I So Don't Do Makeup Read online

  “Excuse me, excuse me.” I fight my way to the back of the store and the secret entrance to the Academy. Oh great, six more kids, even louder than the ones I squeezed by, are sitting, jumping, hopping at the back table with their coach.

  I’ve never tried to pass through the secret door with witnesses. It’s probably not allowed. It’s probably more painful than usual. It’s probably impossible.

  I hang a left into the restroom. I unzip my backpack and tip it over. Out spills my bike helmet, my large owlish sunglasses and a roll of heavy-duty aluminum foil. Crossing the threshold to the Academy is no mean feat. If not done properly, it hurts. As in a trillion electric shocks snapping and zapping at me. My hair’ll stand on end. I’ll see stars. My legs’ll go numb.

  I dress for the mission.

  Bike helmet on: Check.

  Large, owlish sunglasses on: Check.

  Tinfoil wrapped around arms and legs: Check.

  I push open the door.

  Six bratty kids eating sundaes the size of their heads point at me.

  “Coach! Coach! Who’s that?”

  “Coach! Coach! Is that a homeless person?”

  “Coach! Coach! Should we call the cops?”

  “Hi, kids!” I say, all fake cheerful and party-voiced. “Howdy, Coach!” I raise an arm in a crinkly wave. “I’m the new mascot for Dairy Queen. Captain Silverpants.”

  “I gotta pee,” says the smallest team member.

  The coach grabs his hand and bounds into the restroom.

  Which leaves me with ten staring eyeballs. Unfriendly eyeballs. And one of them’s bloodshot with pinkeye.

  “You’re a Dairy Queen mascot?” A short, squat boy squints at me. “How come I’ve never seen you in a TV commercial?”

  “Uh, Captain Silverpants is a brand-new mascot.” I paste on a sugary smile.

  “Why’re you wearing a bike helmet instead of an ice cream cone?” says a tall, runny-nosed boy. “And your costume is cheap. Like you made it in your kitchen. Without adult supervision.”

  “Maybe we’re inventing a new ice cream treat?” I say. When did this generation get so jaded?

  “Aren’t you Sam’s sister?”

  Captain Silverpants is striking out. I’ll never get past these hoodlums and into the Academy.

  “You’re a fake!” says the boy with pinkeye. He winds up his leg and kicks me in the right shin!

  “Ow!” I can’t believe it. These are the worst-behaved, meanest kids on the planet. And they’re guarding the secret door to the Academy. I bend over to rub my poor aching leg, and discover his nasty pointy cleats ripped small jagged holes in the aluminum foil!

  “Fake! Fake! Fake!” yells Pinkeye, who proceeds to plant his cleats in my left shin.

  “Ow!” I’m hopping up and down, dodging metal-cleated kicks from Pinkeye, when a couple of the other monsters start pulling at my aluminum foil. “Get away from me, you brats!”

  The short, squat boy leaps at me from a bench seat. He knocks my helmet crooked.

  Then, flash! A brilliant home run of an idea slams into my mascotish mind. “Look! Free double-chocolate-dipped cones at the cash register!”

  The gang beelines to the front of the store.

  I shove open the Employees Only door and slide across the threshold. Thousands of electric arrows zap and ping, ping and zap. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”

  My bike helmet askew, I fall to the floor moaning. Electric shocks pierced the torn aluminum foil. My legs tremble. My head aches. My eyelids droop. I mumble in pain.

  Yes, I made it to the Academy. But I’m half dead.

  chapter

  nine

  I lie curled up on the linoleum floor of the Academy. There’s got to be an easier way.

  The smell of Cinnabon breezes past me. My mother’s guidance counselor, the powerful and moody Mrs. Howard, is arriving.

  “Howdy, Miss Sherry.” A blurry snowballish shape hovers above the only table in the room.

  I can see a fuzzy Mrs. Howard when she allows it.

  An arm extends from the shape and points to a small Oreo Cookies Blizzard. The Blizzard slides obediently to the end of the table nearest me.

  I lurch to the table and collapse on the bench. Grasping the cup, I sip and sip and sip. Finally, I gasp, “Tough entrance.”

