“I don’t know—this top is seriously pink,” Ivy teased.
“I have way better fashion sense than her, and you know it!” Olivia protested lightly.
“Okay, okay, don’t pop a blood vessel!” Ivy giggled, holding out her arms for Olivia to spray them with tan, too. Then she took the can and sprayed her lower legs and feet herself. “Geez, how do you wear short skirts like this all the time? I feel as naked as Principal Whitehead’s head.”
“Well, you look great. Except for the combat boots. They sort of ruin it.” Olivia stuck her tongue out at Ivy.
Ivy stuck her tongue out right back.
They traded shoes.
“It’s lucky I didn’t paint my toenails black,” Ivy said, peering down at Olivia’s sparkly pink flip-flops.
Olivia finished lacing up the heavy black boots and tried taking a few steps. “Oh, my gosh.” She shook her head. “It’s like wearing cement blocks!”
Ivy shrugged. “You never know when you might drop a refrigerator on your foot.”
Olivia paced back and forth, trying to get the hang of walking. “Okay,” she said as she went. “Show me your best cheerleader hair flip.”
Ivy turned her head sharply. The dark ponytail whipped around and smacked her in the face. “Ow!”
“Not that way,” Olivia instructed. “Do it with grace. Lead with your chin. Like, just pretend like you’re watching a mouse running across the floor with the corner of your eye. That’s better. Good. Now let me see you smile.” Ivy bared her teeth. “You look like you’re about to eat me for dinner.” Olivia giggled. “Relax!”
Ivy tried again. And again. “Okay,” Olivia said, satisfied. “Whatever you do, don’t stop smiling. My sunny disposition is one of my best qualities.”
Ivy’s face lit up. “You bet!” She bounced, giving a big thumbs-up.
“Don’t overdo it,” Olivia said. “In fact, you should probably just limit your conversation to ‘Really?’ ‘Really’ is like the most versatile word in the English language.”
Ivy widened her eyes. “Really?”
Olivia tried not to smile. “Oh, you’re going to make me look like a regular Einstein. I can tell.”
Ivy beamed. “Really?”
Olivia tried to ignore her. “The other thing you have to remember is that I’m the new girl. So you can’t talk about anything I shouldn’t know. If you get stuck, just ask about the latest ...the latest . . . whatever.”
Ivy took a deep breath. “Really?”
“ENOUGH!” Olivia cried.
Ivy slouched back to her normal self. “My turn!” she sang, picking up her shiny black purse and turning it upside down over the counter. A jumbled waterfall of stuff clattered out: cosmetics, pens, chewing gum, scraps of paper, nail files, pictures, paper clips. Ivy shook the bag. A full-size stapler crashed to the counter. She shook it again. Out tumbled a small, black aerosol can, which Ivy snatched up and displayed in the palm of her hand.
“‘Pale Beauty, the spray-on whitener,’” She caressed the can like a model on a TV commercial. “‘For that extraspecial made-of-marble look!’”
“You’re kidding!” Olivia said. She grabbed the can and inspected the label.
“Lots of Goths use it,” Ivy explained, “especially if they’re not blessed with a flawless white complexion like mine. Now close your eyes.”
Olivia did as she was told. The spray was cool and moist on her skin, but it dried almost instantly. She glanced in the mirror. “I look like a clown!” she said.
“Careful what you say or I’ll take your eye out,” said Ivy, already leaning in with an eyeliner pencil as fat as a Sharpie marker.
Olivia tried to hold still. She focused on a brown spot on the ceiling and asked, “So what should I talk to your friends about?”
“Excuse me?” Ivy stopped mid upper-left lid. “You cannot talk to my friends. At all. Charlotte Brown’s one thing. But Sophia Hewitt has been my best friend since we were four years old. She’d be able to tell you weren’t me instantly.”
Olivia knew Ivy was right, but she was still disappointed. “I was sort of excited to be all gloomy,” she said, pouting.