"Allison, stop! Can you quit being ridiculous for one second? I am trying to talk to you. I've been defending you all day and now you're making me wonder if everybody was actually right."

"Right about what?" I asked.

Jade sighed. "I think I owe it to you to tell you people are talking about you, and it isn't pretty."

My call waiting buzzed through. Roxie. I ignored it and sank down deeper into the couch. Everybody was talking about me? Oh, hideousness.

"I wouldn't say anything if I didn't care about you," Jade said.

"I know," I answered, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten again. "I know. What are they saying?"

"Just-you know what, who even cares? That's what my mother said when I told her about it."

"You told your mother?" I knew she told her mother everything, but I mean, please.

"Not the details, don't worry," Jade said, in her talking-me-down voice. "Just, like, the general stuff people were saying about you, because I was so upset. But she was like, 'Allison is your best friend. Don't even listen to all that awful gossip-it will rot your soul.' And I think she has a point, don't you? That kind of talk is just beneath us. You know?"

I didn't know if I knew, so I didn't answer.

"Screw them," Jade said. "They don't know you like I do. You want the homework?"

"Um, yeah, sure," I said, getting out a sc.r.a.p of paper, since my backpack was still in the bushes. "Thanks, Jade."

"You're welcome," she said, in her near-whisper voice. "You're my best friend. You know I'll always be there for you."

"Yeah," I said. "I know. It's just been a weird week."

"That's exactly what I was telling everybody," Jade said. "'Everybody has a weird week at some point. It doesn't mean Allison has changed.' I must have said that twenty times today."

"Thanks." I closed my eyes. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd be lost," she said quietly, and then told me what homework I had to do.

10.

BY THE TIME THE FORMS arrived on Thursday afternoon, I'd become an expert on mail delivery times. The worst thing, I knew, would be for somebody else to get the mail, read something about my short but apparently impressive modeling career, and then be waiting in the kitchen, with a tapping foot, raised eyebrows, and the doc.u.ments in hand, when I strolled in from school. arrived on Thursday afternoon, I'd become an expert on mail delivery times. The worst thing, I knew, would be for somebody else to get the mail, read something about my short but apparently impressive modeling career, and then be waiting in the kitchen, with a tapping foot, raised eyebrows, and the doc.u.ments in hand, when I strolled in from school.

So I'd skipped tennis team practice Tuesday and Wednesday, and by Thursday, the postal officer, Evangeline, and I had become close. Turns out she had a son who was heading off for college in the fall, and he'd been a mail stalker while he waited for decision letters in April. So Evangeline sympathized, and waited while I looked through our stack of bills and junk mail until I found it.

"That what you were waiting for?"

"Yup," I said.

She wished me luck and I sent luck to her son.

So that was nice. I'd spent the week feeling kind of tense and p.r.i.c.kly with both Jade and Roxie, but at least I was friends with Evangeline, the mail woman. I almost asked her in for a lemonade.

Another weird but nice thing was that, as I discovered when I sliced open the envelope with a knife in the quiet kitchen, it wasn't at all a misunderstanding. Zip Zip magazine had actually chosen me as a semifinalist model. magazine had actually chosen me as a semifinalist model.

Me.

Allison Avery. (Okay, Alison Avery, but still.) The "interesting-looking" Avery girl. The one of me, Jade, and Serena who was most likely to wear the wrong thing, the worst makeup, the fewest hair products-and to care least about it.

Zip magazine thought I was one of the twenty most gorgeous teens in America. magazine thought I was one of the twenty most gorgeous teens in America.

And all I'd had to do was let my cell phone go a little wacky.

Well, that realization whomped me right back down to earth. Obviously it wasn't that I was actually gorgeous; I had cheated. I had sold my cell phone so that a few people would be conned into thinking I was gorgeous. By the devil.

Not that I believed in him.

But maybe I was starting to, because I had to believe either that the devil had magically appeared in my bedroom one night and traded me gorgeousness for my cell phone, or that people whose job it is to recognize gorgeousness chose me as one of the most gorgeous teens in the country.

No contest.

I was dashing up the stairs to hide in my room so I could reread the forms when, as if to emphasize which was real, my cell phone played a series of loud trumpet sounds, had a small seizure, and died.

I scrunched down on the far side of my bed and studied the forms. Before I could compete in the semifinal round of twenty teens, I would need to get a parent to sign a paper filled with small print. The likelihood of that happening was somewhere between not not and and are you out of your mind are you out of your mind. I read on anyway, just for kicks.

