The Lipstick Laws (11 page)

Don't get me wrong; I still can't stand Britney, but this revelation gives me an understanding of where she's learned her interpersonal skills. It doesn't change the fact that she's a living nightmare, but it's definitely sad, to say the least. Putting all that's happened aside, I feel sorry for the young Donut-nicknamed Britney in a detached sort of way.

"So, Britney believed her mother? How could she believe that? Her dad loves her, right?" I ask.

"Of course he loves her. He spoils her rotten!"

"I know," I agree, thinking of her brand-new car, stacked designer wardrobe, and expensive handbag collection.

"Her mom was persistent and convincing. She had been trying to get Brit to lose weight for years. She was the one embarrassed by her, not her father. I guess the prospect of the divorce was the perfect opportunity to make Brit's weight disappear. She knew how much Britney adored her father and that she'd do anything in her means to persuade him to stay. And she did. Britney went to fat camp for the whole summer before sixth grade. She came back a new person—inside and out."

"Wow," I say. "The evolution of a monster ... I never woulda thought it all started at fat camp."

Haley laughs. "Me either."

"So, what happened next?"

"Well, Britney was absolutely destroyed when she got back from camp to find that her parents' divorce had been finalized. She created the Lipstick Laws soon after."

"Were you there? Did you help her create them?" I question curiously.

"No, I didn't help her create the Lipstick Laws! Are you kidding? I thought they were ridiculous. But I agreed to follow them, 'cause she was my best friend ... and they seemed important to her. Honestly, I thought it was just a weird phase she was going through. Little did I know, it wasn't a phase ... and the Lipstick Laws would eventually come between us."

"After five years she let those absurd laws ruin your friendship?"

"Yeah, but remember, I was friends with the old Britney for all those years ... not the new one," Haley says. "You wanna know the most ironic part of the story?"

"What?" I ask, sitting on the edge of my bed in anticipation.

"She kicked me out in eighth grade for breaking Lipstick Law Three."

I gasp. "The weight law?"

"Yes! I was a month shy of my first period ... so, understandably, I was a bloated mess. But Brit didn't care how or why I gained weight. She said, 'Weight gain is a choice, and I can't be friends with someone who makes bad choices.'"

"What a bitchawitch!" I say. "You were friends with her while she was a donut!"

"I know. You'd think she'd stick by me 'cause I stuck by her ... but instead, she said the only friend I needed was Jenny Craig. I was devastated!"

"This makes me loathe her even more," I seethe.

Haley is the sweetest person I've ever met. How could anyone do something like that to her? I was only friends with Brit for a few months. But Haley was friends with her for five years. Getting dumped by a long-term best friend had to hurt like a mother-trucker. I feel like crying—not for me, but for poor Haley!

"Don't loathe her, April," Haley says. "Get even."

"Uh ... how?"

"You need to do what I didn't. You can't let her win. I totally gave her the upper hand by letting her get to me. My mom had my counselor switch my lunch period and classes around so I could avoid her ... and I became the biggest hermit in the whole northern hemisphere. I even contemplated switching schools until my dad found out about his job transfer. At that point, I knew I only had to get through freshman year, and then I'd be out like a scout."

"That's why you were so happy to meet me last year," I say, putting the pieces of the puzzle together in my head.

"Yeah," she says. "I needed a friend as much as you did. Now you'll understand why I didn't want to jinx our friendship by giving you all the humiliating Lipstick Law details. I couldn't risk you seeing me the way they did."

"I'd never think badly of you, Lee," I say with a hurt heart. Everything starts making sense to me. I always wondered why such a sweet, pretty girl didn't have any other close friends. It's because she was a victim of the girls and their stupid Lipstick Laws when I met her. I can't help but wonder if that's my future, too. My stomach churns with distress.

"Well, what do you suggest I do now? I can't live out the rest of my high school career as a Lipstick Law reject!"

"You need to fight back!" Haley insists. "She's done this to too many girls to get away with it again."

"There are others like us?"

"Of course, there are plenty of Lipstick Law casualties! Sure, the girls I know of were run out of the school ... like Andrea Birman, Stacy Rosco, and Emma Jenkins."

