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

ask.
    â€œIt’s a surprise,” Natalie says.
    â€œI would like to know now.”
    â€œMandy!” Mrs. Spangle yells from across the room. “Meet me at my desk, please.” I stand up slowly and walk across the classroom with my head down.
    â€œOoh, Polka Dot’s in trouble,” Dennis whispers from behind me, but I do not say anything back because I do not want Mrs. Spangle to yell my name again. Even if she is getting on my nerves right now, I still want her to like me more than she likes Dennis.
    Mrs. Spangle sits in her chair when we both reach her desk so that she can look straight into my eyes. “What’s going on with you today?”
    I shrug my shoulders because I do not know how to answer that.
    â€œI’d like a reason for why you’re being so difficult.”
    I look down at my shoes sadly and wiggle my toes inside of them. “I just really like my sunglasses,” I tell her softly. I look up quickly to see Mrs. ­Spangle’s face, and she is smiling at me then, just a little bit. So she cannot be too angry with me if she is smiling.
    â€œYou know, I like my sunglasses, too,” Mrs. Spangle tells me. “But that still doesn’t mean I wear them inside the school. Got it?”
    I nod my head, because I think I am almost done being in trouble.
    â€œBut more importantly, when I ask you to do something, I need you to follow directions,” Mrs. Spangle continues. “The first time.”
    â€œOkay, I will try,” I say, because that is the truth.
    â€œI hope so,” Mrs. Spangle says. “You were being very ornery just now.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” I ask her.
    â€œOrnery? It means you’re being hard to get along with,” Mrs. Spangle explains.
    â€œLike a crankypants?”
    â€œSomething like that.” Mrs. Spangle smiles at me again, and she reaches out her hand toward mine. “So do we have a deal? No more ornery behavior?”
    â€œDeal!” I reach out my hand and shake hers firmly.
    â€œGood. Now get back to your seatwork, please—the faster you get your work done, the sooner recess will seem to get here. And you know what that means?”
    â€œFancy-dancy sunglasses time,” I answer. “Wahoo!”
    â€œNow get to it.” Mrs. Spangle points me back toward my desk, and I trot away and finish my seatwork in a lick and a split.
    Natalie’s note is still resting on top of my desk, so I flip it over and write on the other side: What is the surprise? I glance at Mrs. Spangle’s desk to see if she is watching me, and I wonder if passing this note back to Natalie is something that she will consider “ornery.” I think as long as I am quiet about it, I will be okay, so when I am sure Mrs. Spangle isn’t watching, I reach over and tap Natalie on the elbow before dropping the paper in her lap. I watch Natalie read the note out of the corner of my eye, and in teeny-tiny letters, she writes one back to me. She drops the paper on the floor in between our chairs, and I reach down to grab it, again without making one sound.
    You will love it , Natalie has written, but I am not sure how Natalie is so certain that she knows what I love. She is not Anya, after all.

    â€œWhat is the surprise?” I ask Natalie the second the lunch aides open the doors leading to the playground. I pull my fancy-dancy sunglasses out of my lunch box and stick them on my nose, even though the sun is hiding behind the clouds.
    â€œI’ll show you on the swings,” Natalie tells me, and she is grinning like she has a special secret.
    â€œDo you know?” I ask Anya.
    â€œNope,” Anya answers, and she begins to skip ahead of us.
    â€œOh, come on,” I say to Natalie. “Stop holding your horses.”
    â€œOkay,” Natalie answers, and she reaches into the pocket of her jacket. Slowly, she pulls out her hand and uncurls her fingers, revealing what she is