The Lipstick Laws (21 page)

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 perk 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.

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.

I barely recognize myself when I look in the mirror. My hair's so long and soft without it springing up into my dreaded curls. I love it and can't wait to see the new style paired with my gorgeous, flowing gown. If my hair doesn't make Matt melt, my dress surely will.

"Your hair looks amazing! It's so long and shiny!" the girls rave as we leave the salon.

"Thanks! You guys look amazing, too," I say, admiring Melanie's sleek up-do, Rachel's new layers, and Ashley's bold swept curls.

"You sure you don't want to come over this afternoon?" Melanie asks, hoping I'll change my mind.

"I'm sure. I don't need any blackmail pictures."

Much to my friends' and my parents' dismay, I'm standing firm on my decision not to attend Melanie's preformal picture party, which her parents are hosting at their house. As much as I thoroughly appreciate the time and effort Delvin has put into his makeover, I don't want photographic evidence of him being my date. If, by chance, I become famous in ten years' time, I don't want my date with King Stalker McGerk of Loserhood memorialized in a "Celebrities in High School" issue of a tabloid magazine.

As I'm putting on the finishing touches of my makeup, my mom enters my room.

"Thanks for knocking," I say flatly while smudging more cover-up on the faded bruise under my eye.

"My little girl looks grown," she gushes. "Stand up, honey! Let me see the dress!"

I humor her by standing up and whirling around ... mainly because I can't pass up an opportunity to twirl in this dress. The light, silky fabric wisps around me as if I'm floating through the air, and my long, flowing hair dances elegantly with my dress.

"You look like a princess!" she says, glossy-eyed, taking a seat on my bed.

"Thanks, Mom. Too bad my date isn't Prince Charming."

"That's partly why I wanted to talk to you before he comes to pick you up." Her face becomes serious. "Please be nice to Delvin tonight. You know I'm friends with his mother ... and he's a sweet boy. I don't want you to break his heart!"

I sigh and say, "Of course I'll be nice to him, but don't expect a romantic happily ever after."

"I'm not expecting anything other than friendship." She points at me. "And remember, friends are nice to each other, April."

Why is she lecturing me? Does she think I'm planning on taunting him? Please, I'm planning on hightailing it to the opposite side of the dance floor. I won't be around to be mean to him. Rolling my eyes, I agree with her. I don't bother arguing the fact that not everyone is nice to their friends. Britney Taylor is a prime example of that.

She scans me carefully. Her eyes stop at my chest, which is showcasing my new chicken cutlet boobicle cubicle chestoid enhancers. I gulp nervously, hoping she can't see any remnants of them poking out. I've been trying to conceal them, but depending on how I move, they may show a little bit out of the corners of my dress. Luckily, they blend in with my skin.

"You must be glad you didn't inherit my rinky-dink chest." She laughs, looking down at her flat upper body. "You must take after Dad's side."

I feel my face flush. Clearly, my mom has no idea that I'm an obsessed bosom sculptor and in fact, I've inherited her less-than-there chest. If she can't tell that I have bra enhancers under my dress, hopefully no one else will be able to, either.