I So Don't Do Makeup Page 11

  “So you were faking it? Asking the bird questions just to impress Grandma?” Sam’s got a sudoku look on his face. As in, he’s concentrating hard, trying to make sense of this whole scenario.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why?”

  “Just for once,” I say, “I want to be her favorite.”

  “What?”

  “She’s liked you best for forever. I want a turn. And if she thinks I’m in with her feathered friend, I’ll earn tons of granddaughter points.”

  He shakes his head like I’m loony tunes. “She doesn’t have a favorite.”

  Which is exactly what people who are the favorite always think.

  When we get to the kitchen, Grandma’s in there pouring mango tea for The Ruler.

  She’s explaining the whole citrine quartz + favorite wren + baldness and general skin-disorder thing until The Ruler’s eyes glaze over.

  “I think it’ll work,” Sam says. “Sherry was getting through to the bird.”

  Grandma envelops me in a big hug. “I knew you could do it, Sherry. You have such a strong, clean aura.”

  Sam winks at me.

  I punch him softly on the arm. I would feel guilty about lying, but I’m able to totally rationalize it. If I keep my behavior squeaky clean and solve the makeup mystery, the Academy will love me and give me loads of Real Time. Which I’ll share with Sam.

  An arm around each of us, Grandma walks Sam and me to the front door. She’s yakking away about how balanced my energy chakras are. Apparently, I’m in complete and total harmony.

  While I’m in Grandma’s crystalish good graces, I toss free beauty advice her way. “Grandma, have you considered using cosmetics? I could come over one day and give you a complete makeover. I’m even an expert with face shapes.”

  Silence.

  “With all-natural products, of course,” I add. “I could do your hair too. Untangle that gray braid you’ve got going and try a new style.”

  “I would like that, Sherry.” There’s a catch in Grandma’s voice.

  Maybe she’s been wanting to beautify herself for years and was just waiting for someone to show an interest. Maybe she’s been waiting for me.

  “We could hit a shoe store too. And pick you out some pretty footwear.” I doubt clunky hippie sandals were ever in style.

  “The Birkenstocks stay,” Grandma says firmly.

  I glance over my shoulder to see The Ruler quietly pouring her drink down the sink drain.

  We’re driving home. Sluggishly. The Ruler’s knuckles are white where she’s gripping the steering wheel.

  Sam’s imitating me imitating Grandpa by repeating over and over in a hoarse voice, “Maaary Aaannn. Maaary Aaannn.”

  It’s time to ramp up the investigation. It’s time to do something really tough that totally goes against my nature: infiltrate the Janes. They are nutzoid enough to go after the makeup that’s rapidly becoming the most popular makeup in our school. Which means I have to be nutzoid enough to go after them.

  I text Brianna.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  I do not want to be water girl for that club of freaks.

  I text Junie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  I think of how they surrounded me like I was a wounded animal on the African savanna, and they were hungry hyenas. Victim is more like what I’d be.

 

 

  Ack! Me. School. Makeupless. Ack!

  chapter

  twenty-three

  I am a nervous wreck all day Wednesday at school. Sweaty hands, rapid heartbeat, difficulty concentrating.

  Every chance I get, I sneak off to the restroom to reapply my lip gloss, mascara, eye shadow and blush. I’m getting my makeup fixes while I can because today, after school, I’m doing the unthinkable. I’m joining the Janes.

  After the last class, I text Josh to meet me at the big stone saguaro cactus statue in the courtyard. He’s there before me, all cool and relaxed, leaning against the statue. His jeans are loose and baggy and his T-shirt’s loose and baggy too. My heart does a major flip.

  He locks me in a hug and I snuggle into the comforting smells of chlorine and laundry soap. If only I could stay here forever, safe and sound and with my lip gloss shiny and thick. But no, there’s a case, and it’s up to me to crack it.

