The Lipstick Laws (16 page)

We shake our heads in disbelief.

"Brandon has a hard enough time passing his classes; he could never pull off an elaborate hoax like that," Rachel says.

"I almost want to tell her," Melanie says after placing her cookie order.

"I know," I agree. "Half the fun of pulling something like that off is taking credit for it afterward."

"And getting the praise," Ashley adds. "I mean, we made dreams come true for countless Brat-ney Taylor haters!"

"And there are millions of them," I confirm.

Melanie peers into her cookie buffet bag happily.

"You going to share?" we ask.

"Of course, but I get two."

"Remember Lipstick Law Three, Melanie! You better watch it!" Ashley teases, flipping her long dark hair like Britney. Her shiny highlights reflect the lighting above.

Mel laughs. "If I were still following those, I would've been kicked out four pounds ago."

"If we were still following those, we'd be in strict violation of our MPOA right now," I say, pointing to the "restricted" food court area.

***

By the middle of February, we decide that we have to take credit where credit is due. The school has been buzzing over who was behind the Britney Taylor freak show ... and we can't let Brandon bask in the glory any longer.

We begin our admission-of-guilt plan by purchasing a sympathy card that reads:

When times of sorrow fall upon good people you
know that you can depend on your friends
to help get you through.

We scribble out the words
good
and
friends
and replace them with
STUCK-UP
and L
IPSTICK
L
AWS.
The girls and I gather in my bedroom, where our midnight black lipstick emerges from hiding after a short hibernation period. The four of us giggle deviously as we sign the card under its text with our Lipstick Lawbreaker smooches. Ashley pens a nice note in fake Troy's handwriting on the blank side of the card, opposite our kisses:

D
EAREST
B
RIT-BRAT
,

W
E'RE SO SORRY THINGS DIDN'T WORK OUT BETWEEN YOU AND
H
OFF.
Y
OU MAY NOT HAVE HIM. BUT REMEMBER, YOU'LL ALWAYS HAVE THE
L
IPSTICK
L
AWS!

K
ISSES
,
T
HE
L
IPSTICK
L
AWBREAKERS

"I wish I could see her face when she reads this," Melanie says as we approach her locker to make our confession deposit.

Rachel reaches the card to the top of Britney's locker. She hesitates before taking the plunge. "This might start a Lipstick war."

The rest of us assert, "Do it!"

She slips the card into the locker vent, which we've found doubles as a perfect mail slot. We prepare for battle the rest of our lunch period.

***

In the middle of Spanish class, I notice Jessica reading a text on her cell. She gasps loudly, making Señor Gonzales jump at the chalkboard.

"
Problemo,
Jessica?" he asks.

"No ... no, Señor."

She looks over at me when he turns back around. I smile at her.

She mouths, "Did you?"

I know what she's talking about, yet I can't help but pretend that I don't understand. "What?" I mouth dramatically.

She whispers, "Did you set Brit up?"

"Set Brit up?" I shrug my shoulders, looking confused.

She rolls her eyes and mutters softly, "You know what I'm talking about."

Shaking my head, I whisper, "
No comprendo...
"

Once class is over, Jessica follows me out to confront me in the hallway.

"Were you behind the Troy letters?"

"Me? Behind them? No. In front of them ... well, that's a different story," I say sarcastically.

"Did you set up the whole football field episode too?" she asks with her hand perched aggressively on her size zero hip.

"Did Britney put tampons on my locker and a huge hole in the crotch of my favorite jeans?" I say back curtly.

She stares at me quizzically, tucking her shiny black hair behind her ears.

"The answer's yes," I admit. "But I wasn't the only one."

"Melanie Elmer?" Jessica inquires with narrowed eyes.

"Ashley Mitchell and Rachel Johnson, too. We mustn't forget them," I say in a patronizing tone, looking down on her domineeringly.

Jessica looks completely stunned. Her golden glow turns pale. Slipping her hands into the pockets of her True Religion jeans, she rocks her petite body to and fro. She looks around nervously, as if she doesn't know who to trust anymore.

"What?" I say. "You Lipstick Lawlords didn't think we could pull something like that off?"

