I So Don't Do Makeup

by Barrie Summy

  Finally, we’re on the last section of stores. We discuss skipping it because our feet are übertired. Also, this part of the mall is like the desert at the edge of town. As in, it’s deserted. But Brianna told me there’s often free tortilla chip samples, and my stomach’s grumbling from all the walking. The french fries were miles ago.

  We pass the under-construction vitamin store, the out-of-business shoe store and a closed-on-Sundays fabric store.

  Then, suddenly, a chili pepper is dancing toward us. It’s the hot-sauce kiosk guy decked out in an embarrassing puffy red outfit with tights and an ugly green cap for a pepper stem. Even more embarrassing, he has no rhythm.

  Still high-stepping, he waves us over with skinny stick arms. “Free samples. Free samples.”

  Ya don’t have to say that three times.

  Junie and I head for the hot-sauce kiosk, which, actually, is attractively decorated. Mini chili-pepper lights blink around the forest green awning-roof. Different-sized and-shaped jars of various kinds and colors of salsa and hot sauce and whole chilies line the shelves, along with aprons, T-shirts, caps and even jigsaw puzzles. There’s a pyramid of prickly pear cactus jam. And a stack of prickly pear cactus candy. Bags of fresh peppers hang from hooks. Who knew Phoenix was home to an entire subculture of chili pepper lovers?

  Best of all, a large ceramic bowl of free tortilla chips and three small matching bowls of complimentary sauce sit on the counter.

  “What are the sauces?” Junie asks.

  The kiosk guy ends his jig. His face all sweaty, he points a skeletal finger. “Mild, medium, deadly. The deadly is extreme heat. It’s five hundred times hotter than a jalapeño pepper.” He picks up a small, thin bottle and shakes it. “Snake Spit. With habanero pods.” He hands the bottle to Junie. “Don’t even think about trying this undiluted.”

  Junie reads the ingredients, then plucks a chip from the basket and scoops up some mild sauce.

  Personally, I’m going straight for the deadly. I’ve never tried it before, but I was practically born eating Mexican food. When my mom was alive, our favorite family restaurant was Tio Roberto’s. And there was nothing on the menu too hot for me. Habanero pods will be a walk in the park.

  I dip a chip and pop it past my lips and directly onto my tongue. Definitely spicier than usual. But flavorful.

  I dip another chip. I turn to ask Junie about the mild sauce. I miss my mouth. The chip + deadly sauce collides with my lips.

  For, like, two seconds, there’s a fizzy, tingly feeling on my lips. Then it’s like someone’s holding a lit match up against them.

  “Yowzer!” I fan my mouth with my hands. “Hot, hot, hot!” I’m fanning fast, at airplane propeller speed. “Water, water, water!”

  Junie grabs my arm and drags me to a water fountain. Which means warm, murky water with unidentifiable floaties. But I’m desperate.

  I twist the knob with a jerk and submerge my lips in the arc of brackish water cascading from the faucet.

  Finally, the pain subsides enough that I can gasp out, “My lips are burning. Like with the lip gloss!”

  chapter

  eleven

  Huffing and puffing, Junie and I arrive at Lacey’s kiosk. When the chili pepper guy wasn’t looking, I grabbed the bowl of deadly sauce.

  Miraculously, there’s a lull in business at Naked Makeup, and we can actually talk to Amber and Lacey. Good thing—I’m not sure I could have prevented my mouth from blurting out our discovery. Even in front of customers.

  “Snake Spit burned my lips like the tainted lip gloss!” I plunk the bowl of sauce on the kiosk counter.

  Amber and Lacey, who are both cleaning with pink feather dusters and rearranging bottles and jars, turn at the same moment. Two beautiful, but confused, faces.

  “Speak English, Sherry,” Amber says. She is not known for her manners.

  “You know the kiosk over by the out-of-business shoe store? The hot-sauce place with the weirdo vendor? Anyway, I dipped a chip in this bowl of habanero sauce.” I’m talking all breathy and at roadrunner speed. “At first, my lips went tingly, which wasn’t too bad, but then they were painfully, crazily on fire.”

  Lacey and Amber are still looking beautiful and vacant.

  “Like the contaminated Naked Makeup lip gloss!” Junie says. “We think the mystery ingredient is the same ingredient that’s in the super hot sauce Snake Spit.”

