Never Wear Red Lipstick on Picture Day: (And Other Lessons I've Learned) Read Online Free PDF Page A

“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.
    â€œWhat is wrong with you?” Anya stares at me.
    â€œI’m waiting until everyone else has their food ready before I start eating,” I explain very softly. “It is the polite thing to do.”
    â€œBut why?”
    â€œDon’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.”
    â€œWhy 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.
    â€œDidn’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.”
    â€œI guess so,” Anya answers. “But I’d rather have lunch with Mrs. Spangle than Mr. Jacks.”
    â€œMe too,” I agree. “Except that Principal Jacks does know how to snap.”
    â€œSnap?”
    â€œYes, with his fingers,” I explain. “Do you know how too?”
    â€œYeah,” Anya answers, and she lifts up both hands, rubs her fingers together, and creates a loud popping sound. “Why?”
    â€œTeach 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.
    â€œWhoops,” he calls back. “Sorry, Polka Dot. My elbow didn’t see you there.”
    â€œYES, YOU DID!” I yell. “You did that on purpose.”
    â€œFolks 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?”
    â€œBut Dennis—”

    â€œNope!” 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