Celeste gazed at me, her eyes uncertain. She licked her lips nervously. I pretended I didn’t notice. I set the makeup kit on the table in front of her and opened it. In the light of the mirror, I was finally able to see everything inside. And I had no idea what half of it was for. I rooted around until I found a thick, pouffy brush and a canister of loose powder. At least I knew what to do with this. I held up the brush and looked at Celeste expectantly. She eased back in her chair, still eyeing me dubiously. I swirled the brush around in the powder and leaned forward, trying to surreptitiously look around her dressing area while I swept the brush across her forehead.

“That’s not my color,” she said.

I studied her in the mirror. Sure enough, the powder I’d just dusted her with was about two shades too dark for her. She watched me.

I checked the bottom of the canister. “Oh. Looks like someone put the wrong lid on it,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing. “I hate when that happens.” I rooted around in the kit, looking for something lighter. I came out holding another canister victoriously.

It was a matte foundation; something much closer to Celeste’s skin color. At least as far as I could tell. I found a sponge and dabbed the cream-colored makeup onto it, then quickly—hoping I looked like an expert—smeared it across her forehead, taking extra care to smooth it in at her hairline. I leaned back and studied my work. Not too bad. Maybe I could do this after all.

“That’s not mine, either,” she said. Her chair rippled with various shades of green. She didn’t trust me.

I tried to smile, which wasn’t something I’d normally do when being challenged. I hated looking stupid. But if I dropped into typical Nikki eat-or-be-eaten mode, I would give myself away for sure. My smile felt wobbly; a little on the grimace-y side, so I concentrated my acting skills on staring at my makeup kit, dumbfounded. “Sorry,” I said. “I really do think someone must have messed with my kit.”

She tilted her head to the side and studied what I’d done in the mirror. “That’s okay. It’s close. You almost can’t tell. But trust me, the director will notice.” There was a soft twang to her voice—something I would usually associate with the South rather than upstate New York.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I think I’m just flustered today. Should I start with something else?”

“Maybe you should just straighten my hair. We can save the makeup for when Jayelle gets back.”