebrate with a triple-decker sundae and four spoons, a token of my gratitude for my savvy Sisters’ help.

We sat at a big umbrella table on the patio outside the food court, surrounded by a dozen bags of clothes we adored,
and quickly scooped the ice cream before it melted in the heat. All in all, a definite check in the win column of my
CMM
progress. Nothing could’ve ruined my day at that point, not even Gaby with a fistful of projects.

Nothing, that is, except seeing my archenemy watching me from the parking lot.

Lexy stood outside her sleek black Lexus, her ultra-expensive sunglasses reflecting the afternoon sun.

Some girls from school were blocking the rest of our table as Lexy headed in my direction. She was almost to the sidewalk surrounding the patio when the girls in front of us moved on and the rest of the table came into Lexy’s view.

She pulled up short.

It was the first time I’d seen her since my adventure with Leopold, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. Me with my new babe hair and bags of clothing at my feet, chumming with my super popular friends. I’d gone from being public enemy number one to being a living nightmare. Her favorite target was surrounded by people every bit as strong as her.

Life’s tough when your targets are protected, isn’t it, Lexy?

She watched me a few seconds longer, then let her attention drift away when two newly minted grads stopped to congratulate her on being crowned Miss Teen Blue Ridge.

By default
, I wanted to yell.

Lexy headed out to the parking lot, but not before throwing me a look over her shoulder. Despite the sunglasses, her message came through loud and clear. I might’ve built a safety net, but she wasn’t done with me yet. And given her success with the Alyssa video, bullying Heather, and the coffee spill at The Grind? I didn’t doubt she could still take me down.

Chapter 9

THE GONZALEZES’ DOWNSTAIRS REC ROOM
(was I the only person without one?) had been transformed into a tropical paradise. Kyra’s mom waved at me from her virgin piña colada station at the bar, and I looked around for somewhere to set my gift.

Kyra came rushing over with Mel and Kat hot on her heels. “You’re here!” she yelled, hugging me tight and whispering in my ear. “You look
hot
. Ryan’s out back throwing the football around.”

I figured I’d play it cool and wait until everybody came in from outside so I didn’t look obsessed with him. We headed over to see Gwen and Sarah Jane on the couch. Everyone oohed and aahed over my new look and gave my capri outfit—which Sarah Jane had picked out—the coveted double snap of approval. With my charm bracelet on my wrist for good luck, the launch of Jess 2.0 was officially underway.

Awkward Jess Parker had been put to bed for good.

From what SJ had told me, Kyra’s birthday parties were major events. Her mom is Irish and her dad is Cuban, so she’d had a big bash for her
quinces
(the Cuban equivalent of a Sweet Sixteen, except you get it when you’re fifteen) and
then another blowout for her Sweet Sixteen the following year. She was turning seventeen this year, but the festivities still looked way more elaborate than anything I was used to. Especially my piddly ones with a few neighbor friends and my parents.

Dale came in from outside, mildly sweaty and bent on giving Gwen a hug. Pretty soon, the rest of the guys came streaming in. A few of them hunkered down on the sofa with us, and it didn’t even faze me. For once I felt like I fit. Until Cherie came down the stairs, and Kat and Mel got up to find out how her audition had gone.

I looked around at our little group. Gwen and Dale, Sarah Jane and Mark, Kyra and Ben. And me.

One of these things is not like the other …

I caught Cherie’s wave out of the corner of my eye and turned to wave back, getting up to make my escape from Couples Central. What I didn’t see was a certain someone approaching from behind who took an elbow to the arm on account of my wave. The arm carrying a large virgin piña colada.

White frothy slush smelling strongly of coconut dripped down his shirt to the tile floor, while he hugged the glass in question against his chest to safeguard against a second attack.

A beat passed. Ryan looked at the glass and extended his hand. “You looked thirsty.”

I took the nearly empty drink, suddenly aware that my back was feeling mighty chilly. “At least my shirt’s thirst is quenched,” I said, unable to think of anything less lame to say to disguise my mortification.

