I So Don't Do Makeup Page 2

  “I’m sure. It’s from Amber,” I mumble into the dark. “Go to sleep.” I roll over. “Suck it up for beauty.”

  “Yeah, but is your face tingling?” Junie asks. “Brianna, how about you? How’s your face feel?”

  Brianna gives a little nasally snort. She zonks out fast.

  “Be quiet,” Kim complains.

  Three of us dream of beauty and baby-soft skin. One of us dreams of plainness and a business degree.

  chapter

  two

  High-pitched screams rudely rip me from the middle of a delightful dream where Josh and I both have unlimited texting. When I enter the conscious world, I’m tapping on my thigh.

  More screams. From the bathroom. It’s Junie.

  Brianna, Kim and I catapult out of bed, fly over my sea green + turquoise carpet and onto tile. Because Junie screaming? This. Is. Serious.

  Is there a diamondback rattlesnake hissing toward my BFF? Or horror-movie blood dripping down the wall? Or her worst nightmare—a busted calculator?

  Junie screams again.

  The three of us sprint to her.

  No rattlesnake. No blood. No calculator.

  Her back toward us, her striped pajamas all wrinkled, Junie turns around and removes her hands from her face.

  “Ahhhhh!” I scream.

  “Ahhhhh!” Brianna screams.

  “Is that from the night cream?” Kim asks.

  In slow, slogging-through-Jell-O motion, Brianna and I turn to each other. Her face is blotchy and cracked like the dried-out Arizona desert floor. Her mouth forms a horrified O, and she points at my cheeks.

  Suddenly, my face is sizzling. I switch into high gear, cranking the faucet on full blast. Maybe cold water will soothe our ravaged skin. Brianna and I flood our faces like the Hoover Dam’s cascading over us. My eyes closed, I reach blindly into the vanity drawer and pull out a couple of washcloths. I wave one in Brianna’s general direction. Our flapping hands meet. We blot our faces and, hearts pounding, stare into the mirror.

  “Ahhhhh!” I scream.

  “Ahhhhh!” Brianna screams.

  “It’s definitely the night cream,” Kim says. Somewhat smugly.

  Shoulder to shoulder, Junie, Brianna and I lean into the mirror. And stare in shock at our red, scaly, peeling skin. Überugly. Poor Junie is the überugliest of all.

  “What’s going on, girls?” The Ruler’s feet scurry along the hall. She pops her head into the bathroom and ogles us. “Oh my.”

  We turn our sad puffy faces toward her like three little sunflowers in search of the sun. Well, more like three homely lizards.

  The Ruler inhales sharply. She glances at the cosmetics on the counter. “Which product did this?”

  I hand her the bottle of Nite Sprite Creme.

  She skims the ingredients. “Papaya acid is the only abrasive ingredient. But there’s so little of it….” She morphs directly into fix-it mode. “Let’s try a gentle, nonperfumed hydrating lotion. And something for the swelling.” She blasts outta the bathroom.

  The Ruler’s perfect to have around in crisis situations. She’s calm, cool and collected. Plus she’s big on never running out of supplies like Band-Aids and Tylenol and real-fruit Popsicles.

  “Why do I let you talk me into stuff?” Junie moans to me.

  “Your freckles are definitely faded,” I say.

  Junie’s staring into the mirror and grimacing. “Be quiet, Sherry.”

  Brianna brushes her hair forward over her face. Completely.

  I gently prod my chin. It feels tight, like a stretched rubber band. “This is so bad. I’m supposed to meet up with Josh later this aft,” I say. “There’s no way I’m gonna let him see my face.”

  Brianna peers out between strands of hair. “Try this.” She lurches around the bathroom. “I can actually see better than you think.” After crashing into the toilet a couple of times, she parts her hair with her fingers to make bigger eyeholes.

  “I don’t know, Bri…,” I say.

  “That look suits you, Brianna,” Kim says.

  I glare at her and she flounces back to my bedroom.

  “You’re worried about not seeing Josh?” Junie’s voice screeches like the parrots at the zoo. “I could be permanently disfigured. Permanently. As in, forever!” Her pitch soars on “forever,” nearing a level called hysterical. “While you might have to put off a date for a day?” Her eyes are wild and crazed. “Look at this.” She gently clamps her index finger and thumb on a piece of loose skin and it flakes off.

