Free Popular: Vintage Wisdom for a Modern Geek by Maya Van Wagenen

the rest of the family. Brodie looks up at me and whistles before proceeding to make pigeon noises in Natalia’s face. Dad smiles. “You look very nice.” He’s just saying that because he feels obligated to. Or Mom is behind me whispering threats.
    Kenzie will think I’ve gone nuts!
    Monday, December 5
    I wake up this morning a dithering, sweaty mess. My hand shakes as I apply my new red lipstick (with a new lipstick brush so that I can shape my mouth into
“the most enticing one possible”
). Soon, I force myself out the door. The red and yellow lights of the school bus pull around the corner. When the door screeches open, my heart stops. Slowly I climb the steps to my doom.
    Keeping my face down, I sit behind Kenzie. It’s rather dark outside, so after a while I think she just doesn’t notice. Then her forehead wrinkles.
    “Are you wearing . . . lip . . . stick?” Her voice is dangerously calm.
    “Um, yeah?”
    “Why?”
    “Uh,” I stammer. Finally, I think of a response. “It’s for fun!”
    She watches me carefully. “Are you wearing . . .
eye shadow
?” On the last word, her voice comes out as a high-pitched shriek.
    I look around nervously, but no one’s paying attention. Everyone on the bus is either passed out or on their phones. Betty Cornell makes it very clear that we shouldn’t use eye makeup at our young age:
    As to making up your eyes, don’t. Young eyes need no enhancement. They have their own sparkle and flashes of fire, so why bury them under gobs of goo? Mascara and eyebrow pencil . . . are artifices best left to others. Teen-agers who come to school with colored blobs above each eyelid look plain silly. If you are going somewhere extra special . . . and you feel that you just have to look glamorous, then try a little Vaseline or cream on each eyelid. Just this little touch will bring out all you need to give your eyes a triumphant twinkle.
    “Actually, it’s Vaseline.” I smile innocently, even though my heart is pounding out of my chest. I giggle nervously.
    Kenzie’s lip begins to twitch . . . literally. “So, you’re wearing Vaseline . . . on your eyelids.” It’s not a question. She’s just working through it.
    She stares at me for a long time and finally just shakes her head. “You’re cute,” she says, and turns around.
    From the way she glowers, I can tell it’s not a compliment.
    Tuesday, December 6
    I have zits. Quite a few of them. It’s not a medical condition like that poor girl in my science class (her name changed from Diane Acbey to Diane Acne overnight), but I still have tons of clogged pores.
    Betty Cornell says washing my face is the best thing to do for zits. I have some super-fancy facial soap, but it doesn’t really work unless I use it, which I often forget to do. I’ll have to be better this month. I mean seriously, I spent the entire summer with a fiery red zit in the middle of my forehead. It looked like a bindi.
    Betty Cornell says that I should wash my face with hot water to open my pores and then scrub it with soap, applying it in upward strokes (because
“pulling down on the facial tissues will, after a period of time, tend to make the muscles go slack”).
Then, I rinse with cold water. Twice a week I’m supposed to use ice cubes to fully close my pores.
    Betty Cornell doesn’t use the word zit, though. She calls them “hickies.” This makes me chuckle every time I read it, because I doubt that modern “hickies” and 1950s “hickies” are the same thing. If they were, it could put a whole new spin on this chapter.
     . . . . . . .
    “Are you still wearing your jelly?” Kenzie inquires in front of our PE locker. “You know . . .
petroleum
jelly.”
    “Yep.”
    “You’re insane,” she says. It’s true. Did you know that when you wear Vaseline on your eyelids, it smears onto your glasses and then melts so that it covers the entire lens? Try it some-time.
    I pull off my pants and I hear a snarl of