Watch Me Disappear

imagine the look of delight on her face. The mall. Makeup. Her little girl hanging out with the pretty, popular girls. It is her dream come true. I know I have to answer in the affirmative. I am the one who asked Maura for help with makeup. But Katherine is going. I can handle spending some time with Maura; I have seen that there is more to her than the persona I first met. But Katherine is another story. She was overtly rude to me at the Morgans’ cookout and she sent me some not-so-nice messages on Facebook earlier this summer. And undoubtedly Maura with Katherine will not be the same as Maura with me and our mothers. Then again, Maura silenced Katherine at the cookout when Jessica asked me about California. In their friendship, Maura is the one with the power.
    “Yeah, okay,” I say. “Are you going now?”
    “Like twenty minutes,” Maura says. “Katherine’s driving. Just come out when you’re ready.”
    I go back upstairs to change and dig out my babysitting money, and when I come back down, my mother is waiting for me with her debit card.
    “No more than a hundred and fifty dollars,” she says, handing it to me.
    This is new. “What?” I say.
    “Makeup is expensive. And maybe you’ll see some clothes or shoes for back-to-school.”
    “It’s okay, mom. I have money.”
    “Well then now you have a little more. Just get receipts.”
    “But I’ll have to sign your name.”
    “They never check,” she says.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Go and have fun. I think they’re already out there waiting for you.”
    And that’s it. I am going to the mall with Maura and Katherine in Katherine’s sporty little red car—her sixteenth birthday present—with my mother’s debit card in my purse. I keep wondering when the Twilight Zone theme music will start playing.
    I seriously think my mother doesn’t even realize the mixed messages she sends me sometimes. How does she not get that it is not possible to stick to all her rules and to be friends with girls like Maura and Katherine?
    Before we can look at makeup, we have to do a couple of laps around the mall to find out if anyone worth seeing is also there. Then we have to look at the clearance racks in a few trendy stores and cruise the shoe department of Macy’s. At one point, when Maura and I are waiting for Katherine to finish up in the dressing room at Old Navy, I see my chance to hash some things out with Maura. I am still afraid she is setting me up somehow, getting back at me for using her computer. After all, she has a good reason to hate me, and she doesn’t owe me anything for not telling my parents about her drunken scene. After all, I assume her parents already know.
    “Listen, Maura,” I say, glancing toward the dressing room, making sure Katherine isn’t approaching. “About earlier this summer, your computer…”
    “Hey, no sweat,” she interrupts.
    “No, I should explain.”
    “Seriously,” she says, not letting me finish. “I probably would have done the same in your shoes.”
    “Still,” I say. “It wasn’t cool, and I’m sorry.” I want to explain about my insanely strict parents, but Maura cuts me off again.
    “Say no more,” she insists. “It’s totally forgotten. You know, I was really unfair about all that.”
    “Thanks,” I say, seeing Katherine coming toward us, a pair of jeans in her hands.
    “Sephora next?” she asks, and we follow her to the front of the store.
    I know the point of this makeup quest is to enhance my appearance, just as Maura was able to do so easily when we were dress shopping, but is it necessary to have someone point out all of your flaws before they enhance your face? Maura and Katherine study me like a rare old painting, recently discovered and in need of much repair before it can be displayed. I may see flaws in my appearance, but I’ve always felt good about my complexion and my eyes. I have often thought I’d gladly stay chubby if the price of being thin were bad skin, and people have always complimented me on my big blue eyes. But there, under the carefully designed lighting of Sephora, Katherine finds all sorts of flaws with my skin and Maura can’t decide how best to brighten the grayish tone of my eye color. They proceed through my makeover without talking to me much. They just sort of examine me and put various colors on my face and then sometimes wipe it all off to start again. I think they’re having fun, not with me, but because of me.
    “Do you tweeze?” Maura