Meanicures Read online

  Like Olivia. Normally she loved being dramatic, and she didn’t mind any extra attention that she earned with her brightly colored, offbeat shoes or clothes. But not this Monday, not now when she couldn’t speak straight.

  “I hate to point out the obvious, but since you knew you were getting braces on Saturday, why didn’t you just reschedule it?” Taylor asked as she stacked her science book onto her math book. Taylor’s the queen of logic and can never understand why everyone else doesn’t act as rationally as she does. When she found out she was sneezing all the time because of her new puppy, she decided she’d just have to give him away—to Olivia, who kept about eight different pets. She didn’t even shed a tear.

  Olivia shrugged. “I forgot?”

  She really can be such a space cadet. Sometimes she’ll forget what class she’s supposed to go to, or head down the wrong hallway to her locker. You have to take pity on her. It’s like she’s spending all her brain energy caring for her guinea pig, rabbit, hamster, ferret, three cats, one newly adopted-from-Taylor puppy, and one older dog. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, but I don’t know if I’d trust her with surgery. She might be the type to leave important surgical stuff inside your pet—like scissors.

  Olivia handed me a piece of paper. Come on, Madison. I can’t talk. Please, can you do it instead? I already went in and cleared it with Mr. Brooks.

  “Me?” Pity was one thing. Insanity was another. “No. You can do it. Practice talking! You know, ‘Four-score and seven years ago, our fathers …’ all that kind of stuff.”

  “ ‘She sells seashells by the seashore,’ ” I added, though frankly, I’d never seen anyone ever selling seashells, by the seashore or anywhere else.

  Olivia tried to say something and sprayed me with spit. It sounded like … well … like a sailboat slicing through the water.

  I realized how dire her situation was. I might be teased if my green hair was picked up on camera, but she’d get laughed off the screen. “Okay, fine. You’re not doing it,” I said. “But why should I do it?”

  She handed me another note: Don’t forget to mention the Endangered Animals Club meeting after school today. Then she pushed me toward the TV studio door, spitting something about how I was good in a crisis.

  “No, I’m not!” I said. “Taylor’s the one who—”

  The door closed. I brushed the spit off my corduroy jacket as Mr. Brooks, who ran the studio, explained how things would work. It seemed straightforward enough—I would read the news while looking at the camera, make eye contact with the camera, smile for the camera, and enunciate (to the camera, no doubt).

  “Enunciate. E-nun-ci-ate,” Mr. Brooks said. “You know, like in My Fair Lady. Quickly. Quickly!” He seemed to be panicking and saying everything twice because of it. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. You know, like that. Five minutes till airtime, everybody! Cameron’s running the camera, Cassidy’s our director—if you need anything, just ask Cassidy.”

  Just ask Cassidy? I’d rather gargle with glass. Since when did Cassidy take over the morning news?

  It figured, though. She’d always wanted to be either an actor or a news anchor, which I think she’d be perfect for, considering she already knows how to act fake all the time. And she was great at cheerleading—a natural performer.

  “Um, where is she, anyway?” I asked Cameron. He was also in seventh grade, but I didn’t know him very well. His one distinguishing feature was that he looked kind of like the actor in those vampire movies. I mean, the werewolf dude.

  He shrugged. “Late, as usual,” he said.

  “You can’t wear that hat, though, Madison,” Mr. Brooks said, pointing to Taylor’s hat. “You must know the dress code: no hats in school.”

  “Mr. Brooks, please! I need to wear a hat. My hair is, uh, off-color,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Off-color? What do you mean by that?”

  “It’s—not right,” I said. “Turned green last night.” I slowly removed the hat.

  “I’ll say,” added Cameron, looking closely at me.

  I frowned at him. Go ahead, kick me while I’m down. Maybe I didn’t want to know him better.

  Mr. Brooks shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re being too sensitive. Looks fine to me. No hats.”

  Cassidy breezed through the door just then. “Hey, Cam, hey, Mr. Brooks,” she said with a wave. “So sorry I’m late. The printer was not working at all.” She stopped and did a double take. “Madison? What are you doing here? Olivia was signed up for today.”

