The Mall - Megan McCafferty Page 0,23

getting some work done?” I was already almost an hour behind at that point, and I really hated the idea of letting Gia down. My irrational fear of disappointing authority figures was a key to my academic success.

Drea held up Pieds D’Abord’s little stuffed hand.

“We promise,” she said.

So I agreed to ask. But I couldn’t guarantee Slade would say yes. Despite his flirty overtures at the last Cabbage Patch Party, I was certain he’d laugh me right out of Surf*Snow*Skate. Drea, however, did deliver on her promise, though her absence might have had more to do with the high volume of customers taking advantage of half-priced “Cruise and Cabana,” which I had learned was boutique speak for swimsuits and cover-ups. I more than made up for my lateness by bringing Bellarosa’s accounting totally up-to-date on the computer, an achievement I was eager to share with my boss. I was pleasantly surprised to find that despite No-Good Crystal’s lackadaisical work ethic, the store was very solidly in the black.

“Why should that surprise you?” Gia countered upon hearing my report.

I was shaken by her caustic tone. I’d heard her speak to Drea that way, but she’d never used it with me.

“W-well,” I stammered, “I’ve never shopped here, so…”

“So what? You assumed no one else did either?”

“Um…?”

From the sour look on Gia’s face, it was clear I had achieved the very opposite of the approval I had sought.

“Look, hon. I’ve been running this business for seven years now. I must be doing something right.”

Before I could apologize for the misunderstanding, Gia turned on her spiked heel and walked out of the office just as Drea sashayed in.

“Before you head to Surf*Snow*Skate!”

She shook a hanger at me.

“Nonononononono…” I objected.

“Seriously, unclench.” Drea yanked my earlobe. “I picked this outfit especially for you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Drea brushed off my comment with utmost professionalism. She pressed a denim skirt against my waist.

“See? This isn’t any higher than your jean shorts,” she said. “But it’s a better option because boys like skirts.”

“Why do boys like skirts?”

Drea did not dignify my ignorance with a reply.

She held up a cream-colored top with a black satin ribbon woven in and out and around the collar.

“This is basically a T-shirt, just like the one you’re wearing,” she said. “But you can adjust the tie around the neck so it’s almost off the shoulder but not quite.”

She coaxed me in front of the mirror. Just draped in front of me and not actually on me, I could see for myself that this was probably the most flattering outfit I’d ever worn.

“I thought you’d feel more confident showing collarbone, not cleavage.”

“Thank you, Drea,” I said, meaning it. “These picks are perfect.”

Drea headed to the supply closet and returned with a purple can of Aussie Mega Hairspray in one hand and two combs in the other.

“You know what would be really perfect? If you let me add just a little height…”

My bangs fell straight across my forehead. Drea’s bangs rose six inches above her eyebrows. Even if we compromised somewhere in the middle, three inches of bang would still be too teased for me.

“Ummm…” I pointed to the clock. “Aren’t we running out of time?”

“There’s always time for lipstick.” She dashed to the closet and came back with a tube of Revlon in Wild Rose.

“Is this too pastel for my complexion?” The pearlescent pink was not what I expected. “The girl at the Macy’s cosmetics counter said I was a spring…”

“With your light brown hair and hazel eyes?” Drea blew a raspberry in contempt. “The idiot doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You’re a summer stunner, sweetheart!”

I turned to the mirror and couldn’t believe what I saw. Drea was right: I was a summer stunner. Now all I had to do was prove it.

To Slade.

To Troy.

But most of all to myself.

12

PROTECT THE COOKIE

It was so easy.

“The Cabbage Patch?” Slade asked. “With you?”

A month ago, I would’ve interpreted those same exact words as a revolted response to a ridiculous question. And I wouldn’t have been wrong. But judging from the pool of saliva at Slade’s feet, he was anything but repelled by my invitation.

“Yeah,” I said, taking Drea’s advice to keep the conversation short. “It’ll be fun.”

I also remembered to look up at Slade coyly through my lashes. I hadn’t thought it was possible, but he, too, had gotten even more summer stunning since my disastrous interview. His hair was blonder, his skin darker. Most miraculously, his tank top was cut lower than ever and