I So Don't Do Makeup Read online

  Yay. Who knew that annoying video project would ever come in handy?

  “You could text her about next weekend,” he suggests. “How about miniature golf?”

  I pull out my phone, tap in a message and punch Send.

  “Wanna buy some candy from the drugstore before we go in?” Josh asks.

  Brilliant idea. Because movie theater candy costs a mint. That’s from my dad, King of Bad Puns and Jokes. I keep it to myself.

  Junie replies back that next weekend works for putt-putt. It’s not the friendliest text, but friendly enough that I let the my-BFF-is-mad-at-me worry disappear into the stale mall air.

  Josh takes my hand and we set off. “So, what movie do ya wanna see?”

  “Definitely not horror.”

  “Okay.” He proceeds to give me the lowdown on each of the movies. Very impressive. He did his date homework. At each new detail, his blue eyes twinkle with excitement. Especially when he talks about the movie Renegade Racers.

  It’s impossible to not have fun when we’re together. A movie date is turning out to be as amazing as I always imagined. And the movie hasn’t even started.

  In the drugstore, we get our candy and a bottle of water to share. I easy schmeasy fit all the loot in my humongous, beautiful denim purse. I toss it over my shoulder and practically knock myself into the shampoo aisle.

  While we’re walking back to the theater, swinging arms like a cute couple, I bring Josh up to speed on the mystery. I so love talking detective together.

  “You really think this Will guy’s dumping habanero juice in lip gloss?” Josh asks.

  “A lot of times, crime is about opportunity. How easy it is to get your hands on something,” I say. “And it’s super easy for him to get hold of habanero chilies.”

  With his free hand, Josh snaps his fingers. “What if Nick and I interview Will for Revealing Phoenix? We’ll try to get him to admit something sketchy on tape.”

  That’s Josh, my enthusiastic yet cool boyfriend. A very tough combo to pull off. “Great idea!”

  He grins across his entire dreamy face, showing off his perfect white teeth and his little dimples.

  We get decent seats in a middle row with no tall people anywhere in the near vicinity. I forget to worry about whether to sit on the left or the right of Josh.

  The lights dim. The previews start. Then Renegade Racers kicks off. I have a Tootsie Pop in one hand and Josh’s hand in the other. I’m totally owning this movie-date thing.

  Until the moment I smell coffee.

  My mother!

  chapter

  thirteen

  “Woo-hoo! Sherry!” my mother calls.

  Ack. Eek. Ike.

  My mother is somewhere in the theater! Hunting me down. Why oh why did I tell her about my movie date!

  With her zero sense of direction, I can’t believe she even found her way in here. Hopefully, she can find her way out. I scrunch low in my seat.

  If I’m quiet and all incognito, she’ll move on to the cinema next door. There are eighteen theaters in the complex; that should keep her busy for hours.

  I scrunch down a little further.

  Josh gives my hand a boyfriendly squeeze. “Don’t worry, Sherry. It’s way too early in the movie for something major to go wrong.”

  I nod. Weakly.

  “Sherry!” Mom calls. “Are you in here?”

  “Oh, wait. This part might be gory,” Josh whispers. “Maybe you should cover your eyes.”

  Which, of course, makes me stare straight at the screen.

  A guy lunges from behind a trash can, wielding the longest, meanest knife in the history of bad guys. I understand he’s leaping for the good guy. I really do. But he looks like he’s leaping out of the screen. Right at me.

  I scream.

  “Oh, there you are, pumpkin.” The scent of coffee is right beside me. Right between me and Josh. Sort of hovering over where we’re holding hands.

  I scream again.

  Josh is looking at me like maybe I need to take a chill pill. “You wanna go out in the hall for a minute?” he whispers. “It’s going to get scarier than this.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m outta here. Woo.” I drag the back of my hand across my forehead like I’m wiping off fear sweat. “This is such an edge-of-your-seat movie.”

  “Uh, sure,” Josh says.

  “I’ll see you in the hall,” Mom says.

  I stand.

  Josh stands. He’s such a nice guy.

