“How would you know, you were three months old!” “Everyone wouldn’t do it if it hurt so much, right?” “I guess that’s true.”
The piercing lady tells the boy to sit down on the stool while she grabs a cotton ball. He looks a little pale to me, with a line of sweat on his upper lip. She dips the cotton into a container marked ANTISEPTIC, and then wipes the first ear. He squirms a little and I feel like I’m invading his privacy by watching, so I turn away and admire a row of pretty earrings that I’ll actually be able to wear soon.
Then the screaming begins. “Ow! It hurts!” I whirl around. The boy is clutching at his ear. “The blood,” he yells, “the blood!”
The lady stands next to him, helpless. I see what looks like a gun in her hand. “But I didn’t even do it yet,” she protests. “I just drew the dot so I’d know where to pierce.”
But the boy is not falling for that old trick and I don’t blame him. I stash the gold balls on the nearest shelf and grab Annabelle. “We’re going.”
She stumbles along behind me, trying to argue me back into the store. “That kid was just a wimp. You’ll be fine!”
“I’ll do it with my mom,” I promise when I get her out of the store. “If you let it drop, I’ll go with you to the hair accessories place.”
“Really?” Annabelle says. “Okay!”
But when we get there it just looks so boring, all those barrettes and bows and bands and extensions. I stare longingly at the bookstore next door. She sighs. “Go. I’ll meet you there.”
“Thanks!” I run out and straight through the bookstore into the children’s section. I love coming here and picking out a book. I always feel like whatever I find is exactly what I need to find at that moment. A woman who looks a few years older than my mom is browsing in the children’s section, too. We exchange small smiles as I kneel down a few feet away. She has two books on her lap, trying to decide between them. I can’t help looking.
“I really loved that one,” I say to her, pointing to the closest one. The other I don’t recognize.
“Really?” she says. “Then you should read this one. It’s the sequel.”
My eyes widen. “No way!” I practically grab it out of her hand. “I didn’t know there was a sequel! Thank you!”
She smiles as I clutch the book to my chest. Just then the store manager comes by and the woman gets up to follow him. I bring my book up to the front to pay for it, and hear them talking.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “but I can’t hire you without previous bookstore experience.”
The woman frowns, and I can see now how tired she looks.
Looking down at the book in my hand, and then back up, I say loudly, “Hey, thanks again for all your help. I never would have found this without you.”
The woman turns around, surprised. I keep gushing. “I mean, you knew just what I wanted and where to find it and I was about to give up and leave.” Turning to the manager I say, “You should give this lady a raise.”
“I don’t actually work here,” she says, flustered.
The manager clears his throat and slides an application form across the counter to her. “Why don’t you just fill this out and we’ll see what we can do.” He turns around to grab a pen and she smiles at me gratefully.
By the time I’m done paying, Annabelle still hasn’t surfaced from the hair store. I text her from the bookstore and remind her we only have an hour left before her mom is coming to pick us up. Within two minutes she appears in front of me, a hot-pink stripe down the left side of her head.
“Whoa! Are you trying to be like my dad?”
“Yes, I’ve always idolized your dad and want to be more like him.”
“Okay, I know it’s weird that my dad has a blue stripe in his hair, but he gets paid for wearing his.”
“I will, too,” she says triumphantly. “When I get picked to be in the movie!” She points to my bag. “You didn’t spend all your money on a book did you? You’ll need it for the makeup.”
“It’s just a paperback,” I tell her. “It probably cost less than the stripe.”
She grins. “Probably. C’mon, I found out where the makeup store is. I hope it’s not too crowded.”
It’s actually totally empty when we arrive. Two women are straightening some jars behind the counter. “Makeovers?” the younger one says hopefully.
“For her,” Annabelle says, pointing at me. The women spring into action. They rush me onto a tall stool and turn my face left and right. Makes me wish I washed my face this morning.
“I’m Debbie,” the younger one says, “and this is Sue.”
“I’m Rory.”
