The Lipstick Laws (3 page)

"Brianna, leave her alone," Britney defends me. "Do you know how to play Rank-a-Skank, April?"

Shaking my head slightly, I mutter, "Not really."

Jessica's dark eyes glisten with thrill. "It's totally easy, April. You pick a girl and rank her on a skank scale of one to five."

Annoyed, Britney holds her hand up to Jessica's pouty lips. "Shut it! I created the game, Jess. I'll explain it."

Jessica's tanned face turns red as she recoils shamefully.

"Okay, so the skank scale is set up from one to five: one is a pinch of skank, two is a partial skank, three is a full-fledged, certified skank, four is oozing with so much skank, it's a health hazard, and five is the skunk of skanks," Britney explains.

Erin chimes in, "You need to soak in a baking-soda bath for at least three days to get the stench of a Skunk Skank off you."

I don't like the sound of this. Is this what girls do at lunch around here? I never did anything like this with Haley last year. This is way out of my comfort zone. I'd much prefer gossiping about boys and shopping.

"Okay, April, take a stab at it. Pick a skank, any skank ... there are plenty to choose from!" Britney laughs.

Put on the spot again, not knowing what direction to look in, I immediately point to Darci Madison and her bursting chest twins sitting two tables away. After my torturous bus ride this morning, she seems like a suitable Rank-a-Skank contestant.

"Double-D Darci." Britney approves with a thoughtful nod. "Good call."

"I heard she wears a double-E bra," Erin says.

"News flash," Brit says. "She doesn't wear a bra. She wears a couple of parachutes fastened with seat belts!"

The girls laugh.

"I heard she practices frenching with her stepbrother," Jessica adds.

"Sick!" they hiss simultaneously.

"So..." Brianna says eagerly, indisputably enjoying the social butchering. "What d'ya rate her?"

My conscience tugs my lips shut momentarily. Yes, Darci's boobage meter is on overdrive, but I think they're being a bit harsh. I mean, she can't control her overflowing boobage meter any more than I can control my empty boobage meter. Although her revealing shirt isn't helping her cause ... and she can definitely control her wardrobe. I hesitate for a few seconds, mediating between the envious devil and the empathetic angel on my opposing shoulders. Then, after glancing around at the four sets of expectant eyes piercing my principles, I blurt out, "She's a five. A Skunk Skank!"

I don't even know where that came from. Call it peer pressure, or succumbing to a serious case of boobicus maximus envy syndrome ... Either way, I know it's wrong ... and I'm not proud of it.

"Aw—she's caught on!" Britney beams with pride. "I love having naive newbies around. I'm a teacher at heart, y'know."

Before long, the girls turn their criticism to a stylish, pretty blonde in the corner of the cafeteria. Wait a second—I recognize her. That's Melanie Elmer. Why are they talking bad about her? I thought she was best friends with these girls. Melanie and Britney seemed inseparable last year. In fact, I thought they were sisters until Haley informed me otherwise. Obviously I can't say anything. Since they think I just moved here, I shouldn't know this.

"She totally deserves to eat alone," Britney says callously. "She's not even worth our insults."

For the rest of lunch, Britney and her partners in crime saturate me with gossip, enlighten me with fashion tips, fill me in on who's hot and who's not, and even teach me some of their lingo. I know for a fact that I never want to be called a meatball packer (fatty), chumpnut (hopeless idiot), nerd herder (king of nerds), scag (crusty like a scab and ugly like a hag), or freak funnel (outcast), among other things.

In addition, I find out that Erin is Britney's cousin ("Second cousin!" Britney is quick to point out). Erin also reveals that she's obsessed with spray tanning. No surprise there. Her orange-marbled palms are evidence that she hasn't quite gotten the gist of an even tan yet. At least I know I'm not the only one at the table with a shallow addiction.

By the end of the period, my head is clogged with so much superficial static, it's practically seeping from my ears. I'm actually pleased to get a break from the group when Britney suggests that I dump the garbage.

"Every newcomer has to throw out our lunches. It's like the first rite of passage or something. Really, it's a compliment."

"Wait, I'm not done." Erin scarfs down a few more Tater Tots.

"Tater Tots are repulsive. Pure thigh stuffers. Remember Law Three, Erin. You better watch it!" Britney scolds.

