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

juice on the floor, because I’m not getting a raffle ticket today anyway, so I will probably never get to see those vending machines.

CHAPTER 5
    Makeup Makeover

    MOM IS SITTING ON THE COUCH with her arms folded when I get home from school, and Timmy is right next to her mimicking the move. The twins are on a blanket in the middle of the living room, dumb baby toys all around them, which is just ridiculous because they are lying there like globs instead of playing with them.
    â€œWhy are the twins awake?” I ask, dumping my book bag and lunch box next to the front door. “They are supposed to be in bed so we can have ­special you-and-me time.”
    â€œMaybe you should spend more time worrying about what you’re doing rather than the twins,” Mom says. “Or Timmy, for that matter. Perhaps you’d care to explain what happened to all of the things you were supposed to clean up in the toy room?”
    I glance at Timmy, and he is giving me his best dirty look, but he is not very good at making the face—mostly, he is just squinting his eyes closed. And everyone knows that the best way to give a dirty look is to glare with your eyes open.
    â€œWe’re waiting, Mandy,” Mom says. “Fess up.”
    â€œIf you know already, then why are you asking me?” I say.
    â€œI want to hear it from your own mouth,” Mom says. “What did you do with the toys I told you to clean up?”
    â€œThose were not my toys,” I explain. “They were Timmy’s. So I put them in his room.” ­Actually, I put them in Timmy’s closet, in one giant pile on top of all of his shoes, but I do not include that detail.
    â€œLEGOs in my sneaker!” Timmy cries out then. “It hurt my toes.”
    â€œYou’re the one who keeps wanting me to play hide-and-seek,” I tell him. “I was hiding them for you.”
    â€œNice try,” Mom begins. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Sorry, Timmy.’ ”
    I do not say anything at first, because I do not like apologizing to a preschooler for cleaning up his toys. Even if I did not put them in the right spot, he should thank me for helping him at all.
    â€œI’ll wait,” Mom says. “The longer you take, the longer it will be before you get started putting all of the things you dumped in Timmy’s closet back in the toy room—in the correct bins this time. And if you don’t finish, well, guess what? There’s a new episode of Rainbow Sparkle on TV tonight, isn’t there? And I know who won’t be watching it.”
    I scrunch up my lips and clench my hands into fists, because I absolutely, positively hate when Mom takes away Rainbow Sparkle’s TV show as punishment, because she knows it is my favorite show ever.
    â€œSorry,” I say slowly, but I keep my top and bottom teeth locked together so that it comes out as a hiss.
    â€œSorry who?”
    â€œSorry, Timmy,” I finish.
    â€œThat’s better,” Mom says. “Now scoot upstairs and start bringing everything you dumped up there back to the toy room. And organize it so all the toys are in the right places this time, or else you’re going to have to start over.”
    I turn on my heel and march up the stairs. When I reach the top, I walk into Timmy’s room, which is a place I try never to go. The wallpaper is dark blue with planets all over it, and his bedspread is covered with dinosaurs, which does not even make sense because dinosaurs do not live in outer space. His room is much smaller than mine, so when he gets out of bed, he almost steps into his closet. His closet doors are wide open now, and all of the toys that I dumped inside are spilling out onto the floor.
    I bend down and try to scoop up a big handful, but half of the LEGOs fall out of my hands before I can even stand. At this rate, it is going to take me all night to clean up Timmy’s mess. I am