"Yep."

  "Do you think you could get me her autograph?"

  It stung. I was used to being the person who was singled out. "Just a minute," I said, taking the paper and pen.

  I walked to Tiff, who was looking at a pair of Stuart Weitzman sandals. "Three hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?" she exclaimed. "Seriously, do people here just like pissing money away?"

  "If they were Manolos or Jimmy Choos, they'd be a lot more expensive," I said. I picked up a pair of Dolce & Gabbana pumps and contemplated them for a moment. At my current weight, I'd snap the delicate heel in no time.

  "But these aren't even all that pretty."

  "It's fashion," I replied, putting the pumps back on their display stand. "Hey, the salesgirl at the perfume counter would like your autograph." I pulled the pen and paper out of my pocket and handed them to her.

  "Really?" Tiff said, glancing in the direction of the perfume counter. She looked surprised and thrilled. "I didn't think she even recognized us."

  I smiled at her excitement. "Don't be silly," I said. "You're a star."

  She beamed up at me. I wanted to kiss her. I hated that she grew up poor and didn't have nice things. I wanted to give her everything she'd missed and everything she desired.

  We finally ended up at the Gap, a few doors away from Bergdorf's. Tiff had a ball picking out sweaters, jeans, shirts, and coats for her siblings.

  "So," I said as Tiffani handed over her prepaid Visa card to the clerk. "Got any money left over for yourself?"

  "I doubt it," she replied. "But it doesn't really matter. And I'm glad I found that sale rack." She looked over at me. "Why haven't you bought anything?"

  I jammed my hands into my pants pockets. The only thing I'd seen during our shopping that I wanted had been an ultra-stretchy track suit. It was made of some micro-fiber I'd never heard of and had a beautiful drape and wasn't shiny. But it was also fantastically expensive, and I didn't want Tiffani seeing me spend my whole amount on one thing. Besides, I had a better way to spend my money.

  We grabbed Tiff's bags and headed for the door. But just outside the store there was a crowd blocking our way.

  "I wonder what's going on?" Tiffani said. Then the cameras started clicking, and we realized that they were waiting for us. "Tiffani! Over here!" shouted one excited preteen. Her friends squealed when Tiff looked their way. "Oh my God, she looked at me!"

  Tiff walked over and said hello to them. Another wave of squealing was set off. I stood there, feeling awkward.

  "Are you the Amazing Bubbles?" a gawky boy wearing an oversized T-shirt asked me.

  "Yes," I replied. "I am."

  "Would you sign my shirt?"

  "Sure," I said. One of the clerks handed me a Sharpie and offered to hold our packages while we were signing autographs. "Front or back?" I asked.

  He turned around. "Back."

  I signed his back—"The Amazing Bubbles." He turned and gave me a big grin, so I held my hand out and made a baseball-size bubble. I released it, and it floated over to him. He caught it and held it in his hands for a few seconds before it popped.

  A few more people asked me for autographs—but when I was finished I saw that Tiff was not only still signing, but that even more people were gathering around her. I decided to slip off and take care of the shopping I wanted to do while she took care of her fans.

  When I returned, I was surprised to see that the crowd was even bigger than before. And then I realized why: Tiffani had turned to diamond. The lights in the mall were hitting her and bouncing off her faceted skin, making rainbows on the walls. As she moved she twinkled. She shone like a star. It was bittersweet. I was accustomed to being the one people noticed, but I couldn't begrudge Tiff the attention. I could see her grinning. She was beaming, and so excited.

  "Bubbles," I heard her say. "Where's Bubbles?"

  "I'm here, Tiff," I said loudly.

  "Come here!"

  "I can't. You're surrounded."

  "Make a hole!" she yelled. The crowd parted and she ran to me. "This is the Amazing Bubbles! You're going to be hearing a lot about her." She grabbed my hand with her long, cool, diamond fingers and dragged me into the center of the crowd. "Show the people what you can do."

  I felt my face grow hot, and I knew I was blushing. "This isn't the place. . . ."

  She gave me a little poke in the arm. "Stop being so shy. One more little bubble won't hurt."

