Dear Diary,
Mom's
throwing another party to impress the neighbors. Why am I not
surprised? She told me to behave myself. As I look in the mirror at
the small redhead in the frilly green dress, I wonder who she's
kidding. All I can do in this stupid thing is sit, look pretty, and
behave myself.
At least, my best friend, Annie Malcolm, will be
there.
We've been together forever. Mom says we were born within
hours of each other. I don't doubt that. She also says that we are
just about as troublesome as one another. I don't doubt that,
either.
How much do you want to bet Mrs. Malcolm also put Annie in
an ugly, frilly dress. I guess it's worth the torture, if Annie's in
for it dime for dime.
I wandered down the stares to see if
Sarah, my thirteen-year-old sister, was ready.
I leaned against
the door frame and watched her put makeup on. I never understood why
she bothered. She was pretty enough with her short red hair, green
eyes, tan complexion, and high cheekbones.
"Heya, Jeannie.
Want some makeup, hun?" she asked, applying a bit of blush to
her cheeks.
"Nah," I said. "Really, Sarah, I don't
see why you bother. You're pretty enough as-is."
"Jean!
Get in here and let me do your hair!" yelled my
mom.
Crap.
"Crap," Sarah whispered, echoing my own
thoughts. In a louder voice she called "Mom! I've got
her!"
Whew. "Thanks, Sarah. Really," I
stated.
"Under one condition,"; she added, "I get
to put some makeup on you, as well."
"Why?"
I groaned.
"Because, you need to play up those pretty, blue
eyes of yours. Now, get over here before Mom comes after you."
Well,
anything's better than Mom coming after me, I decide, and walk to
the torture chair in front of the vanity. I was definitely
going to regret this.