Whatever Law Three is, it must mean something to Erin. She quickly puts down the greasy bites and tops the garbage pile with her half-eaten tray of food. Before I venture to the large trash cans, Jessica notices my uneaten lunch.

"You didn't even eat, April. I totally get you. You're just like me. I stuck to a diet of raw veggies and Diet Cokes for a whole month this summer until my mom forced me to go to a nutritionist," she says, pinching her nonexistent belly.

I nod and smile as if she's spot on. Really, though, I'm not dieting ... not even close. The truth is that I was too stressed to eat all period. The last thing I want is for the girls to critique how I put food in my mouth, lecture me on calorie intake, or laugh at ketchup on my face. They definitely aren't the kind of friends that would subtly tell me to use my napkin. Although I'm sitting where tons of girls yearn to be, I've felt like I'm going to throw up this whole time.

However, the rush of adrenaline I get from my walk to the trash can is amazing. I'm checked out by every other guy I pass and whispered about reverently by multiple groups of girls. Really, I don't know if they're admiring me, or curious about all the garbage I'm carrying ... but either way, I've gone from a boring nothing to an interesting something just by sitting with these girls. This flattering attention is almost worth the social slaughter I've just contributed to.

I dump the trash and turn around like a model to start my catwalk-stroll back. I look up, and I'm instantly love-struck! Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood is staring me up and down. How had I not noticed him this whole time?
Act cool, April ... Act cool!
But how can I walk with a master of hotness watching me? My knees buckle. I start to panic. Then I remember, hey, I'm sitting with school celebrities; why wouldn't he be staring? This bolt of confidence gives me the boost I need to walk my best strut yet. He smiles as I walk by, and I get up the nerve to speak.

"Hi." Okay, so it isn't Shakespeare or anything, but give me a break—I made the first move.

"Hey," he says, showing his delicious smile.

I almost faint ... but I don't. I want to sit on his lap, run my fingers through his thick, scruffy brown hair, and lick his face from top to bottom.
Say something else, April ... open dialogue!
I can't. Words escape me. So, I decide that the next best thing to do is to leave him wanting more. I walk away with my heart pounding like a rock concert all the way back to the table, wondering if he's watching my butt.

"She has total puppet potential," I overhear Britney say as I sit back down. The girls smile at me with plastic grins of acceptance.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Who's that hottie you were ogling at over there?"

"Oh!" I'm caught off-guard. Ogling? Oh, gosh, had it been that obvious? "He's nobody. Just some guy in my homeroom. His name's Matthew."

I don't trust them enough to let them know that he's my future husband and I've renamed him Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood.

"Nobody? He doesn't look like a nobody! You were practically drooling over him." Brianna snickers.

I want to stick my head into the ground like an ostrich to hide. I had been so proud of my femme fatale act ... but it seems as though I was the opposite—a drooling, ogling mess.

"You—have—a—crush!" Erin singsongs like a second-grader.

"Not really," I say nervously. "Well, I just think he's hot, that's all. No big deal."

"You're pretty
and
you have good taste in guys."

I smile bashfully, astonished that Britney Taylor, the princess of pretty, thinks I'm pretty, too.

She continues, "It's like you're a mini-me or something ... just slightly bigger. Which, I guess would actually make you a jumbo-me, but whatever."

I instantly feel huge and self-conscious. I'm glad that I didn't eat my lunch.

"We won't tell anyone, April," Britney adds, sliding her freshly manicured finger over her mouth like a zipper. "Your secret is our secret."

"Thanks," I say, knowing full well that I can't trust a girl who created the Rank-a-Skank game.

After a torturous ninth-period history class with the dreaded Mr. Stuart, I can't rush home quickly enough. Flinging open the door of home sweet home, I immediately race Aaden to the phone. "I've got dibs," I yell as I slide across the kitchen floor to wrest the phone from him. He always does this. He never even gives me time to run to the phone in my room. If we both hadn't lost our cells last week, this wouldn't even be an issue right now.

"When you learn not to rack your bill up to the moon, you can have it back," my dad said heartlessly when he took my life force away five days, twenty-one hours, and forty-four minutes ago.

"Aaden, let your sister use the phone," my mom calls from the other room.

"Why do you always side with her?" the mole shouts.

