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

holding.
    â€œAren’t they great?” Natalie asks. “Now I have my own pair of fancy-dancy sunglasses too!”
    And this is just about the furthest thing from great news that I have ever heard in my life.
    â€œDo you like them?” Natalie asks, putting them on her face. And they look kind of silly, to tell you the truth, because Natalie has to wear her sunglasses over her regular glasses, and that is not how fancy-dancy sunglasses are supposed to look. But her sunglasses are . . . well, they are glittery, and they are purple, which is almost periwinkle, and they sort of make Natalie look like a cat.
    And I love them. Even more than I love my own fancy-dancy sunglasses.
    And this makes me feel a little bit angry, because I liked my glasses the best before I saw how beautiful Natalie’s are.
    Anya turns around and says. “I love them. I think they’re great.”
    This comment makes Natalie grin wider than a jack-o’-lantern, and I scowl at Anya.
    â€œMandy? Don’t you like them?” Natalie asks me.
    â€œI like my sunglasses,” I tell Natalie, because that is the truth. I run ahead of both Anya and Natalie and grab a swing on the far end of the set, one where neither of them can sit next to me.
    â€œHey, you didn’t save me a swing.” Anya runs up beside me.
    â€œDo you like Natalie’s sunglasses better than mine?” I ask her.
    â€œI like them both,” Anya tells me, which is not a great answer.
    â€œBut I had mine first,” I say. “Natalie copycatted me.”
    â€œYou still like yours, don’t you?” Anya asks.
    â€œYes.” I pause. “But I think I might like Natalie’s better now. And that makes me mad.”
    â€œDon’t be mad about it,” Anya says. “I’m going to play on the monkey bars since you didn’t save me a swing.”
    â€œFine,” I call after her, and I push on the ground with my toes so I can swing myself high in the air, just me and my sunglasses flying through the sky.

    â€œRemember, hats, sunglasses, and other outdoor accessories off,” Mrs. Spangle reminds us as we walk back into our classroom after recess. But I am already holding my sunglasses in my hand, because they do not seem nearly as fancy-dancy anymore.
    â€œYou’re not mad at me, are you?” Anya scoots up behind me by the cubbies.
    â€œNo,” I answer, because I do not really feel like being mad at Anya anyway.
    But I might still feel like being mad at Natalie.
    â€œTake your seats quickly so I can hand out your Picture Day reminders,” Mrs. Spangle calls to us. “Remember to tell your parents that if they haven’t submitted your order forms yet, we need them by next Wednesday.”
    â€œWahoo!” I call as I return to my seat. “I love Picture Day.”
    â€œI hate Picture Day,” Dennis calls out, because Dennis is terrible. “You should hate it too, Polka Dot. No one wants a picture of your face.” He says this part in a whisper as he passes me.
    â€œQuiet, Freckle Face,” I answer just as softly, so that Mrs. Spangle cannot hear. “The camera probably can’t even see your face through all the freckles.”
    â€œPaper Passers, please come up to my desk to help me hand out the sheets,” Mrs. Spangle says. “Remember, class: Next Wednesday come dressed in your best Picture Day outfits. We all want to look nice for our class photo.”
    â€œSo don’t wear your polka-dot underwear, Polka Dot,” Dennis whispers to me again, and I see Anya kick him under their desks.
    I decide then that I am going to come up with the best, fanciest-danciest Picture Day accessory in the whole world, and I am not going to make one peep about it to Natalie beforehand, or else she might try to copy it.
    And then I will give one of my largest Picture Day photos to Mrs. Spangle to keep on her desk, and I will sign the back of it, To the best