Never Wear Red Lipstick on Picture Day: (And Other Lessons I've Learned) (3 page)

“Anya, help me,” I say, picking up the napkin carefully between two fingers while Anya wipes up the rest of the mayonnaise with her own napkin. We bring them to the trash can in the middle of the cafeteria.

And when we get back, my handbag is gone.

“Hey!” I yell. “Who took my handbag?” I look straight into Natalie's eyes, but she only shrugs, ignoring me. “Did you take it?”

“No.”

“Then who did?”

Natalie shrugs again.

“Natalie!” I slam my palms against the top of the cafeteria table, and it kind of hurts a lot. But that's when I hear it from over my shoulder: words coming from the most terrible, horrible voice.

“Mmm,” the voice begins, “gummy bears!”

I turn and see Dennis placing an entire ­handful of gummy bears—
my
gummy bears—into his mouth. I feel my insides bubble up until they come out of my mouth in the ­loudest, screechiest, most piercing scream I have ever created.

And I am pretty impressed with the scream, if I am being honest.

But the lunch aides are not, because they all come barreling over to where I am standing. Natalie has her hands covering her ears, as if I might start screaming again at any moment.

“What happened over here? Who's hurt?” They talk over one another, all looking at me because I am the only one still standing.

“He stole my handbag!” I explain, pointing at the boys' cafeteria table.

“Take a seat, young lady,” the lunch aide with the kittens on her sweatshirt yells at me, and I do not think it is right for someone who wears cats that look so friendly on her shirt to sound so mean. “You had no reason to scream like that over something so silly.”

“But—but—” I cannot even get my words out because I am so upset. “He stole my handbag, and he
ate
my
gummy bears
!”

“Who?”

“HIM!” I turn around and point right at Dennis.

“Come with me, young man.” The lunch aide waves her finger at him. “What is your name?”

“Dennis!” I answer for him. “Dennis Riley!”

“That's enough from you, thank you,” the lunch aide scolds me. “Mr. Riley, I assume that handbag isn't yours. Please return it.” Dennis throws the bag in my lap without saying a word as the aide leads him out of the cafeteria.

“He should be very, very punished!” I yell after them. “And never touch my things again, Freckle Face!” I slap my empty handbag down on the ­cafeteria table and glare at Natalie.

“I know you saw him take it,” I say, and Natalie shrugs again.

“Maybe you shouldn't have been so mean about the sunglasses,” she replies. And with that, I take the entire rest of my lunch and dump it all into the trash can in the middle of the cafeteria.

Because Dennis and Natalie have made me lose my appetite.

CHAPTER
3

Wahoo Girl

DENNIS IS BACK IN OUR CLASSROOM
after lunch, which I do not think should be allowed, because ­Dennis shouldn't be able to come to school again for the entire rest of the year. Maybe not even until we go to middle school. Or maybe he should just move.

“What are
you
doing here?” I ask as I walk to my seat, and for once, Dennis keeps his big mouth shut. He is sitting with his hands folded on top of his desk, and he does not even look up at me.

And Dennis looks pretty sad, actually, which kind of makes me happy.

“What's the matter, Dennis?” Anya teases him. “Cat got your tongue?” But Dennis doesn't answer her, either.

“Take your seats, everyone,” Mrs. Spangle calls. “Mr. Jacks will be in to talk to all of you in a few minutes.”

I feel my face get hot then, and I snap my head around to look at Anya. She looks back at me with jumpiness in her eyes, because having the principal come to your classroom is
never
a good sign. It is a terrible sign, really.

I glance over at Natalie, and she looks much more terrified than Anya and I do, because I don't think Natalie has ever seen Principal Jacks in her life. Even at school assemblies, she probably looks away. Because the principal means trouble, and Natalie is allergic to trouble.

