Envy (Fury) (19 page)

And then, out of the blue: “I have been so stressed out lately,” Gabby said, just the slightest bit too loudly.

Skylar didn’t know what to say. “Really?”
You could have fooled me. And everyone else.

“I mean, looking at these pictures, it just reminds me of how much
work
goes into . . .” Gabby trailed off.

“Being you?” Skylar filled in, trying to keep the bite out of her voice.

“I guess so—even though I know that sounds dumb. I mean,
I know I am so lucky. You know? But I just find myself being, like, totally . . . I’m just tired.” Gabby was staring down into her glass, watching the ice cubes melt. When she spoke again, her words had a staccato quality. “Part of me thinks it was easier when I was with Zach. One less thing to worry about, maybe? But now there’s just so much. Too much. I mean, SATs and the dance and, you know, being single . . . It’s like, what do I even focus on? I have to be perfect at all those things? Like my brothers. They’re both at Duke. People expect me to be, like, a girl version of them.” She ended her rant staring at an African mask that Aunt Nora had hanging on her wall.

Skylar still didn’t know how to respond. It was shocking to hear Gabby talk like this. Gabby, who had everything and made it look so simple.

“I mean, and it’s not even Zach that I miss the most,” Gabby said, looking at Skylar again. “At least without him I always had Em . . . but she’s never around anymore, and when she is, she’s just being weird. I don’t know what’s up with her, and it’s exhausting trying to figure it out.”

Skylar listened, letting Gabby’s words soak in. She tried to muster some sympathy, but it was hard. She wanted to say,
People expect you to be perfect because you act like you’re
already
perfect.
And as far as Skylar could tell, Gabby was a lot like her older brothers—she had plenty of friends and admirers, with or without Em and Zach.

“I’m going to go make myself one more drink,” Gabby said suddenly, standing up from the couch and heading back toward the kitchen. Skylar accompanied her, gulping down the remains of her own watered-down beverage.

Gabby poured equal parts of rum and juice into her glass. “It’s not like I don’t love being busy and helping plan things and, you know, being a girl—caring about clothes and my hair and stuff—but I guess I’m just . . . worn-down, or something,” she said, holding her drink in one hand and absentmindedly fiddling with her key chain, which had been on the table, with the other. She was saying she was run-down, but her anxiety seemed to give her a frantic quality. “People don’t understand that. They think it’s all fun-fun-fun. But sometimes”—at this, her voice got quiet—“I just want a break.”

There was a silence as her words sank in. “So why don’t you take one?” Skylar finally asked. “It sounds like you’re going to burn out.” But Skylar knew that Gabby wouldn’t take a break—why would she, when things were going so well?

Gabby nodded. “I know I should, but . . .”

But it’s just too nice to bask in the glow of perfection, huh?

Gabby was staring down at her keys, still fidgeting. Dangling from the chain was a plastic frame about the size of a matchbook. Gabby thrust it toward Skylar. “Look at this,” she said.

The photo was of Gabby and Em. They were both making funny faces, and their arms were draped around each other.
The photo was supersaturated; the colors were vivid.

“I know we look so immature, but I love that picture,” Gabby said as she refreshed Skylar’s cocktail. “We just took it this fall—my mom went to a broadcasting conference in New York City, and we went with her. That was in Times Square.”

“This was just a few months ago?” For a second Skylar forgot she was sulking. She was genuinely surprised. “Em looks so different now.” And it was true. The girl in the plastic frame was not the same girl Skylar knew. The Em that Skylar knew would never be so . . . silly. And the Em that Skylar knew had something heavy behind her eyes. The girl in the photo with Gabby—there was nothing in her eyes but joy.

“I know, she looks different these days,” Gabby said, taking the key chain back and placing it carefully beside her purse. “She’s skinnier. And paler. Not that she looks bad. I mean, she’s always had great skin. . . . I totally envy it.”

Skylar scoffed. “You have great skin too, Gabs.”

“Well, thanks,” Gabby said, blushing slightly—or was that the rum? “Thank god you’ve never seen me after I’ve eaten shellfish. I’m totally allergic. One bite and my skin gets all red and puffy. . . . I used to have nightmares about my skin being like that all the time.” She shuddered.

As they went back into the living room Skylar had a vision of her and Gabby taking a photo that would replace the one of Gabby and Em. It gave her comfort. Despite the rum and juice,
Skylar felt like she was starting to see more clearly: Gabby liked her. Gabby was on her side.