  No doubt about it, Junie’s face was much harder hit than mine or Brianna’s.

  The Ruler zips back with four bags of frozen organic peas and a tube of something. She hands a bag of peas each to me and Brianna and two to Junie. “We need to get a leg up on the swelling. Hold these bags against your face, girls, for about fifteen minutes.” She waves the tube at us before setting it on the counter. “Then liberally apply this zinc ointment. It’s full of vitamins A and E and will really help with skin cell repair. I’ll make some green tea for you.” She pauses, thinking, her forehead scrunched up. “With a little burdock and aniseed in it.” She heads to the kitchen to brew up the curing concoction.

  In my bedroom, Junie, Brianna and I drop to the floor. Lying on our backs, we balance the frozen peas on our faces.

  I close my eyes and lie there, going numb. Every once in a while, I move the peas from my left cheek to the right to my forehead to my chin. I’m an equal opportunity patient.

  Junie set her phone alarm and when it beeps, I pop up, peas sliding to the carpet. “Cream time.” My frozen face has trouble forming the words.

  Back in the bathroom, we dry off. I unscrew the tube and squirt out a white dollop on Brianna’s hand. An herbalish scent fills the small area.

  “P.U.” Brianna wrinkles her Rudolph nose. “That’s disgusting.”

  Any other time, I would agree, but today herbal smells like healing.

  “Give me that.” Junie grabs the tube and squeezes out a mountain into her palm.

  “You guys look rough.” Kim leans against the bathroom door frame and stares at us with her perfectly oval, milky-skinned face.

  She’s feeling pretty superior about being a Jane.

  “I’m starving.” Kim clamps a hand on her hip.

  “What’s for breakfast?”

  We don’t even bother answering, but rub the thick ointment into our pores.

  Her face all greased up and ghostlike, Junie pushes past Kim and grabs her phone from where it’s lying by her pillow. Thumbs dancing over the keypad, she says, “I’m Googling ‘food and skin rejuvenation.’”

  Brianna and I crowd around the tiny phone screen.

  “I don’t know what silica is or what it has to do with skin repair, but it’s in celery and leeks and we have those.” I keep reading as Junie scrolls.

  Kim’s still hanging out by the bathroom door, watching us and shaking her head. “See why I don’t wear makeup?”

  “It wasn’t makeup,” I say. “It was night cream!”

  “Oh look”—Brianna points at the screen—“all this stuff’s good for our nails too.” She flutters her hands in the air. “Hey, I got these new nail gems, and longer nails would so show them off.”

  Brianna’s not the most focused. Pretty much every sparkly object catches her eye.

  “How about something from the zinc category?” Junie asks. “To work in conjunction with this cream.”

  Kim rolls up her sleeping bag, then goes into the bathroom. She returns with her toothbrush and toothpaste, which she shoves in her suitcase.

  “I’m thinking eggs, pumpkin seeds and a can of salmon.” Junie clicks from website to website.

  “I don’t think you guys can get normal by school tomorrow,” Kim says. She pulls up the handle of her suitcase and scoops up her sleeping bag. “My mom’s on her way.” She exits my bedroom.

  Brianna peeps out from behind her hair. “She’s gonna open her big fat mouth abou
t this before we even get to our lockers Monday morning.” She drops her hair back into place. “You should never’ve invited her.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Leave me off your guest list next time too,” Brianna mutters.

  I’m beginning to think Brianna is a fair-skinned friend. A little blotchiness and she’s all snappy and sarcastic.

  As Junie, Brianna and I depart for the kitchen and a bizarro super-skin-repair brunch, I gaze longingly at my lovely bala sharks.

  Cindy and Prince are zipping around their tank, little flecks of silver glinting off their tails. No unsightly scales or unpleasant puffiness. Basically no fishy cares or worries other than deciding who’s it for aquarium hide-and-seek and waiting for me to sprinkle down the next meal.

  I wish I could dive in there and join them.

