“No, thanks.”

“You sure? Does wonders for the complexion. Even those circles.” He waved the cup at my face.

“What circles?” Randy peered over her clipboard. “Oh, boy, you’re not kidding. And what is that?” She pointed at my nose. Marco leaned in close.

My face went hot.

“Makeup!” Randy barked.

Without thinking, I leaned over the sink, turned on the water, and held my hands under the tap. I needed to do something, something that wasn’t standing there watching Randy freak out because I had a pimple.

“What am I going to do? He looks awful,” Randy said to Marco like I was deaf. “Should I cancel?”

“Don’t worry. Barry will fix him up good as new. As long as it’s not oozing. There’s nothing he can do with crusty.” Marco checked me out from different angles, clearly searching for signs of ooze.

I squirted soap on my hands again, then glanced quickly at Keya’s station. At least she was pretending not to listen.

“It’s a zit, not the plague,” Harper said. Unlike Keya, she was clearly listening and had decided to weigh in. “It’s a cooking show with kids. This can’t be the first time somebody’s had a zit.”

Every time she said the word “zit,” I felt like I was getting zapped with an electrical shock.

“You’d think,” Randy said. “But I really can’t remember this happening before.”

“All those hormones, I guess,” Marco said.

The word “hormones” was actually even worse than “zit,” like two electrical shocks. Zap. Zap.

“Buddy, your hands are clean.” Marco turned off the water and handed me a paper towel.

Clean, and numb.

“Makeup’s here!” someone shouted.

Before I knew it, I’d been whisked off the set and into a chair in front of a lit mirror. I squinted against the light and watched as Barry, a mustachioed guy wearing a tool belt brimming with small brushes, examined my zit like it was a live bomb he had to disarm.

Randy gnawed a fingernail. “Is it crusty?”

“You must chill,” Barry said. “It’s not crusty.”

I’m invisible. I’m invisible.

“See, it’s fine.” Marco massaged Randy’s shoulders. “We’ll just spray it with a little antiseptic. Barry will cake on some foundation, and we’re good to go.”

Just then, static exploded from Randy’s walkie. “Go for Randy…” Her eyeballs bounced left and right as she listened. “No! No, no, no. We have a little…”

“Situation?” Marco offered.

“Situation,” Randy repeated. “Okay. I’ll tell you when to send them in.”

My eyes were tearing from the light, so I closed them. Something cold squirted onto my nose and cheeks. Then I felt someone smearing it around.

“Okay, we’re done here,” Barry said.

I shaded my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror.

My face was the color of the inside of a cantaloupe, and there was so much gunk on it, you could scrape my name in it. “It’s itchy.”

“Tough,” Barry said.

“No scratching. Up, let’s go,” Randy ordered, hustling me back to my station.