"You saw your friends today in school; she didn't. I want to hear how your first day was when you get off the phone, April."

My brother snarls, grudgingly handing over the phone. Knowing that going out with Jeffrey "Goat Boy" Higgins this weekend is dependent on his behavior this week really works to my advantage.

"If you hadn't been such a tool for the last month, maybe you'd still have your cell," I growl at him as I dial.

"Back at you," he grunts.

My heart feels like it's going to jump out of my chest when the phone starts ringing.

"Hello?"

"Haley!"

"Hey! So—"

I cut her off. There's no time for opening chitchat. She doesn't start school for another week, so this is my time to talk. "I met the guy of my dreams!"

I see my mom curiously peek her head around the corner of her office. I'm sure that's the last thing she was expecting to hear. I quickly run upstairs to my room to get some much-needed privacy.

"Back the truck up. What? Where—"

"Oh my gosh, Lee! You would die! You would absolutely melt to the floor and drain through the cracks if you saw this guy!"

"Who—"

"He's new. Totally hot! He's my spring formal date ... he just doesn't know it yet."

"Spring formal? That's not until May. Aren't you jumping ahead of yourself a little?"

"Maybe, but you don't understand. He's so hot, I have to lay my claim early or someone might steal him away."

"What's his name?"

"Matthew Brentwood ... but I've renamed him Mr. Hottie-Body Brentwood, and you're talking to the future Mrs. Hottie-Body Brentwood."

She laughs. "What? No way! You mean you've gotten over King Stalker McGerk? But you guys made such a cute couple."

"Ugh! Very funny," I say. "Get this—so, Delvin's in my science class, and he stared at me from bell to bell. I could feel his radar eyes burning a hole in my cheek. It was unbearable. Restraining order is all I have to say ... but back to Hottie-Body—"

"How'd you meet?"

"Well, we haven't officially met yet. I admired him in Satan's homeroom. And we said hi to each other at lunch."

"Satan's homeroom?"

"Mr. Stuart's my homeroom teacher
and
my ninth-period history teacher. What are the chances of beginning and ending every school day in hell? Obviously, someone in the scheduling department is trying to kill me."

"Stu-man is terrifying!" Haley sympathizes. "So, you talked to this Matthew kid in lunch today? Who'd you sit with?"

I pause for a second, remembering Haley's disdain for Britney. I have to tell her, though. I hope she won't be mad at me. "You'll never believe this, Lee; I sat at Brit Taylor's table."

Silence.

"Lee?"

"How did
that
happen?" she asks.

"Honestly, I don't really know. We were paired up in gym class and I gave her lip gloss ... and then she invited me to sit with them. Weird, isn't it?"

Silence.

I know she disapproves. Haley is never silent. "It's not what you think. It was sort of awkward ... but—"

She breaks her silence. "Oh, April, be careful! Don't get wrapped up with them!"

"What d'ya mean?"

"Britney is
not
a nice girl. You can't trust her!"

"Who said I trust her?"

"It's not just her ... it's all of them."

"Just 'cause I sat with them today doesn't mean I'm all buddy-buddy with them. They're sorta snobby. Except Jessica seems pretty cool," I say, remembering how nice she was in our sixth-period Spanish class.

"Snobby is an understatement. You just need to stay away from that whole group. Seriously. Don't you remember what I told you about them?"

"I remember," I say vaguely. I know they had a big falling out, but Haley never seemed to want to talk about the details. All I know is that Britney is Haley's nemesis, and I fully understand why she's upset right now. But, come on, what does she expect from me? It's not like I could pass up a seat at the popular table to sit by myself. I add, "But I didn't have a choice. It was my only seating option."

"I highly doubt that," she grumbles. "You'd be better off sitting next to a tub of coleslaw with the lunch ladies. Britney Taylor is the ringleader of evil, and her friends are her evil circus clowns!"

I laugh. "Well then, I promise that I'll never turn into one of her evil circus clowns. I'm afraid of clowns, remember? Anyway, Brit didn't seem that bad. She was actually pretty nice to me ... until she called me a jumbo-me."

"What?"

"Long story."

"Look, you know how I feel about her; I don't need to repeat myself. You're too nice to be friends with them. You can't let them suck you in," Haley says with a distinct parent-like tone. "Just be careful. And whatever you do, stay far away from red lipstick."