I So Don't Do Makeup by Barrie Summy

smile.
    â€œWhy’re you wearing a bike helmet instead of an ice cream cone?” says a tall, runny-nosed boy. “And your costume is cheap. Like you made it in your kitchen. Without adult supervision.”
    â€œMaybe we’re inventing a new ice cream treat?” I say. When did this generation get so jaded?
    â€œAren’t you Sam’s sister?”
    Captain Silverpants is striking out. I’ll never get past these hoodlums and into the Academy.
    â€œYou’re a fake!” says the boy with pinkeye. He winds up his leg and kicks me in the right shin!
    â€œOw!” I can’t believe it. These are the worst-behaved, meanest kids on the planet. And they’re guarding the secret door to the Academy. I bend over to rub my poor aching leg, and discover his nasty pointy cleats ripped small jagged holes in the aluminum foil!
    â€œFake! Fake! Fake!” yells Pinkeye, who proceeds to plant his cleats in my left shin.
    â€œOw!” I’m hopping up and down, dodging metal-cleated kicks from Pinkeye, when a couple of the other monsters start pulling at my aluminum foil. “Get away from me, you brats!”
    The short, squat boy leaps at me from a bench seat. He knocks my helmet crooked.
    Then,
flash!
A brilliant home run of an idea slams into my mascotish mind. “Look! Free double-chocolate-dipped cones at the cash register!”
    The gang beelines to the front of the store.
    I shove open the Employees Only door and slide across the threshold. Thousands of electric arrows zap and ping, ping and zap. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”
    My bike helmet askew, I fall to the floor moaning. Electric shocks pierced the torn aluminum foil. My legs tremble. My head aches. My eyelids droop. I mumble in pain.
    Yes, I made it to the Academy. But I’m half dead.

chapter
nine
    I lie curled up on the linoleum floor of the Academy. There’s got to be an easier way.
    The smell of Cinnabon breezes past me. My mother’s guidance counselor, the powerful and moody Mrs. Howard, is arriving.
    â€œHowdy, Miss Sherry.” A blurry snowballish shape hovers above the only table in the room.
    I can see a fuzzy Mrs. Howard when she allows it.
    An arm extends from the shape and points to a small Oreo Cookies Blizzard. The Blizzard slides obediently to the end of the table nearest me.
    I lurch to the table and collapse on the bench. Grasping the cup, I sip and sip and sip. Finally, I gasp, “Tough entrance.”
    â€œSure enough, you are a survivor, Miss Sherry. We’ve witnessed this several times,” Mrs. Howard drawls. She’s a Southern ghost with an accent that can lull you to sleep. She can also morph from a welcoming Cinnabon smell to a burnt-sugar odor faster than a bobcat can climb a tree.
    â€œI might need another Blizzard,” I pant. “I usually order a medium.”
    â€œTo what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?” Mrs. Howard floats above me.
    I tell her about the tainted makeup and finish with, “I really need my mom on the case with me.”
    â€œHave y’all discussed this?”
    Slurping, I nod.
    â€œAnd what exactly did your mama say?”
    â€œShe didn’t think she could help, but she wouldn’t tell me why. So, I climbed on a bus, faced injury and humiliation from a horde of Little Leaguers, and traveled through the Portal of Pain into the Academy just to talk to you.” I clasp my hands together and beg. “Could you please assign my mother to the case?” Even though Real Time hovers at the edge of my mind, I do not even dare mention it. One favor is already pushing the limit with this bossy, controlling ghost counselor.
    A rectangular plasma screen appears in the upper corner of the room. “Honey, go on and watch this.”
    I crane my already cricked-out neck.
    Shimmering and glowing, the screen fills with headlines.
    Mother-Daughter Duo Pulls It Off Mother-Daughter Teams: Wave of the Academy