Page 91 of Even Beneath the Stars

"Oh, you should be." She hands me one of the bags, and I sort of love that it doesn't even occur to her that I might take issue with wandering around in a public place carrying an oversized ugly-as-sin shopping bag that looks like her grandmother made it out of an heirloom quilt.

Her eyebrows lift. "Want to hear the rules?"

"Hit me." I sling the bag over my shoulder.

"Okay. We each get forty bucks to pick out an outfit for the other person. That person has to wear said outfit in an Instagram selfie. With a caption chosen by the outfit chooser."

I huff out a laugh, my head dropping back for half a second. Man, this girl is devious. Luckily, it takes a lot to embarrass me, so I'm totally game. And I've got my own devious streak that runs a mile long.

She rocks back on the heels of those hideous yellow boots. "So, are you in?"

"Oh, I'm in." I grin wickedly.

"Scared?"

"Terrified… But you should be even more terrified."

Her grin is smug. "Bring it on, Rockwell."

"You have no idea what you just started, LeClair."

She tugs my sleeve toward the mall entrance. "I can't wait to see you in the sequined jumpsuit I spotted in there last week."

I halt in my tracks. "The what now?"

Her only response is a laugh that echoes through the parking lot.

"No way!"Maggie backs up, shaking her head like I’m holding a live grenade. "Uh-uh.No.No way I'm wearing that. Not in a public post."

I dangle the tiny white tank top between two fingers—cropped, obviously—enjoying the horror in her eyes. The slogan sprawled across the chest?Hot Girl Energy.A masterpiece.

Each step she takes backward, I match, until she’s cornered against the changing room wall.

"I thought you’d go over the top—like sequins or something!" Her voice cracks in desperation.

A laugh bursts out of me. "How would sequins embarrass the girl who wore a cardigan that looked like Oscar the Grouch’s long-lost cousin?"

Maggie groans, clapping her hands over her face, peeking through her fingers like the tank top might bite her. "I’m going to look like the most self-absorbed basic girl on the planet," she wails.

"The horror." I wiggle my eyebrows, then toss her the camel-colored leggings.

She catches them, then immediately holds them at arm’s length like they’re radioactive. "No.These are so…classy.” She spits the word like poison. “They’re the pants equivalent of a plain bagel—no cream cheese, no nothing." She shudders. "They’re elevator music in pants form."

I lose it, laughing so hard my ribs protest. Thedisguston her face is priceless. "Yeah, I’m ninety-percent sure they were designed by someone named Barbara who collects decorative spoons."

Maggie gulps in air like the sight of the leggings is physically suffocating her. “Theyoffendme." She purses her lips. "God… do they come with a free Good Housekeeping subscription?"

"Sorry. That promo ended last week," I say solemnly, raking my teeth along my lower lip. "But the good news is they do come with a lifetime PTA membership."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Asshole." Her glare is pure murder. "You’re evil."

"Oh, we’re not done yet." I pull out the pièce de résistance: thick, dramatic false lashes and a velvet scrunchie. "Slicked-back ponytail," I instruct, twirling the scrunchie. "No wisps."

"Pureevil." She snatches the scrunchie. But her lips twitch.

Even if she puts me in a sequined jumpsuit, it’ll be worth it just to see Maggie—creative, unique,definitely not basicMaggie—forced to post a picture looking like a Pinterest board threw up on her.

"Evil?" I grin. "This whole thing was your idea, remember?"

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