  But no, I don’t need a nice guy right now. I need a word with my mother the ghost. A strong word. By myself.

  “You make a better door than a window,” a guy behind us says.

  “I’m good. I just need to, uh”—I pat my chest—“catch my breath.”

  “Anytime soon,” the guy says.

  I put a hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Seriously. You stay.”

  He sits.

  “Finally,” the guy says.

  I hightail it outta there. Like I’m in a real-life chase scene.

  The second I enter the lobby, my mom’s flying next to me. “Hi, pumpkin. How’s it going?”

  I walk into the photo booth in the corner, holding the curtain open until I figure Mom’s had enough time to zip in.

  “What are you doing here?” I sit down on the narrow plastic bench. “You came to spy on me, didn’t you? Admit it, Mom.”

  “Well, no, not exactly.”

  “Really?” I cross my arms. “When was the last time you went to the movies?”

  “Don’t think of it as spying, Sherry. Think of it more as chaperoning.”

  “Mom!” I wail. “You’re ruining my movie date.”

  “That’s just it. I think you’re too young to be going on a real date. I’m okay if you and Josh rent a movie and watch it at the house. This is different. This is older teen behavior.”

  “The thing is, Mom,” I say softly, “I can’t have three parents. Especially if one of them is The Ruler, who, all by herself, is like a parent and a half. You and I, we’re just getting our relationship figured out.”

  “Oh.” Her voice is choked up.

  “What you did is unfair and unethical.” I uncross my arms. “Just because you’re invisible and you can sneak in and spy on me doesn’t mean you should.” I raise my shoulders. “You gotta trust me. You gotta trust that I’m okay going to a bad movie with a good guy.”

  “He really is a good guy?” she asks in a small voice.

  “The best,” I say. “And even if he wasn’t, the movie date won’t be happening again for a long, long time. You do not even want to know the hoops I jumped through to get here.”

  “You’re so mature.” Mom lifts my bangs with a light, feathery touch. “When did my little girl do all this growing up?”

  “I’ve been growing up for a while now. I think you’re forgetting that I’m thirteen.” I pull open the curtain.

  “Sherry, while I’m here, I do think there’s something we need to discuss.”

  “Fine.” I close the curtain but keep some fabric bunched in my hand.

  “I got called in to see Mrs. Howard,” Mom says. “About your visit.”

  “Oh.”

  “I just want to make sure you understand how much is at stake.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s difficult to talk about because it’s so on the q.t., and there’s so much I can’t say.” She sucks in a breath. “Our Academy is dealing with some domestic issues that have their roots on foreign soil. So, it would be really, really helpful if we had a relationship that allowed for information and personnel sharing with this foreign Academy.”

  It’s all vague-ish and political-ish, but I’m getting the gist. “Mom, I won’t mess up.” Just the opposite. I’ll be wowing everyone by solving the makeup mystery.

  “And about my opportunity with the foreign Academy?”

  I let go of the curtain. This isn’t going to be the shortest chat.

  “It will just be temporary. I won’t leave y
ou and Sam. I don’t want you worrying about that. But, oh, it’s the chance of a lifetime.” She catches her breath in excitement. “Here’s what I can tell you. It’s working with animals, exotic animals. It’s a huge challenge, but I’m up for it.” She pauses. “And, Sherry? I’m doing stuff with animal mind control that nobody else in the world is capable of doing. It’s incredible.”

  “That’s fantastic. I’m proud of you, Mom.” And I really am. My mother’s come a long way from the ghost who couldn’t master her classes. The ghost with such low grades, she was on the verge of getting kicked out of the Academy. The ghost who took months learning to fly across Phoenix.

  “I’m glad we had this chat, Sherry.” The curtain slides open. “Now, go back to the movie. And have fun.”

  chapter

  fourteen

  The so-called movie date is over. I’m hanging out in my room, having a heart-to-heart with my bala sharks before hitting the pillow. It’s been a tiring weekend.

  I sprinkle a little fish food into the tank. Cindy and Prince immediately zig and zag, dodging each other and the mini fake castle. With their tiny mouths flapping open, they’re gobbling as much of the fish flakes as they can.