Settled into the couch again, Gabby flipped to the page in her scrapbook dedicated to last year’s Valentine’s Day dance, which had an “eco-friendly” theme.

“Everyone was really on a going-green kick last year,” she told Skylar, giggling a bit as she took another swig from her glass. “And you know, V-Day is all about
looooooove
. So the theme was We Heart the Earth. People liked it. All our stuff was recycled—you know, like the cups? And part of the proceeds went to Greenpeace.”

Skylar ran a hand through her hair and felt how greasy it was; she wished she’d had time (or energy) for a shower over the last day and a half. Gabby may have been complaining about being tired, but she’d obviously still washed her hair. “Have you had any ideas about this year’s theme?”

Gabby pouted and finished off her second drink. “No. I really want to come up with a killer idea—I’ve been waiting for the light bulb to go on over my head! But . . . nothing.” And then, noticing her empty glass, she sprang up from the sofa. “I’m going to get one more,” she said, scampering off before Skylar could say a word.

While Gabby was in the kitchen, Skylar checked the time on her phone: 8:15. Nora would probably be home within the hour. She’d have to get Gabby upstairs by then, considering how tipsy she was getting.

“I mean, if the dance has a good theme, I’m pretty much guaranteed to be the Queen of Spring,” Gabby was saying as she walked back into the living room, her eyes locked on her almost-overflowing glass. “And that will prove to everyone that . . . I’m fine. I’m fine without Zach. I’m fine. Does that make sense?” She looked at Skylar with big doe eyes, one single curl falling over her left eyebrow. She sat, but her knee was bobbing up and down.

“It makes sense,” Skylar said, nodding and putting a tentative hand on Gabby’s shoulder. “I know you’ll come up with something good. Even better than We Heart the Earth.”

“Speaking of which”—Gabby perked up suddenly and brushed the errant tendril from her eye—“I was reading about all of these natural skin-care recipes—like, masks that you can make out of eggs, and oatmeal scrubs. We should do that! They’re good for the planet
and
they make us prettier!”

Skylar looked at her skeptically. “What? Like, now?”

“No time like the present!” Gabby squealed. She was definitely tipsy. Skylar wondered how she would get home. She obviously couldn’t drive.

Doing facials would at least get Gabby upstairs before Aunt Nora came home, so Skylar consented to Gabby’s proposal and helped her rummage in the kitchen for ingredients: olive oil, oatmeal, and eggs from the fridge.

In the upstairs bathroom Gabby insisted they turn on the shower so that the steam could “open the pores”—another tip
she’d read about in
Cosmo
. She was in a good mood again. The alcohol had obviously relaxed her. Skylar was glad that, for once,
she
wasn’t the slurry one. And she decided not to point out the obvious—that running the water kind of negated the whole “save the planet” thing.

“It’s lucky that you’re into the whole natural thing right now,” Skylar said as they cracked the eggs in small bowls that Skylar had set on the back of the toilet. “I don’t really have a lot of fancy beauty products.”

“Oh, neither do I,” Gabby breezed, draining her glass. “The only thing I absolutely cannot live without is my La Mer face cream. My mom got it for me a couple of years ago, and it’s absolutely crucial. Have you ever tried it? I can totally share mine with you. Next time we’re at my house you have to put some on. It’s like insta-glow.”

Skylar knew what Gabby was talking about—she’d read about La Mer in
InStyle
. She knew it was extremely expensive—the kind of stuff celebrities used—and felt another flare of jealousy. But just then Gabby flicked her with a bit of olive oil, and Skylar couldn’t help but giggle. They mixed the facials with their fingers, laughing at the gloppy mess that formed in the bowls.

“This is going to be fun,” Skylar said, getting into it, loving the way the oil coated her fingertips, smelling sweet and earthy.

“The oil will be great for your skin,” Gabby said, looking at Skylar intently. “It’s supermoisturizing.”

Was Gabby saying that her skin was too dry? Was there an insult cloaked in that “helpful advice”? She looked at Gabby through the mirror, searching for the Lucy look.

But Gabby was just staring kindly at her through the mirror. It gave Skylar a pang of sadness for some reason. She was so used to being tortured and humiliated by Lucy, or yelled at by her mom, that it was almost harder work to know how to act when someone was being
nice
instead of pitying or just plain mean. Skylar wanted so badly to just enjoy having a good friend. Someone who cared about her. But she couldn’t relax. Couldn’t stop worrying.

Maybe some girls just aren’t meant to be happy.

