Putting eyeliner on is more of an art than it seems to be. It takes a great deal of effort to put it on my eyes without looking like a Picasso painting. Just when I'd rubbed out my third attempt, I caught another face in the mirror.

I turned and found my dad, smirking and leaning against my doorframe. "How's that coming along?"

"Don't laugh. Practice makes perfect." I went back to the mirror.

He came and sat on my bed. "You're only fifteen. You don't need all that clown make-up, Bobo. Wait a couple of decades, will you?"

"I don't look like a clown!"

He sighed. "In one ear and out the other."

"What?"

"I said 'in one--"

"What?"

Dad quickly came up behind me and ruffled up my hair.

"Father!" If it takes me seven minutes to do my eyes, you can imagine what it takes to do my hair. "Today's picture day, if you must know! Ugh."

He laughed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were busy with the car," I said, hastily trying to repair the damage. "I didn't want to bother you. Thank you, Father. My head looks lopsided."

"It's still early. The bus doesn't come for another ten minutes. What?"

I stared at him. "Is there anything in particular you wanted? Other than to mess with my appearance?" My dad rarely came into my room. But I noticed what he was wearing, and I immediately frowned. "Oh, no. When?"

"Just yesterday," he sighed. "Knew it was coming, so I saved up plenty for the rest of the month."

My eyes narrowed. "Is that why you didn't let me go to the mall with Amy last Saturday?"

Dad raised an eyebrow. "You spend way too much than what you actually have." He nodded at my hand. "Gimme the pencil."

"What? Why?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're going to poke an eye out before the bus gets here."

"So… you're going to do my eyes?" I officially entered The Twilight Zone."

"When your mother broke her right arm, she made me do her make-up. Trust me. I know… unfortunately."

Warily, I handed Dad the pencil. "When did she break her arm?"

"You were… two, I think. If you can believe it, she broke her arm in a bounce house."

I laughed. "What? Where? When?"

"Look up. It was a friend of your brother's birthday party. None of the grownups would dare go jump in the bounce house, as much as they were talking about it. But she did." Dad smiled. "She lasted about five minutes before she lost her balance and fell. A slightly overweight seven-year-old landed on her arm." He laughed.

"Why would she go in there in the first place? Ow."

"Quit blinking so much." He shrugged. "She was like that. She didn't care about being boring and grown up. Hmm… done. Viola!"

I turned and looked in the mirror. "Holy snap."

Dad shrugged. "It's a gift… and a curse."


"Mom was pretty outgoing, huh?"

"Yeah," he sighed. A horn honked from the street. "Ah. Bus. Here." He reached into his pocket and handed me a ten. "Get a couple of wallets. We'll make big copies later."