  “Sure enough, you are a survivor, Miss Sherry. We’ve witnessed this several times,” Mrs. Howard drawls. She’s a Southern ghost with an accent that can lull you to sleep. She can also morph from a welcoming Cinnabon smell to a burnt-sugar odor faster than a bobcat can climb a tree.

  “I might need another Blizzard,” I pant. “I usually order a medium.”

  “To what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?” Mrs. Howard floats above me.

  I tell her about the tainted makeup and finish with, “I really need my mom on the case with me.”

  “Have y’all discussed this?”

  Slurping, I nod.

  “And what exactly did your mama say?”

  “She didn’t think she could help, but she wouldn’t tell me why. So, I climbed on a bus, faced injury and humiliation from a horde of Little Leaguers, and traveled through the Portal of Pain into the Academy just to talk to you.” I clasp my hands together and beg. “Could you please assign my mother to the case?” Even though Real Time hovers at the edge of my mind, I do not even dare mention it. One favor is already pushing the limit with this bossy, controlling ghost counselor.

  A rectangular plasma screen appears in the upper corner of the room. “Honey, go on and watch this.”

  I crane my already cricked-out neck.

  Shimmering and glowing, the screen fills with headlines.

  Mother-Daughter Duo Pulls It Off Mother-Daughter Teams: Wave of the Academy Future?

  Living Teen Masters the Silver Box

  A Mom, a Girl, a Wren, a Rhino

  A black arrow cursor blinks its way across the screen and double-clicks on MOTHER-DAUGHTER DUO PULLS IT OFF.

  Who is this ghost mother and living daughter who teamed up to solve mysteries for the Arizona Academy of Spirits?

  Meet Christine Baldwin, former detective with the Phoenix Police Department. Christine is an entry-level ghost with a background in K9.

  Meet Ms. Baldwin’s daughter, Sherlock “Sherry” Holmes Baldwin. Sherry is a thirteen-year-old student at Saguaro Middle School in Phoenix, AZ. Sherry talks with her mother but cannot see her.

  Last March, the two joined forces to fight evil in San Diego, CA.

  The scrolling speeds up, so I can only catch a word here and there: “successful,” “courageous,” “quick-thinking.”

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “The WWWD,” Mrs. Howard says. “The World Wide Web for the Dead.”

  My jaw drops. I am speechless.

  “And, as you can plainly see, you’re plastered all over it. There’s even a YouTube video of you investigating the rhino enclosure at the Wild Animal Park in San Diego.”

  My jaw is still gaping. I am still speechless.

  “You and your mother are receiving a bushel-load of attention. ‘Hits’ I believe it’s called.” Mrs. Howard balloons herself up big and bloated. “Which can be good.” A burnt-sugar smell seeps into the room. “And which can be bad.”

  Placing the back of my hand under my jaw, I manually close my mouth.

  “Academies all over the world have their specter eyes upon y’all. Our allies are rooting for us and applauding our creativity in putting you and your mother together to crack cases. Our enemies, however, are waiting in the wings for you to fall flat on y’all’s faces, bringing shame and ridicule upon our entire organization.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be famous,” I blurt out.

  “Now listen carefully, missy, ’cause this is fixin’ to get real complicated. There is a foreign Academy we’ve been attempting to form an alliance with for years. Each time we approach them, they turn us down. Suddenly, they’re interested. Why? Because they want to hire your mama. Sh
e’s our in: They hire her, we hire one of their agents.”

  I slide my sunglasses down my nose and gaze over them Hollywood-style. I would so rock at famous.

  “But the deal isn’t sealed. Not even close.”

  I plop my helmet on the table, then twist my hair into an updo. Fame will never go to my head. No, no, I will remain my normal friendly self, except with a boa and air-kissing. I’ll chat and chatter with my fans, signing autographs with a fat, glittery pen.

  “Our potential alliance must remain secret.”

  Leaning back, I cross one leg over the other and, toes pointed down, swing the top leg à la movie star. I. Am. Famous.

  “Sherry, have you listened to a word? Do you know what in the Sam Hill I’ve been talking about?” Mrs. Howard’s right in my face, so close I could put my hand right through her. If I so desired. Which I do not.

