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too-perky-for-her-own-good asked.
    “I was just leaving.”
    The door burst forward and nearly slammed Clarise in the nose. She backed up and four teenage girls, ditto for tiny and perky, entered.
    “Can you help us?” one asked. Evidently realizing Clarise couldn’t possibly work at a place like this, she directed the question toward Shannon. Go figure.
    Blue glitter shadow circled the teen’s eyes and three round stones sparkled from her silver brow ring. “We’ve got a party tonight and need a megahot look,” she explained, smacking her gum—bright blue neon gum—between words.
    “I’ve got a customer right now.” Shannon gave Clarise another excited grin. “But Jadelle will be happy to help.”
    At that, another pixie appeared from behind a rack of clothes. She was blond and clad in a multicolored dress that could have totally served as shrink-wrap.
    “Come on,” Jadelle said. “We’ve got some great new things!”
    Cheerleaders. They all had to be cheerleaders, the way they pulsed each word as though chanting a fight song. The herd of teens followed their new leader to the back room, while Clarise was thrown headfirst back to high school. Specifically, the locker room. How many times had she watched the popular crowd come in chatting and giggling while they stripped down to bras and panties? Then they’d continue the gossip session, talking about boys and movies and boys and school and boys . . . while they wiggled their perfect little bodies into their perfect little gym uniforms. Shorts and a T-shirt. What could be so bad about that? Nothing, if your body actually fit into youth-sized apparel, but if your Robinson Treasures demanded adult proportions, larger adult proportions at that, everything about that blasted fourth period was horrifying.
    Clarise still cringed at the memory. P.E. A high school requirement? Whose bright idea was that? And plain shorts with a plain T-shirt? She couldn’t even use color and accessories to play up her assets. Every year she prayed for a government law letting brainy, pleasantly plump teens forego school-induced sweat and take another English course. And she wouldn’t even think about the days around her time of the month. If she’d thought things couldn’t get worse than wearing standard school-issued shorts and a T-shirt in P.E., she’d been mistaken. Oh no, a day wearing shorts and a T-shirt while retaining enough water to fill Lake Martin—that was worse.
    Clarise despised being late for any of her classes; nevertheless, she received more than her share of tardy slips for that one, because of her hide time. Each day, she’d stall in the locker room while the other girls primped. Then, when they finally left, she hustled into one of the two stalls and quickly change into her P.E. clothes. T-shirt, size adult large, and shorts, ditto for large. Sure, it’d taken less time simply to strip in the center of the big gray room. What if someone forgot something and came back? What if they walked in and saw her?
All
of her? She couldn’t—wouldn’t—take that chance. So, on many a day, when Mrs. Phillips blew her whistle to begin class, Clarise was missing in action. Then the tardy slip came home, and her mother signed it without question. Granny Gert had been more vocal, saying Clarise should be proud of her glory and flaunt it in front of all those “little squirts that lacked aplenty in the treasure department.” But Clarise didn’t see anything about her excess cargo as glorious. Torturous was more like it, particularly when everyone looked at her tiny wisp of a sister, merely two years younger, and wondered what was wrong with the gene pool.
    “So, what are we looking for today? Got a special trip coming up? A cruise? Hot date?” Shannon asked, stealing Clarise’s attention from her miserable past.
    She blinked, then eyed the female in front of her. Ebony spikes stuck out in all directions, with two pointed sections lining each jaw. Earrings ran