  I couldn't say no to her. And I was touched that she had dragged me into the center of her throng of fans. I turned my palms up and felt the electric sensation surge through them. I released a stream of hundreds of multi-size bubbles toward the ceiling, very Lawrence Welky. They caught the lights and shimmered, then vanished.

  "It's so beautiful," I heard someone say.

  "Bubbles will sign any autographs you want," said Tiff. She gave me a big grin, then took another piece of paper to sign. A group of Japanese tourists thrust autograph books at me and I signed them all. Then I posed for photographs with them. I guess I got caught up in the moment, because by the time I realized things were getting out of hand, it was too late.

  The first thing I noticed was how loud it had gotten. I glanced around and saw that the crowd had swollen. I got up on tiptoes. The crowd was now at least fifteen people deep. We were standing next to the railing, and I saw that there were people lining up on the stairway and gathering on the lower level, too. Some of them were text-messaging. Others were taking photos.

  I whispered in Tiff's ear. "We need to get out of here. The crowd is getting kinda big."

  There was a slightly dazed expression on her face, as if the attention from the crowd had made her drunk. Then she shook her head, and she was back. "How do we get out?"

  "Tell them to make a hole again," I replied.

  "Make a hole!" she yelled.

  A couple of people close to us shuffled away, but the rest of the crowd was so intent on getting closer, it pushed them back at us. An angry shout came from the rear. Parts of the crowd moved then, and I saw a gap.

  I grabbed Tiffani's wrist and pulled her toward the opening. It helped that I was taller and bigger than her. It was easier for me to make people get out of our way. I heard a noise from below and glanced over the railing. People were pointing at us and running up the stairs. I knew we needed to get out of the mall fast.

  There was a street entrance in Bergdorf's, but I didn't like the idea of pulling a big crowd into that store. Then I saw a small side exit between the Body Shop and Furla that we could slip out of quickly. We ran for it, with the camera guys hot on our heels. It was weird, but people rarely get in the crew's way.

  We burst through the doors at street level and I looked around for the limo. They'd dropped us off at the Bergdorf's end of the mall, so I figured they should be nearby. Tiff was giggling. She gleamed in the afternoon light. "Oh, my gosh," she said with a half-laugh, half-hiccup. "This is so wild."

  "You should power down," I said. "You're like a Christmas tree right now—all lit up."

  "You got it, boss." I didn't have to look back to see that she had changed back. I could feel her soft flesh in my hand instead of the cool hardness of her power.

  I saw the limo then. It was stuck in traffic on the opposite side of the street, with the cars trying to turn into the parking garage.

  "There's the car!" Tiff yelled. She pulled her wrist out of my hand and started across. I heard a rumble, looked to my left, and saw a tourist bus coming. There was no time to say anything, to warn her to diamond up. I just leapt out and shoved her out of the way as hard as I could.

  Then the bus hit me and I stopped thinking about anything else.

  My body ballooned. Part of me realized this was good—we had a challenge coming up, and the bigger I was, the better. As I flew through the air, I heard the squealing and hydraulic hiss of the bus brakes. My body felt oddly weightless—until I crashed into the back window of a parked Lexus. The impact from that landing made me even bigger. I lay for a moment in the confetti of broken glass. It wasn't that I hurt, I just couldn't figure out how to move quickly at this size. Being hit by a bus, even if it didn't kill you, was disconcerting.

  I rolled off the Lexus and safety glass rained onto the pavement. The bus driver was already out of his vehicle and coming toward me. "Holy crap!" he said. "Are you okay?"

  Glass tinkled off me. "Just a little shook up."

  "Michelle!" Tiffani ran over to me. She was diamond, thank goodness. Then she was brushing glass from my shoulders and making little tsking noises as she examined my torn pants and jacket. "Well, these are hopeless," she said. "Good thing you've still got your spending money."

  My hands were itching, and I burned to bubble. It was always this way after a big surge of fat. By now, the limo had gotten free from traffic and was pulling up alongside us. One of the PAs jumped out. "Are either of you hurt?"

  "Nah," Tiffani said. "We're built wild card tough."

  There was a tap on my shoulder and I heard, "A thousand pardons, but is this your purse?" One of the Japanese tourists was holding out my bag.

