The mere thought of it is filling me up so much, I don’t even mind the fact that I get ambushed by three heavily made-up little girls the second I step into the house. Besides, by now I know that escape is inevitable. They’re like tiny glittery piranhas.

I’m dragged upstairs to my bedroom, where they’ve set up a mini salon, complete with vanity, a bunch of makeup, and about twenty bottles of sparkly nail polish. I am treated to something called “fancy eye” by Hazel while Audrey paints green sparkly polish over the top thirds of my fingers and Zoe stabs at my scalp with a fine-tooth comb.

“Wow. Your hair is really hard to brush. And you really needed a makeover,” Zoe says authoritatively. “Will someone find me some tweezers? I’m going to pluck May May’s eyebrows.”

The girls have made a unilateral decision to call me May May, and it isn’t the worst thing in the world.

“No, you will not be plucking my eyebrows,” I say quickly.

“You’re right. We should probably wax,” Hazel says.

Hazel leans back to assess her work. If she’s putting as much dark purple eye shadow on me as is on her, then I can assume I currently look like I have two black eyes.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask.

“Tell him, Zoe,” Hazel says.

Zoe clears her throat and Audrey beams at me expectantly. “There is going to be a performance. There will be a stage and a sheet for a curtain. I’m the director and Hazel is the person who makes up the dances, and Audrey will be the set designer.” She jabs at my hair. “We are all doing the makeup and costumes.”

“Um… I can be the set designer?” Audrey says.

“Yes. You’re doing the background,” Zoe says.

Oh no. I do not like where this is going. “And who is going to perform in the play?”

“You,” Hazel says. “You will be our star. We’ll teach you to dance and everything.”

Hilarious. “No, thanks,” I say quickly. “Maybe I can help with audio visual? I’ll wear all black and hang out in the background.”

“No,” Hazel says firmly. “It’s about a pirate, so we need a boy. We’ll teach you how to dance. Everyone will cheer.”

“Girls can be pirates.” I’m climbing to my feet. “Besides, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m not much of a performer.”

“You have to!” Zoe says. “You’re our big brother.”

That stops me. The girls are staring up at me with collective puppy-dog eyes. The room is at least a thousand degrees. “I’m your foster brother. It’s different.”

They all blink at me. Zoe crosses her arms over her chest, pursing her sparkly pink lips. “I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” Hazel says. She’s dripping green nail polish onto the rug.