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

telling him I’ve already filed them into shape and applied a base coat. But I make a mess with the color and gloss layers and need some help. He nods sympathetically and begins applying the polish.
    “Are you surprised that I’m doing so good?” he asks after a few minutes.
    “Yep, you’re amazing.”
    “I don’t like makeup, but I’m still really good.”
    I was there when Mom got the ultrasound confirming that Brodie was a boy. I wigged. Hard. The only thing I wanted was an older sister or a puppy. The last thing I expected was a little brother. In fact, I didn’t even think it was possible and was convinced my parents were doing it just to spite me. So when Brodie was two or three years old, I dressed him up in my clothes and put all sorts of “pretty” stuff on him (thanks to my aunt’s gift of sparkly makeup). He’s had an irrational fear of lipstick or anything “girly” ever since.
    “Maybe you can pay me,” he says, finishing the right hand and moving on to the left.
    “Uhhh . . .”
    “Oh, not a lot, you know, just a shiny penny.”
    I agree. He does his best, but it turns out quite lumpy and goopy.
    “Wow, I’m doing super good. And I just learned!”
    “A regular professional,” I say, trying to make him feel good.
    He’s silent for a while, and he finishes the red and goes on to the gloss. He’s very proud of how it looks. It makes me smile.
    “Okay,” he says, as if asking me to listen up. “The key to a perfect nail job is making it look lush. The more color you do, the more lusher it is.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “So . . . how much
are
you going to pay me?”
    Friday, December 16
    It’s the last day of school before Christmas vacation, and I’ve applied a special coat of red lipstick. Kenzie and I sit next to each other on the bus ride home. She’s going to London over break to see her cousin. The perks of being the only child of gainfully employed parents, I guess.
    “I’m so sad though, because I’m going to freeze my butt off,” she whines.
    “Oh you poor baby. My heart
weeps
for you,” I say. “You’re going to LONDON! You don’t get pity.”
    She smiles. “And Paris. So did anything interesting happen today?”
    I nod. “Carlos Sanchez has become the new teacher’s pet in our reading class, because he was the first to answer a question about metaphors. The teacher told us that we ‘should all be more like Carlos Sanchez!’ I’m not kidding. It really happened!”
    I sigh, “I’m so mad! You don’t come back till the Thursday after school starts again! I’m going to miss you, Kenzie.”
    “You too, Lipstick Girl,” she says through a mouthful of cupcake she stole from the sixth grader behind us. It turns her teeth red. She wipes some frosting on my shoulder, so I wipe it back on her. The bus pulls up to my stop.
    “Bye!” I shout as I get off and watch my best friend through the window.
    She waves.
Bye, Maya,
she mouths.
    Sunday, December 18
    Piano recital tonight. And since Ethan and I have the same teacher, he’s going to be there too. As much as I hate myself for it, I still take extra time to make sure that my makeup is nice. Putting on lipstick and powder has become almost second nature to me now. I don’t even think twice about it in the mornings anymore. It’s very interesting how I’ve changed.
    I wear a red sweater, black slacks, and flats. Dad looks at me funny and raises his eyebrows, knowing that Ethan is going. I ignore him.
    We have our recital at a little Unitarian Church downtown. It’s very pretty, but very small. There are only chairs set up for twenty people. When Ethan gets there, I feel my brain melt, and when he sits next to me, I know that it’s probably trickling out my ears.
    “Are you nervous?” I ask.
    He shrugs his shoulders. “A little.”
    “You’ll do fine.” I try not to sound so devoted. “I, on the other hand, will suck.”
    He laughs and shakes his head.
    Was that funny? Oh damn, what’s wrong