The Lipstick Laws

by Amy Holder

  "It's always best to start with a clean slate," I assure him, piling more and more try-on choices onto his outstretched arms.

  "Sure," he mumbles through the trendy apparel stacked up to his head.

  "I think it's time to try it all on." I guide him to an open dressing room.

  I'm anxious to see Delvin's first outfit. I grow concerned after many minutes go by and several thumps, bumps, and a few clunks come from behind his door.

  "You okay in there?"

  "Fine!" he squeaks.

  Eventually he emerges, looking like he's just changed in front of a giant windmill. His face is flushed, and his floppy hair is disheveled ... but the new jeans and polo shirt look great!

  "I love it, McGerk!" I jump excitedly as he approaches the three-way mirror to look for himself.

  He pulls the sides of the jeans out by the pockets and shakes them to show their roominess. "Aren't these too baggy?"

  "Jeans aren't supposed to fit you like tights! They're perfect," I say forcefully. "This outfit's a keeper! Next outfit, please..."

  Delvin continues to appraise each new look skeptically in the three-way mirror. Luckily, he's easy to convince, and we leave store after store with a steadily growing wardrobe in tow.

  "I promise you, McGerk, you're gonna love your new look."

  He glances at me, struggling with his overflowing bags. "As long as you do."

  Next, we make our way to a tux shop to pick out his spring formal duds. He immediately migrates to a hideous royal blue zoot suit with a matching cane.

  My mouth drops in horror. "Are you kidding?"

  He looks at me with a kid-in-a-candy-store grin, and I soon realize he isn't.

  "Oh, no, no, no!" I scold, pulling him far away from the atrocity. I redirect him to a conservative, stylish black tuxedo that I can't help but picture Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood looking delicious in.

  "You can never go wrong with classic black," I explain.

  "Once you go black, you never go back ... or so I've heard." He snorts like a swine, quickly slapping his hand over his mouth. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snort."

  "It's okay. You're trying." I humor him, handing over the tux.

  "Black is supposed to be slimming, right?" He holds it up to his thin frame.

  "Yeah, but you don't need any help in that department."

  He tries the tuxedo on, and I'm actually pleased with it. Excluding his deplorable hair and hampering social skills, he could potentially trick an overgrown nutterputz into thinking he's a decent catch.

  Holding his arms up awkwardly, he asks, "Does it pass the test?"

  "Hmm." I smile, admiring the crisply pressed tux approvingly. "Looking good, Delvin ... but let's do something different with your mop top."

  "Mop top?"

  "Yeah—your hair. Judging from the pictures plastered all over your front hall, you've had the same cut since first grade."

  He pats his floppy dark mop and says, "Yeah ... so? What's wrong with it?"

  "Ummm ... you're in high school now." I state the obvious. "You need a new 'do."

  Reluctantly, he agrees. "Call me Play-Doh."

  I drop him off at a hair salon in the mall, leaving his vulnerable out-of-date hair in the hands of a hairdresser named Jade. Her skunk-patched hair threw me off at first, but she promised she could give him a modern, stylish "Abercrombie model" haircut that I'll love. I pray that she sticks to the plan and he doesn't come out with a rainbow mohawk. On the other hand, even that would be an improvement at this point.

  Chapter Twenty

  Finally having some time to myself, I browse the mall on my own behalf. I decide to use the free time to look for a new bra, since none of my bras work with the low V front and crisscross back of my formal dress. Not to mention, even though I'm a tissue-stuffing savant, I need to find something more natural to help me in the woman-sprout department for the spring formal. Haley told me about these amazing boobicle cubicle chestoid enhancers at Victoria's Secret that look like raw chicken cutlets. They're flesh colored and they even jiggle—oh, what I wouldn't give to have some bona fide jiggle!

  On my way to the lingerie store, sale signs in the glass windows of Express scream my name. I'm pulled to the store like a magnet to a fridge, and I begin to peruse the sale racks. Before long, I regret my store detour when I hear a familiar voice.

  "Erin, you are so not a size four. Stop trying to pretend like you are!"

  Oh my gosh, it's Britney Taylor and the Lipstick Lawlords looking at jeans near the front of the store. How could I be so shortsighted to venture into Express on a Sunday? This store is their place of worship on the holy day.