  “Another lip gloss was returned.” Lacey opens a drawer, pulls out a little pot of gloss, then twists the cap off. With a Q-tip she paints a little gloss on her wrist, then pokes the other end in the sauce bowl. She drips it on the same wrist.

  After a minute or so, she grabs a water spray bottle. Pressing the trigger faster and faster, she washes down her arm. “Felt exactly the same.”

  “But the sauce is red.” Amber does not offer a wrist. “None of the returned glosses were red.”

  “’Cause the sauce has tomatoes,” Junie says. “But if you squeezed the juice from the pepper, it’d be clear. The active ingredient is capsicum.”

  “He sells peppers too,” I say.

  “I know the guy you’re talking about,” Lacey says. “Will. He seems pretty nice. I can’t see him contaminating lip gloss.”

  “If by ‘nice,’ you mean ‘loser,’” Amber says. “And someone needs to tell him to eat another helping at dinner. Pencil thin is not attractive.” Amber always judges people by their looks. “And he’s such a whiner.” She opens a drawer and drops in her duster, then gets to work tightening lids on bottles of hand lotion. “Always complaining he never has any customers and how it’s not fair we’re so busy. What does he expect with a kiosk off in the back forty?”

  My heart speeds up. Because this is what we detectives call motivation. “How do you get assigned a kiosk location?”

  Lacey shrugs. “First come, first served. I guess I happened to put my application in before him.”

  “What happens if people keep on having reactions to Naked Makeup?” I ask. “And you get a bunch of bad publicity? And customers go to the mall manager and complain?”

  “I’m sure the mall’d kick me out,” Lacey says. “The manager’s a major control freak.” She gnaws on the tip of the long nail of her index finger. “So, you’re thinking Will tampers with my product and gets me in trouble with management? Then I get the boot, and he moves to my well-located kiosk?”

  Junie and I are nodding like a couple of bobble-heads on a sugar high.

  “I can see it,” Amber says. “Will is wacko weird.”

  “Of course, there’s the problem of how he’s getting the habanero juice in the lip gloss,” I say.

  “And we don’t know what made us break out from Nite Sprite Creme.” Junie touches her cheek.

  “We don’t even know that Wacko Will’s up next if your kiosk comes open,” I say. “Could be some other business would move in.”

  “Hi, girls!”

  We all jump like we’re in a horror movie and a big hairy tarantula lunged at us. We were so intent on sauces and glosses and kiosks that we didn’t even hear Crystal approach.

  “Girlfriend!” Amber squeals. They hug. “How are you?”

  “Busy.” Crystal smiles at Amber.

  Lacey and Amber and Crystal dive into a big gripe session about the janitors at the mall and how they’re all slackers with no apparent schedule for trash pickup, because they just come by whenever they feel like it. Junie and I are totally shut out from this inner circle, which gives me a chance to stare uninterrupted at Crystal.

  Where Amber and Lacey have shoulder-length blond hair and porcelain skin, Crystal has short black boy hair and the hugest chocolate brown eyes. She’s seriously married to bling and wears tons of it, from hoop earrings to several silver necklaces of different lengths to arm bracelets to ankle bracelets to toe rings. She’s very metallic and glittery.

  The three of them, with their gorgeous hair and nails and makeup, stand chatting and complaining and laughing. It’s hard not to sigh at th
e sight of such beauty.

  “Guess what I scored, girls?” Crystal fans herself with a bunch of coupons. “For the new pretzel place.” She passes a handful to Lacey. “They are so yummy.”

  She turns her gaze on me and it’s like being in the white warmth of a spotlight. “That is the cutest denim purse I’ve ever seen. I am so digging the silver studs.”

  “Thanks,” I say. So on top of her great looks and generosity with coupons, she has incredible taste in purses.

  Crystal pushes a circle of bracelets up her slender arm. They tinkle down, glittering. “Lacey, what can you tell me about Eve?”

  “Eve?” Lacey says. “Who used to work for me?”

  “Yeah,” Crystal says. “She filled out an app to work for me.”

  “Reliable, polite,” Lacey says. “But she couldn’t work the hours I needed. For a very part-time employee, I think Eve’d be good.”

