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expert.”
    Ripple hyper-nodded. “What else?”
    Kristen pulled her down onto a bright blue leather couch by the dressing room and leaned in. She was about to reveal Massie’s trade secrets and couldn’t risk being overheard. Not even by the nearby mannequin in the rainbow-striped bikini.
    “Rule number two. Never check price tags. Act like you have endless amounts of cash.”
    “What if you don’t?” Ripple squeaked.
    Kristen fought the urge to hug the girl, who at that moment could have been a younger version of herself.
    “Peek at the price in the dressing room,” Kristen whisper-advised. “If it’s too expensive, ask for it in a color you know they don’t make.”
    “I thought we weren’t supposed to ask for help.” Ripple’s narrow eyes were wide again.
    “That’s outside the dressing room. Once you’re inside, you should ask for help all the time. Make them
work
for you.”
    Ripple nodded like she was finally starting to catch on.
    “When deciding between two sizes, always try the bigger one on first. That way you get to parade through the store in something that’s too big, asking for a smaller size. The fat people will be totally jealous.”
    Ripple licked her lips, eating it all up.
    “Oh, and skin is in.” Kristen suddenly recalled the last thing Massie had e-mailed the Pretty Committee before leaving for riding camp. “The more you show, the better.”
    “Like, how much skin?” Ripple slid her hands under her butt. Her sweaty palms rubbed against the leather seat of the couch and made a low farting sound that neither of them acknowledged. The moment was too serious.
    “As much as you can afford, I guess.”
    Ripple crinkled her brows in confusion.
    “Snakeskin,”
Kristen clarified. “Nawt Ripple-skin. Now me. What does Dune like?” She stood and flip-flopped over to a rack of breezy feminine dresses full of fresh colors, playful patterns, and fetching adornments like heart-shaped buttons and braided straps. “What about this one?” She pulled an orange T-shirt dress off the rack that had white dandelions stitched across the bottom. In the poster on the far wall it had been paired with chunky turquoise beaded bracelets. The sight alone would have given Massie a rash. But it filled Kristen with the buzz of springtime. And springtime filled everyone with love—even surfers.
    “Dune likes gray,” Ripple said flatly. Her announcement felt like the arrival of storm clouds at a Fourth of July barbecue. Ripple held up a pair of knee-length cargoes covered in more pockets than a Kipling backpack. “I would put it with one of these.” She offered a dull beige racer-back tank and a faded red short-sleeve hoodie.
    “Really?” Kristen asked, letting go of the dress. It swung back into place on the bar with the other girly dresses to the teasing schoolyard tune
neh-neh-neh-neh-nehhhh, you ca-ann’t-have-meeeee.
After a few more mocking swings, Kristen finally punched it.
    With little enthusiasm, she tried on the shorts and the red hoodie (at least it had
some
color) and found that, unfortunately, they fit.
    “He’s gonna love them.” Ripple clapped her hands together like an overly zealous wardrobe stylist. “Now, let’s go buy some skin.”
    “Sounds good.” Kristen did her best to sound upbeat. She even managed to smile when she handed the cashier the last of her tutor-sitting money—a move that would have been a lot less painful had she bought the cute orange dress.
    But it was too late.
    She was now the proud owner of a baggy outfit in drab winter colors that made her look more like Cesario than Viola. And, according to the receipt in her clammy hand, all sales were final.

THE PINEWOOD
    KRISTEN’S BEDROOM
    Tuesday , July 21
    1:07 P.M.
    Kristen was already seven minutes late for GAS Park when the backside of her silver Guess Carousel watch beeped.
    Ugh!
    She locked her bedroom door, pulled her laptop out of David Beckham’s kitty litter, stuck in the code key, and quickly