I have met Principal Jacks face-to-face only one time, and it was by mistake. On the first day of school in kindergarten, my teacher sent me to the office with the attendance sheet, and I got a little bit lost. Well, I found the office, but I did not stop at the secretary's desk like I was supposed to. Instead, I walked straight back into Principal Jacks's office, and there he was, sitting at his desk, staring at me.

Principal Jacks kind of looks like an owl, if I am being honest. He has round glasses and no hair on his head, except for some tufts on the sides that look like feathers. And owls can be pretty scary when you see them up close. So when I accidentally went into his office, I froze on my own two feet, and I could not make them move forward or backward. I just stared at ­Principal Jacks and thought about how he looked like an owl.

Finally, Principal Jacks said, “Mrs. Gradey, looks like we have a trespasser,” and the secretary came to fetch me. He was not very mean about it, so that is something, but that does not mean that I am any less scared of him today. This is why, when he walks into Mrs. Spangle's classroom, I am almost as nervous to see him as Natalie seems to be.

“Good afternoon.” Principal Jacks stares down at us through his round owl glasses. No one says a word.

“Good afternoon,” Principal Jacks repeats.

“Good afternoon,” my class mumbles back to him.

“I hear we had some more excitement in the cafeteria today,” he says, and I turn to look at ­Dennis. Dennis's ears turn bright red at the tips, and he does not look up from his desktop.

“This isn't the first incident of this kind, unfortunately, and frankly, I've had enough of this lack of decorum in the cafeteria. The students of Roselee Elementary School are better than that. Am I right?”

My class and I all nod our heads.

“In order to help us work on our behavior, we've been planning a little cafeteria contest for you all, which I've decided to put into place sooner rather than later,” Principal Jacks tells us. And before I can think better of it, I hear a “Wahoo!” escape from my mouth, because I love a contest. But then I throw my hands over my lips, because I can't believe I just “wahooed” at the principal. I look over at Mrs. Spangle, and she has her face bent down toward the floor, her shoulders shaking.

“You like the sound of that?” I hear Principal Jacks ask, but I keep looking at Mrs. Spangle, trying to figure out why her shoulders are trembling up and down.

“Excuse me,” Principal Jacks says, and he snaps his fingers. And I have always wanted to learn to snap, so I stare at his hand and try to figure out how he did it.

“Mandy,” I hear Mrs. Spangle's voice say. “Mr. Jacks is talking to you,” and I take my eyes away from Principal Jacks's hand and look back at Mrs. Spangle. I can tell then by the smile that is still stuck in the corners of her mouth why her shoulders were shaking after my “Wahoo!”: she was laughing! And I love to make Mrs. Spangle laugh.

I turn back to Principal Jacks, and my stomach suddenly feels shaky from nervousness.

“You like the sound of the contest?” Principal Jacks asks. “I didn't even tell you what it's for yet.”

“I just really like contests,” I answer quietly.

“What do you like about them?” Principal Jacks asks, and his owl eyes seem to be grinning at me.

“I like winning them,” I answer honestly, and now it is Principal Jacks's turn to laugh at me. But he is not laughing at me in a mean way—he is laughing like he thinks I am funny.

And I kind of really like Principal Jacks right then.

“Well, I hope you'll want to win this one after you hear what the prize is,” Principal Jacks continues. “Each day the lunch aides are going to be handing out raf f le tickets to those students who they feel are doing the best jobs of being courteous, well behaved, and mannerly in the cafeteria. Every time you get a ticket, you can write your name on it and stick it in the giant jar that Mrs. Gradey is going to place outside of the office. To get the ball rolling, we're going to hold our first drawing on Wednesday afternoon, which is what special day around here?”

My classmates shoot their hands in the air, but no one shoots it as high as me.

“Yes, you again,” Principal Jacks calls on me. “Boy, we have an eager beaver in this one, don't we, Mrs. Spangle?”

And I am not sure why Principal Jacks is calling me a beaver, but I do know that next Wednesday is Picture Day, which is practically the best day of the year. “Picture Day!” I blurt out, and then I follow that up with another “Wahoo,” just to see if it will make him laugh again or, even better, snap his fingers.

