The Lipstick Laws (4 page)

Red lipstick? What does that have to do with anything? My curiosity tempts me to ask what she's talking about, but I quickly decide not to press her for more info. She seems irritable enough at this point, and I know all things involving Britney Taylor are sore subjects for Haley. There's definitely bad blood there, and it's just easier to agree and try to change the subject.

"Okay," I say.

Sensing her immense concern, I specifically forget to mention that I've already accepted Brit's invitation to sit with them at lunch again tomorrow. Instead, I say, "Don't worry—my best friend moved to Wichita, Kansas, and no one can replace her!"

"Awww—I miss ya, Apes!" Haley sighs.

"Miss you too, Lee."

I get off the phone with her, and to my horror, my brother is rustling around outside my door.

"Someone's got a homeroom crush. Wait till Mr. Hottie-Body gets the good news!" he yells through the crack.

Can he be any more juvenile? No, he can't. It's hard to believe he's a year older than me. I burst my door open to confront the jerk. "If you say anything, I'll kill you, Aaden!"

***

Later that night, I have a horrible nightmare. I dream that I'm half-naked, in my underwear and tissue-stuffed bra, standing on a cafeteria table. Britney is circling fat patches on my body with red lipstick, and her friends are all taunting and laughing at me. Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood and the rest of my classmates surround me, looking totally repulsed.

Haley's voice screeches over the school loudspeaker: "I warned you!"

I wake up completely panicked. Understandably, I can't get back to sleep for quite a while.

***

The next day in homeroom, I'm livid when I catch a glimpse of my brother approaching Matthew. I strain my ears to hear what he's saying, but the whole homeroom is way too loud for me to overhear their conversation. I pout quietly at my desk. I can feel my face turn red, and I want to dissolve into my chair. I can only imagine the lies he's making up to embarrass me.

Mr. Stuart marches in. The room becomes silent, and everyone scampers to their desks, including my brother. Hopefully he didn't have time to mortify me too much.

"Well, well ... much better today!" He dishes out a rare compliment. "Time for attendance."

Going into my own little world, I try to figure out how I'll explain to Matthew that I'm not a complete lunatic. I'm sure that whatever my brother told him made me sound beyond nutso. I'm swept up in my sulking when I realize Mr. Stuart is staring right at me and has called my name for the third time.

"Oh! Sorry. I'm here." I raise my hand, more embarrassed than ever.

"Your body is here, but your brain isn't. Is that right, Miss Bowers?"

The class laughs. I'm humiliated. This day is getting better and better.

By the time the bell rings for first period, I've riled myself up into a minor panic attack. On the outside, I'm trying to appear normal, but on the inside I'm in the midst of a meltdown. As I gather my books to head out, I smell something familiarly delicious. I'm stunned when I look up to see Matthew standing over me, smiling. The shine from his bright white teeth temporarily blinds me. I jump involuntarily, losing my grip, and my books scatter everywhere.

"Oh, sorry ... I—I..." I trip over my nervous tongue, scrambling to pick my books up.

He helps me gather them. "No, I'm sorry, April. Didn't mean to scare you."

Jackpot! He knows my name! My cheeks stretch to accommodate a huge smile. I stare giddily, mesmerized by his scrumptious lips.

"You okay?" he says.

I realize that I'm not helping my cause by acting ridiculously smitten. "Yeah, sorry ... just, just thinking."

Just
thinking?
What kind of a response is that? What is wrong with me?

"Right, I guess that's what school's for." He laughs awkwardly. "You mind if I walk you to your next class?"

"Sure ... I mean, no, no ... I don't mind." April, for the love of all things holy,
get it together!

We proceed into the bustling hallway, and I try to start a normal conversation. "So, your name's Matthew, right?" I ask, relieved that I sound halfway normal.

"You can call me Matt."

I smile. "So, where'd you move from, Matt?"

"Erie, Pennsylvania," he says.

"Get out!" I say ecstatically. "We were practically neighbors. I'm from Pittsburgh originally. I lived in the South Hills. I still miss it."

"No way. What are the chances? A cute girl like you and a cool guy like me ending up in the same school." He winks.