  I swivel my head, posing and smiling for an imaginary camera. I parrot back, “The Academy is überanxious to hook up with a powerful foreign Academy. The foreign Academy wants my mother. We want an agent from them. It’s all confidential.” The last word barely escapes my lips when my brain overrides my fame fantasies and kicks into high gear. I jump up. My sunglasses clatter to the floor. “Who’s the foreign Academy? What’s Mom’s talent? How long would they keep her?”

  Mrs. Howard shakes her oversized doughy head. “There’s too much at stake.”

  “I can keep a secret.”

  Silence. An embarrassing silence. While we both think of how I spilled my guts about the Academy and my mother to Junie. And how maybe keeping secrets isn’t my thing.

  Mrs. Howard breaks the silence. “If the PSS has not brought this makeup mys-ter-y”—she pronounces “mystery” slowly, not treating it seriously—“to our attention, it’s not worthy of our talents.”

  Like an annoying yappy dog, I spring up and down. “Look at this.” Still jumping, I point with both hands at my cheeks. “You can’t tell me this is nothing.” Up. Point. Point. Down. “This is something.” Up. Point. Point. Down. “This is worthy of your talents.”

  I sink onto the bench, panting.

  “Sherry, you’re a teen. Y’all have skin problems.”

  I’m too exhausted and out of breath to argue.

  Growing and expanding like an inflatable holiday snowman, Mrs. Howard floats up and stretches across the ceiling. The room is thick with an overcooked syrupy smell. “There is no cosmetics case at the Phoenix Mall; it is merely a cosmetics inconvenience. This inconvenience will not be handled by our Academy. Not by your mother. Not by you.”

  Mrs. Howard’s voice grows louder and bounces off the walls.

  “In fact, the higher-ups in our Academy have decided to not give you or your mother any work. Your mother must devote all her energies to passing the difficult tests in the foreign Academy’s strenuous ongoing interview process. It is imperative for us that our two Academies finally join forces.

  “Your job is to lie low. Maintain a code of circumspect behavior. Do not encourage further exposure on the WWWD. The foreign Academy is watching you. Your actions reflect on your mother and on us. Don’t give the foreign Academy any reason to reject your mother’s application.”

  Yikeserama.

  A medium Oreo Cookies Blizzard floats through the wall and slides across the table to me.

  “Thank you kindly for visiting, Miss Sherry. Your services are not required at this particular moment in time. Return to your own world, where you can be a normal teen”—Mrs. Howard pauses—“who behaves herself.”

  Poof! She’s gone. Along with her overpowering, sickly sweet cinnamon-bun smell.

  I ignore the Blizzard. I stand, stick my sunglasses on my nose, straighten the aluminum foil around my arms and legs, and strap on my helmet.

  In fearless-explorer style, I toss my backpack over my shoulder, take a deep breath and march to the door.

  During the brief moment when I have one foot in the Academy and one foot in Dairy Queen, when half my body is under attack by sharp blue zapping pings, I make a decision.

  A decision Mrs. Howard won’t like.

  chapter

  ten

  I ride the bus to the mall, where I vainly attempt to repair my looks in the restroom. Without a ceramic iron to tame my wild and woolly hair. Without the incredible skin-repairing china clay. After ten minutes of hard work in front of a cloudy mirror, let’s just say Seventeen magazine won’t be calling me for a photo shoot. Unless it’s a “before” shot.

  Junie and I planned to meet at the food court before doing some investigative work. But I text her to come to the restroom instead.

  “I don’t know if I should be out in public, asking questions,” I say the second she arrives. “I look like I’m practicing for Crazy Hair Day at school while boycotting sunscreen.”

  Junie rolls her eyes. “Your hair looks fine. Maybe a little fuller than usual. And don’t even talk to me about skin. At least your face doesn’t look like it fell on sandpaper. Besides, we already agreed to split fries.”

  I’d forgotten about the fries. While we’re walking to the food court, I give her the short version of my visit to the Academy.

  “Let me get this straight,” Junie says. “You go to the Academy to ask for your mom’s help with the case. You leave the Academy and your mom can’t help, you’re supposed to drop the case, and foreign ghosts will be spying on your behavior.”

  “Basically.” At the American Potato Company counter, I ask for a large fries.