  “She’s not feeling well,” I said. That, and she can’t talk, I added silently.

  “Oh. Well, you know the routine, right? Okay, I have your text all ready, right here.” She waved a couple of sheets of paper in the air, then handed them to me. “Do you need anything before you go on? I mean, I know how you hate doing makeup, right? If you want, I could help.”

  I glared at her. Would a mouse accept help from a snake? Even if the mouse did look … a little mousy and green and in no way ready for her close-up.

  And what was with her saying she knew I didn’t like makeup? Was that a slam?

  “No. That’s okay.” I coughed, wondering if she might actually be offering something good for a change. “Do people usually wear makeup when they do this?”

  “Not everyone, but if you want to look good …” She paused, waiting for my answer.

  “Okay, I guess,” I said. “But what are we talking about?”

  “Just a quick brush with some powder. Really takes the shine off.”

  “What shine?” I asked.

  “The camera. It tends to make people’s faces look shiny.”

  “Don’t I want to be … shiny?” I asked. “Sparkly? Happy?”

  “Sure. But not oily,” she said as if my face were no different from the bottom of a pizza box. She sat me down and went to work.

  “Two minutes, people, two minutes!” called Mr. Brooks. You would have thought he was directing a big play instead of a one-person teensy-tiny newscast with one video camera.

  The thing is, I didn’t have oily skin. One of the gifts of my mom’s experimentation was that I usually had clear, not-so-bad skin. I figured it was due to the extreme aloe and cucumber exposure I suffered as a young child: the Green & Clean Shampoo year.

  “This looks great, Madison!” Cassidy stepped back to admire her work. “Now, maybe a little lip gloss?” she suggested.

  I hated her superior attitude. So I didn’t normally wear lip gloss. So what?

  But if it would get her to stop hounding me, fine. “Sure. Okay.” Maybe it would distract from the cursed green hair. I borrowed her gloss, rolled some onto my finger, then applied it to my lips. It couldn’t hurt to have a little color. At least, that’s what magazines always said.

  As I took my seat in front of the camera, Cassidy adjusted the overhead light so that it was pointed directly at my face. “Um, are you sure the light’s supposed to be that bright?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “It’ll make you totally pop on camera.”

  “Pop? Like popcorn? It does feel hot.”

  “I know, isn’t it a pain? Don’t worry,” Cassidy said, “you’ll be fine.”

  I straightened my shirt and tried to sit up straight. My mom’s done several TV appearances and she’s always telling me how important it is not to slouch, how it makes you look small and unimportant. (She has a media consultant for stuff like this.)

  My mouth suddenly felt completely dry. I ran my tongue over my teeth. Mr. Brooks had said to “enunciate,” like in My Fair Lady. If anyone knew that musical, it was me. Mom used to watch it all the time, and she’d almost named me Audrey, after the actress in the movie version, Audrey Hepburn. Instead, she named me Madison after … well … a street.

  “The rrrrrain in Maine stays mainly in Payneston,” I trilled in a singsong voice. “The rrrrrain in Mmmmaine stays mmmmainly in Payyyyneston.”

  “Mad
ison, you’re on,” Cassidy whispered.

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re on. Live,” she said.

  “I am?” I coughed. “Ah—in—in this morning’s news,” I stuttered the typed announcements Cassidy had given me. “Oh, yes. Well. Just a second here … I mean, uh, good morning.” I grabbed the two sheets of paper and read, “Happy Tuesday, Panthers!”

  Wait a minute, I thought. That’s not right.

  “Excuse me, Monday. Panthers. We’re Monday Panthers.” I coughed. This wasn’t off to a good start—if it was off to a start at all. “Roar your Panther selves to the library this week and learn all about Maine’s history, in honor of Postal Heritage Days.”

  I stopped. We weren’t known for our postage. Who had written this?

  “Excuse me. Coastal. Coastal Heritage Days,” I corrected myself, squinting at the page.

  I glanced over at Cassidy. She was smiling and signaling me to continue.