  What should I do? Where should I go? There's no way I can leave without them seeing me. They're between me and the exit. Ducking behind a circular floor rack, I pray they don't come any closer.

  "Have you dropped something?" a fellow shopper asks curiously.

  "No ... no ... ummm ... just tying my shoes," I say quietly, trying not to be heard by the encroaching Lawlords.

  Peering down at me suspiciously, the lady notices my shoelace-less shoes; she huffs and mutters something snarky about teenagers before moving on to the next rack of clothes.

  The Lawlords' voices grow louder. I can tell they're approaching steadily.

  "Stay away from the sale racks, Jess; you know it's always last season's trash," I hear Brianna lecturing.

  I just don't understand Bri's phobia of sales. I'm sure it's just another way for her to brag about money. Her family is richer than double chocolate fudge, and she uses every opportunity she can to display that. Mel and I are positive that the only reason Britney is friends with her is for her generous holiday and birthday gifts.

  I gulp with worry as the circular clothing rack begins to spin in front of me.

  "Yeah, but this stuff is fifty percent off," Jessica points out on the opposite side of my hiding spot. "Last season or not, that's a good deal!"

  God, help me. If they see me, I'll never hear the end of it. How will I explain hiding like a moron behind a rack of clothes? And no way, no how am I going to pop up like a jack-in-the-box to face them. I have to find a better hiding place, but they're way too close for me to crawl inconspicuously to another spot.

  "Shut up!" Brit says. "Fifty percent? That's like half off!"

  I see the girls' feet joining Jess on the opposing side of my hiding spot. At this point, I feel I have no choice but to scurry inside the circular rack like a mouse burrowing into a hole. I tunnel my way through the hanging clothes, crouching quietly near the metal stand in the middle of the clothing carousel.

  "This thing's sort of wobbly," Erin mentions, most likely noticing the force of my tunneling.

  I hold my breath, hoping they don't investigate further ... as this, out of all hiding scenarios, would be the hardest to explain. "Oh, don't you know? The best sales are always inside the rack." "Don't mind me; I'm just fixing the stand. I work here now." "Hiding? No, I'm not hiding! I'm simply trying to see if the colors look as vibrant in dim light." I try to think of ways to explain myself—all completely useless.

  This has to be the lamest thing I've ever done in my life; well, second to signing the Lipstick Oath. Why couldn't I just walk past them with my head held high like they don't bother me? Why don't I feel confident when I'm outnumbered? Why does Britney still affect me like this? Why am I huddled between sale items?

  Although I'm relieved that no one has inspected the seemingly unstable rack, my heart skips a beat when I hear my name brought up while they skim the clothes surrounding me like a shield.

  "Did you see what April Bowers had on the other day? Can we say hideous-mart clearance rack vulture?" Britney laughs. "I bet she's already ravaged this sale here. I don't think she ever buys anything full price."

  Double gulp—little do they know ... Not only have I already examined the sale, I'm inside it!

  "I still can't believe Matt was planning on asking that freak funnel."

  My ears immediately p
erk up at the mention of Matt's name. Ask me? Ask me what?

  "Yeah, how did you convince him not to?" Brianna says.

  Leaning closer to their group, I strain to hear through the clothing.

  "I told him that she already had a date and asked him to be my date before he could ask her about it. Really, it wasn't too hard to trick him. He's really dumb."

  What? I gasp, quickly covering my mouth, but losing my balance at the same time. I catch myself from falling out of the rack, but overcompensate my save by banging my elbow on the metal stand.

  "Ouch!" I yelp mindlessly, holding my funny bone, realizing I may have blown my cover.

  "Did you hear something?"

  "Yeah..."

  "Sounded like..."

  "That's weird..."

  The girls circle the rack inquisitively. Their posh shined shoes cast a glare in my eyes. I'm tempted to attack Britney's Achilles' heel like a vicious rabid raccoon.

  After a short guarded silence, I'm relieved when Jessica chimes in. "But Brit, you don't even like Matt, do you?"

  "No ... but it makes me happy to see that frizzy-haired freak funnel suffer."