  In the kitchen, my dad says, “Hi, girls,” from deep in his newspaper, then folds it up and shuffles out. His eyes are down the whole time, which makes me think The Ruler told him about our facial incident. Girl stuff embarrasses him to the max.

  The Ruler emerges from the pantry, a stack of napkins in her hand. “Sherry, can you girls get your own breakfast? There are fresh bagels on the counter. Your dad and I are going over to your grandmother’s to pick up Sam.”

  “Sure thing.” I squeeze past her to nab pumpkin seeds and a can of salmon. Not a tasty combo, but it is skin-repair food.

  “How does the zinc ointment feel?” she asks.

  “Soothing,” Junie says. “I just hope it does the trick. Fast.”

  Brianna’s phone buzzes. She flips it open to read the text. “My dad’s coming in five. I gotta babysit my sister.” She makes a face at the food choices piling up on the counter. “I’m okay with eating at home.” She races upstairs to grab her stuff. A few minutes later, she shouts, “Sherry, tell The Ruler thanks.” The front door slams.

  Junie turns her reddish-whitish face to me. “We should text Amber. I wonder if this has happened before with Nite Sprite Creme.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Amber isn’t always as nice to us as she could be. Let’s just say she’s four years older but light-years ahead of us in social stuff. We’re like grit in her shoe.

  “It should definitely be you.” Junie pushes her glasses up her ravaged nose. “This was your makeup party. And you bought the product off her. And you’re the one she gave the instructions to. And I’ve used up all my texts for the month. And—”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

  Junie scoots her barstool close to mine.

  I pull out my cell.

 

  Amber texts back,

 

  Amber doesn’t even dignify my last text with a response.

 

 

  “No!” Junie says. “I can’t go out in public.”

  “Me either.”

  “I really can’t, Sherry.”

  I type,

 

  Junie and I both flop forward on the counter and blow out air.

  “We’re going to the mall,” we say at the exact same time.

  chapter

  three

  Plugging her nose, Junie downs the rest of her green tea. She scoops up a handful of pumpkin seeds. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I text The Ruler our plans. Then Junie and I each wrap a pastel-colored scarf around our head. I grab my insanely fashionable new denim purse and drop in the jar of Nite Sprite Creme. Next, we’re hoofing it over to the mall. I love living close to shopping.

  Without discussion, because that’s how BFFs work, we circle around to the back of the building and sneak in via the least busy entrance. We barrel past the vacant, out-of-business shoe store and the under-construction vitamin store. It’s easy to avoid eye contact with the guy at the hot-sauce kiosk because he’s all engrossed in scrubbing his counter. The scarves are our magic invisible cloaks, and we get all the way to the Naked Makeup kiosk without anyone noticing us.

  The kiosk is next to the food court. Which means it’s a bopping, bustling, happening kind of place. The beige awning is adorably decorated with pink and purple tissue butterflies. All sorts of containers are perfectly arranged on the counter and along shelves on both sides of the kiosk. At one end, there’s a cash register with a vase of fresh-cut colorful flowers. The other end has nail polishes and lipsticks.

  With a Q-tip, Amber’s painting stripes of different lipstick colors on the back of an old lady’s hand. It’s one of the wrinkled, blue-haired women who ride the bus out to the Indian casino for bingo. She and her friends followed Amber to Naked Makeup from her previous part-time job at the cosmetics counter in the mall’s department store.

  Junie approaches her cousin. “Excuse me, Amber.”

  Amber startles and squeals. She was so focused on her customer that an earthquake could’ve shaken open a big hole next to the kiosk, sucked her in and spat her out on the other side of the mall, and she wouldn’t have noticed. Because that’s how Amber does makeup. With all her heart and soul. Lacey, Amber’s boss, is the same way.

  “Edna and I are busy,” Amber says with only a cursory glance at us. “I’ll check with you two when we’re done.”

  Edna holds up her hand, turning it this way and that. “I don’t know, dear, what do you think?”

  Amber touches the second stripe. “Rose. Definitely. Totally complements your complexion.”

  Finally, Edna wanders off, clutching a paper shopping bag filled with Naked Makeup merchandise.