“That’s a pretty name,” Debbie says.
I throw a look at Annabelle as if to say, See? I don’t always get the boy comment.
“I have a nephew named Rory,” Sue says.
Annabelle stifles a laugh. I just sigh.
“So what are you looking for today, Rory?” Debbie asks.
Before I can answer, Annabelle says, “She’s allowed to wear makeup now, and we have a big audition to go to tomorrow. And a party soon. So she needs to look good.”
“You’ve come to the right place. Young skin like yours doesn’t need all those harsh chemicals and preservatives like other makeup lines have. Everything here comes from plants and natural extracts.” She pauses, waiting for my response.
“Sounds good,” I say eagerly.
“Great,” Debbie says. “Let’s get started.”
The makeover begins with a frenzy of activity. Debbie whisks off my glasses and hands them to me. I pass them to Annabelle. Bottles and jars and pencils are uncapped, powders are opened, and lipsticks are twisted. Sponges and wedges are laid out along with brushes of all sizes. “This will even out the blotchiness,” Sue says, applying something silky all over my face.
“And this will brighten up your sallow complexion,” Debbie says, sponging on something from a pink bottle. I don’t know what sallow means, but it doesn’t sound like a compliment.
Sue paints something from a brown jar down the sides of my nose. “This will make your nose look smaller,” she explains. Is my nose big? Do I have some huge honking nose and don’t know it?
She tells me to look up as she strokes eyeliner in the outer corners of my eyes. It’s hard not to flinch when someone comes toward your eye with something resembling a stick. “This will make your eyes look not so close together,” she says. Then switching to a different pencil for my lips, she adds, “and your lips not so thin.”
Why didn’t anyone tell me I was so hideous? Thank God I’m getting the help I need now.
“And we’re done!” Debbie declares after applying one more dab of gloss to my lower lip. “Want to see?”
I nod eagerly. She spins me around to face the mirror. I gasp. “Is that me?” I stand up to look closer. I’d see better with my glasses on, but don’t want to cover up all the hard work they did on my eyes.
“Wow!” Annabelle says. “You look amazing!”
I do! I look amazing! Somehow they got rid of my baby fat. I have cheekbones! I stare into the mirror, trying to burn this image of myself into my brain.
“You look older,” Annabelle says, nodding appreciatively.
I reach for my money. “How much is it?”
The women smile, and begin totaling up the bill. Annabelle pulls me aside.
“You don’t need to buy everything,” she whispers. “Some things you can get at the drugstore for much cheaper.”
“But not all-natural like these,” I point out.
“Still. Think of the bunny.”
I can’t help but admire myself in the mirror again. “Think of Jake Harrison!” I reply.
“Bunny!”
“Jake!”
“BUNNY!”
Debbie clears her throat and hands me a slip of paper. I look down at it. The total cost is more than all my babysitting money, plus birthday and Christmas! And there is that little matter of the bunny. I sigh. ??
?Okay, how much for whatever took away the blotchiness?”
“Twelve dollars.”
“I’ll take it.”
As I’m digging through my pockets for the cash, Annabelle says, “Um, Debbie? Is that normal?”
I look up to see Annabelle staring at the right side of my face. Debbie and Sue lean in for a better look.
“Hmm,” Sue murmurs. “Haven’t seen that happen before.”
“Why? What is it?” I turn around and look in the mirror. The right side of my face is round again. Not a cheekbone in sight. “Did the makeup wear off on that side already?”
“Just a sec,” Debbie tells us. She waves Sue over to a desk in the corner of the store. They bend their heads together and start searching the drawers for something.
“Um,” Annabelle says, “does your eye, uh, hurt at all?”
“My eye? No.” But as I say it, it does sort of tingle a little. I peer in the mirror. It’s a bit puffy and red. My right cheek is definitely getting bigger, though. That’s weird.
Sue comes back over to us. “You may be having a reaction to one of the ingredients in the makeup.”