  I pull away. “Josh, I’m joining the Janes. For the mystery. I have to know what they’re up to. And if it includes contaminating Naked Makeup products.”

  “Okay.”

  “Josh, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. I’m joining the Janes. Today. In, like, five minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Josh.” I keep my voice even and patient even though I want to scream because he’s obviously not getting the seriousness of the situation. “I have to hand in the rest of my makeup. They already got what I keep in my backpack.”

  “Oh, I see.” He smiles and musses up my hair. “Sherry Holmes Baldwin, you always look great to me.”

  My boy is so the best.

  Josh’s phone vibrates. He checks the screen. “Eric’s wondering why I’m not at swim practice.” He leans over and his lips brush against mine. “The Janes won’t know what hit them with you in the club.” And he lopes off to the pool.

  I plod to the restroom. After a few deep breaths, I wet a paper towel and, with shaky hands, get to work removing every inch of my makeup.

  When I’m done, I stare in the mirror. Staring back at me is the face of a pale but serious detective. A detective who’s going deep undercover. A detective who can say, “I so don’t do makeup.”

  I tromp over to room eleven and tug on the doorknob. Locked. I peer in through the little rectangular window. A bunch of girls, more than I would’ve expected for such a sketchy club, are sitting at desks, their eyes trained on Jane #1, aka Emily, at the front of the class. No one’s smiling. They all look super serious. And anemic.

  I knock. My heart pounds. I so don’t want to do this.

  The door swings open. “Tardiness is not tolerated.” Staring at me is a round face with minor acne that could easily be covered by concealer. “Wow! Wow!” The Jane spins around, whipping her frizzy shoulder-length hair in my face. “Everybody! Everybody!” She points a colorless nail at me. “It’s her! She’s here!”

  Brianna hops out of her chair and rushes over to give me a hug. “Thank you so much, Sherry. I owe you.” She raises my arm in the air. “She’s mine, guys. I mean, Janes. I talked her into coming. I get the points.”

  “You’re really joining?” Kim asks, her voice heavy with doubt.

  “Of course she’s joining,” Brianna snaps. “And I’m not buying one more bottle of water for you people. Not one more.”

  Jane #1 marches up to me and shakes my hand, pumping my arm with enthusiasm. “Welcome to your future, Sherry. You’re making a very wise choice.”

  I smile weakly. I honestly can’t think of an answer. I massage my shoulder when she finally lets go.

  The Janes form a line that snakes around the perimeter of the cl
assroom. Jane #1 stands beside me, next to the door, as each girl shakes my hand to welcome me to the club. It’s a freakish version of a receiving line at a wedding. Minus the bride and the groom and the wedding party. And cute clothes. And romantic makeup.

  At the end of the line, stands Jane #2, aka Tess. Hands on her hips, she says, “Hand it over, Sherry.”

  I sigh. From my backpack, I slide out a Ziploc bag of makeup. I open the bag and inhale deeply, then whisper a quiet goodbye. I close my eyes.

  Jane #2 rips the bag from my hands.

  The Janes clap.

  I feel sick. Yes, it’s my oldest, least favorite makeup. But there are memories associated with it.

  Everyone files back to their seats. Jane #1 indicates an empty desk in the far right row, near the middle of the room. With a little head swiveling, I have a good view of everyone.

  Jane #1 trots to the front of the room and resumes the meeting. “Sherry, we’re planning a demonstration for next Monday in the school courtyard before classes.”

  “I think we should each carry a sign proclaiming our future profession,” Jane #2 says.

  “I’ll print handouts,” says the round-faced, acned Jane who opened the door. “So everyone understands we’re not anti-makeup, but pro-potential.”

  “Let’s have wipes handy for any girls who are so moved they want to remove their makeup right on the spot,” another Jane says.

  “I’ll bring a trash can for girls to throw out their makeup,” Kim says.

  “We should wear matching T-shirts.”

  “Maybe we can recruit from other middle schools too.”

