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

accessories, and I don’t know yet,” I answer. “Can you hold this for a second?” I hand her my scarf and dig into my handbag for Mom’s lipstick. I wish I had remembered to find a small mirror to stick in my bag too, so I could see as I put it on my lips, but I have practiced enough times by now that I should be good at it.
    I swipe the lipstick across my bottom lip—one way and then the other—and then I move to my top lip, being careful to create a mountain on each side, with a dip in the middle.
    â€œHow does it look?” I ask Anya.
    â€œExcellent,” Anya says. “Do you want me to put your scarf on you?”
    â€œYes, please,” I say, and Anya drapes the scarf over my neck. I place my handbag on my shoulder and stare at my fancy-dancy sunglasses for a moment.
    â€œI shouldn’t put the sunglasses on my head, right?” I ask.
    â€œNah, that would be too much,” Anya replies. “You’re good like this.” Anya is wearing new cowgirl boots with gemstones running up the sides, and I like them a lot, because they also have heels that click-clack on the ground while we walk.
    My class’s line weaves its way through the hallways and into the cafeteria, where all of the camera equipment has been set up on the stage.
    â€œWelcome,” the photographer greets us, and he is wearing a scarf around his neck that is the color of many butterflies. And I would kind of like to wear it myself, if I am being honest.
    â€œWe’re going to start with your class shot,” he tells us. “Follow your teacher up to the stage, and we’ll assemble you according to height.”
    I raise my hand, and when Mrs. Spangle spots me, I gesture for her to come over.
    â€œYes, Mandy?” she asks when she reaches me.
    â€œI would like my shoes to show in the picture,” I whisper to her. “They’re the best part of my outfit.”
    â€œAre you wearing lipstick?”
    â€œYes?” I answer like it is a question because I am not sure why Mrs. Spangle is asking.
    â€œDoes your mom know you have lipstick on for the picture?”
    â€œNo,” I reply honestly. “But it’s her lipstick, so she should not mind.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    I nod my head up and down, even though I am not positive that Mom will not mind. But it is my picture, so I think I should get to wear lipstick if I want to.
    â€œOkay, then,” Mrs. Spangle says.
    â€œNow, about my shoes . . .”
    â€œYou have to sit where the photographer tells you,” Mrs. Spangle says. “You’ll look pretty no matter what, don’t worry.” She pats me on the shoulder.
    â€œYou there in the purple.” The photographer points at me. “Let’s have you sit on this chair here on the end.”
    â€œIt’s periwinkle,” I tell him.
    â€œEven better,” he says. “Right there on the end.” He points to the row of chairs, which the tallest kids in my class are all standing behind. I sit there obediently and glance at Mrs. Spangle, who nods her head at me.
    â€œYou with the bow tie”—he points to ­Dennis—“right there next to Miss Periwinkle.”
    â€œHer name is Polka Dot,” Dennis says, and he shuffles his feet over to the chair next to me and plops down. He plops down so hard that the chair scrapes against the floor and out of the line.
    â€œDennis,” Mrs. Spangle says with a warning in her voice, “fix that chair, please. And, Mandy, put your purse underneath you. You don’t need it for the picture.”
    I raise my hand and gesture for Mrs. ­Spangle to walk over to me again. I wiggle my finger until she leans down close to my face, and then I whisper in her ear, “Do I have to sit next to Dennis?”
    â€œYes,” Mrs. Spangle answers, and it is in her “I mean business” voice, so I do not argue with her.
    â€œTry not to break the camera,