49

AFTER SCHOOL KITTY AND I set up camp in the kitchen, where there’s the best light. I bring down
my speakers and play the Andrews Sisters to get us in the right spirit. Kitty puts down a towel and
lays out all my makeup, bobby pins, hair spray.
I hold up a packet of individual false eyelashes. “Where’d you get these from?”
“Brielle stole them from her sister and she gave me a pack.”
“Kitty!”
“She won’t notice. She has tons!”
“You can’t just take people’s stuff.”
“I didn’t take it—Brielle did. Anyway, I can’t give it back now. Do you want me to put them on
you or not?”
I hesitate. “Do you even know how?”
“Yeah, I’ve watched her sister put them on plenty of times.” Kitty takes the eyelashes out of my
hand. “If you don’t want me to use them on you, fine. I’ll save them for myself.”
“Well... all right then. But no more stealing.” I frown. “Hey, do you guys ever take my stuff?”
Come to think of it, I haven’t seen my cat-ears knit beanie in months.
“Shh, no more talking,” she says.
The hair is what takes the longest. Kitty and I have watched countless hair tutorials to figure out
the logistics of the victory rolls. There’s a lot of teasing and hair spray and hair rollers involved. And
bobby pins. Lots of bobby pins.
I stare at myself in the mirror. “Don’t you think my hair looks a little... severe?”
“What do you mean, ‘severe’?”
“It kind of looks like I have a cinnamon bun on top of my head.”
Kitty thrusts the iPad in my face. “Yeah, so does this girl’s. That’s the look. It’s got to be authentic.
If we water down the look, it won’t be true to the theme, and nobody will know what you’re supposed
to be.” I’m nodding slowly; she has a point. “Besides, I’m going over to Ms. Rothschild’s for a Jamie
training session. I don’t have time to start all over again.”
For my lipstick, we achieve the perfect shade of cherry red by blending two different reds—one
brick and one fire engine—with a hot pink powder to set it. I look like I kissed a cherry pie.
I’m blotting my lips when Kitty asks, “Is that pretty boy John Amber McAndrews picking you up,
or are you meeting him at the nursing home?”
I wave my tissue in her face warningly. “He’s picking me up, and you’d better be nice. Also he’s
not a pretty boy.”
“He’s a pretty boy compared to Peter,” Kitty says.
“Let’s be honest. They’re both pretty. It’s not like Peter has a tattoo or huge muscles. In fact he’s
very vain.” We never passed a window or a glass door Peter didn’t check himself out in.
“Well, is John vain?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmph.”
“Kitty, stop making this a competition of John versus Peter. It doesn’t matter who’s prettier.”