  Frizzy-haired? I am in silent torment over my curls as Jessica responds.

  "Don't you think maybe it's time to move on?"

  Did she just say what I think she did? Is she sticking up for me?

  Right away, I can tell Britney is fuming over Jessica's comment. She stamps her foot heatedly. "Move on? You know some dipshits still harass me about the Troy thing, right? And the football team still doesn't talk to me ... and Jamie Bradshaw made an anti-Brit-brat cheer about me ... and it took me eight straight weeks of pathetic ass-kissing to get half of my popularity back ... Not to mention, my first two formal choices rejected me ... and you're telling me to lay off the person who's behind it all? Are you crazy? "

  I see Erin's orange-stained ankles and Brianna's Jimmy Choo shoes step away from Jess to be closer to Britney. Obviously they're choosing sides.

  "It's just ... you've done a lot to her, too. Aren't you guys even?" Jessica's voice quivers.

  "We'll be even when I run her out of the school. She's gotten everything she deserves, and there's plenty more to go around at the formal. She's not gonna know what hit her."

  Triple gulp! I can hardly hold my composure as thoughts of Britney's spring formal revenge flood my mind.

  Jessica takes a step back and says, "Can't we just try to have a good time instead? Isn't all this catfighting a little ridiculous?"

  I faintly hear Erin and Bri whisper to each other. I'm sure they're reveling in the drama that's unfolding.

  After a few seconds of what I'm assuming was a Britney Taylor death stare, she blurts, "Jessica, you're walking on thin ice! You better shut it, 'cause you're two steps away from being a social misfit like the rest of them. Remember Lipstick Law Seven—decisions are based on the group as a whole. Everyone who believes the best decision for the group is to make April's life hell, raise your hands."

  I'm assuming Brianna, Erin, and Britney raise their hands. However, I still only have a clear view of their feet.

  "We win," Britney taunts. She then storms out of the store with Brianna and Erin tagging along behind her. Jessica paces in the center aisle before eventually walking out to catch up with the other girls.

  It's safe to come out from the rack now, but I'm trembling with anger and I can't manage to pick myself up. Matt was going to ask me to the spring formal! How dare she steal what's rightfully mine! How dare she try to ruin my formal! Who does she think she is? If anyone's not going to know what hit her, it's her ... and I'll make sure of it!

  After several minutes of private seething, I crawl out from the middle of the clothing carousel like a swamp creature. Several shoppers jump in surprise. I don't stick around long enough to explain myself.

  Before returning to the hair salon to meet up with Delvin, I have a successful jaunt at Victoria's Secret. I buy an amazing plunging racerback bra and the chicken cutlet chestoid enhancers Haley told me about, but I can hardly be as excited about my purchase as I should be, because Britney Taylor's evil face is polluting my mind.

  Like a Lipstick-Law-hating zombie, I make my way back to the salon and take a seat in the waiting area a few chairs away from Delvin without even realizing.

  "April!" he says.

  I jump, recognizing his voice, but not recognizing him. His hair is the perfect blend of scruffy ruggedness and pretty-boy styling. I can barely believe my eyes. I'm thoroughly impressed with Jade's hairdressing skills and hope that he tipped her well.

  "Delvin?" I gawk at the made-over half-hottie sitting a few seats down, noticing that he also had time to change into one of his new outfits while waiting on me.

  "Yeah, it's me." He smiles.

  "Whoa! What a change! She even gave you some highlights," I say, amazed at the transformation. I smile, noticing a few giddy girls checking him out. "You're a stud now, McGerk. Do you like it?"

  He blushes. "You were right. It makes a big difference. Anyway, where've you been?"

  Delvin's new look had temporarily distracted me from thinking about everything that just went down with Britney. I shouldn't take away from his miraculous makeover moment, but remembering my mission, I refocus and say, "I don't want to get into it. Let's get out of here. I have a lot to do."

  As soon as I get home, I immediately try to assemble an emergency Lipstick Lawbreaker meeting. Unfortunately, Ashley and Rachel are out with their Fairfield formal dates, but Melanie comes over immediately. I tell her the whole story, pacing around my room furiously. Melanie sits atop my bed with her mouth dropped wide open in shock.