“Nice job, Parker!” a familiar voice cackled. What was
Lexy
doing here? Did evil roameth everywhere?

Mrs. Gonzalez was there in a flash. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “That’s why we put tile down here.”

I bent to help her clean up the latest mess of my life, but she shooed me away with a smile. “Towels are in the bathroom around the corner. Why don’t you two go get cleaned up?”

I thanked her again, apologizing like crazy and feeling like a grade-A dweeb. I headed for the bathroom, trying not to look at the gawkers. I didn’t look at Ryan either, but I could hear the squeak of his Nikes behind me. Perfect. Now I had to face him alone in the bathroom while we tried to rid ourselves of our Frosty the Snowcolada costumes.

A major gaffe, and I’d only been there twenty minutes. That might’ve been a new record, even for me. Dorky Jess Parker wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!” Lexy called.

My eyes sent hate darts in her direction.

Alone with Ryan in the spa-like bathroom, I handed him a fluffy white towel and took one for myself. All while avoiding eye contact. I wasn’t normally a clumsy person. I wasn’t! So why did I catch the freak bug every time Ryan came near me?

I ran a washcloth under warm water and wiped away the remnants of slush on my arm and calf. I glanced up in the mirror to see Ryan watching me and quickly looked back down at the sink, fumbling with the terry cloth. “Sorry for ruining your shirt,” I mumbled.

“Oh, this old thing,” he said in a girly voice that made me laugh in spite of my nerves. Or maybe because of them. “It was the first thing I put on.”

My face heated up as I thought about how many clothes I’d tried on in that changing room looking for the perfect outfit to impress him. Only to have it covered in coconut yum.

I swiped at my back a few times before a warm hand closed around my wrist. “Let me get it.”

He took the washcloth out of my hand and gently wiped the back of my shirt in long, slow strokes, catching the icy mix with each pass and dumping it into the sink. The sensation of his warm breath on my neck, the cold wetness of my shirt and cami, and the burning insult of my latest public humiliation made a powerful combination. Complete sensory overload.

“All set,” he said quietly, handing me the washcloth over my shoulder.

I tried to look cool and composed, but all of my Jess 2.0 confidence had gone to Tahiti the minute I’d demolished his drink. So I tidied up the mess we’d made of the sink at super speed and turned to leave. But Ryan was right there.

Right
there, like he’d never moved. Which meant he was about eight inches away from me.

I looked up into his face and saw a glimmer of ice clinging to a lock of his hair. Before I even registered the motion, I reached up to wipe it away with my finger. I was touching Ryan Steele. And he wasn’t moving away.

He flicked a glance to my lips. “You look really good, Jess.”

I could barely get air into my lungs. “I’ll bet you say that to all the wet T-shirt girls.” I was aiming for a joke, but it came out all breathy and Marilyn Monroe.

I tried again. “Sorry for being a klutz. I’ll get out of your way so you can finish cleaning up.”

I moved around him to escape, but he stilled my progress. “Wait.”

He leaned in, and I knew—
knew
—that my life would never be the same after this. I was about to be kissed by the only guy I’d ever truly fantasized about, and nothing could possibly, in my whole entire life, top this moment.

He hesitated mere inches from my lips, and then I felt it. One amazingly gentle whisper of a kiss.

On my cheek.

“Mmm …,” he said, licking his lips. “Coconut.”

My dream state disintegrated in a heartbeat. My first fantasy-worthy kiss was a minor-league cheek brush to capture the dripping mess caused by my geeky, spork-like tendencies.

But the saddest part? It still rocked my world.

In the end, I did what any self-respecting teenage girl would do when faced with her own ridiculousness. I fled like the coward I was.

I wouldn’t bail on Kyra until we’d done cake and presents, so I tried to find a way to blend into the wallpaper. I also got a private pep talk from Sarah Jane about the importance of keeping up appearances of calm even when I was dying inside. Which was easy to say, it seemed to me, when you were as close to perfect as Sarah Jane.