“Right,” Principal Jacks says, and he chuckles. “Our first drawing will be on Picture Day, and the chosen winner each week will get to have lunch with me. But remember, you can't win without a raf f le ticket, and you can't get a raf f le ticket without perfect behavior in the cafeteria. The better your behavior every day, the better your chances of winning. Understood?”

We nod our heads up and down.

“Oh, and I forgot to mention: These lunches are going to take place in the Teachers' Lounge on Fridays. We'll do it as many times as we need to in order to make the Roselee Elementary School students the best-behaved cafeteria-goers in the entire nation. How does that sound to you—what is your name again?”

Principal Jacks is looking right at me.

“Me?” I point to my chest.

“Yes, the ‘Wahoo Girl,'” Principal Jacks answers, and I am pretty happy that Dennis is so down in the dumps right now, because if he were not, I am almost positive he would give me the new namecall of “Wahoo Girl.”

“Mandy,” I answer him. “Mandy Berr.”

“Well, how does that contest sound to you, Mandy Berr?”

“Excellent,” I answer. “I would like to win it.” And that is the truth, because not only do I like to win things, but I would definitely like to have lunch with Principal Jacks, since he thinks I am funny. Plus, the lunch is in the Teachers' Lounge, and I have always wanted to see inside of there, because students are not usually allowed. And I think it is probably a very interesting place, with vending machines and everything.

“Great,” Principal Jacks says. “I hope you all feel the same and will be on your best behavior in the cafeteria this week and, well, every week. And I hope we never have to have this kind of conversation again.” And I am not positive, but I am pretty sure that he's looking in Dennis's direction right then.

But Dennis still does not look up from his desk, and even his Mohawk is starting to look droopy.

And I am sort of glad that he is acting so unhappy, because that is what happens when you steal handbags and gummy bears. Especially when they belong to me.

CHAPTER
4

Raffle Losers

“I AM GOING TO HAVE LUNCH
with the principal,” I announce to Mom in the kitchen after school.

“Ooooh,” I hear Timmy's voice answer, but I do not see him anywhere.

“Oh yeah? Sounds exciting. How did that happen?” Mom asks.

“He is having a contest for us to win a lunch with him. Whoever has the best behavior in the cafeteria gets a raffle ticket.”

“What's a raffle?” Timmy's voice interrupts again.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” I yell. “You are annoying me.”

“Hide-and-seek!” Timmy calls back.

“You cannot play hide-and-seek and then talk from your hiding spot,” I say. “That makes no sense.” Although, if I am being honest, I am kind of impressed with wherever Timmy's hiding spot is, because I still do not see him anywhere. I peer underneath the table, behind the counter, and around the curtains, all very quickly so that Mom cannot tell I am looking for him. Because I try to never, ever play games with Timmy. He is a preschooler, and I am a second grader, and that would just be humiliating.

Plus, Timmy is gross.

“Find me!” Timmy's voice calls out again, and that's when I spot the piles of Tupperware 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.

“Get 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.

“Mandy,” Mom says with a warning in her voice. “What am I going to say?”

“Congratulations on having lunch with ­Principal Jacks?” I guess, even though I know that is not the right answer.

“No ‘dummy' talk in this house. I'm tired of telling you these things,” she says. “And did you actually win the contest yet?”

“No, it hasn't started,” I answer. “Principal Jacks just announced it today.”

“Well, that sounds fun,” Mom says. “You have good behavior in the cafeteria, don't you?”

“Usually,” I answer, because that is the truth.

“What do you mean, usually?”

“Sometimes things happen,” I explain. “In the cafeteria.”

“What sorts of things?” Mom narrows her eyes at me.

“Like Dennis stealing my handbag.”

Mom pauses. “What handbag?”

“The one Paige gave me.”

