Madame Cowper came out into the hall now, too. Traffic inside the classrooms was thinning. Marcia felt torn between two impulses: to position herself so that she would block Madame Cowper’s view of her pictures, and to turn tail and run away. Instead, she tried the same wide-eyed, innocent smile that she had used on Mr. Adams, the smile that said, All right, you’ve caught me in the act, but I’m covering as best I can. From years of practice on her parents, Marcia had found it was a smile that worked better on men than on women. Unfortunately, Madame Cowper was not a man.
“Qu’est-ce que nous avons ici? What have we here? Are these your pictures?”
Marcia nodded. Madame Cowper stepped forward to examine them more closely. “Magnifique!” she exclaimed. “These old women, you love them very much, oui?”
Marcia nodded again.
“We can tell,” Madame Cowper said. “The love shines through.”
It was time for Marcia to speak. “I had to learn how to do that. At first—I didn’t know.” Would Madame Cowper understand what she was trying to say?
Madame Cowper gave one of her low, rich chuckles. “You knew how to draw the double chin, eh? But not yet the spirit within.” She was looking at the portrait of Mavis Getty as she spoke, but Marcia knew that Madame Cowper was remembering the other picture, and forgiving her for not knowing then what she knew now
“The French have a wonderful term for an older woman,” Madame Cowper said. “Une femme d’un certain âge. A woman of a certain age. A woman whose age we do not name. A woman who is ageless.”
Marcia’s parents reappeared, with Gwennie.
“Your daughter, she is a very talented girl,” Madame Cowper told them.
Marcia’s dad beamed. “No doubt about it, I’ve got two of the most wonderful girls in the world.” He slipped one arm around Marcia and the other around Gwennie and gave them both a squeezing hug.
“Bonsoir,” Madame Cowper said. “Good night.”
Madame Cowper slipped back inside her classroom.
“Ready to head out?” Marcia’s dad asked her.
Marcia nodded. She followed her family down the hall, after one silent, backward glance at the portrait of Mavis Getty
It was cold on Saturday, the sky low and gray, snow forecast by evening. Marcia hoped the frigid breeze wouldn’t make her nose too red for Alex. Red cheeks were one thing, but a red nose was another, and a red and dripping nose was worst of all. She zipped herself into her favorite, straight-legged jeans, relieved that they fit her once again, and laid out the blue hat and scarf that matched her eyes.
Promptly at one o’clock, Alex presented himself at Marcia’s door. Her father answered the bell.
“So you’re ready to do some raking,” he said jovially. “Well, do we have leaves for you!”
Marcia saw that Alex had brought his own rake. His head was uncovered, but he had on a warm jacket and sturdy work gloves. He grinned at her dad. “I’m ready, sir.”
“Start by getting them raked into one big pile. Then Marcia here can help you with the bagging.”
“I can help him with the raking, too,” Marcia said.
“How did I end up such a lucky man?” Marcia’s father asked. “Everyone seems to want to rake my leaves.”
Marcia was grateful that he left them alone once they were outside.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Alex said when Marcia started awkwardly dragging her rake through the thick carpet of leaves. “I’m the one who T.Ped the tree, not you.”
But I’m glad you did it. I even saved a scrap of the toilet paper in my treasure box. “Well, it’s good exercise,” Marcia said.
“Yeah, so is breaking rocks in a quarry.”
They raked for a while in silence. Alex was better at raking than Marcia and covered twice as much ground in the same amount of time, though Marcia could have raked more if she hadn’t been watching Alex to see if he was watching her. He wasn’t. When Alex had a job to do, apparently he did it.
Marcia was getting tired. She felt a blister forming on her right hand, between her thumb and forefinger.
“Had enough?” Alex asked her.
“I just need a little rest.” She laid her rake down on the lawn.
“It seems a shame,” Alex remarked conversationally, “to have such a huge, deep pile of leaves, and nobody to throw into it.”
Marcia’s heart soared. “You wouldn’t dare!”
In answer, Alex dropped his own rake and grabbed hold of Marcia’s arms. In one swift motion, he had her in the leaf pile, half buried in leaves, her hat knocked off, bits of broken leaves in her hair.
“Alex, I’ll get you for this!”
Marcia struggled up, lunged at Alex, and tried to shove him into the leaf pile. They both tumbled into the dry, warm, sweet-smelling leaves together, Alex’s arms around her, her arms around him.
I’ll have to save a leaf in the box with the toilet paper! Marcia thought. Wait till I tell Agnes Applebaum!
ALSO BY CLAUDIA MILLS
Dinah Forever
Losers, Inc.
Standing Up to Mr. O.
You’re a Brave Man, Julius Zimmerman
Lizzie at Last
7 × 9 = Trouble!
Alex Ryan, Stop That!
Perfectly Chelsea
Copyright © 2005 by Claudia Mills
All rights reserved
www.fsgkidsbooks.com
Designed by Barbara Grzeslo
eISBN 9781429934572
First eBook Edition : May 2011
First edition, 2005
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mills, Claudia.
Makeovers by Marcia / Claudia Mills.—1st ed. p. cm.
Summary: At the beginning of eighth grade, all Marcia can think about is what nail polish to use, how to lose weight, and whether Alex will ask her to the dance, but after giving makeovers in a nursing home for a school project, she begins to pay less attention to outward appearances and concentrate more on inner beauty.
ISBN-13: 978-0-374-34654-6
ISBN-10: 0-374-34654-2
[1. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 2. Old age—Fiction. 3. Nursing homes—Fiction. 4. Student service—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M69363Mak 2005
[Fic]—dc22
2004053248
Makeovers by Marcia Page 11