  My heart sank. I'd brought my favorite purse on this excursion, and now it was much the worse for wear. "Yes, it's mine," I said, taking it from her. "Thank you for bringing it back."

  "Oh, if I had a purse this wonderful," she said, "I would be heartbroken if anything happened to it."

  Tiff looked at my purse, then at the tourist. "It's a handbag. What's so special about it?"

  "Oh my, that's a real Hermes Birkin," the tourist replied. "And if I'm not mistaken, it's a very rare color as well. In Japan, they sell for almost two million yen."

  Tiff's eyes bugged out. "Two million for a purse?!"

  "Tiff, that's in yen," I said. "The conversion rate is, like, totally insane." I wasn't about to tell her that at retail in the states, Birkins could cost from $15,000 to $50,000. Which was also completely insane.

  "Okay, I confess, it's not a real Birkin," I said. I hoped my lie would mollify Tiffani.

  "I'm certain that is a real Hermes," the tourist said. "There are certain distinguishing signs. . . ."

  Why did I have to run into the one Japanese tourist with perfect English and an eye for overpriced accessories? I felt terrible. Tiffani had grown up so poor.

  The crowd was swelling, traffic was backed up behind the limo, and I'd managed to dent the front end of a bus as well as destroy a Lexus. Our day of fun was rapidly turning into a gigantic horror show. I was trying to figure out what to do when Tiffani grabbed my hand, stood on tiptoe, and whispered in my ear. "We can't fix any of this," she said. "Let's get in the car and let the PA sort it out."

  "I can't just leave," I said. "This is my fault. And how on earth will he be able to handle all this?"

  "Please get in the car, ladies," said the driver. Normally, the drivers didn't talk to us—unless we initiated the conversation. "If I come back without you, it's my job."

  I was torn. The PA was clearly in over his head, but I didn't want to get the driver in trouble. Reluctantly, I allowed Tiff to pull me into the limo.

  Tiffani and I sat in the Jacuzzi. Tiff was wearing an itty-bitty bikini and I wore the Big Girls Special. I might as well have been wearing a muumuu. We could hear Drummer Boy banging around inside the house. He was massively pissed at being taken off the Hearts team.

  When we all got back from the taping—what a fun car ride that was, what with Drummer Boy alternately sulking and making snide remarks—Tiff suggested that she and I should grab a couple of bottles of wine and hang out in the backyard until things inside quieted down some.

  "Wow, he's got some stamina," I said. "He's been in there banging around for at least an hour."

  Tiff took a drink of her wine, then wrinkled her nose. "You'd think this stuff would taste better. Actually, I think he's playing. Sounds like Tommy Lee's drumming."

  "Well, I can't taste anything," I said. "After two glasses my mouth's kinda numb. Yeah, you know it does sound like he's drumming in there."

  Tiff got up and reached for the wine bottle. Water sluiced off her, ran down her back, and between her legs. I closed my eyes. It was too distracting. I imagined sliding my hand between her legs, and that didn't help anything. I opened my eyes and Tiff was filling my glass up. "So," she said, as she settled into the water again. "What's the story with your purse?"

  I groaned. I'd hoped we wouldn't end up talking about it. "Okay, I'll explain it," I said. "But you have to promise that you'll keep it a secret."

  She looked at me with limpid eyes. "Of course. That's what friends are for." Her tongue darted into her wine glass. And that made me take another big drink. I leaned closer to her, hoping that between whispering and the noise of the Jacuzzi, they wouldn't have good enough sound to air what I was about to say.

  "I'm not Michelle La Fleur," I whispered. "I mean, that's my real name, but I work under the name Michelle Pond. I'm a model. I mean, I was a model. I started young. You know, I was the OshKosh B'Gosh girl for like five years when I was a kid."

  "You? A model?"

  I laughed. It did sound ridiculous, given my current appearance. "I know, it seems goofy, doesn't it?" I said softly. "I was in demand, and since I never went through an 'awkward' stage, I kept working solid from the time I was two years old until well, just about now."

  Tiff adjusted the top of her bikini. I tried not to stare.

  "Anyway, I pretty much did it all," I said. "Runway shows, fashion modeling, the works. And I had a great career, except that I was working like a dog and not seeing any of the money from it."

