on the sink counter, stepped into the tub, and slid down the back wall until my knees were under my chin.
Tristan slid the shower curtain back into place, sealing us alone in this little fiberglass heaven. Then he looked at me and waited.
“Do I really have to do this?”
He motioned around us. “We’re in the shower. No one sounds bad in the shower, remember?”
I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding at Mach speed.
I opened my mouth and hesitantly let the lyrics of the first verse tumble out. “I don’t like you, but I love you…”
The melody was so soft, so convolutedly tangled up in my sporadic breathing, I wondered if he could even hear it. I prayed he couldn’t.
But his gaze was trained on me. His jaw hanging in a slack smile. His eyes dancing. I closed mine tight. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him while this was happening.
I’m singing! To Tristan Wheeler! What is this parallel dimension of my life?
As I neared the chorus, I thought about ending it right there. He didn’t say I had to sing the whole song. But then suddenly my voice was lifted. It sounded richer somehow. Fuller. I realized it was because someone with a much deeper register was harmonizing with me.
I opened my eyes and our gazes crashed together for the second time that night. A collision that I was sure I would never survive. Not even with four seat belts and all the airbags in the world.
We sang the chorus together. Me taking the melody, him taking the lower third. “You really got a hold on me.”
When we reached the end of the stanza I squinted suspiciously at him. “I thought you said you didn’t know it.”
He tossed my sneaker to me. I caught it.
“About that,” he said, grinning. “I may have lied to get you in the shower.”
THE FOURTH MONDAY
Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag
7:04 a.m.
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
I sit up with a start, rub the sleep from my eyes, and gaze around my room.
Carpet. I can see my carpet.
Bookshelf. Every title is back in its proper, alphabetized place.
Desk. Papers stacked in neat piles.
Wall. Posters pinned up in perfect alignment.
Everything is as it should be. Everything is perfect. It’s like last night’s Hurricane Ellie never even happened.
THIS IS SO COOL!!!!
Bloop-dee-dee-bloop-bloop-bing!
I shove the covers from my legs, stand up on my mattress, and start dancing. Dancing and singing and jumping and squealing and kicking the air like a mixed martial arts champion.
Hadley bursts into my room a moment later. She stops in the doorway, staring up at me in utter bewilderment. I do a karate chop in her direction, belting out a “hi-ya!”
“Um,” she begins warily. “What are you doing?”
“Life is amazing, isn’t it?” I call out at the top of my lungs. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. “How come I never knew how bouncy this mattress is?! Hads, you have to try this!”
“Ummmmmmm,” she repeats, elongating the word until it’s way too many syllables. “I’ll pass.”
I stop bouncing, drop my head back, and let out a loud, witchlike cackle.
“Are you on drugs?” Hadley asks.
“Nope!” I drop onto my butt and spring to my feet, sticking the landing with my arms up like an Olympic gymnast. “9.6 from the Russian judge!”
“Mom!” Hadley yells into the hallway. “Ellie’s on crank! She’s a crankenstein!”
I hoot. “Crankenstein! Good one!”
My sister takes off and I close the door and start getting ready.
Forty minutes later, I’ve been totally transformed.
I took a black lace tube top that I usually wear under lower-cut shirts to make them “school appropriate” and turned it into a miniskirt. I paired that with a formfitting black long-sleeve shirt that I attacked with a pair of scissors, making it a crop top. I caked my eyes with dark shimmery eye shadows, rimmed my lids with heavy black eyeliner, stained my lips a deep, sensual red, and painted my fingernails black.
Yup. Extreme Makeover: Ellie Edition is in full swing.
The only thing I’m missing is the shoes. But I think I know exactly where to get them. I swing my schoolbag over my shoulder and head into my parents’ bedroom. My mom keeps all her old Halloween costumes at the back of her closet. I find the vampy lace-up boots from when she went as a Spice Girl four years ago and slide them on over a pair of fishnet stockings I wore for a camp play once. The boots fit perfectly, but it takes me about a year and a half