That was what Skylar was thinking as she stared at Gabby’s face in the mirror, where the steam from the shower was spreading slowly, forming white tendrils.

“That’s pretty, isn’t it? Kind of . . . smoky?” Skylar touched her finger to the steamy part of the mirror and made a streak.

And then Gabby’s face changed completely. She slammed her hand to her forehead. “That’s it!” She stood up, pointing at the mirror. “That’s the theme!”

“What is?” Skylar said, snapping out of her sad mood.

“Smoke and Mirrors!” Gabby turned to Skylar with a wide, gleeful smile, then picked up her glass, gave a “Cheers,” and tipped it back, slurping the last drops. “Smoke and Mirrors,” she repeated, satisfied. And Skylar had to admit that it was a great theme.

After all, wasn’t popularity pretty much just a big illusion?

Just like that, an idea started forming in Skylar’s head.

•  •  •

“Ugh . . . I am
hung
over,” Gabby said as a greeting when she and Skylar met just before the dance committee meeting on Monday afternoon. Last night, after her fourth rum and juice, Gabby had ended up calling her parents, telling them that she and Skylar were having a cram session (she’d enunciated
very
carefully to avoid sounding as drunk as she was), and sleeping over. That morning Skylar had reluctantly opened her closet to Gabby. Skylar was embarrassed at her limited wardrobe choices, many of which were too big even for Skylar these days.

“This is perfect.” Gabby had grabbed one of Skylar’s most recent purchases—a silky lilac tunic—off a hanger. “I have leggings in my gym locker—did you know that I have a whole emergency closet in there, practically?—plus a belt and my crappy black boots. I’ll be all set.”

Skylar marveled over the fact that despite the lingering puffiness under Gabby’s eyes—and the fact that her hair was clipped back, which it almost never was—Gabby still looked pretty, even in the harsh fluorescent glare of the Ascension High hallway lights.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Skylar said, pulling a vial of ibuprofen out of her purse. “Want some?”

“Savior!” Gabby shook two capsules into her palm and threw
them in her mouth, followed by a swig from her Poland Spring water bottle.

As she did so Skylar sighed dramatically. “Speaking of savior . . . I was hoping you might be mine, too.”

“What’s up?” Gabby asked, gulping back the pills.

“I spilled coffee all over my shirt last period. . . . Do you think you could lend me something to wear just for the meeting? From your emergency stash? I don’t want to smell like coffee the whole time.” Skylar made her eyes as wide as possible and pointed to her shirt, which did, in fact, have a bit of coffee on it.

“You can barely see it! You’re being paranoid,” Gabby said, linking arms with Skylar and turning in the direction of the committee meeting.

“Gabs, please? I just don’t want to give people one more thing to laugh at, okay?” Her voice shook slightly, and for a split second Skylar didn’t even know if the tremble was fake.

Instantly Gabby’s expression softened. “I totally get it,” she said, swiveling in the opposite direction. “But we have to run. I don’t want to be late for the committee.”

“Here’s the thing,” Skylar said as though she’d just thought of it. “I have to stop in and see Mr. Capron really quickly about my French homework. Why don’t I do that, you run to the gym, and we’ll reconvene at the meeting?”

As they went their separate ways, Skylar felt a rising sensation of both panic and exhilaration. Her plan was working. Sure, she’d
had to lie (there was no homework in French today), and she’d stained one of her favorite shirts (on purpose), and yes, there was a chance the whole thing could blow up in her face, but it was worth it. It was all worth it. She kept channeling her conversations with Meg.
If you want something badly enough, you have to be willing to do anything to get it.
She felt a nagging thirst at the back of her throat, the same itch that used to overcome her backstage at pageants. She cleared her throat violently.

This was her chance.

She walked confidently into the classroom where the planning committee meeting would take place; everyone else had already arrived.

“Hi, guys,” she chirped brightly, slinging her bag under a desk as she slid into her chair. It felt like her senses were on superalert—she could feel the smooth plastic chair through her boot-cut jeans, and the air seemed to slice through her shirt. “Jeez, is the AC on in here or something?” She made a show of wrapping her scarf—the skull scarf—tighter around her neck. Then she cleared her throat again before continuing. “Gabby asked me to start the meeting without her. She had to run down to the gym,” Skylar said, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. “And I’m glad, because I am
too
excited to wait for her. You all know that the Dusters said yes, right?” There were nods indicating that they did. “Well, now I have even better news—I thought of a theme, you guys!”