  "I can barely hear you," she said, scooting closer. She dropped her voice lower as well. "But if you were working, where did the money go?"

  And there it was. The question that I dreaded. The reality of my life that was so bitter to me, I could barely stand to think about it, much less talk about it.

  But there was Tiffani with such sympathy in her eyes, and the wine made me feel disconnected from myself. I drained my glass for Dutch courage.

  "Well, that's the embarrassing part." I put my glass on the side of the pool. "My parents both quit their jobs to be my full-time manager and agent. I worked nonstop. Worked like a mule. All that stuff normal kids get to do, I got to pretend to do in commercials and pictures." As I talked about it, I felt queasy. "For a long time, I didn't want to believe what was happening. But when I was fourteen, I figured out how to get into their computer, and I saw their accounts.

  "By law, they were supposed to be putting away a certain amount of my income for when I became an adult. But I could see that they hadn't done that. Not only that, but there were these accounts set up overseas." I closed my eyes and swallowed. "They had been stealing from me for years. I should have had enough money to have my own life when my modeling career was over. Go to college, start a business. But they had been spending most of it and hiding the rest. My own parents stole everything from me."

  For a moment it felt like it had been the first time I'd realized what they'd been doing. Like someone had kicked me in the stomach. There was a terrible lump in my throat, and I closed my eyes and thought I might start crying. I felt Tiff's hand stroking the back of my neck. "You poor child," she said. Her accent made her voice honey-smooth. "I've never heard of such a thing!"

  I snuffled and knuckled my eyes to keep the tears at bay. When I thought I had myself in hand, I looked at her.

  "You've lived a kinda sheltered life," I said quietly. "Money makes some people subhuman."

  She poured the last of the wine into my glass, then handed the glass to me. "What did you do?"

  "I was only fourteen when I found out. It took me a year to get a lawyer who would take me seriously. We filed for my emancipation and sued my parents. I won my emancipation suit, but by the time we got a judgment they'd fled the country. We managed to seize one account, so I wasn't completely broke, but most of that money went to pay my lawyer."

  Tiffani leaned closer and I could smell her scent even over the chlorine. "And then your wild card turned and you can't work anymore?"

  "Oh, I could work," I said. "If I bubbled down to my normal size, I could probably have plenty of work. But then I couldn't bubble."

  She frowned. "You mean, you could make a nice living by wearing pretty clothes and getting your picture taken, but you're here?"

  I sighed. I knew she wouldn't understand. Being poor drove her. She wanted to give her family what they'd never had. But her family would love her, no matter if she won or not. Mine had never loved me. I was just a payday for them. "I guess that's one way to look at it," I said. "But the bubbling, it's changed things for me. I can do something worthwhile with this power. Modeling doesn't do anything but help sell stuff." I lifted my hands out of the water. They were pruney. "Not only that, but I'm nineteen. That's practically ancient in the modeling world. And I was getting sick of seeing the things the girls would do to stay thin and keep working." I picked up my wineglass and drained it. It felt good to finally tell someone.

  Tiff sipped her wine and stared off into space. "But what does that all have to do with your purse?"

  I'd forgotten all about the purse. "As I was packing up my stuff before I left my parents' place, I noticed my mother's closet door standing open. I couldn't believe what I saw in there. She had, like, five of those Hermes purses. This was how she was spending my future—on freaking handbags. So I took them. I sold off all but one, and that's my emancipation bag.

  "Mommy got me back, though. After the decree came down in my favor, I got a box from them. It was all my stuffed animals. They'd been ripped apart and the stuffing was pulled out. It was carnage in that box."

  Tiff choked back a giggle. "They killed your stuffed animals?"

  I gave her a little push on the arm. "Stop! You make it sound so . . . goofy. I loved those stuffed animals!"

  She had taken a drink of wine, and it spurted out of her mouth as she laughed. "Oh my god—that's so lame!"

  I tried not to laugh. I did love those stupid stuffed animals. I loved them every bit as much as Dragon Girl loved Puffy.

  "What's the party about?" Drummer Boy walked up to the edge of the Jacuzzi. He thumped out a complicated pattern on his chest with his lower pair of arms.