Inside Straight

“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 Hermés 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.”