  “She wasn’t so polite when Lacey let her go.” Amber’s lining up miniature bottles and filling them with white cream. “She stomped the whole way out the door.”

  Junie pokes me in the side. I know exactly what that poke means: A disgruntled, stomping ex-employee makes a fine suspect.

  “She’s coming in for an interview tomorrow after school.” Crystal runs her fingers through her hair. “Lacey, Amber, did a man come by? Somebody’s husband. Gray hair, basketball stomach, Discount Mart jeans? He was returning lip gloss his wife bought yesterday.”

  Amber waves the container of gloss Lacey just tested on her wrist. “Yeah, we refunded him.”

  “He tried to return it at my counter,” Crystal says. “I guess his wife had an allergic reaction? Anyway, I recognized the gloss and sent him your way.”

  “Doesn’t look like it was an allergic reaction.” Amber goes back to filling the little bottles, all the while explaining about the other lip gloss returns and the habanero sauce and my slumber party fiasco with Nite Sprite Creme.

  Crystal gazes first at my face, then at Junie’s. She touches Junie’s cheek. “It does look like a chemical burn.”

  The whole time Amber and Crystal are talking, Lacey’s head is down. She’s fake-tidying-up the counter, just moving items back and forth. Her hands are shaking.

  “Have you ever had a bad batch of makeup, Crystal?” Lacey asks in a small voice.

  “I haven’t.” Crystal’s frowning. “Did you contact Naked Makeup about it, Lacey?”

  “I did. They haven’t had any complaints from other vendors,” Lacey says. “Not even vendors with product with the same lot numbers. I sent in Nite Sprite Creme samples to corporate for testing.”

  “Will you send in the lip gloss too?” Crystal runs the bracelets up and down her arms.

  “I could.” Lacey presses her palms flat on the counter. They stop trembling. “But if it’s the hotsauce ingredient …” Lacey trails off.

  “Capsicum,” Junie inserts.

  “Yeah, capsicum,” Lacey says. “Corporate wouldn’t test for that.”

  “We’re convinced someone’s sabotaging Lacey.” Amber’s screwing lids on the mini bottles. “To, like, put her out of business. We don’t know for sure, but Sherry thinks maybe someone’s adding capsicum to our lip gloss. She’s done some detective work in the past and she’s trying to figure it all out.”

  Junie’s eyes flash.

  I try to add that Junie’s working on the case with me, but Amber barrels over me. She never worries about Junie’s feelings. Probably because they’re cousins—she knows Junie’s stuck with her.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t keep sending tainted makeup to your headquarters,” Crystal says. “They’ll start getting very anxious about what you’re selling and question whether they should shut you down to keep their name clean.”

  Crystal leans in, looking closely at Junie again. “Cross your fingers that it ends soon and you don’t have any more incidents.” She straightens. “I’ll keep my ears open and let you know if I hear anything.”

  “Thanks,” Lacey says, all choked up.

  “We’re gonna keep working hard, hooking people up with Naked Makeup because we totally believe in the product line.” Amber’s unrolling lavender ribbon and cutting it into lengths of about six inches. “We’re gonna find out who’s doing this to Lacey and stop them. It’s our duty as cosmeticians.”

  Lacey hugs Amber.

  “What’re you working on?” Crystal picks up a strip of ribbon.

  Amber points to the miniature bottles. “Silky Soft Hand Lotion. Hands love it. It’s the perfect product for introducing shoppers to Naked Makeup.” Amber is positively glowing. She believes in this product from her highlighted head all the way down to the tips of her painted toenails.

  “We’re decorating samples to give away.” Lacey’s hands are steady now as she picks up a bottle.

  “Junie and I can help after school! We’ll walk around the mall with a basket, handing them out,” I say. “We’ll reach more customers than if the samples are just sitting here at the kiosk.”

  Amber and Lacey squeal at the same time.

  Junie nods, which goes to show how far she’s advanced socially. Not too long ago, she would’ve chosen math homework over giving away free samples of lotion.

  “I gotta boogie,” Crystal says. “I left Suze in charge and you know what a pain she is if I’m gone too long.”

  “Seriously,” Amber says.

  Suze isn’t part of the Amber-Crystal-Lacey trio.