  “Are you going to follow Mrs. Howard’s orders? And drop the case?”

  “No way. I can’t do that to Lacey. I can’t do that to us.”

  “You know you can count on me.” We bump knuckles.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” I say. “If the PSS is ignoring what’s going on with Naked Makeup—”

  “It must be a simple mystery.” Junie sprinkles salt on our fries. “Which means—”

  “We can solve it,” I say, loving this BFF-finish-the-sentence thing. “Easy—”

  “Schmeasy. And Mrs. Howard will be begging you to take five minutes of Real Time with your mom as a reward.”

  “And I’ll be even more famous on the WWWD, and the foreign Academy—”

  Junie shoves the cardboard boat of fries at me and sticks her fingers in her ears. “Do not tell me any secrets. Seriously. I do not want to know what I’m not supposed to know.”

  I chew furiously on a fry. When I get excited, my mouth takes on a life of its own, flapping and spewing away. And now I can’t remember exactly what was secret and what wasn’t. What I’m allowed to share and what I’m not allowed to share. Which means I have to keep all of it to myself. Wah!

  Junie unplugs her ears. “Is it safe?”

  “Yeah. I’m under control.” I squirt ketchup in the corner of the boat. “Something Mrs. Howard never brought up? My grandfather.”

  My grandfather’s fiercely loyal and has a great sense of direction. He’ll be a good help with this mystery.

  Junie grabs a fry. “So, it’s you, me and your grandfather.” She dunks the fry in the puddle of ketchup. “Plus, Nick and Josh can help us.”

  “Let’s get going!”

  Junie pops the fry in her mouth. We both push our hair behind our ears so that our cute matching best-friend earrings dangle and swing. Then, legs in sync, we stride off for some important mall recon.

  “The plan is to check out the entire mall and see what other stores and kiosks sell makeup, right?” Junie’s got a determined look on her bleached freckled face. The same look she gets when a teacher’s passing out a big test.

  We wander past every store on every level.

  At the entrance to the department store, we stop. We can see the makeup counter where Amber used to work till she quit for Naked Makeup. Amber’s ex-boss, Crystal, is packing nail polish into a box.

  “What do you think?” I say. “I mean, Lacey and Crystal are competitors, but they’re such good friends. Amber says the three of th
em eat lunch together and share beauty tips.”

  “Right after she switched jobs, I asked Amber how weird it was to still be at the same mall. She told me to grow up, that I just don’t get the makeup world.” Junie shifts her fake leather purse on her shoulder. “Maybe if we were a couple of years older and had part-time jobs in the cosmetics industry, it wouldn’t seem weird. Maybe we’re just too thirteen.”

  And that, in a nutshell, is why I love having Junie on my team. She’s beyond smart.

  At the Beauty Connection, we pop in to check out the merchandise.

  Junie opens and sniffs a bottle of foaming bath oil. “There’s some overlap between the stuff in here and Naked Makeup’s inventory, but Lacey’s products are much higher-end.”

  “Not to mention no one works here for more than a week.” Which is handy for Junie and me. We come in to use their free samples almost every weekend, and no one recognizes us or asks us if we’re ever planning to buy.

  I hold up a black-with-white-polka-dots cosmetics bag that would fit perfectly in the front pouch of my backpack. “Cute?”

  “Go for it,” Junie says.

  Mall recon and light shopping go hand in hand. In the bookstore, Junie buys a magnetic bookmark with the periodic table. At Brittani’s Baubles, I find a striped lipstick holder with a miniature mirror inside. Which I definitely need. I remember to get my card stamped. Only four purchases to go before I’m eligible for my freebie. Although I see several more items of interest, I hold back. I gotta save a little money to buy snacks at the movies later with Josh. He’s covering the cost of the tickets, and I’m in charge of popcorn and candy and drinks.

  If my dad could see me and my careful shopping habits today, he’d be forced to eat his “Sherry spends her allowance like we’ve got a money tree in the backyard” words. And, honestly? I’d be way more financially responsible if I had more money. I so need a major raise.

  In terms of cosmetics competitors likely to sabotage Naked Makeup, Junie and I are coming up with zilch. There are several stores that sell some makeup, but not one that specializes in it.