The Lipstick Laws (19 page)

Mr. Stuart jumps in horror when he sees me. "Holy smokes, April! What happened?"

"Tennis balls are hazardous weapons," I respond coolly.

The class laughs. I'm happy that others find humor in my suffering.

***

By lunchtime, I feel like I'm about to go postal from having to explain what happened to me 639 times. There are so many different rumors about the tennis massacre circulating around school; everyone is overly eager to hear the real story from the one-eyed horse's mouth. I'm relieved to finally get a chance to sit with my friends in the cafeteria ... the ones who understand and support my trials and tribulations.

"Jeez, it looks worse than it did this morning." Ashley gawks.

I begin to rethink the whole supporting trials and tribulations thought I had a minute ago. "Thanks, Ash."

"Oh, no ... I didn't mean it like that. I mean, it doesn't look that bad ... just worse than before ... Er, you know what I mean. Does it still hurt?"

"No, actually, it's similar to getting a massage," I reply in a monotone.

Rachel laughs, slipping a straw into her soda. "Not the brightest question, Ashley."

"I still don't know how you managed to refrain from strangling her when she showed you that shirt." Mel shakes her head, spreading cream cheese on a sesame bagel.

"Oh, believe me, I wanted to."

"What stopped you?"

"I wanted to spare Ms. Hoops the violence. The Cookie Monster from
Sesame Street
is probably violent in her eyes," I explain, tapping my eye to see if it still hurts. Yes, it does.

"She should be suspended. Her eighty-miles-per-hour tennis serve should be considered a deadly weapon! She could've killed you!" Mel says dramatically.

I shudder at the thought of police filing into the gymnasium crime scene to draw a chalk line around my lifeless tennis-ball-beaten body. How was I supposed to know that Britney is some tennis champ with a wicked fast serve? Maybe I am lucky to have come out of this ordeal alive ... as a Cyclops.

Ashley pops a Dorito in her mouth and changes the subject. "I just hope the whole Britney-Matt thing isn't going to deter you from going to the spring formal."

"Oh, that little thing? Why would it?" I grind my teeth, still jealous.

"Really, April, you have to go," Mel says.

The girls look at me wide-eyed, nodding in agreement. Do they not see the hideous bruise mound that's formed on my face? How do they expect me to get a date looking like this? And it's not like I can go alone. Matt will think I got ditched—and that will no doubt make me look like a ginormous loser.

"How am I going to find anyone willing to go with me while I look like this?"

The girls glance at my eye, wincing sympathetically.

Rachel tries to cheer me up, pointing to a cute sophomore at the table next to us. "Look, Jerry Henderson is checking you out right now. I'm sure he'd love to go with you..."

Aggravated, I groan, "He's not checking me out! He's staring like the rest of the cafeteria at the purple mountain growing out of my face! I'll probably end up going with a complete loser, like ... like ... Delvin McGerk!"

Expressions of hopeful optimism dance on their faces. I can tell what they're thinking, and it makes me nauseous.

"Nope! No way! Not a chance! Don't even think about it! King Stalker McGerk is not an option!" I burst out emphatically.

"Well, at least you know he won't say no," Ashley reasons.

Crossing my arms in defiance, I repeat, "Not an option!"

"He's not that bad. You might be able to mold him into a hottie," Rachel says brightly.

"Nope. Not happening," I retort, becoming more nauseated by the second. "I'd rather not go to the formal at all ... and be called out for lying about having a date."

Melanie directs her bagel at me assertively. "Don't even say that, April! You're going! You have to go! You can't let Britney get away with that!" She redirects her bagel at my swollen eye. "You know she wants to screw up your formal. Actually, she wants to screw up your
life!
Obviously fake Troy wasn't enough. We need to put our Lipstick Lawbreaker Law back into action."

This reminds me of my conversation with Haley last night. Lee was very adamant about me enforcing Lipstick Lawbreaker sabotage on Britney at the spring formal. Melanie notices that I'm absorbing her counsel. This adds more fuel to her fire.

She continues, "Delvin McGerk isn't even technically a loser. Not enough people know him for him to be classified as a loser."

"Mel, his nickname's King Stalker McGerk of
Loserhood
for a reason," I say matter-of-factly.

Melanie gets annoyed. "Seriously, April! Stop being so superficial! Isn't that what irks you so much about Britney? My point is, you shouldn't care who you take as long as you go!"