  “Cindy and Prince, you guys do not know how lucky you are. You get to swim and frolic together in the same tank all day long. While I have to make big, complicated plans in order to spend time with the love of my life. Sometimes all goes smoothly. Sometimes it’s the Rocky Mountains.”

  Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, I stare into the aquarium. “So, guys, let me tell you the story of a movie date gone bad. Start with a lousy show called Renegade Racers, which, as far as I could tell, was very short on plot and very long on chase scenes and bad guys wielding pointy knives. Then add in an overprotective ghost mother who actually shows up during the date. On purpose. And spends so much time chatting with me in the hall that Josh thinks I’m a scaredy-cat wimp with a stomach bug who was in the restroom for the bulk of the movie. Finally, I come straight home and do way too much homework. I do not think Josh and I will be going on a movie date again anytime soon. Which is A-OK with me.”

  I hop up and set the lid back on the aquarium. Bala sharks are stupidly willing to leap to their deaths. And I so don’t want a carpety fate like that for my precious pets.

  Falling back on my bed, I wave to the ceiling.

  “Goodbye, today. And good riddance.”

  Tomorrow just has to be better.

  chapter

  fifteen

  My alarm clock chimes its obnoxious wake-up-and-get-out-of-bed-for-school chime. Monday mornings can be so unwanted.

  I slowly unfold myself and sit up. I yawn. My head aches and my eyes are scritchy-scratchy. I did not sleep well, but dreamed all night long of bad skin and upset friends. My crazy new age grandma, who is big into dream interpretation, would say my subconscious is trying to warn me.

  Not that I believe in any of that hocus-pocus, but, just in case, I’m keeping an eye out for potential problems.

  I glance across the room. Cindy and Prince are swimming around the aquarium. No sad belly-up floating scene. Phew.

  My white tank top, black-and-blue-plaid baby-doll and black cropped pants hang happily behind my door. No rips or wrinkles or stains. Phew.

  I listen at the door of the bathroom I share with Sam. I’m up before him and can take my sweet time in the shower and then in front of the mirror. Phew.

  I make it through my morning routine. Even my skin has way improved, and I camouflage the remaining redness with a thickish layer of foundation. I pay particular attention to my azure eye shadow and navy mascara.

  Junie texts to say she’s staying home from school for an additional day of face healing, but that she’s not counting on me to pick up homework assignments for her. She already contacted Meghan, her responsible, academically minded friend from the robotics club. Junie still plans to catch up with Eve after her interview with Crystal later today.

  I’m out the door, backpack over my shoulder, skipping to school. No complications. No catastrophes. No calamities.

  I start a happy whistle. The dreams were just that—dreams.

  I’m trundling along the sidewalk in front of the school, minding my own business, totally lost in my own world. I’m trying to figure out where I might cross paths with Josh today. By the giant stone saguaro cactus statue in the courtyard between Computer and English? Then I’m trying to remember if I finished all my homework. Then I’m wondering exactly when that pesky français project is due.

  Bump! A hip knocks into me from the right.

  Thwack! A backpack bounces off me from the left.

  Whop! A binder flattens against my spine.

  Jostled and shoved, I finally catch my breath and my balance and look around.

  I’m surrounded by a group of the plainest, sullenest, unhappiest girls at Saguaro Middle School.

  The Janes. Ack!

  I glance around the circle of pale, lifeless faces. I’d be scared but it’s broad daylight. In fact, the sun beams down on their makeupless faces, accentuating every bump, every blemish, every blackhead. Also, I know them from classes. Although now it’s kind of hard to tell them apart because they all look bland and milky. They blend together like a crowd scene in a black-and-white movie.

  I catch sight of a friendly face. “Brianna!” I reach toward her like I’m drowning.

  Brianna lifts her head and looks straight at me.

  I can honestly say I’ve never seen her looking worse. Even compared to last year when she had the stomach flu and had to go to the hospital because she was dehydrated. Today, evidence of the Nite Sprite Creme fiasco still shows on her face in pink scaly patches. Foundation alert. Her eyes are small and squinty and unaccented. Mascara and eye shadow alert. Her cheeks are sunken. Blush alert.