  “In other related news, the middle school Council is meeting to discuss why we’re called Panthers, when we live at the coast. Was lobster already taken?” I cleared my throat. “And if so, how do we get it back?”

  I paused, contemplating this. Kind of a deep question for the PMSC, in my opinion. I didn’t think they’d be able to handle it. I didn’t know I’d be reading jokes. Was today Payneston Comedy Day?

  “Moving on … From the drama department, for anyone who wants to sing up”—I coughed—“sign up for holiday chorus, auditions will be held immediately after tryouts for the winter play, Our Towel.”

  “Town!” Mr. Brooks yelled. “Our Town!”

  “Right, that’s Our Town,” I said. “Not our … towel. That would be a really, um, bad play.” I wondered if Cassidy had typed this up herself. And if she had, were her mistakes on purpose? This was going in such a disastrous direction, I had to steer it back toward something positive. I remembered the note Olivia had given me.

  “While I have the floor. The mic, whatever. This afternoon is the first meeting of the new Endangered Animals Club, at three o’clock in the after-school club room. The club will be trying to raise money to donate to organizations devoted to saving the animals of the world who are, um, endangered. And we’ll be trying to save them,” I said, feeling like I was stumbling over every word. “Olivia Salinas and I are in charge of the committee this year, and everyone’s welcome—the more, the merrier. So put that on your calendar and get ready to, um, be—I mean, help—an endangered species.” I coughed.

  The way Mr. Brooks was glaring at me from the audio booth, I was starting to feel semi-endangered myself. I guessed we weren’t allowed to promote our own causes. I went back to the prepared—poorly prepared—text from Cassidy, hating every word of it.

  “The Chest Club would like to announce that they competed in the first-ever southern Maine—” I stopped. “Chess Club. That’s Chess Club. And they competed in the southern Maine championships and came in, uh, what’s this … ninth place. Out of nine teams. Way to go, Chest—Chess Club.” I took a deep breath. This was like a nightmare I’d once had. Only worse.

  “Also today,” I went on, “please stop by the band office to support the marching band during their candy sale. Chocolate bras are available—excuse me. Candy bars. Bars. Made of chocolate.”

  I could hear laughter coming through the floor, echoing in the hallways. The entire school was laughing. At me.

  “I’d like to finish with today’s reflection,” I said, thinking, scanning the four-line poem that ended the typed newscast. Why not? This is a train wreck anyway. Might as well toss a caboose on the end and smash that, too. I read aloud, “Dead lobsters are red, live lobsters are green. This was probably the worst newscast that you’ve ever seen.”

  Cassidy started to applaud, while Cameron shut off the camera and backed away from me as if I were slightly radioactive.

  Chapter 3

  “Great job!” Cassidy said with her most insincere smile ever—which was saying a lot, for her.

  “How could you do that to me?” I cried.

  “What do you mean?” She just kept grinning, like that weird Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland that always gave me the creeps. “I didn’t do anything.”

  I glared at her. “Either you are a lousy proofreader who doesn’t know how to write, or you thought it’d be funny to embarrass me—and everyone else with a chest—by making really bad jokes.”

  “You have a chest?” she said.

  I was speechless. She’d sabotaged me. Out-and-out sabotaged me. There were a hundred things I wanted to say, like:

  1. I can’t believe you set me up like that. I bet you didn’t do it alone, either.

  2. Why would you do that?

  3. Didn’t we used to be friends?

  4. Remember the time your mouth was on fire and I put it out?

  It’s a long story, but once in fifth grade we were at Girl Scout camp, making s’mores. Cassidy went to blow out her burning marshmallow and the flames somehow jumped to her lips. I noticed she needed help and put my arm across her mouth, smothering the fire, and saving her life. But apparently, that didn’t count for anything anymore.

  Mr. Brooks hurried over, a concerned expression on his face. “Uh, Madison, we’ll need to talk about this,” he said as I walked toward the door.

  “Maybe you should talk to her,” I said, pointing at Cassidy.

  “Me?” Cassidy asked. “What did I do?”