  She takes Britney's threats very seriously and says, "We have to do something to her before she does something worse to you!"

  I nod. "I know! But what? It's not like we have a whole lot of time before the spring formal to think up an intricate plan."

  "It doesn't have to be intricate. It just has to be effective."

  We throw pathetic ideas back and forth for several minutes before I say, "It's too bad we can't just shove peanuts down her throat. She's allergic, you know."

  Melanie looks as if a light bulb's gone off in her head. "That's brilliant!"

  "Gosh, Mel, I can't stand her, but I don't wanna kill her!" I say.

  "No, no ... it won't kill her. It won't even hurt her. Her allergy isn't that bad. It's not serious, it's just cosmetic," Mel insists.

  "How do you know?"

  "Last year, when she was sleeping over at my house one night, she started pining over one of her trillion exes. She ended up cramming a jumbo pack of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups down her throat, saying that the hives aren't as bad as a broken heart. She got giant welts all over her body and her lips swelled up like the Goodyear Blimp, but she said she didn't care 'cause it was just the two of us."

  "Really?" I say excitedly.

  "Yeah, I started panicking because she seriously looked like a mutant hive-monger ... but she calmed me down by saying that although it looks gross, it's not a serious allergy and the hives would go away in an hour."

  "You're sure it's not serious?" I rehash.

  "Positive! She admitted that sometimes, even though she's allergic, she can't say no to a peanut butter craving. If it were life threatening, she wouldn't go near the stuff!"

  "Oh my gosh! How funny would it be to see her transform into a hived, hunky-lipped freak at the formal?" I say. "But there's no way she'd fall for eating peanut butter when she knows what's bound to happen to her."

  "True." Melanie sighs; her chest deflates cheerlessly.

  "Unless!" I jump excitedly, thinking of a genius idea. "We spike her drink with a little peanut oil!"

  Melanie falls over on her side, laughing. She grabs a pillow, hugging it tightly to her stomach.

  "I think we have a plan," she manages to say between giggles. "And while she's dealing with hideous hives, you can snatch Mr. Hottie-Body from her!"

  I picture myself dancing the
night away with Matt, and can't help but smile.

  ***

  That night I have an incredible dream. I'm on a crowded dance floor looking drop-dead in my amazing dress. I zone in on Britney and Matt arguing in the middle of the crowd. I glide to the miserable couple and notice that Britney's holding a large pink mug to her side as she bickers. It's at this point that a bucket of peanut oil miraculously appears. I quickly pour it into her mug and wait for the magic to happen.

  After one small sip, Britney begins to explode into a hive-monger mess. She tries to scream in horror, but she can't, as her lips have inflated to the point of malfunction. Her dress shoes swell and snap, revealing giant, bulging toes. The shiny pink sequins pop from her dress violently as she expands. The crowd runs for cover and the DJ abandons his post while Matt and I watch in awe as Britney erupts with huge hives, growing bigger and bigger by the second. Before long, she's so puffed up that she begins to float to the ceiling. Her engorged hands and fingers twitch frantically from the sides of her beach-ball body. As she bounces in place between ceiling tiles and recessed lighting, Matt and I are left to ourselves to mingle flirtatiously.

  "Wanna dance?" he says with a delicious smile.

  "I thought you'd never ask," I say as he grasps me tightly to his body. I rest my head on his hard chest as we slow dance with Britney Taylor spinning above us like a gigantic hived disco ball.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After an abundance of Britney Taylor peanut oil sabotage planning and last-minute McGerk editing, the day of the spring formal finally arrives. The last couple of weeks have been trying, since I can hardly glance at Matt without becoming a babbling moron. For some reason, knowing that he's Britney's pawn makes me even more nervous around him.

  To get the courage I need to steal him away at the formal, I decide that I need a McGerk-esque makeover myself. The girls and I go to the same salon that gave him his miraculous hair makeover for our formal styles. With Britney's "frizzy-haired freak funnel" nickname engraved in my mind, I talk Jade into straightening my hair with an amazing CHI hair-straightening iron. Geniusly, she tucks the portion that Mel had to cut after Britney threw gum in my hair behind my ear with a fab-tastic barrette.