"I just ... I just," she utters quietly.

I'm amused by her speechlessness.

"You just what?"

Her dark eyes pan up and down over me, clearly reevaluating my aptitude. "I just thought you were too nice to do something like that."

"Too nice?" I repeat, put off by her response.

"Well, yeah. You always seemed nice ... all of you," she reiterates.

Is she mocking me or being sincere? I can't tell, and it's aggravating me.

I glower. "If you thought we were so nice, why didn't you side with us in the first place?"

"Because..." She pauses, looking down. "Well, I don't know."

"Don't talk to me again until you figure that out, Jessica!" I say, walking away briskly.

***

Within a couple weeks, the majority of appreciative classmates have affectionately crowned us the Con Queens, which Melanie insists is a much more prestigious title than prom queen. Our newfound popularity comes as a surprise, mainly because I never realized just how many people detested Britney Taylor. I mean, I always knew she was loathed by a decent amount of people ... but I had no clue that the Brat-ney Taylor hate club was swarming with members. The girls and I have been immersed with thank-yous, rounds of standing applause, and genuine butt-kissing. We're suddenly propelled out of the misfit-dom that the Lipstick Laws tried to sentence us to. The one person that I care about, however, has a different perspective.

"I just think it's all pretty shady." Matt frowns as we poke our way through the jammed hallway.

I study his face to see if he's joking. He's not.

"Matt, you just don't understand—she's evil! She totally deserved it!"

"She's not evil, April ... but even so, what about the others?" he asks.

"What others?"

"Like Kyle, Troy, and Jamie. Those others."

"Oh. Ummm ... what about them?" I say.

"Well, did you guys think about what they'd think of all this?"

I bite my lip apprehensively.

"I don't mean to put a damper on your new royal status," he says. "But I'm sure it had to suck for them."

"Ummm..." I pause, considering the fact that he definitely has a point. Feeling bad, I say, "Well, no ... I guess we didn't really think about that."

I wrinkle my face into a nonverbal
oops.
I feel his disapproving eyes sucking out my sinful soul.

"But, I'm sure they don't mind." I try to minimize the situation. "It was the only way to show her true colors. They're probably thankful like the rest of the school."

I look at him for some reassurance. Instead, I'm sucker-punched with silence. I have a nagging feeling that this means he won't be asking me to the spring formal anytime soon.

"I talked to Kyle yesterday," I fib. "He thanked me."

"As long as you're cool with it," Matt says cynically as we part for class.

Crap, is he siding with Brat-ney? This isn't good.

Several students salute and bow to me when I enter the classroom. I smile awkwardly as I sit down at my art table. Sure, the Lipstick Lawbreakers may be hailed as underdog heroes now, but what good is that if I can't share our success with Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood? I can barely concentrate throughout class.

Mrs. Duffy makes me an example, commenting on my use of dark paint colors and jerky hand movements. "See, class, painting can be great therapy!"

***

Later that night I call Haley. She was more than delighted to find out how successful our Lipstick Lawbreaker plan had been, and has insisted on being given regular updates since. Of course, I immediately tell her about my weird conversation with Matt today.

"Do you think he likes her?"

"I don't know. It kind of seemed that way," I say gloomily.

"Why would he be concerned with Troy, Jamie, and Kyle? He's not friends with them, is he?"

"No, it's like he was trying to make me feel guilty ... and it worked. He's probably working for Britney now. I bet she hypnotized him with her large chestoid," I grumble, blowing a curl from my face.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. Large chestoids are overrated."

"Not to Matt," I refute. "He seems captivated by her melon boobs whenever he sees her."

"Ick! He sounds like a dirtbag. If that's the case, you shouldn't want him anyhow," she says.

I know she's right, but he's too hot not to like.

She promptly changes the subject, aware that boobage is a sore spot of mine. "Any new incidents I should know about?"

"Other than throwing gum in my hair in gym class yesterday and tripping Ashley when she walked to the front of her class for a speech this week, she's been lying low for the most part."

"Hmmm ... that seems pretty bleak on the Brit Taylor scale of evil doings," Haley points out.