Wait a second ... Did he just call me cute? Not only that, but did he just wink at me, too? Am I hallucinating? I soon realize that I'm smiling aimlessly, like I'm jacked up on happy pills, surely looking like a clinically diagnosed loon. I have to say something quickly to save me from appearing like a lieutenant of loserhood.

The desperate words "Must be fate" slip from my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. I bite my lip and glance over at him, hoping he doesn't think I'm cheesy.

Thankfully, he seems receptive.

"Or luck." He smiles. "Is this your first year here, too?"

"No, I moved last year." Crap—did I just say that? I hope that doesn't get back to Britney. I quickly change the subject. "You're probably a Steelers fan, right?" Good save; no guy can resist talking about football.

"Of course. You?"

"Yep," I respond, hoping he forgets my previous comment.

Standing outside my art class, I summon the nerve to ask, "So, what was my brother saying to you in homeroom?"

"Oh yeah, that," he says. "He didn't really have time to say much. He just told me you have something really funny to tell me. So, do you?"

"Funny? Hmm..." My annoying brother tried to set me up to look like an idiot! "Aaden's not the sharpest tool in the shed. He doesn't know what he's talking about half of the time. But maybe, if you're lucky, I'll think of a joke to make you laugh the next time I see you."

I try to seduce him with my smile, proud of the magic that's coming out of my mouth.

"I'm gonna hold you to that, April," he says. "Have a good art class."

"Thanks!"

The butterflies in my stomach feel like they're about to burst out to paint the room with rainbows. Thank you, Aaden! Little does my brother know that his attempt to embarrass me backfired. Ha! I sit down at an art table, pleased with my performance. I begin counting down the minutes until I see Matt next. In the meantime, I have to think of something funny to tell him.

By the time lunch period rolls around, I've remembered a Cleveland Browns joke that no Steelers fan can deny. I walk cheerfully into the cafeteria. I can't wait to see Matt. He'll think I'm a football comedy genius.

I instantly see Britney waving me over to sit with her. Part of me feels disloyal to Haley, but a bigger part of me feels like the coolest girl in school. Which, after my dismal freshman year, is pretty much a dream come true.

"'Sup, girlie?" She greets me with a smile.

"Hi!" I sit down confidently. Even after Haley's warning and my terrible nightmare, I feel so much more comfortable sitting at her table today. Britney's being super friendly, and the other girls seem surprisingly welcoming. Things couldn't be going any better. The gossip and fashion talk begin immediately.

As Brianna is halfway through her theory on why buying clothes from a designer discount outlet is a travesty, I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. I turn around breathlessly, anticipating a flirt fiesta.

"Hi, Matt!" I gush with a huge grin. A shock of adoration fills my body as I gaze at his perfect face.

The girls watch in awe. He's definitely the hottest sophomore at Penford High School, and I'm the only one at the table who knows him! This totally skyrockets my popularity potential in their eyes. I'm sure of it.

"So, I think you have something to tell me," Matt says flirtatiously.

I'm so glad he remembered. I quickly prepare myself to tell the masterful joke.

Right as I open my mouth to say it, Britney interrupts me. "I have something to tell you ... You're a hottie!"

She pulls her elbows together under the lunch table, making her already-deep cleavage monstrous.

"Thanks." He blushes. "You aren't so bad yourself!"

I'm seething with jealousy. I feel searing steam coming out of my ears. I try to hide the fact that I'm a raging bull, but it's nearly impossible. I want to claw her eyes out for ruining my big moment. I can't recover from this. I slowly see the situation turning into a Britney and Matt flirt festival. It's nauseating.

After he walks away, Britney smiles at me smugly. "I think he's
totally
into you."

I bear a fake grin and begrudgingly say, "You think?"

"Oh, yeah! No doubt!" The rest of the girls chime in, trying to save Brit's backstabbing face. "He's
totally
into you!"

"Anyway"—Britney points to Brianna—"what were you saying before he came over?"

And the whole Matt Brentwood ordeal is dropped. Brianna continues her trivial discussion, Britney resumes her superior poses, and I pretend to get over it. However, I tuck the incident in the back of my mind as one point scored for Haley's team.

