Lipstick Apology by Jennifer Jabaley Page B

now sparkled with golden honey streaks. And Trent taught me how to scrunch my hair to give it soft waves. My eyes, once a bland navy blue, now with an application of Jolie’s Brandywine shadow, looked the color of a clear sky at dusk. And my mandatory hunter green polo and khakis blended so I didn’t have to worry if I was in outdated jeans. But I really didn’t think I was that far off the mark previously. My only conclusion was that for some reason my story—my brief national newscast and the mystery surrounding it—had something to do with everyone’s eagerness to befriend me.
    Andi waved hi to me as I sat down. Oh, well. It was better than eating lunch in the corner with a romance novel.
    â€œHonestly,” Lindsey said to Andi, “why would they want to leave New York at Christmastime?” Lindsey turned to me, her chocolate eyes dark and sad. “My stupid parents are making me go to Aspen for Christmas,” she said, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.
    â€œBut Christmas is over two months away,” I said, pouring dressing over my salad. Ugh. I didn’t want to think about what the holidays would be like this year. I was so used to Mom turning our house into a Yuletide extravaganza and Jolie didn’t even own a tablecloth.
    Lindsey waved a celery stalk in the air. “My mother is just too lazy to put up the decorations. That’s what this trip is really about.” Her voice was filled with disgust.
    Andi looked at her in surprise. “Can’t you just hire s omeone to decorate? That’s what we do every year.” She dipped her fork into the salad dressing and smelled it. “I don’t think this is low-fat ranch. Look at it. It’s too creamy.”
    â€œYou hire someone to decorate?” I asked. “Doesn’t that take away all the fun?”
    They looked at me like I was an adorable puppy who’d just walked in off the street.
    â€œChristmas has always been my favorite time of year. My mom and I decorated the whole house and Dad was always on hot chocolate duty.”
    â€œOh,” Andi interrupted, eyes wide, “Did he spike the cocoa? Last year when I was shooting for American Eagle’s winter sweater line, Aidan brought me hot chocolate and it was totally spiked.”
    â€œNo,” I said surprised, “it’s just hot chocolate. But Mom served it in reindeer mugs. And every year we laughed at all the ornaments I made when I was young.”
    â€œYou have homemade ornaments?” Andi asked with genuine shock.
    I was debating whether to attempt an explanation of the egg carton variety ornaments from kindergarten when Lindsey spoke.
    â€œThat is so nice. I mean, your parents actually want to spend time with you.” Lindsey seemed wistful.
    They did , I thought, and reached up to touch the strand of pearls around my neck.
    â€œI cannot believe how selfish I’m being,” Lindsey said. “This will be your first holiday without your parents, and I’m complaining about a trip. I am so sorry.” She put her arm around me. “We need to make a vow that we’ll make this a really special Christmas for Emily.”
    â€œDefinitely,” Andi said, “It’ll be an American Girl special. All wholesome and cheery.” She gave a megawatt smile and shrugged one shoulder. Now that I thought about it, she did look vaguely familiar.
    Lindsey rolled her eyes. Then she turned to me and said, “Well, at least now I can tell my parents that I can’t go to Aspen because I have to stay and help a friend through a crisis.”
    To hear Lindsey announce our friendship took me a little by surprise. I was happy, of course, but deep inside at the sound of the word friend , I ached for Georgia. She understood homemade ornaments and knew that hot chocolate was only topped with marshmallows. With Lindsey and Andi, somehow I felt like a younger sibling tagging along, innocent and