"I know. It's sort of weird, but I feel like the whole Troy Hoffman hoopla deflated her ego a little."

"Not possible!" Haley disagrees. "She's probably just scheming."

"I'm sure you're right, Lee. I shouldn't underestimate her evilness."

"So, did you get the gum out of your hair?"

"Mel helped me cut a big chunk out. You can hardly tell because of my curls. This is the one time in my life that I've been thankful for my crazy head of hair."

"I love your curls," Haley says enviously. I could argue with her (as usual) for days about how I'd die to have her hair. Hair that doesn't frizz into a rat's nest in humid weather ... hair that dries out of the shower perfectly straight ... hair that I could pull back in a ponytail without worrying that it'll get snarled around the band ... thick, beautiful straight-as-aboard hair. Instead, I glance down at my Kleenex boob buds and mull over why God gave me curves growing out of my head instead of my chest.

Haley breaks the silence. "Apes?"

"Yeah ... thanks, Lee, but you know how I feel about my hair. "

"You're crazy," she says before changing the subject. "Anyway, someone's birthday is coming up soon! Is that someone excited?"

"It should be fun." I try to sound happy. After all, I should be excited for my sixteenth birthday, but I'm not. I had pictured Matt and I dating by the time the month of April popped up. On the contrary, the whole idea of being his girlfriend seems to be getting more and more far-fetched as time goes on.

"Maybe if you're lucky," Haley hints, "you'll be getting a big surprise!"

***

I smile, daydreaming that my big surprise will be a Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood wrapped in a bow.

That night I have another nightmare. Jamie, Kyle, and Troy are lying unresponsive in hospital beds. Black lipstick is smeared on their faces. The doctor comes in, looking at his clipboard, shaking his head.

"The prognosis is bad," he says grimly.

Alarm surges through my body. "How bad?"

"They're not going to make it."

Sobbing, I rush to the doctor for a shoulder to cry on. He brushes me away like a pesky fly, revealing his stern face. He's Matt Brentwood!

"It's all your fault, April. Look what you've done!" Matt reprimands.

Just then, Britney Taylor struts into the room dressed like a sexy police officer. She dangles handcuffs in front of me. Wincing, I reluctantly put my wrists out to be cuffed.

She laughs at me and says, "These aren't for you. They're for Dr. Hottie-Body. We're bound to have some fun with them!"

I wake up, horrified beyond belief, as they start kissing.

I've spent the last month concentrating on redeeming my nice-girl image with Matt Brentwood. Hurling all my efforts into winning him over almost makes me forget that it's the start of my birthday weekend. It's Friday night, and my family whisks me away to a celebratory dinner at my favorite Italian restaurant in East Rochester. I get the tortellini alfredo. It's to die for. Technically, I guess it really could be to die for ... hence my father's nickname for it: heart attack on a plate. Regardless of its artery-clogging qualities, it's delicious!

On the car ride home, my parents are acting super suspicious ... and my brother keeps staring at me with a goofy I-know-something-you-don't smile. I pray that they're not planning a surprise party, like the one I wet my pants at when I turned ten. All those kids jumping out screaming "Surprise!" scared the hell out of me ... or, scared the pee out of me is more like it. Seeing that I just drank four Diet Cokes at dinner, my bladder would probably go berserk if prompted by party hats and Silly String again.

"What's Mel's car doing here?" I ask warily as we pull up to the driveway. "She's not supposed to be here until tomorrow night."

My mom glances at my dad with a dubious smile. "She offered to pick up the cake."

"I hope you remember that I hate surprises," I warn.

"Don't worry, Peebody, you won't be flooding your pants this year." My brother laughs. He called me this relentlessly for a year after the dreadful surprise party incident, and I'm less than thrilled to hear the nickname come out of retirement.

"Be nice, Aaden. It's her sweet sixteenth, and sweet it should be!" my dad scolds, putting the car in park beside Mel's white Ford Taurus.

I'm relieved when I'm greeted by Melanie—and Melanie alone—at the door. She gives me a big hug. "Long time no see! Happy birthday, chica!"

"Thanks! Did you do this?" I point to the streamers and birthday decorations adorning the front hallway.