"Tube socks Emma?" I blurt, looking down at my padded chest.

"Yes, tube socks Emma. I heard they made her life miserable before she left. I'm sure there are probably a handful of girls that are still there, though ... hating life and their misfit curse." She pauses before exclaiming, "You should all get together and create an underground society! You can call yourselves the Lipstick Lawbreakers!"

The wheels in my head begin to turn at this genius idea.

The next day, I find myself sitting across from Darci Madison's boobage again. It's sort of hard to swallow my pride and ride the bus when I'd gotten used to Erin driving me to school. I notice that Darci's looking more conservative lately. I feel bad for ranking her a five on the skank scale.

Haley's voice pops in my mind: "There are plenty of other Lipstick Law casualties."

I wonder if Darci is one of them. I'm staring at her, trying to picture if Britney would have been friends with her at some point. She catches me staring, so I look away for a moment. After a minute or two, I lean into the aisle, deciding that I have to ask her.

"Hey, Darci, are you a Lipstick Lawbreaker?"

She stares back at me blankly. "A what?"

"A Lipstick Lawbreaker," I repeat. "You know, the 'Lipstick Oath,'" I say, using finger quotes.

"Uh ... I don't think so ... No. Definitely not!" she responds, looking unusually shocked.

I have an overwhelming suspicion that she thinks I'm asking her if she's a lesbian. I wonder if she thinks I'm trying to pick her up.

I lean back over and say, "I'm not a lesbian."

"Ummm ... okay. That's fine," she says uncomfortably.

I analyze her stunned expression and quickly add, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. You know ... being a lesbian and all. Not that I am one or anything."

"Right," she says, inching closer to the window, using her backpack as a blockade between us.

The rest of the ride is really awkward.

***

As I get close to my locker, I see that a small crowd has formed around it. Some are pointing, some are whispering to each other ... but most are laughing. I brush them away and see the most stomach-sickening sight: a bunch of tampons taped to my locker, slathered with thick, bright red waxy goop. The words
SKUNK SKANK
are scribbled with the same gloppy stuff. It doesn't take me long to realize the goop is the Lipstick Oath lipstick. Tears fill my eyes. My face bubbles with humiliation heat, surely turning bright red like the lipstick. I'm embarrassed beyond belief.

A minute after the hall has emptied for first period, I hear the clanking of dress shoes behind me.

"See. Right there."

"Thank you, Angie."

Out of the corner of my eye I see a small freshman scurry off. She looks back a few times before turning the corner.

"April?" A woman's voice tries to get my attention.

It doesn't work. My tampered locker is like a magnet. I can't bear to turn around.

"April?" She taps my shoulder.

There's a delay, but eventually I respond quietly without breaking my gaze. "Yeah?"

***

I'm horrified when I see that the chair in the principal's office is just a shade darker than the lipstick on my locker. Those biatches have ruined the color red for me.

"April, do you know who did this?"

Of course I know! I know exactly who did this! I even know the exact lipstick she used! However, I shake my head no, knowing that tattling is a cardinal sin in high school—almost worse than being a complete loser.

"Please, honey, look at me," Mrs. Wagner says compassionately. Tears fall from my eyes as I look up at her. "I know this is hard, but if you know who did this, you have to tell me. I will not tolerate this behavior in my school. The person responsible for this needs to be punished!"

My chin trembles; I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She hands me a tissue and continues, "Whoever it is doesn't need to know that you told me."

I know she knows that I know. Looking down, I shake my head again, mumbling, "I don't know, Mrs. Wagner."

I go through the rest of the day like a complete zombie. I don't answer teachers in class, I don't go to lunch, I don't try to talk to Jessica in Spanish class, and I don't even do my normal Tuesday walk-by to spy on Matt in his gym class. It's like I'm not even here at all—exactly how I want it to be.

As depressingly aloof as I've been all day, I'm able to focus on the video about World War II in ninth-period history. The soldier carrying a grenade on the screen suddenly morphs into Britney Taylor hauling a massive tampon. I rub my eyes repeatedly and take another look. It's back to the black-and-white war clip. Great, now I'm seeing things.