If I won (ha ha ha ha ha), not only would I receive the honor of gracing (yes, "gracing") the cover of the September issue of zip zip magazine, I would also get a boatload of beauty products (bringing up the irony of giving beauty products to the one person who evidently needs them least) and a free trip to the South of France for myself and one parent, for a weeklong photo shoot, and also $10,000. magazine, I would also get a boatload of beauty products (bringing up the irony of giving beauty products to the one person who evidently needs them least) and a free trip to the South of France for myself and one parent, for a weeklong photo shoot, and also $10,000.

Not cash, though. A scholarship. That made me almost laugh out loud. If you're gorgeous, you get not just stuff to make you even more stunning, but also a scholarship. a scholarship. Because stunning looks prove you are a real scholar, as everybody knows. Because stunning looks prove you are a real scholar, as everybody knows.

A knock on my door made me jump. I was still shoving the papers into the envelope and the envelope under my bed when Dad loped into my room.

"Hey, Lemon?"

"What!?" I tried to wipe the guilty look off my face. Open eyes wide for an innocent look, Open eyes wide for an innocent look, I remembered reading in one of Phoebe's dumb magazines. Oops, the one I might soon be gracing the cover of. I remembered reading in one of Phoebe's dumb magazines. Oops, the one I might soon be gracing the cover of.

"What's up?" he asked, his eyes wide, too. Maybe he'd read the same article.

Okay, the thought of Dad thumbing through zip zip was too weird even for me. "Nada," I said slightly frantically. "Just hanging." was too weird even for me. "Nada," I said slightly frantically. "Just hanging."

He nodded.

I nodded.

I am the child my father borrows books from the library about, searching for ways to not scream at me. Somehow he gets along easily with everybody except me. My mother screams at me, too, but she screams at everybody sometimes. (Well, not Phoebe. n.o.body screams at Phoebe; she's the baby baby and so and so sweet. sweet.) But Dad, who is the most popular teacher at Willow Brook Elementary, reserves his short fuse only for me.

So I braced myself. Obviously he had found out I'd cut school.

I had no excuse, so I decided to just take whatever he had to dish out and try not to argue back. That's what he had advised me to do the last time I got in huge trouble, for pushing Quinn down the stairs. I had thought it was a good idea to let him know why I had chosen to give her a slight shove, which wouldn't have knocked a st.u.r.dier person off balance at all: She had said she would play lacrosse with me in the backyard, so I hauled all the stuff out there, and it had been a really rough day because Jade was mad at me for embarra.s.sing her by laughing too loud at something she'd said in the cafeteria about the smell of tuna, so she and Serena were giving me the silent treatment and I just wanted to whip a ball around. Quinn had said yes and came out after I got everything out there, and then played for, like, five minutes, but then she said she had to go to the bathroom. I waited out there for about half an hour, and when I finally came in to see if she was okay, she was upstairs, reading a book. Apparently she'd had enough lacrosse. So I gave her a slight tap. I was just trying to explain, when Dad was yelling at me, that I had actually shown tremendous restraint by not breaking Quinn's arms off, and maybe he could at least compliment me about that. But no.

He had insisted, fake-calmly, that in the future I should just listen and then apologize.

So that was my plan, when faced with the fact that I had totally ditched school and anyway still had no excuses.

If he knew I also took the train and the subway and let somebody take pictures of me and then gave out our address, I'd be grounded until I was dead.

"How's school?" he asked. Ah, very tricky, Ah, very tricky, I thought. Trying to get me to admit what I had done. I thought. Trying to get me to admit what I had done.

Laying the groundwork for an excuse, I said, "Boring."

He nodded.

This was like chess.

"Any clubs or anything interesting?"

"No."

"Other than the tennis team, right?"

Unsure where he was going with that, I said, "Yeah."

"Uh-huh. Still loving that?"

"No," I said. "It sucks."

"Why?" he asked. Probing, probing. But I wasn't falling for it.

"Because it's, like, all about the outfits now. Who has the nicest racquets, who got a new top, who's wearing the same thing she wore to the last match. I mean, is it a team or a fashion show?"

d.a.m.n! He was trapping me! Why was I mentioning fashion? I clamped my mouth shut tight.

He nodded. Roxie had said her parents nod too much, but I had never noticed it about mine before. He was a total bobblehead. How annoying and distracting! Out with it already, Dad, Out with it already, Dad, I was thinking. I was thinking. Yell at me, punish me, just stop toying with me! Yell at me, punish me, just stop toying with me!