  “Thanks for the coupons,” Lacey says. “And for the moral support.”

  “No prob.” Crystal waves and her bracelets tinkle and sparkle.

  Amber’s gazing at me like this is science class and I’m a bug under a microscope. “We’ll do your makeup before we send you out to represent Naked Makeup.” She turns her scientific gaze to Junie. “You can help Sherry in a few days. Your face needs to heal.”

  Junie flushes red like a tomato. Which makes her face look even less desirable for advertising Naked Makeup.

  “I’m sorry, Junie,” Lacey says.

  “Can I wear a lab coat?” I ask. Professional makeup people always wear lab coats.

  “Sure,” Lacey says.

  Junie looks like she wants to hit me.

  “I’ll pull your hair back too,” Amber says. “So you look older.”

  I totally feel like my fairy godmother sprinkled growing-up dust on me. With Amber working on me, I’ll leap all the way to seventeen.

  Only one thing can make life better than this. And that’s time with Josh.

  The countdown is on for our movie date!

  chapter

  twelve

  Josh Morton and I have been a romantic item for the serious amount of time of two months, three weeks and five days. I can’t tabulate the number of hours or minutes or seconds, because it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when a relationship begins.

  Despite the length of our time together, I still get flutters whenever I see him. Even if we’re only waving to each other across the courtyard between classes. At the moment, it’s like a fly swatter’s in my stomach flapping up a storm. Because we’re actually going on a date. Our first movie date ever. It’s a defining life moment, like learning to ride a bike or getting braces or passing your driving test.

  Mostly Josh and I hang together at my house or at his or we grab something from Jazzed-Up Juice at the mall. We generally don’t even eat lunch together at school because we only have the same lunch period on assembly days.

  I’m pacing in front of the movie theater, waiting for Josh and getting more and more annoyed with Junie. Why did she have to start an argument with me. Now thoughts of her are barging into my brain and, like her, they’re too stubborn to leave.

  Things with Junie were humming along, all fine and friendly, until I mentioned my movie date. She jumped in with how she and Nick would love to come along. I hesitated. Which she noticed because she can be very observant in that way. She asked difficult, pointed questions, such as why didn’t I like Nick and
why wouldn’t I give him a real chance?

  In vain, I tried to explain the concept of a first movie date and how it isn’t an appropriate double date. I described the whining and crying and turned-in homework necessary to wring a yes from The Ruler and my dad. How I’ve been waiting for years for my first movie date. How I just don’t want to share.

  Junie couldn’t get it through her 4.0 skull. Now that I’m mulling it over, probably she hasn’t had a boyfriend long enough to understand. Anyway, she ended up calling me selfish. And I may have said a couple of unkind things about Nick.

  Pace. Pace. Pace.

  If only I could concentrate on Josh. Josh with his pool-bleached scruffy hair. Josh with his chlorine + laundry soap scent. Josh with his baggy T-shirts and sagging jeans.

  Pace. Pace. Pace.

  But no, there’s Junie buzzing into my mind again. She’s like an irritating redheaded fly.

  The more I pace, the more nervous I get. I mean, what do I know about movie-date protocol? Do I sit on Josh’s right or left? Do we share a drink? Do we try to hold hands with a soda towering between us?

  Then there’s the whole kissing question. Will he? What if the people behind us complain? But will he? What if the people behind us know The Ruler or my dad? And what does it mean if he doesn’t?

  Junie. Josh. Soda. Kissing. It’s enough stress to ruin a perfectly good date. I shut my eyes and take deep breaths. Where’s The Ruler’s calming chamomile tea when I need it?

  “Ah!” I scream. Someone pinched my waist.

  Whirling around, I open my eyes.

  “Sorry, Sherry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Josh smiles. The patch of freckles dotting his nose looks particularly adorable today. “Well, uh, I did mean to scare you, but not that much.”

  “Junie’s really mad at me because I didn’t want to double-date this afternoon.” The words explode out of my mouth like horses from the gate at the start of a race. Who knows what I’ll say next? Are you planning to kiss me during the movie? I clamp my lips firmly shut. My mouth can’t be trusted under pressure.

  Josh doesn’t even blink. “That wouldn’t have worked. Nick’s meeting a friend of his dad’s who has ideas for our Revealing Phoenix video.”