  “Take off the scarves,” Amber says. She never wastes too much time on niceties with Junie and me. Actually, she never wastes any time on them with us.

  Hands on hips, Amber gets up close and personal, all the while frowning at our faces, but especially at Junie’s. This says something because Amber is usually very aware of potential frown lines. Generally, she keeps her face smooth like Saran Wrap.

  From a pocket in her pink + purple butterfly smock, Amber pulls out a magnifying glass. Her eyeball practically glued to it and her head twisting off to the side, she examines Junie’s forehead. “What else did you use on her besides Nite Sprite Creme?” she asks me.

  “Just that freckle-fading stuff,” I say, “which you said was safe.”

  “It is.” Amber slides the magnifying glass back in her pocket. “The fading ingredient is from the root of the paper mulberry tree. It’s not at all irritating to the skin.”

  “I slathered the Nite Sprite Creme on really thick,” Junie says. And she’s such a good friend that she doesn’t mention how that was my idea.

  Amber nods and taps a finger on her chin. “Lacey’ll be back from her break in a few. I want to check with her before recommending anything.” She points a long varnished nail to a nearby bench. “Wait over there.”

  Junie’s been kicking it down low, staying out of sight at the back of the kiosk. At Amber’s orders, her eyes open wide and panicked. “The bench’s right in the path of the American Potato Company. Where every kid from school goes. Someone I know will see me.”

  “Get a grip, Junie.” Amber fluffs her hair. “It’s only a matter of time before that happens. We’re cosmeticians, not magicians.”

  Junie stares at the linoleum, her toe grazing the surface. A tear pools in the corner of her eye.

  “I’ll stand in front of you,” I say, taking her arm.

  She sniffs. “Thanks, Sherry.”

  Amber switches on her salesgirl charm and sashays to the other side of the kiosk to help a couple of girls who are oohing and aahing over lip gloss.

  Arm in arm, Junie and I shuffle to the bench. She plops down and slouches. I stay on my feet, shielding her from the passersby. We each drape a scarf loosely around our head.

  “Lacey’s gotta have a mag
ic fix.” Junie’s voice is all choked up. “I can’t go to school tomorrow looking like a freak. But I can’t not go to school.”

  Maintaining a 4.0 can really complicate your life. Personally, I’m fine with missing school. Except for not seeing my friends. Although with The Ruler, to stay home you have to prove you’re practically dead.

  I’ve been hiding Junie from public view for about five minutes when I see Lacey leaving the food court in teeny-tiny steps. She’s wearing the cutest open-toed high heels in history. She’s got on the same smock as Amber, and the shoes match the lavender perfectly.

  At twenty-four, Lacey’s an older, plumper, shorter version of Amber. They both have straight, shoulder-length blond hair and large sparkly eyes fringed with long, curlable lashes.

  She spots Junie and me and gives a friendly wave. How very cool that she recognizes us.

  It’s another twenty minutes before Lacey and Amber have a lull in customers and beckon us over. As we approach, Amber’s filling Lacey in on the Nite Sprite Creme fiasco.

  First Lacey checks me out. I catch a flowery whiff as she leans in close. “You’re in pretty good shape, Sherry.” With the pad of a finger, she gently prods my chin. “You look like you just spent too much time in the sun. Which I know you didn’t, but that’s as bad as it looks. You’ll clear up quickly.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Yay for me. But I feel for Junie. I open my purse and start rooting around in it for the jar of cream. This is the biggest purse I’ve ever owned, and I could probably lose my brother in it.

  In the meantime, Lacey’s examining Junie, gingerly touching her cheeks, then her nose. Lacey straightens. “Looks like a chemical peel gone bad. As in, too much acid.” She turns to Amber.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” Amber shakes her head and her hair tiptoes across her shoulders.

  “There’s only two percent papaya acid in Nite Sprite Creme, but this looks like you’ve been exposed to way more than that.” Lacey picks up a bottle of water and unscrews the cap. “How did it feel during the night?”

  “Tingly,” Junie says. “But then I fell asleep. I woke up this morning because my face was on fire.”

  “I do throw a pretty intense slumber party,” I say. “So once we crash, we’re totally out of it.”