  “Look at this—” I started to show Mr. Brooks the text she’d given me, but she grabbed the paper out of my hands before he could see it.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Brooks. I should have warned you. She’s been really stressed out lately. I don’t know what happened,” Cassidy said.

  I glared at her again, trying to shoot daggers with my eyes.

  “Uh, your skin’s all red—are you having an allergic reaction to something in here?” asked Cameron.

  “It’s called embarrassment,” I said as the bell rang, ending homeroom. I dashed out into the crowded hallway, jamming Taylor’s hat back onto my head, and nearly ran right into Hunter.

  “The rrrrrain in Mmmmmaine …,” Hunter said, shoving my homework back at me without slowing down. Then suddenly he stopped. “Hey. I didn’t know the circus was in town.”

  “What?” I said.

  Taylor and Olivia skidded around the corner just then, grabbing me and pulling me down the hallway. “What happened to your face?” asked Taylor.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “It’s all red!” Olivia said, still sounding muffled, but not as bad as she’d sounded earlier.

  “It was Cassidy. She wanted to do my makeup,” I said.

  “Well, she did it, all right.” Taylor pulled me along even faster.

  “Hey! Green hair!” someone yelled from down the hall.

  “Don’t go postal!” another person called as we ducked into the bathroom for the second time that morning.

  I just stood there with my eyes closed, while Olivia got a wet paper towel and gently washed the red off my face. I didn’t look at my reflection. I couldn’t.

  “Loogkon da beefsight,” Olivia said. “It cowf bin e. Oof shave e.”

  I translated: “Look on the bright side. It could have been me. You saved me.”

  She had a point. Maybe there was something to be said for saving a friend. Maybe all I’d remember a year from now would be the fact that I’d taken a bullet for Olivia. She’d never forget this kind of sacrifice. And I, well, I’d be kind of a legend for being so nice.

  But as we walked out of the bathroom to hurry toward our first-period classes, two boys walked by holding sheets of paper that said WE CHOCOLATE BRAS!

  Or, then again, maybe I’d just be a legend for other reasons.

  “Never mind them,” said Taylor. She took my arm and guided me down the hall. “And don’t look at who’s coming our way.”

  I don’t know about you, but when somebody says to me, “Don’t look!” I just have to look. So I di
d.

  Then I wished I hadn’t, not that it would have changed anything.

  “The rrrrrrain in Mmmmaine …,” Alexis was trilling as she came closer.

  “Falls mainly on P-p-p-p …” Kayley was laughing so hard she couldn’t finish the sentence.

  What did I say? We didn’t do well on Mondays. The mean girls did. I slunk into my first-period class, avoiding the looks that came my way and wondering if I could talk my mom into a quick trip to Paris. Say, tomorrow?

  Then again, it was my mom who’d gotten me into this mess. I shuddered and jammed Taylor’s hat farther down on my head.

  “Do you think anyone else is coming?” I asked Olivia at about three fifteen that afternoon. We had the after-school Endangered Animals Club meeting to ourselves. We had handouts nobody wanted. We had sign-up sheets that were totally blank. I wished Taylor was with us, but she had gymnastics.

  “Sure. Maybe they just didn’t get the time right,” she said.

  “Maybe I said the wrong time?” I asked.

  Olivia shook her head. “You didn’t.”

  “Maybe I said the wrong room?” I asked.

  “You didn’t,” Olivia said again, doodling on the blank sign-up sheet. “Anyway, there’s only one club room.”

  “True,” I mused. “Maybe they don’t want to be in a club with a clown?” I suggested.

  Why did I agree to start this club with Olivia, anyway? She was the animal lover, the queen of pets, and rescuer of abandoned creatures. I just had a crazy cat named Rudy.

  I sat down at the table and put my head in my hands. “What if you created a club and nobody joined?” I wondered out loud.

  Olivia leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the table.”Nobody’s coming, are they?”

  “We’ll have to get things started on our own,” I declared. I was determined not to fail at everything today. “So what is this club of ours going to do, exactly?”

  “I was thinking we could have a couple of bake sales?” said Olivia. “You know, that’s what everyone else does.”

  “Sure, if they want to make ten dollars. That’s not enough. What else?”