"I need to talk with you, Allison."

Uh-oh. My real name. Here we go.

"Something happened Monday."

I tried desperately to think of an excuse. I had to cut school because...It's not my fault because... I had to cut school because...It's not my fault because... Nothing was coming. Nothing was coming.

"You know what's going on with Mom, and her job..."

I shrugged. I knew she was fired, but not that much more in terms of specifics. Was he really going the guilt-trip route? Not his usual style.

"Well, because of that, we're in kind of a bind in terms of cash flow. You know what that means?"

Okay, he was talking to me like I was an idiot kinder-gartner and it made me want to bop him over the head, but actually I didn't didn't know what that meant, so I shrugged one shoulder. know what that meant, so I shrugged one shoulder.

He sighed. "We don't have a lot of cash. I don't want you to worry; we'll be okay. It's just that right now, we are in a bind."

"Okay," I said, trying to figure out how this related to me cutting school Monday. My scalp was starting to sweat.

"You understand?"

"Yes, Dad! I am not the idiot you think I am! I follow. We're out of money. In a bind. I get it. Move on!"

His face turned a little red, but he took a breath and then another, the way one of his library books had suggested. I read them while he was playing the piano or watching sports on TV, so I would know what he'd be trying on me.

"You won't be able to go to Tennis Europe this summer."

His eyes focused on my beige carpet for a few seconds and then lifted to meet mine. They weren't angry eyes, or accusatory. They looked sad, and kind of apologetic. Weird.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked. "Am I punished?"

"Not at all, Lemon-head," he said, reaching toward me. Thinking he was trying to grab the letter, which was in fact touching my left pinky toe under the bed, I hid my empty hands behind my back. "Not at all." He dropped his hands and came to sit beside me on my bed, which wrinkled my duvet. "You're not in trouble at all. We are so sorry. But there was a logjam at the bank, apparently, because of some complicated financial maneuverings Mom had to make, which, to be honest, I'm not sure I fully understand myself, and the bottom line is, the payment to Tennis Europe didn't go through."

I surrept.i.tiously shoved the letter a bit farther under the bed.

"We're really sorry, but it looks like you won't be able to go on the trip."

"That's okay," I said.

"I know you and Jade and Serena have been looking forward to going together, and it was certainly an exciting opportunity..."

"Seriously, dude," I said. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

He shook his head and reached out his arms. Before I knew what he was doing, he had gathered me into a hug. "What a generous person you are, Allison. Thank you."

"It's no big deal," I said. "I don't care about Tennis Europe."

"I know that's not completely true," he said. "But I appreciate your saying it anyway." He let go and looked at me. "You are really growing up so beautifully."

My eyes felt tight, like they might start to cry, so I just looked away and asked, "Is Mom okay?"

"Stressed," he said. "But yes. We'll all be fine. We'll find something good for you for the summer, okay, sweetheart?"

Usually he only calls Phoebe sweetheart. "No problem," I said. "I'll be fine. I'll figure something out." Like maybe I'll go to the South of France. Like maybe I'll go to the South of France.

He got up and went to my door. I resisted straightening out my duvet. He smiled at me, so I smiled back, noticing that his lips disappeared, too, and it wasn't so hideous. It was kind of cute.

When he had closed the door, I fixed the duvet and sat back down to reread the zip zip paperwork. Ten thousand dollars if I won. Ten thousand dollars I could give Mom and Dad. No way Phoebe was making $10,000 this summer, or even Quinn. Ten thousand dollars. I pictured myself handing it over to them, insisting they take it, the whole thing, not even h.o.a.rding ten bucks for myself. The whole fat wad of cash, all for them, to help out. To be generous. From their difficult child. paperwork. Ten thousand dollars if I won. Ten thousand dollars I could give Mom and Dad. No way Phoebe was making $10,000 this summer, or even Quinn. Ten thousand dollars. I pictured myself handing it over to them, insisting they take it, the whole thing, not even h.o.a.rding ten bucks for myself. The whole fat wad of cash, all for them, to help out. To be generous. From their difficult child.

Picturing that was even better than picturing myself on the cover of a magazine I had always-it was true-looked down my (apparently quite lovely) nose at. I grabbed an envelope from the box on my desk and addressed it. My heart was pounding as I reread the forms. Ten thousand dollars. I forged Dad's signature and licked the envelope shut before second thoughts could overtake me.