Never Wear Red Lipstick on Picture Day: (And Other Lessons I've Learned) Read Online Free Page B

stacked up on the kitchen floor, outside of the cabinet where Mom usually keeps them. I whip the door open and find Timmy crouched inside, smashed down like a turtle that has rolled onto its back.
    â€œGet out of there, dummy,” I say. “And start minding your own beeswax. I am having a conversation.” I say “conversation” very seriously, because it is a word that grown-ups say this way when they do not want you to play your toy harmonica while they are on the phone.
    â€œMandy,” Mom says with a warning in her voice. “What am I going to say?”
    â€œCongratulations on having lunch with ­Principal Jacks?” I guess, even though I know that is not the right answer.
    â€œNo ‘dummy’ talk in this house. I’m tired of telling you these things,” she says. “And did you actually win the contest yet?”
    â€œNo, it hasn’t started,” I answer. “Principal Jacks just announced it today.”
    â€œWell, that sounds fun,” Mom says. “You have good behavior in the cafeteria, don’t you?”
    â€œUsually,” I answer, because that is the truth.
    â€œWhat do you mean, usually?”
    â€œSometimes things happen,” I explain. “In the cafeteria.”
    â€œWhat sorts of things?” Mom narrows her eyes at me.
    â€œLike Dennis stealing my handbag.”
    Mom pauses. “What handbag?”
    â€œThe one Paige gave me.”
    â€œWhat was your handbag doing in school?”
    â€œI needed it,” I explain. “I told you—Natalie copycatted my fancy-dancy sunglasses, so I needed a new accessory, but then Dennis stole it and ate all of my gummy bears—”
    â€œYou brought gummy bears to school?” Mom interrupts me.
    â€œThat is not important,” I say. “He stole my bag and ate my gummy bears and—”
    â€œI’ve told you over and over that you can’t eat gummy bears for lunch,” Mom interrupts me again. “They are a special treat for when you’re home and for when Dad and I say so. They’re not for school.”
    I stop talking then, because Mom does not know about the bag of gummy bears from Grandmom that I still keep underneath my pillow, and it is best to keep it that way.
    â€œSo then what happened?” Mom asks. “After Dennis took the handbag that you shouldn’t have had in school.”
    I think about how to answer this, because I know Mom is not going to like it no matter what. “I screamed,” I finally tell her honestly.
    â€œYou screamed in school?”
    â€œYes,” I say. “That is what girls do on TV whenever someone steals their handbag.”
    â€œOh my goodness.” Mom rubs her eyes with her fingers, and she suddenly looks like she is ready to fall asleep. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t taken your handbag to school in the first place. This is not all Dennis’s fault, you know.”
    I think about this for a moment. “But you take your handbag everywhere. Why can’t I?”
    â€œBecause you are eight, Mandy. What do you possibly have to keep in your handbag? Besides, you have a book bag—you don’t need both.” And I guess grown-ups do not understand the importance of accessories like I do.
    â€œI am done with this conversation now,” I state, just like Mom and Dad do when they decide they don’t want to be good listeners about my problems. I turn around and start to walk toward the stairs.
    â€œWait just a minute!” Mom calls after me. “You don’t get to decide when conversations end—I do. Plus, you and Timmy have to get in that toy room and clean up the mess you made last weekend. I’m tired of stepping on LEGOs. I’ve been waiting all week.”
    â€œI was not playing with LEGOs,” I say. “That was Timmy.”
    â€œYou were playing with plenty else in there,” Mom replies.