Beckett using me to get his face in the papers was patently ridiculous. Logan probably liked the exposure as much as I did. I tend to trust my gut instincts on stuff like that.
Dylan pulled me inside—no easy feat with a throng of reporters and a hallway crammed with packages. It looked like the contents of an entire UPS truck had been dumped in our house. The labels all said the same thing: Special Delivery for Mackenzie Wellesley. Things had gotten beyond weird.
Dylan shoved one of the boxes into my arms, and I struggled not to drop it.
“What the hell?”
“It belongs in your room.” He lifted a package himself. “You can show all this stuff, whatever it is, to Mom later. We need to get it cleared up before she gets home.” Sometimes it was too easy to think of him as an annoying kid brother and forget that he cared about our family as strongly as I did.
“Come on.” His voice held a large dose of irritation. “She’ll be home soon.” Hefting the box, I followed Dylan. I gawked when I saw my bed transformed into a swampland of letters, messages, and Post-its. Dylan didn’t give me time to obsess. He just dropped his box, then snapped at me to follow suit.
It took us over forty-five minutes to transport everything upstairs, and that’s excluding a five-minute water break where I rubbed my aching arms. After all my hauling, I never wanted to see another box again. I’d been stabbed and poked by boxes until I felt like one extended bruise. I tried not to whimper every time my body expressed its displeasure with me. Running from the paparazzi, ice skating, and now weight lifting with my boxes was way too much physical exertion for one day.
I couldn’t resist checking out my pile of mystery packages. I grabbed a pair of scissors and attacked a box with a few deliberate swipes. Then all I could do was stare in open-mouthed disbelief.
Shakily, my hand reached in and the smooth texture of silk slithered provocatively over my fingers. It was without a doubt the most gorgeous, subtly sexy thing I’d ever seen. It looked like a dress that would render the wearer invincible. I could picture Helen of Troy wearing it, although the dress could probably launch a thousand ships on its own. It was cute, fun, daring enough to show some leg—and it was mine.
I kept stroking the material, fighting the urge to both laugh and cry. The label revealed it was a BCBG Max Azria creation. Setting aside the dress, I pulled out the pair of heels left in the box. I examined them like I was Cinderella getting her first look at the glass slippers.
“Oh, my God”—was all I could say as I stripped off my Converse sneakers and slid my feet into the sexy, black, open toe heels. I had no idea how the reporters were able to figure out my shoe size, but they fit perfectly.
There I was in my new designer shoes and I couldn’t stand up. Not because I didn’t trust the thin, spindly heel but because I knew there’d be no going back. The shoes were incontrovertible proof that my life had changed—that after years of digging at garage sales I owned something wonderful and luxurious. Finally I had something that was just for fun.
So when I finally stood and swiveled in front of my cheap floor-length mirror, it was quite a jolt. For the first time, I couldn’t quite recognize myself. I was left wondering what type of person this new girl might be … and whether I’d like her.
Chapter 18
I showed my Mom my now-overflowing closet, but I didn’t call Corey or Jane that night. I wanted to personally gauge their reactions. I expected them to be stunned—shocked to see their best friend, Mackenzie Wellesley, show up to school clad in designer labels. Really, really cute designer labels. Oscar de la Renta flats, Calvin Klein jeans, and tops from Anthropologie. My textbooks? Yeah, they were lovingly cradled in the folds of an oversized Hobo bag. I’d even applied some makeup that morning—just simple lip gloss and eye shadow, but
Dylan pulled me inside—no easy feat with a throng of reporters and a hallway crammed with packages. It looked like the contents of an entire UPS truck had been dumped in our house. The labels all said the same thing: Special Delivery for Mackenzie Wellesley. Things had gotten beyond weird.
Dylan shoved one of the boxes into my arms, and I struggled not to drop it.
“What the hell?”
“It belongs in your room.” He lifted a package himself. “You can show all this stuff, whatever it is, to Mom later. We need to get it cleared up before she gets home.” Sometimes it was too easy to think of him as an annoying kid brother and forget that he cared about our family as strongly as I did.
“Come on.” His voice held a large dose of irritation. “She’ll be home soon.” Hefting the box, I followed Dylan. I gawked when I saw my bed transformed into a swampland of letters, messages, and Post-its. Dylan didn’t give me time to obsess. He just dropped his box, then snapped at me to follow suit.
It took us over forty-five minutes to transport everything upstairs, and that’s excluding a five-minute water break where I rubbed my aching arms. After all my hauling, I never wanted to see another box again. I’d been stabbed and poked by boxes until I felt like one extended bruise. I tried not to whimper every time my body expressed its displeasure with me. Running from the paparazzi, ice skating, and now weight lifting with my boxes was way too much physical exertion for one day.
I couldn’t resist checking out my pile of mystery packages. I grabbed a pair of scissors and attacked a box with a few deliberate swipes. Then all I could do was stare in open-mouthed disbelief.
Shakily, my hand reached in and the smooth texture of silk slithered provocatively over my fingers. It was without a doubt the most gorgeous, subtly sexy thing I’d ever seen. It looked like a dress that would render the wearer invincible. I could picture Helen of Troy wearing it, although the dress could probably launch a thousand ships on its own. It was cute, fun, daring enough to show some leg—and it was mine.
I kept stroking the material, fighting the urge to both laugh and cry. The label revealed it was a BCBG Max Azria creation. Setting aside the dress, I pulled out the pair of heels left in the box. I examined them like I was Cinderella getting her first look at the glass slippers.
“Oh, my God”—was all I could say as I stripped off my Converse sneakers and slid my feet into the sexy, black, open toe heels. I had no idea how the reporters were able to figure out my shoe size, but they fit perfectly.
There I was in my new designer shoes and I couldn’t stand up. Not because I didn’t trust the thin, spindly heel but because I knew there’d be no going back. The shoes were incontrovertible proof that my life had changed—that after years of digging at garage sales I owned something wonderful and luxurious. Finally I had something that was just for fun.
So when I finally stood and swiveled in front of my cheap floor-length mirror, it was quite a jolt. For the first time, I couldn’t quite recognize myself. I was left wondering what type of person this new girl might be … and whether I’d like her.
Chapter 18
I showed my Mom my now-overflowing closet, but I didn’t call Corey or Jane that night. I wanted to personally gauge their reactions. I expected them to be stunned—shocked to see their best friend, Mackenzie Wellesley, show up to school clad in designer labels. Really, really cute designer labels. Oscar de la Renta flats, Calvin Klein jeans, and tops from Anthropologie. My textbooks? Yeah, they were lovingly cradled in the folds of an oversized Hobo bag. I’d even applied some makeup that morning—just simple lip gloss and eye shadow, but
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