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a shower, attempted to do something with my hair, gave up, and packed my bag. When I went downstairs, nobody was around, so I left a note saying where I’d be. I considered how to sign it— Love? Love ya? Love you all? I just wrote Allison and left.
    The sky, finally gloomifying after weeks of gaudy blue, pressed down on everything. No birds were singing in the trees; nobody was out walking a dog or even driving too fast down our perfect street.
    Hallelujah.
    My phone buzzed. Jade.
    Serena and I are gonna play tennis at the town courts. Want to come?
    I so didn’t, even though I knew Ty and those guys often hung out there, shooting hoops next to the tennis courts. I knew Jade was being generous, not wanting to sneak around and get an advantage without giving me a fair shot at equal time. If I want any chance with Ty, I told myself, I should ditch Roxie and go . The thought made me feel incredibly sleepy. I stood there holding my phone in the middle of the road.
    Before I could figure out what do, Jade texted again: What r u doing?
    I considered for a moment what to say, and then decided on something kind of bold: I told her the truth.
    Going over to Roxie Green’s.
    In two seconds, she’d texted back
    ????
    She’s great, I answered, walking fast toward Roxie’s. We should be nice. Jade was all about being nice, good manners, the importance of acting appropriate, so there was nothing she could say to that. I hit Send and skipped up Roxie’s steps.
    Absolutely. Just be careful, Jade sent back. She’s not like us. I don’t trust her & I don’t want u 2 b hurt.
    Thanks, I texted her. Have fun.
    I slipped my phone into my pocket and rang Roxie’s doorbell. She flung it open and said, “Great! You’re here!” and pulled me in. “Do you like cookie dough?”
    “Ice cream?”
    “No,” she said. “Just dough. I made some.”
    “Excellent,” I said. We sank into the deepest couch I’d ever seen, surrounded by dozens of pillows, eating raw cookie dough and watching stupid stuff on TV for the rest of the afternoon. I left my phone in my bag in Roxie’s front hall and didn’t give it another thought. It was awesome.
    At night we changed into pajamas and went to her rec house next door with flashlights. We spent about an hour jumping on her trampoline until we were sweaty and exhausted, and then we just lay there making ourselves seasick on it. Then we ran back to her regular house through the rain. We stayed up in her room until it was starting to get light out, listening to music and laughing, like when I asked her if my lips disappear when I smile. That completely cracked her up, and then me, too.
    “I like the sound the rain makes against windows,” she said as we were settling down to sleep under puffy comforters.
    “I’m just glad the weather has finally caught up with my personality,” I said.
    We fell asleep giggling and didn’t wake up until noon.
    Over bowls of cereal on that dreary Sunday afternoon, Roxie’s mother, Jenny, brought up the idea that changed everything.
    “There’s an open call tomorrow,” she said from behind a newspaper called Backstage.
    “Modeling?” Roxie asked.
    “Yes,” Jenny answered. “Hey, Allison, you know zip ?”
    “Yeah,” I said, feeling myself blush. “Approximately.” What had I done that was so stupid?
    Roxie, laughing, went and found a copy of a magazine called zip in a basket near their back door. I recognized it as the same one I had taken from Phoebe’s room the other night, but I just shrugged. I hate those magazines—all those skinny, perfect girls selling junk.
    Jenny shoved over the ten boxes of cereal she had taken out for us to choose among and laid down the paper. Her smile and dimples were as bright and cute as Roxie’s, though her voice was deeper and more ragged.
    She pushed her long, wavy hair back from her forehead with her thumb and pinky and read the ad out loud to us:
    “‘ Zip magazine, looking for edgy but clean-cut non-pros for