I So Don't Do Makeup by Barrie Summy Page B

secrets isn’t my thing.
    Mrs. Howard breaks the silence. “If the PSS has not brought this makeup mys-ter-y”—she pronounces “mystery” slowly, not treating it seriously—“to our attention, it’s not worthy of our talents.”
    Like an annoying yappy dog, I spring up and down. “Look at this.” Still jumping, I point with both hands at my cheeks. “You can’t tell me this is nothing.”
Up. Point. Point. Down
. “This is something.”
Up. Point. Point. Down
. “This is worthy of your talents.”
    I sink onto the bench, panting.
    â€œSherry, you’re a teen. Y’all have skin problems.”
    I’m too exhausted and out of breath to argue.
    Growing and expanding like an inflatable holiday snowman, Mrs. Howard floats up and stretches across the ceiling. The room is thick with an overcooked syrupy smell. “There is no cosmetics case atthe Phoenix Mall; it is merely a cosmetics inconvenience. This inconvenience will not be handled by our Academy. Not by your mother. Not by you.”
    Mrs. Howard’s voice grows louder and bounces off the walls.
    â€œIn fact, the higher-ups in our Academy have decided to not give you or your mother any work. Your mother must devote all her energies to passing the difficult tests in the foreign Academy’s strenuous ongoing interview process. It is imperative for us that our two Academies finally join forces.
    â€œYour job is to lie low. Maintain a code of circumspect behavior. Do not encourage further exposure on the WWWD. The foreign Academy is watching you. Your actions reflect on your mother and on us. Don’t give the foreign Academy any reason to reject your mother’s application.”
    Yikeserama.
    A medium Oreo Cookies Blizzard floats through the wall and slides across the table to me.
    â€œThank you kindly for visiting, Miss Sherry. Your services are not required at this particular moment in time. Return to your own world, where you can be a normal teen”—Mrs. Howard pauses—“who behaves herself.”
    Poof!
She’s gone. Along with her overpowering, sickly sweet cinnamon-bun smell.
    I ignore the Blizzard. I stand, stick my sunglasseson my nose, straighten the aluminum foil around my arms and legs, and strap on my helmet.
    In fearless-explorer style, I toss my backpack over my shoulder, take a deep breath and march to the door.
    During the brief moment when I have one foot in the Academy and one foot in Dairy Queen, when half my body is under attack by sharp blue zapping pings, I make a decision.
    A decision Mrs. Howard won’t like.

chapter
ten
    I ride the bus to the mall, where I vainly attempt to repair my looks in the restroom. Without a ceramic iron to tame my wild and woolly hair. Without the incredible skin-repairing china clay. After ten minutes of hard work in front of a cloudy mirror, let’s just say
Seventeen
magazine won’t be calling me for a photo shoot. Unless it’s a “before” shot.
    Junie and I planned to meet at the food court before doing some investigative work. But I text her to come to the restroom instead.
    â€œI don’t know if I should be out in public, asking questions,” I say the second she arrives. “I look like I’m practicing for Crazy Hair Day at school while boycotting sunscreen.”
    Junie rolls her eyes. “Your hair looks fine. Maybe a little fuller than usual. And don’t even talk to me about skin. At least your face doesn’t look like it fell on sandpaper. Besides, we already agreed to split fries.”
    I’d forgotten about the fries. While we’re walking to the food court, I give her the short version of my visit to the Academy.
    â€œLet me get this straight,” Junie says. “You go to the Academy to ask for your mom’s help with the case. You leave the Academy and your mom can’t help, you’re supposed to drop the case,
and
foreign