Be My Neat-Heart by Judy Baer Page A

also paralyzed by my reluctance to take off the whitening strip until my thirty minutes were up. My words came out more like a breathy “whoiszit?”
    I peered through the peek hole but all I could see was a sweatshirt-clad shoulder with a bit of the Timberwolves logo on it. It had to be Ben, the all-time, number-one Timberwolves fan. I reached to open the door. Ben wouldn’t notice if I dressed myself in garbage bags secured with duct tape.
    â€œHullocominimmm….” My mumbled greeting ended sharply. “Jrd?”
    â€œSammi? Is that you?”
    Jared Hamilton peered into the two peek holes in my facial mask that I’d left for my eyes. His nose wrinkled as he got a whiff of the facial’s “earthy scent.”
    I whipped off the whitening strips and opened my mouth wide, cracking the concretelike facial into bits. “What are you doing here?”
    He bent over to pick up a few of the shards of green facial mask that fell to the floor. “Your face is breaking. Do you want me to pick it up?”
    I spun to run to the bathroom to chisel off the rest of the mask but forgot that my toes were swathed in foam rubber. The rubber stuck to the hardwood floor, pitching me over the back of a white canvas-covered chair and face first into the seat cushion. I teetered, feet in the air, for a moment before righting myself. As I did so, I saw the imprint of a minty green face on the seat of the chair—my own sort of death mask imposed right onto the cushion of the newest piece of furniture in the house. The term death mask is appropriate. I was dying from a case of terminal embarrassment. Mortified by my lack of dignity and even my lack of balance, I staggered to my feet in a vain effort to recover my poise.
    That, of course, didn’t happen. My curlers abandoned ship, sprang loose and pulled from my hair. I could feel them dangling around my shoulders like decorations on a Christmas tree. Then, one by one, they tumbled out of my hair and onto the floor.
    The horrified expression on Jared’s face said it all. All there was to say, at least, until he started laughing. And laughing. And laughing.
    I scuttled, crablike, toward the bathroom and didn’t come out until I’d found my normal skin color, my hair and my pearly white teeth. Then I returned to the living room where Jared was on his hands and knees with a bucket, a rag and cleanser carefully removing my visage from the seat cushion.
    He looked up, half worried and half laughing. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYes. Thank you for asking,” I answered with as much dignity as I could muster.
    â€œThis is going to come out, but it will take a little work. I didn’t want to spread the stain, but if you just blot it like this…”
    â€œThank you. I can do it. Cleaning is one of my specialties, you know.”
    How am I ever going to live this down?
    He unfolded himself and stood up, eyeing me cautiously, as if he didn’t know what to expect to happen next. He had the right to be nervous. I certainly was.
    â€œI see I caught you at a bad time—during your beauty ritual.” He said “beauty ritual” as though referring to the horrific and mysterious procedure the Egyptians used to embalm mummies.
    â€œMy friend Wendy gave me some new products to try and…”
    â€œYou don’t have to explain. I grew up with Molly, remember? I’d challenge any woman to come up with something my sister hasn’t already sprung on me, Sammi. No need to be embarrassed.”
    He’d managed to say exactly the right thing to make me feel better. I looked up at him with a thankful smile and saw his expression had turned into one of complete, unadulterated horror.
    Jared stared over my shoulder toward my bedroom door. He lifted one hand and pointed to the opening.
    â€œWhat on earth is that ?”
    I turned to see Zelda yawning and stretching in the doorway, her skinned and skinny body