“What was your handbag doing in school?”

“I 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—”

“You brought gummy bears to school?” Mom interrupts me.

“That is not important,” I say. “He stole my bag and ate my gummy bears and—”

“I'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.

“So 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.

“You screamed in school?”

“Yes,” I say. “That is what girls do on TV whenever someone steals their handbag.”

“Oh 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?”

“Because 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.

“I 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.

“Wait 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.”

“I was not playing with LEGOs,” I say. “That was Timmy.”

“You were playing with plenty else in there,” Mom replies. “Let's go, you two. Get in there and work for the next twenty minutes. I'll set the timer. Timmy, out of the cabinet, please. Hide-and-seek is over.”

I groan like a dinosaur and stomp my feet into the toy room. The place is covered in LEGOs and dolls and Matchbox cars and dress-up clothes and plastic animals and pretend food and . . . well, it is a pretty big mess. But most of this mess is ­Timmy's, so if I have to clean it up for him, then there is only one thing to do.

I am going to play hide-and-seek with his toys.

The next day at school Anya and I reach our cafeteria table, and Anya slams her lunch box down on top of it like we usually do. But instead of doing the same, I place my lunch box down quietly next to hers, sit on the bench, and open my box very carefully. Without saying a word, I remove my napkin, spread it out so that the four little squares turn into one giant tablecloth, and I place my sandwich bag on top. I then fold my hands in front of me and place them on the table, waiting.

“What is wrong with you?” Anya stares at me.

“I'm waiting until everyone else has their food ready before I start eating,” I explain very softly. “It is the polite thing to do.”

“But why?”

“Don't you remember? Principal Jacks's contest?” I remind her. “Whoever is the best behaved in the cafeteria is going to win a lunch with him. And I absolutely want to win.”

“Why do you even want to?” Anya asks. “I would never want to have lunch with the principal.” She makes a face like something stinks, and this is one reason why Anya is only my favorite person in the world
most
of the time and not
all
of the time—because she doesn't understand why having lunch with Principal Jacks would be the best thing ever.

“Didn't you hear that the lunch is in the Teachers' Lounge?” I ask. “I have always wanted to see inside that place. I think they have vending machines.”

“I guess so,” Anya answers. “But I'd rather have lunch with Mrs. Spangle than Mr. Jacks.”

“Me too,” I agree. “Except that Principal Jacks does know how to snap.”

“Snap?”

“Yes, with his fingers,” I explain. “Do you know how too?”

“Yeah,” Anya answers, and she lifts up both hands, rubs her fingers together, and creates a loud popping sound. “Why?”

“Teach me, teach me,” I say. “I have always wanted to know how.”

But before Anya can show me one move, something hits me right in the middle of my back. “Yow!” I call out, and I turn around to see Dennis walking over to his table.

“Whoops,” he calls back. “Sorry, Polka Dot. My elbow didn't see you there.”

“YES, YOU DID!” I yell. “You did that on purpose.”

“Folks in Mrs. Spangle's class,” one of the lunch aides speaks into her megaphone. It is the same lady who was wearing the sweatshirt with the kittens on it yesterday, but now her shirt is covered in dogs. And cats are a much better animal to have on a shirt, if you ask me.

She walks over to our tables, dropping the megaphone to her side. “You two”—she points to Dennis and me—“I don't want to hear another peep out of either one of you. Got it?”

“But Dennis—”

“Nope!” the lunch aide says. “Remember ­Principal Jacks's contest. You two are definitely out of the raffle distribution for today. Let's not make it any worse than it already is.” She turns away from our table and walks to the center of the cafeteria. So I lift up my lunch box and slam it back on the table. I dump all of the rest of my lunch out in front of me, crinkling my perfect napkin tablecloth and everything. And I do not even care now if I get crumbs on the table and jelly on the bench and juice on the floor, because I'm not getting a raffle ticket today anyway, so I will probably never get to see those vending machines.