“But what about the all-natural thing?” Annabelle asks. “Isn’t this makeup supposed to be really healthy?”
“This almost never happens,” Sue swears.
My other eye is starting to water.
A customer walks in the store and starts looking at the displays of lipstick. “Can you come back a little later?” Sue asks, guiding the woman gently out of the store. “We’re just finishing up with this client.” It might be my imagination, but it almost seemed like Sue positioned herself between me and the customer.
“Here it is,” Debbie says, pulling a crumpled sheet of paper from behind the desk and uncreasing it. “Okay. It says the first thing to do is to get all the makeup off. That should help things considerably.” They lead me to a sink in the back of the shop. Along the way I catch my reflection. Both eyes are red and puffy now, like I haven’t slept in a few days. My left cheek is quite large, too. Otherwise it’s not that bad. I still think I look pretty amazing.
They give me some soap and a towel, and it just feels like such a waste to wash off this incredible makeup job. “You should hurry,” Sue urges. I close my eyes, recalling the vision in the mirror of only a few minutes ago, when I looked perfect. Reluctantly, I begin to wash it off, revealing my thin lips, huge nose, and sallow complexion. When I’m done drying my face, I lower the towel and ask, “All better?”
No one answers. Debbie hurries back to the desk to consult the paper. I turn back toward the mirror, but Annabelle grabs me first and says, “We better go.”
I’m not in any big hurry to see the Old Me anyway; it would just be depressing. I’d rather imagine I still have all the makeup on. “All right, let me just pay for the anti-blotch stuff.”
Sue waves off my money. “I think you probably want to stay away from all plant-based products for a while.”
“Oh.” I rub my eye. “Okay.”
“And try to avoid rubbing,” she adds.
I turn to Annabelle and ask for my glasses back. When I try to put them on, they pop back into my hand, like they’re suddenly too small for my face. Annabelle sees me fumbling and takes them.
“Let’s hold off on those for a little bit,” she suggests, “till the swelling goes down.”
On our way out of the store, Debbie slips Annabelle the instructions. They exchange a few words, and I hear Annabelle promise to call them with an update, which, honestly, feels a little unnecessary.
“Where should we go now?” I ask.
Annabelle stares at me. “Don’t you want to go home?”
“Why? We still have some time.”
“Um, well, your face is a little swollen.”
That’s what she might see, but not what I see. I see shiny pink lips, smooth unblotchy skin, sculpted cheekbones, and sparkly eyes. “I’m fine,” I insist. “Let’s just keep walking around.”
“Well, if you say so,” she says uneasily. Every few feet I have to apologize for bumping into her. It’s a bit hard to see straight without my glasses. I narrowly avoid bumping into a sunglasses kiosk.
“Your friend okay?” the guy manning the booth asks.
“She’s fine,” Annabelle snaps, holding on to my arm. “Hey, I owe you a birthday present. How about a pair of sunglasses?”
“Sure!” I say, squinting to see them clearly. “You might need to pick them out, though.”
“Try these.” She slips a pair onto my face. It’s like someone dimmed the lights. I feel around the edges with my hands.
“They feel kind of big. You don’t think they cover too much of my face?”
“No, they’re perfect,” she insists. “How much?”
“Five dollars,” the guy says. “Is she contagious? Because —”
Annabelle cuts him off. “She’s fine.”
It’s getting harder to keep the image of Beautiful Rory in my head with this kind of talk flying around me. The cool shades help, though. Now I’m Glamorous Hollywood Rory, shielding my eyes from my adoring fans. But I can barely see anything, so I push them up on top of my head. Annabelle pulls them back down again.
“I think you should keep them on.”
“But I can’t see!”
“That’s okay. It’s worth it because you look so cool.”
I shrug. Annabelle knows much more about cool than I do. I stick close to her as we make our way back to the other end of the mall where we’ll be getting picked up.
“Omigod!” she exclaims. “The film crew is eating at the food court!”
“So?”