  Great ideas? Yeah, if you’re planning a demonstration at an old folks’ home. No way these are the real plans. The Janes aren’t tricking me. Not that I’ve ever been involved in a demonstration, but The Ruler does keep the news on at home. So I know from TV that real-life demonstrations are all about placards and chanting and throwing stones. Not about wipes and matching T-shirts.

  The Janes must be keeping their biggest, scariest, most devastating plot of all secret. Probably they’re afraid of revealing too much in front of a brand-new member. Such smart thinking isn’t surprising from a group of girls who want to grow up to be lawyers and doctors and accountants.

  Time for aggressive sleuthing that’ll prod a Jane with a conscience to step forward with information.

  Like illegal blast fishing, where you toss dynamite into a body of water and then scoop up the stunned fish, I will drop a bomb on the desk. What clues will float to the surface? This is the Discovery Channel meets crime discovery.

  “Let’s sabotage a bunch of product at Naked Makeup,” I announce.

  The Janes’ jaws drop. Because they didn’t realize I was onto them?

  “We’ll send a super strong message.” I pound the desk with my fist. “ ‘Wear makeup and you’ll get hurt.’”

  Their eyes flit back and forth. With guilt?

  I stand and say in a loud voice, “We could add hot sauce to lip gloss and cactus spines to hand lotion.”

  The whole room is buzzing now.

  And in the midst of the hubbub, my cell vibrates.

  A text from Amber:

 

  chapter

  twenty-four

  I forward the text to Junie, then sneak out during the pandemonium.

  Junie and I arrive at the kiosk at the same time, skidding to a sweaty stop in front of Amber. We look like we just ran the mile in PE. At least Junie’s wearing makeup. All I’ve got going for me is my naturally long eyelashes.

  “What’s going on?” I say.

  “Zero makeup, Sherry?” Amber says.

  “I joined the Janes,” I explain. “To spy.”

  She opens a drawer. “I’ll fix you up.”

  “No! You can’t.” I cover my face. “The Janes probably have mall spies. If they report me, I’ll be banned from Friday’s meeting.”

  “Chill, Sherry.” Amber closes the drawer with her hip. “It’s not like I’m going to tie you to a chair and brush on eye shadow.”

  “What’d you do at the meeting?” Junie asks.

  “I’ll tell you later,” I say. “Amber, what was the text about?”

  Amber jerks a slender shoulder toward the other side of the kiosk. We walk around. Lacey’s propped up on a stool. She has dark circles under her eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. Her hair is limp and lifeless. Her skin is pale and dry. She’s überdepressed.

  “Sales have slumped.” Amber unwraps an energy bar. “A few shoppers came by today to say they won’t be buying Naked Makeup anymore because it’s too chancy. It’s only a matter of time before the mall management gets wind of this and shuts down Lacey’s business.”

  Lacey buries her sad head in her hands.

  “Tell her how well the investigation is going.” Amber breaks off the end of the energy bar and hands it to Lacey.

  “Lacey, we’re making incredible progress,” I say in my perkiest of voices, which always works with Sam. “I’ve gone all out and even given up makeup. Which, yes, sounds like it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way to infiltrate the Janes.”

  “We have two other suspects as well,” Junie says. “Will—”

  “Ahem,” I interrupt loudly and give her the hand-cut-across-the-neck signal to stop her, but, alas, Junie barrels on.

  “And that Drew guy from Discount Mart.”

  Lacey jerks up her head. “It’s not Drew.”

  “We’re just being thorough,” I explain. “It’s the way we roll.”

  “Did you ever hear back from headquarters about the ingredients of Nite Sprite Creme?” Junie asks.

  Lacey’s head flops back down.

  “It had a bunch of extra papaya acid in it.” Amber snaps off more energy bar. “Like enough for a chemical peel that should’ve just been left on for three minutes. Think how much longer you guys left it on.” She pops some bar in her mouth.

