Read Online Never Wear Red Lipstick on Picture Day: (And Other Lessons I've Learned) by Allison Gutknecht - Free Book Online

mouth shut immediately and does not say one more word.
    â€œHey, thanks,” I say to Natalie when we are back at our desks.
    â€œNo problem,” Natalie says. “Dennis is terrible.”
    â€œHe really is,” I agree, and I sit down at my desk and think for a moment about the note Mom made me send to Principal Jacks. Maybe, since Natalie is sticking up for me now, I should apologize to her, too, just this once. I turn to face her. “I’m sorry I was mean about your sunglasses. I really like them.”
    â€œThank you,” Natalie says. “I really like yours, too. That’s why I got mine. Because they looked so nice on you.”
    â€œThat’s because fancy-dancy sunglasses make everyone look like a movie star,” I tell her.
    Our classroom door opens then, and Anya walks through with no envelope in her hands. She nods her head at me silently, and I nod back. And this is why it is very useful to have your favorite person in the world be in the same class: because she will understand when she needs to drop off letters to the principal’s office for you.
    But when that person is missing, it’s not a bad idea to have a backup favorite person, too, I guess. Someone who will defend you to the most ­terrible person in the class.
    Someone like Natalie.

    The next morning I am feeling jumpy again, but this time it is more because I am excited than nervous. I am excited because it is PICTURE DAY, and I love Picture Day.
    Plus, I have my new shoes to wear, and I cannot wait to show them off.
    â€œMom,” I call down the steps as soon as I open my bedroom door. “I need help.”
    â€œWith what?” Mom calls back.
    â€œMy Picture Day outfit.”
    I hear Mom climbing the steps. “You need me to help you get dressed? You usually hate when I try to help you.”
    â€œThis is not a normal outfit,” I explain. “I cannot get the periwinkle wrinkled.” And I like the way “periwinkle wrinkled” sounds, so I say it again. Three times in a row.
    â€œOkay, that’s enough of that,” Mom says with a smile. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” She opens my closet and lifts the perfect periwinkle dress from the Presidential Pageant off of the pole. It is still covered in plastic from the dry cleaner, and I like that it has been kept so pretty. Mom breaks the plastic and pulls the dress out, and it is just as fabulous as I remember.
    â€œNightgown off,” she says to me, so I strip down to my underwear and lift my arms over my head, waiting. Mom rolls the dress up and is about to drape it over my head when I stop her.
    â€œWait!” My arms fly down to my sides, and I skip over to my dresser. “I need my lucky underwear.” I pull my favorite polka-dot pair out of the drawer and change into them, and Mom seems to think this is funny.
    â€œYou’re really going all out for Picture Day, aren’t you?” she asks.
    â€œIt is a very important day,” I explain, and Mom pulls the dress all the way over my head, straightens out the shoulders, zips me up and buttons me in, and then ties the ribbon in the back for me. I reach under my bed and take out the shoe box with my new shoes, and Mom helps me place them on my feet, like I am Cinderella. Then she runs a brush all the way through my hair, until it falls into waves down my back, just like the ocean.
    â€œAll set!” Mom calls when she is finished. “You look pretty perfect to me.” I click-clack over to my mirror and examine myself.
    â€œAlmost,” I decide. “But I need a few more things first.”
    â€œWahhh,” a twin starts crying from downstairs, and I roll my eyes way up to the ceiling, because the twins really know how to ruin a good time.
    â€œCome downstairs when you’re done,” Mom tells me. “I want to take a few Picture Day photos of my own.” When Mom is gone, I retrieve my