  “Brianna! I’ve got makeup.” I pat my backpack. “I’ll fix you up. Just pull me out of this circle of drab and we’ll hit the restroom before first period.”

  “Brianna’s giving up makeup,” Jane #1 says. Actually, her name is Emily, but I prefer to number the Janes.

  “Yeah, right.” With my index finger, I make the universal circular sign for crazy by my ear and point at Jane #1.

  “It’s true,” says Jane #2, aka Tess. “Brianna wants a fulfilling career.”

  “So?” I say.

  “I joined the Janes.” Brianna’s normally perky, high-pitched voice is all monotone.

  “And we want you to join us too,” says Jane #3, aka Kim.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” I step back. “I’m pretty happy the way I am.”

  “Middle-school girls who are not obsessed with makeup get better grades. Which leads to better colleges. Which leads to fulfilling professional careers.” Jane #1 closes the gap between us. I think she might be their leader. She’s certainly the palest.

  “Kim already told me.” I shrug. “I wanna work in beauty. I need to know a bunch about makeup for that. So, when you think about it, I’m getting a jump start on my career by wearing makeup in middle school.”

  “I told you she’d be impossible,” Kim says, exasperated.

  “I am so not impossible.” I slap my hands on my hips. The Janes are one annoying school club. “Am I trying to win you over to my side? Am I forcing you to wear makeup? No. You want to look lackluster and fade into walls painted neutral colors? That’s your choice.”

  The Janes shuffle closer and closer, hemming me in. They’re fluttering wet wipes in my direction.

  “Try a day with us,” Jane #1 says. “We can have you makeup-free in seconds.”

  Now I’m a little nervous. These girls are not normal. It’s like they ate bad meat or something, and it turned them pushy and rabid. I’m waiting for them to start drooling.

  Sweat beads on my upper lip. I straighten my shoulders and plaster on my tough, confident face. You have to look in control with bullyish people. Or, apparently, they’ll wipe off all your beautifully applied makeup.

  The firs
t bell rings.

  “There’s a direct link between being on time for class in middle school and college scholarships,” I say.

  The hands stop waving their wet wipes.

  “Let me save you from yourself,” Jane #2 says.

  Whatever, strange girl. I have no idea what she’s blathering on about.

  Speedy like a roadrunner, she unzips my backpack and snatches my brand-new polka-dot makeup bag. I stocked it this morning with the idea of carrying it back and forth to school so that I’m always prepared for between-class freshen-ups.

  My arm shoots out to seize it, but she spins and is gone. She’s fast for an ugly girl.

  “Hey, Jane! Stealing’s against school rules. I’ll report you.”

  The rest of the Janes scurry off like cockroaches. Brianna’s swept along in the middle of them.

  Kim’s at the back of the pack, herding the Janes down the sidewalk.

  Kim, who came to my slumber party.

  Kim, who refused a makeover.

  Kim, who had ample opportunity to mess with the night cream.

  That’s a lot of Kim.

  chapter

  sixteen

  One class left to go and then I’m jetting to the mall to pass out Naked Makeup lotion!

  I trudge into French. Madame Blanchard is at the front of the room, back to us, scribbling nonsense on the whiteboard. Her bottom wiggles and jiggles like aloe vera gel.

  Dealing with Madame Blanchard is like calling someone’s cell only to be sent to voice mail. Over and over. As in, you never get through. Überly frustrating.

  For example, what is the deal with not letting us choose our own partners for projects? Why stick me with Kim? Do French people not understand the concept of friends?

  And what about geography? Madame Blanchard forces us to speak French, and only French, la seconde we step into the classroom. I have pointed out, in vain, that this is Saguaro Middle School, where the official language is English. I can’t get through to her, though, because I’m trying to say it in French.

  And now I have to explain—in French—why I can no longer work with Kim as my partner. This morning, the Janes drew a line as wide as the Grand Canyon across the sidewalk, and I’m on one side while they’re on the other. There is no meeting in the middle for foreign-language projects.