Despite Britney's flirt filching antics earlier this week, I accept an invitation to go to her house over the weekend. After all, I'm not stupid enough to let boy jealousy get in the way of a potential social life. Plus, I couldn't wait to see her house.

I'm shocked when my mom drops me off. From how much Brit brags about having money, I was expecting her to live in a grandiose mansion upon acres of beautifully landscaped rolling hills. Instead, she lives in a tiny two-bedroom townhouse with her mom. Her development looks more like a bunch of cereal boxes shoved together snugly on a grocery store shelf than a neighborhood. The only hint of wealth is the new red BMW parked in her narrow stone driveway.

It doesn't take long for me to regret my decision to hang out with her when I find myself in her small, gaudy bedroom in the midst of a makeover intervention. No girl wants to hear that she needs a makeover. I know I'm not a supermodel, but c'mon, I'm not a wilting weed in desperate need of Miracle-Gro, either.

"What's wrong?" she says, analyzing my thwarted expression. "You didn't think I was inviting you over for a tea party, did you?"

"No," I say. "I just didn't think I'd be getting a makeover today."

"You're a friend in training right now. Consider this part of your orientation," she says sharply. "It's a compliment."

Britney Taylor is a master of twisting insults into "compliments." I feel a tinge of ego pain resonating from my toes and slowly traveling up my body. Not only have I been made abruptly aware that I need a makeover, now I'm told I'm a friend in training. It's not that I'm desperate for Britney's friendship and approval ... Okay, on second thought, maybe I am a little ... because making friends is on the top of my list at this point. And although I know from Haley's warning that Britney may not be the best friend to make, sitting with her at lunch this week has been a huge ego booster. And my ego has been in dire need of boosting for quite a while now.

"So, let's get started!" she says, rubbing her hands together with a devilish look in her eyes. She pulls me over in front of the large mirror above her dresser. Two sequined pink lamps are bordering both sides of the dresser, and the mirror is adorned with several pink feather boas. I feel dizzy from all the pink. Not to mention, I'm allergic to feathers. My sinuses bulge and stuff immediately.

She points to my reflection and says, "Do you know what's wrong with this picture?"

I suddenly feel disconnected from my body. As if I'm evaluating a random painting in some stuffy museum. I've never been good at subjective critiques ... and I'm finding it even harder now that the subject is me. Don't get me wrong; I have plenty of flaws that I'm aware of. The trouble is, I don't feel comfortable pointing them out in front of the most beautiful girl in tenth grade.

"I'm confused," I say between sinus sniffles. "Just the other day, you said I was pretty."

"You are pretty," she says. "You're just not applying your prettiness properly."

"What do you mean, not applying my prettiness?"

"It's the whole package. It doesn't add up," she says, shaking her head, her arms crossed tightly.

I glance into the mirror with a confused expression. I notice that my eyes are a bit bloodshot and my nose is turning red from the boas. I'm quickly reminded of Haley's evil circus clown comment. However, I'm much more interested in Britney's critique right now. She's gorgeous and probably knows what she's talking about in this arena.

Britney explains, "You see, it's like an addition problem. Every number adds up to the total sum. Everything about you from your shoes to your hair is a number. The total sum is your prettiness factor. You want the highest possible number for each separate part to add up to the highest possible prettiness factor total."

I'm shocked by how smart she sounds. On the contrary, I know for a fact (from sitting a few seats behind Britney in math class last year) that math is not her forte.

"It's like a mathemalogical equation-ish thingy," she adds with a confident smile.

I look at her like she's speaking a foreign language.

"Let me give you an example," she says. "If I wore a muumuu every day of the week, I wouldn't be applying my skinniness properly. No one would notice my skinniness factor because I wouldn't be showing it."

I begin to have a headache ... not sure if it's due to the feathers or to Britney's voice.

She continues, "For you, no one can see your prettiness factor because..." She pauses. "Well, you just don't stand out. Nothing screams 'April has entered the building!'"

I look at her quizzically, not quite sure if I want to scream "April has entered the building."

Britney sighs. "You see, your hair, makeup, clothes ... It's all blah. You're not
applying
your prettiness. Get it?"

"Yes," I assert, still partially confused. "Do you think I should straighten my hair?"