“So we’re not allowed to talk to them at school, but the principal didn’t say anything about what happens off school property. C’mon.” She drags me with her until the smell of Panda Pavilion mixed with Nathan’s Hot Dogs and Cinnabon nearly overwhelms me. They stop talking when we approach.
“Hi,” Annabelle gushes, “we’re trying out to be extras and wondered, um, like, is there anything we should or shouldn’t do that would help us get picked?” Even with my limited sight, I can tell she’s running her hand through the section of her hair with the stripe.
“Honestly, girls,” one of the women says, “the best thing to do is not to stand out in any way.”
“What do you mean?” Annabelle asks, clearly not expecting this answer.
“Look at it like this,” the woman begins. “The director doesn’t want anyone in the background of the scene to detract from the main action, right? So he’s going to be looking for people who blend in. People who he can use in different settings without the viewer recognizing them.”
“Oh,” Annabelle says in a small voice. I don’t blame her for being disappointed. She’s not someone who easily blends in. Even without the stripe, her blond hair has an inner glow that can be seen clear across the school yard. And her colorful wardrobe doesn’t help, either.
One of the guys asks, “Hey, is it sunny in here?” It takes a minute for me to realize he’s teasing me about my sunglasses. I slip them off and he literally jumps back in his chair and says to Annabelle, “Whoa, what happened to your friend?”
“You should see the other guy!” Annabelle quips, and they all laugh. “Put them back on,” she hisses in my ear. I rub my itchy eyes, scratch my cheek, and do as she says.
“Is it really that bad?” I ask when we’re far enough away.
“It’s getting worse,” she says. “You kinda look like a boxer who lost his match. I’m gonna call my mom and tell her we’re ready to go.”
When Mrs. Richardson sees me, she says, “I’ll be right back,” and then walks a few feet away to use her phone. I can tell from her end of the conversation that she’s speaking to my mother. “Tell her I didn’t get the bunny!” I call out.
“Or fill up on junk food!” Annabelle adds.
Dad opens the door when I get home, which is a good thing because it would have been hard to find the keyhole with my key. He
makes an odd little noise in his throat when he sees me, then quickly covers it up by saying, “Hey, you don’t look so bad.”
“Really?” I ask. I think my lips might be a little swollen because the word comes out sounding more like, “Ree-ey?”
He nods. “Really.”
I take off my sunglasses. He flinches, but keeps his smile steady.
Then Sawyer comes into the hall, dragging a wagon full of LEGOs. He takes one look at me and screams with all his strength, which is considerable. He drops the wagon and cowers in the corner, hands over his face, shrieking.
“Um, he saw a spider,” Dad says. “That wasn’t about you or anything.”
Mom rushes in to see what’s going on. Then she turns right back around and calls the doctor at home. Two tea-spoonfuls of allergy medicine later, I’m lying on the couch with a mixture of baking soda and oatmeal slathered on my face.
Sawyer runs into the room, shrieks again, and runs out. Without opening my mouth too far, I ask Dad, “Another spider?”
“No. This time it was you.”
Chapter Ten
I put down my glass of orange juice when Mom comes into the kitchen. “On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?”
“Tilt your head to the left.”
I comply.
She sizes me up. “Is ten good, or is ten bad?”
“Never mind.” I make a mental note to find out if ten is actually good or bad.
“You can barely tell,” Dad assures me, coming up from behind and kissing me on top of my head. “The medicine is definitely working.”
I glance over at Sawyer, who is climbing into his chair. He starts to whimper and looks away.
“Sawyer won’t even look at me.”
“At least he’s not screaming anymore,” Dad points out, grabbing a piece of toast.
“I guess.” I check the clock. It’s time for another spoonful of medicine. Mom had come in every four hours last night to dose me up. I grab my book bag from the floor and stick on my new sunglasses. Once they’re on, I feel more secure. Dad loosened the screws on my regular glasses so they fit again. The sunglasses are so big they fit right over my regular ones.
“Do you want me to drive you?” Mom asks.