"Yeah, I mean, look at Mel." Ashley giggles. "She's going with a cross-dresser."

Mel lifts her chin rebelliously. "What's wrong with that? He has a great shoe collection."

"Too bad they're all size thirteen," Rachel reminds her.

"Regardless, my spring formal date proves my point. It doesn't matter who you go with. Not to mention," Melanie says, "I'm planning on hanging out with you guys the whole time anyhow. Like I said, dates don't matter."

Ashley's eyes narrow slyly. "Our top priority shouldn't be our dates ... It should be making Britney's night miserable!"

The girls all agree vehemently. They begin to brainstorm sabotage ideas. I tune them out once they mention the movie
Carrie
and something about pig's blood.

***

Jessica stares at me in Spanish class. Even though we haven't talked since she confronted me about the fake Troy Hoffman incident, I have a feeling she's going to try to talk to me today. My face has been a curiosity sparker all day, and knowing Jessica, she's probably dying to say her two cents about it.

Predictably, she taps me on the shoulder as we're leaving class.

"Sorry about your eye, April," she says, biting her shiny, glossed bottom lip.

"At least I have a second one," I say.

She laughs, soon realizing that I'm not joking. "Oh. Right. Well, I'm supposed to give you a message from Brit."

Just her name sends a shock wave of loathing through my bones. I quiver with hatred and say, "Are you Brit-brat's personal Lipstick slave now?"

Jessica rolls her eyes, flipping her long dark hair back. "Look, I'm just relaying a message for a friend."

"A friend would let you wear the formal dress you want," I respond, referring to the rumor floating around school that Britney has banned her Lipstick Law followers from buying formal dresses nicer than hers. In fact, I heard that she and Jessica had a bit of a falling-out this past weekend over it. Obviously, since Jess is doing Brit's dirty work today, they must have mended things.

Jessica raises an eyebrow suspiciously. "How do you know about that?" She shakes her head and changes the subject, not giving me time to tell her that the whole school knows it. "Anyway, about her message—"

"Isn't my black eye message enough?"

"Yeah, well ... she just wants to let you know that if you hadn't broken the Lipstick Laws, none of this would have happened." She points to my face and scrunches her nose.

I laugh mockingly. "That's her message?"

"Yes." She looks confused.

I purse my lips, straighten my back, and stand tall before speaking. "Do me a favor and thank Britney for her ludicrous Lipstick Laws ... and let her know that I'm happy I broke them."

Jess's dark eyes widen. "You're
happy
you broke them? But
why?
"

"Heck yeah, I'm happy!" I say. "I wouldn't have met my three good friends otherwise."

She smiles briefly. "I'll give her the message." Then, she inches closer. "But ... what about Matt Brentwood? You don't care that Britney's going to the spring formal with him?"

I try to hide my envy. "Gosh no, Jess! We're just friends. Besides, someone else asked me a long time ago." I glance at her to see if she believes my outlandish fib. I'm satisfied with her puzzled expression and say, "Well, see ya ... I've gotta get to class."

I walk away and slip into the girls' bathroom before she has time to ask me any more questions. My blood is boiling in the stall. Groaning with anxiety, I grasp that I've just lied for the second time about having a date. And by doing so, I've made my spring formal date quest even more urgent than it already was. I take a few deep breaths to help calm my nerves.

"Just make it through the day, April," I coach myself quietly.

I smooth my curls down and check on my Kleenex cleavage. My humongous eye socket blocks the view out of my left eye. Shutting it tightly, I twinge in pain. I peer down my shirt with my right eye and tuck some escaping tissues back into my boobicle cubicle bra cups before heading to class. I dart down the half-empty hallway, knowing I'm bound to be late.

During seventh-period science, while the teacher is giving a passionate lecture on the myths and facts of global warming, I can only think about two things: Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood going to the formal with Britney ... and me going to the formal alone. I bubble with spite in my seat. How can he like her? Can he not see that she's the Antichrist? And why did I lie about having a date? I could have just said I'm going on vacation that weekend ... or I have a wedding to go to ... or my brother is having a lobotomy. But no, I set myself up to be the laughingstock of the Lipstick Lawlords. What's worse is, I look like a beat-up, one-eyed circus freak now. My chances of finding a date willing to take a Cyclops to the formal are zilch at this point.