Mr. Stuart strolls by my desk, casually dropping me a note:
SEE ME AFTER CLASS FOR DETENTION.
I'm not surprised; I skipped his class yesterday. What I
am
surprised about is that he hasn't humiliated me in front of the class. Even Mr. Gladiator Man has more tact than Britney.

"So?" Mr. Stuart says after all the other students have left for the day. "I think you have some explaining to do."

I remain tightlipped at my desk, sliding my shoe in circles on the floor below.

"April, I know you were in school yesterday. You're in my homeroom, remember?" He gets up from behind his desk and walks over to me. His massive frame surrounds me in a shadow of doom. "Where were you ninth period yesterday?"

Feeling word-vomit creeping up my throat, I blurt, "I was with people who I thought were friends, getting my life ruined!"

My hand slaps over my mouth immediately.
Oops! Did I just say that?

Mr. Stuart steps back, clearly not expecting what he heard. "Well, regardless of why ... you need to put your time in here at detention."

He walks back to his desk.

Shocking. I really expected him to have a major freak-out fest over this. I mean, everyone knows he's crazier than a shaved mule in a toboggan race. This is definitely not the response I predicted. Feeling relieved but somewhat skeptical, I cover my head on my desk in mourning. Mourning for my life lost to the Lipstick Laws.

Halfway through my forty-five-minute prison sentence, I haven't lifted my head once, until I'm startled by Mr. Stuart's deep voice.

"You know, I wasn't always this big, tough football coach," he says nonchalantly while grading a paper at his desk.

I look around, wondering if someone else slipped in the room while I was grieving.

He looks up from his paper at me. "You hear me?"

"Yes?" I say, not knowing where he's going with this.

"I hated high school," he says. "Nope, ya couldn't pay me to go back..." He grins. "As a student, that is."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't play football in high school. I was the ball. Kicked around like you wouldn't believe." He grimaces at the thought.

"Really?" I say in disbelief.

"Really! I know it's hard to believe now ... with these guns and all." He points to his huge biceps and laughs.

I laugh too. This is the most human I've ever seen Mr. Stuart. Maybe he's not the roid-raging monster that I thought he was.

"Remember, April, high school doesn't last forever. It'll be over before you know it. Let what you go through today motivate you to become a stronger person tomorrow. That's what I did, and look at me. The guys that kicked me around then would run from me now." He grins proudly and returns to grading the paper.

"Thanks," I mumble. I'm not sure if he hears me, though. I stare at him, trying to imagine him as a bullied kid. It's completely impossible to even picture it. Something that he said rings true to me. Britney Taylor and her stupid Lipstick Laws don't define me. Ten years from now, I'm not going to have a lipstick-smudged tampon taped to my forehead. Or at least I hope not...

Suddenly motivated to do what I had talked about with Haley yesterday, I decide that it's time to fight back. I'm a Lipstick Lawbreaker, and I'm going to dethrone Britney and her Lipstick Laws if it's the last thing I do!

With my remaining detention time, I try to devise a plan. How can I connect with other Lipstick Lawbreakers? I can't very well go around asking all the girls in school if they broke the Lipstick Laws. I mean, Darci Madison already thinks I'm crazy for my shenanigans on the bus today. Obviously, I'll have to get them to come to me somehow ... but how do I manage that without Britney finding out? Then, out of nowhere, the answer comes to me.

"The school newspaper!" I blurt out excitedly.

Mr. Stuart jumps. "You okay, April?"

Oops ... didn't mean to say that out loud. "Sorry, just talking to myself."

Puzzled, he returns to his work.

Brilliant idea! Britney and the girls wouldn't be caught dead reading the school newspaper. I'll put an ad in the section on the back page where people advertise for clubs. I'll ask them to run the ad for a couple of weeks, giving enough time for other Lipstick Lawbreakers to see it. But where should the first meeting take place? I can't very well advertise my address ... that wouldn't be too smart. I rack my brain for ideas. For obvious reasons, it can't be anywhere in the school. And the Lawlords live at the mall, so that's out. It has to be somewhere that they would never go. I've got it—I elect not to announce my idea to Mr. Stuart this time—the Penford Public Library!