  “Is it possible Naked Makeup put a Nite Sprite Creme label on a batch of chemical peel by mistake?” Junie asks.

  “Naked Makeup doesn’t make a chemical peel.” Amber looks grim.

  “I don’t get how we kept sleeping with acid on our faces,” Junie says. “We should’ve felt the itchiness and burning.”

  “There was a time-release formula in the cream,” Lacey says all monotone, her head still down.

  Yikes! We’re lucky we have any faces left!

  “Sherry, you gotta step it up with the investigation.” Amber chews on the energy bar. “Crystal’s coming over in a few. She has a really good idea to spark Naked Makeup sales.”

  We have this whole conversation without getting interrupted by a customer. So different from even a day ago.

  Amber sends Junie and me over to the food court for a bottle of green tea for Lacey.

  “Those makeup people really do look after each other,” I say. “Green tea for Lacey? That’s übernurturing for Amber.”

  “And the way Crystal’s coming over with makeup ideas for Lacey, who’s basically a competitor?” Junie says. “Amber wasn’t kidding when she described the makeup world as tight.”

  When we get back to the kiosk, Crystal’s waiting in all her bling and glitter. She’s dressed in a long firetruck-red sequined T-shirt and a wide belt with a big shiny silver buckle. Metallic shadow accentuates her eyes, and she has the most adorable diamond stick-on by her left brow. She looks amazing and put together and all Queen Sparkly of the Phoenix Mall. I practically need sunglasses to look at her.

  Sigh. Which makes me more aware than ever that I’m makeupless.

  Crystal looks at me and smiles. She’s so tactful, she doesn’t even mention my plainness. Not even the tiniest roll of her eyes.

  I smile back. And to continue with my friendliness, I ask, “So, did you get your trip to Montreal all planned?”

  Amber screams.

  Crystal turns the color of her T-shirt.

  Amber grabs Crystal by the waist and d
ances her around. “You’re going to Montreal? You got enough sales? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Uh, it’s not totally a done deal yet.” Crystal twists a stud earring.

  “What’s in Montreal?” Lacey asks.

  “Only her dream job for Riley’s Cosmetics,” Amber says. Her emerald eyes flash with excitement. “Only what Crystal’s been working toward for forever.” She raises her hand for a high five. “You’re finally getting out from behind the counter.”

  “I gotta show good sales growth over the next few weeks still.” Crystal gives Amber a lackluster high five. Probably she’s worried about jinxing herself. “How’d you hear about my trip?” she says to me.

  “We stopped by your makeup counter,” I say. “You were on the phone.”

  Lacey sips her tea. Amber brings Crystal up to speed on the suspect list.

  Crystal dives into her brilliant save-Lacey’s-business idea. “You need to attract customers in a new way. Ya gotta build up your clientele. I say offer classes.”

  Lacey slides off the stool and stands back from the kiosk, her eyes flitting over her various bottles and jars and other containers. “We do carry a variety of products.”

  Amber is practically pogoing, she’s so excited. “Saturday! Let’s do it this Saturday! Seriously. We could do hair and faces and nails!”

  “Hair!” Lacey perks right up, like she’s stuck her finger in an electrical outlet. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Hair Repair Extraordinaire!” they squeal in unison.

  “Is it new?” Crystal asks.

  “It is so brand-new,” Amber says, “not all the vendors even stock it.”

  “We got a sample and then the opportunity to order it”—Lacey climbs on a footstool—“because our sales were through the roof.” She goes still, then gives a little shake and opens a cupboard door.

  “Drew called to let me know the shipment came in today.” Lacey’s rooting through the cupboard. “I’ll pick it up at Discount Mart and bring it with me for the big event.” Still on the stool, she turns around and waves a rectangular box with the standard Naked Makeup butterflies fluttering all over it. “You spray it on. Leave it in.” Lacey snaps the fingers on her free hand. “And—”