Well, on second thought ... as discussed in lunch, there's one person who won't mind going to the formal with a Cyclops, and he approaches me as usual after class.

"Hi, April Bow—"

I cut him off impatiently. "April! Just April, Delvin! No need for last names here!"

He tries to shove his hands in his pant pockets, quickly realizing that his jeans are way too tight to fit a quarter into, let alone a pair of geek hands. He decides instead to fidget with the straps of his huge backpack and says, "That looks like it hurts."

"What, this?" I ask, pointing to the purple speed bump on my face. "Just a little."

I try to hustle down the hallway. Unfortunately, his legs are longer than mine, and he has no problem keeping up with me.

"Got my license last week. My dad's buying me a new Camaro before the spring formal." He glances at me awkwardly out of the corner of his eye, hoping to get my attention.

Half listening, I glance back at him. "Congrats, McGerk, that's cool."

Smiling pitifully, he blurts, "Perfect ride for the formal, don't ya think?"

"Sure," I say, unimpressed.

I stop at the water fountain, hoping he'll keep going past. He doesn't. I grab my thick hair to the side and bend down to take a sip of water.

Delvin leans on the wall with his bony elbow and continues, "So, I was gonna ask you..."

I choke on the cold stream of water, splattering it onto my cheeks. I know what's coming. I stand up, cornered between him and the water fountain. Wiping the excess water from my face, I wait in dread for him to continue talking.

"What d'ya say we go together?"

I stare at him, expressionless.

"To the spring formal," he adds with a cheesy wink.

Even after my friends insisted he's not that bad and that he's a perfectly moldable date, my immediate response is no, of course. However, as I'm pondering how I should decline civilly, I catch a glimpse of Britney Taylor hanging on Matt Brentwood at his locker.

"Bitch," I mutter quietly.

Delvin's shoulders slump and his smile fades. "Excuse me?"

Many thoughts speed through my mind at once:

• Matt and Britney dancing closely at the prom.
  
• The Lipstick Lawlords heckling me mercilessly about not having a date.
  
• Getting rejected by potential dates because of my current Cyclops condition.
  
• The beautiful dress Haley gave me collecting dust in my closet.
  And ...
  
• Melanie calling me superficial.
  

Finally, I picture Delvin's semi-hot photo on the Christmas card and think to myself: minus his hair and wardrobe, maybe he's not nerd-boy of the universe. Would it be possible to mold him into a decent formal date?

Grudgingly, I realize that under my current circumstances, he may be the only date I'll find. I peer over angrily at Matt and Brit's flirt festival before looking Delvin in his pleading gray eyes and agreeing bitterly, "Sure, Delvin."

My body floods with regretful repulsion immediately after uttering those two simple words.

It's obvious from Delvin's submissive sulking that he's prepared himself for a denial. He bows his head and puts his hand up to dismiss looming pity, regurgitating his rehearsed rejection speech: "No, I understand. It's okay ... It would have been fun ... but really, I understand. Wait." It takes him a few seconds to process my response. He looks at me in disbelief. "What? Y-You'll go with me?"

I wobble with nausea.

"Under two conditions!" I point at him seriously. "Never say my first and last name together again ... and let me give you a makeover."

"Makeover?" he repeats apprehensively. "But I got rid of my braces and glasses. What else is there to do?"

"Oh, Delvin, Delvin, Delvin..." I slowly point from his tight jeans to his snugly tucked plaid shirt to his horribly parted floppy mop top and sigh fretfully. "There's lots more to do!"

He pauses, genuinely considering my contingencies. Then he looks me in my nonbulging eye and squirms in delight. "Okay ... It's ... it's a deal, April Bow—Um, I mean, April! I'm yours—mold me like Play-Doh!"

He extends his right hand for a let's-seal-the-deal handshake.

Trying to control my gag reflex, I say firmly, "Let's just skip the handshake."

It doesn't take long before I realize the huge mistake I've made. Delvin McGerk is my spring formal date. My life is officially over.

After committing social suicide by agreeing to go to the spring formal with King Stalker McGerk of Loserhood, I know that much work has to be put into his makeover to ensure that I don't die in a humiliation hurricane. My first step, of course, is to raid Delvin's closet to see if there's anything salvageable in the wreckage. My second step for today is schooling him on acceptable versus unacceptable social skills. If he wants me to go to the formal with him, he needs to look and act normal at school, too!