hairs framing her face to curl and frizz and her cheeks to flush. Bits of the beets and berries that she’d strained had dripped on her field-day tee. “Oh, boy. I need a total transformation.”
“Beyond my abilities. My work here is done.” Charlie grabbed his laptop and backpack.
“What work?” Emma teased. She bent and gripped the edges of the huge plastic bin to dump the turmeric-tinged water into the tub and down the drain. Her mom expected the bathroom clean when she got home from dinner.
She grunted as she lifted. Gallons of liquid made the bin heavier than she’d expected. The yellow liquid sloshed about, as the middle strained and buckled under the weight. She bent her knees to steady herself then began to inch the bin back toward the tub.
“You need help.” Charlie lurched toward her, his laptop hastily shoved under his arm.
She saw the flash of Charlie’s blond hair before her socks slid against the tiles, damp from the dripping fabric. Her feet tried desperately to connect with the floor, but she was already airborne, tumbling backward, the force of the bin pushing against her chest.
Landing in the tub on her backside, she dropped the bin to break her fall with her hands. Instantly, a waterfall of spicy, yellow water drenched her entire body.
Wetness poured down her forehead and into her eyes and ears. Her clothes stuck to her body. Her hair matted to her head. Her eyes stung.
Charlie doubled over, letting out short, hyena-like bursts of laughter, unable to control himself. “Are you okay?” he sputtered.
Emma stood. “Yeah. I’m wet.”
“And yellow.” Charlie dissolved into another fit of laughter. Somehow he’d managed to stay out of reach of the splashdown.
Emma’s eyes widened as she viewed herself in the mirror. “I’m like Big Bird!”
“Or Lisa Simpson,” Charlie added.
Emma cringed. She was covered in the turmeric dye. Her face, neck, and arms glowed a Pokémon-shade of yellow. And while she’d always tried for highlights in the summer with lemon juice, the streaks in her hair were now more Crayola than sun-kissed.
She began to giggle. “I look like a dyed Easter egg.”
“More like you were dipped in yolk.” Charlie shook his head in amazement. “You smell like mustard.”
Emma stepped out of the tub and tried to wring out her shirt. The beet globs had mixed with the turmeric to create a funky orange mess on her chest.
“At least my fabric is all safe.” She let out a sigh of relief.
And then the doorbell rang.
Emma let out a shriek.
It rang again.
“Maybe it’s Holly,” Charlie said, “back with the vinegar.”
“She has keys.” Emma’s stomach twisted, as she stared at herself in the mirror then turned away. Her hair was plastered about her face. Yellow water dripped onto her shoulders and the floor. She watched a puddle collect about her smelly wet socks. “You get the door.”
“Me?” Charlie looked suddenly unsure. “No way. I didn’t want anything to do with this movie thing.”
The bell chimed again.
Emma’s head spun. Maybe Holly had forgotten that she had keys. That was possible, right?
She grabbed a big bath towel and wrapped it around her middle. She twisted her hair up in a smaller towel. Then she padded quietly to the door.
Please let it be Holly, she murmured to her herself. Please.
She pushed her eye to the peephole.
Jackson and Clayton stood side-by-side, their faces large, grinning, and distorted by the angle. She could make out the top of Lexie’s shiny, dark hair behind them. And then she caught sight of Ivana’s wicked grin.
She froze. Now what?
She sensed Charlie coming up behind her.
Her fingers flew to flick the switch on the wall, casting the hall into darkness. She whirled about, grabbed Charlie’s arm with one hand and put her fingers to her lips with the other. Silently, she dragged him into the kitchen. She shut those lights, too.
“What’re we doing?” Charlie whispered.
“Hiding.” It seemed
“Beyond my abilities. My work here is done.” Charlie grabbed his laptop and backpack.
“What work?” Emma teased. She bent and gripped the edges of the huge plastic bin to dump the turmeric-tinged water into the tub and down the drain. Her mom expected the bathroom clean when she got home from dinner.
She grunted as she lifted. Gallons of liquid made the bin heavier than she’d expected. The yellow liquid sloshed about, as the middle strained and buckled under the weight. She bent her knees to steady herself then began to inch the bin back toward the tub.
“You need help.” Charlie lurched toward her, his laptop hastily shoved under his arm.
She saw the flash of Charlie’s blond hair before her socks slid against the tiles, damp from the dripping fabric. Her feet tried desperately to connect with the floor, but she was already airborne, tumbling backward, the force of the bin pushing against her chest.
Landing in the tub on her backside, she dropped the bin to break her fall with her hands. Instantly, a waterfall of spicy, yellow water drenched her entire body.
Wetness poured down her forehead and into her eyes and ears. Her clothes stuck to her body. Her hair matted to her head. Her eyes stung.
Charlie doubled over, letting out short, hyena-like bursts of laughter, unable to control himself. “Are you okay?” he sputtered.
Emma stood. “Yeah. I’m wet.”
“And yellow.” Charlie dissolved into another fit of laughter. Somehow he’d managed to stay out of reach of the splashdown.
Emma’s eyes widened as she viewed herself in the mirror. “I’m like Big Bird!”
“Or Lisa Simpson,” Charlie added.
Emma cringed. She was covered in the turmeric dye. Her face, neck, and arms glowed a Pokémon-shade of yellow. And while she’d always tried for highlights in the summer with lemon juice, the streaks in her hair were now more Crayola than sun-kissed.
She began to giggle. “I look like a dyed Easter egg.”
“More like you were dipped in yolk.” Charlie shook his head in amazement. “You smell like mustard.”
Emma stepped out of the tub and tried to wring out her shirt. The beet globs had mixed with the turmeric to create a funky orange mess on her chest.
“At least my fabric is all safe.” She let out a sigh of relief.
And then the doorbell rang.
Emma let out a shriek.
It rang again.
“Maybe it’s Holly,” Charlie said, “back with the vinegar.”
“She has keys.” Emma’s stomach twisted, as she stared at herself in the mirror then turned away. Her hair was plastered about her face. Yellow water dripped onto her shoulders and the floor. She watched a puddle collect about her smelly wet socks. “You get the door.”
“Me?” Charlie looked suddenly unsure. “No way. I didn’t want anything to do with this movie thing.”
The bell chimed again.
Emma’s head spun. Maybe Holly had forgotten that she had keys. That was possible, right?
She grabbed a big bath towel and wrapped it around her middle. She twisted her hair up in a smaller towel. Then she padded quietly to the door.
Please let it be Holly, she murmured to her herself. Please.
She pushed her eye to the peephole.
Jackson and Clayton stood side-by-side, their faces large, grinning, and distorted by the angle. She could make out the top of Lexie’s shiny, dark hair behind them. And then she caught sight of Ivana’s wicked grin.
She froze. Now what?
She sensed Charlie coming up behind her.
Her fingers flew to flick the switch on the wall, casting the hall into darkness. She whirled about, grabbed Charlie’s arm with one hand and put her fingers to her lips with the other. Silently, she dragged him into the kitchen. She shut those lights, too.
“What’re we doing?” Charlie whispered.
“Hiding.” It seemed
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