Lip Gloss - A Coming of Age Oneshot

I watched as Riley gently applied more lip gloss, her eyebrows furrowed slightly, her forehead nearly touching the mirror. The stuff added the perfect amount of shine, just as the makeup specialist at whatever store Riley went to probably promised. I wasn't one for makeup, really. Maybe it was my inner hippie speaking, but I think everyone is beautiful, because what is beauty anyway? Or maybe that's my inner philosopher. I'm not sure.

I sat at the edge of her bed, observing her from a few feet away. We made eye contact through the mirror, and I smiled and gave her a goofy thumbs up. This made her grin too. Content, I stared down at my best friend's bedspread, the bright white of her sheets a stark contrast to my dark skin. I flopped backwards, flat against the sheets, staring at her ceiling. It was full of glow-in-the dark stars, ones that had been there for as long as I could remember. During sleepovers we'd always look up at them as we talked, pretending to be in space. We both liked the feeling—nothing but the two of us and millions of stars.

Riley swiveled around in her chair, maneuvering so her legs were straddling the back of it. I sat up again, knowing she was about to speak. She placed her chin on the highest point of the chair, fake pouting. Her lips were puckered a little, the lip gloss catching the light.

"What's wrong?" I asked, in response to her petulant look.

She sighed dramatically. "I have this friend, yeah? Let's call her. . .Penny Pie." I rolled my eyes, smirking. My name is Penelope, but it was Penny to basically everyone other than my nana. Riley sometimes called me Penny Pie, even though I'd complained plenty that it made me sound like a toddler.

"What about this friend, Riley?"

"Well," she grinned, "Even though she trusts me with her life, the second I get near her with anything makeup related, she basically runs away." Her eyes narrowed playfully towards the end of her sentence, a hint of accusation in her voice.

Crossing my legs, I put on my best therapist voice and said, "And how does that make you feel?"

Riley spread her arms out as if she was carrying something way too big for a twelve-year-old girl to hold. With her upper body outstretched and her voice full of sorrow, she exclaimed, "Worthless! Depressed! Like I should get a better best friend!"

I shook my head and laughed. "Okay, okay. You win," I said, dropping the act. "Just this once. And make the best of it, cause this isn't gonna happen again."

At this, her face lit up, and I could see plans forming in her head. She clapped her hands together twice, something that reminded me of a mad scientist. If she's the scientist, I'm the scared lab rat who's about to have a non-FDA-approved experiment all over my face. She opened her big makeup case, and through the mirror I watched her pick up different glass tubes and sponges and brushes and all these things I would probably never understand. Riley kept making these mhm noises and muttering under her breath, which only frightened me more.

It wasn't that I didn't like makeup. I thought it was cool and nice for theater and stuff. And I didn't judge people who wore it, either. I saw the appeal. A few of the girls in my class caked a few inches of it on everyday, probably to impress the boys. That's what I didn't like. When I mentioned this to Riley, she said that while she didn't know about the other girls, she wore makeup to "better show her natural beauty". Which I thought was fair enough.

But, sitting here in her room, half wrapped in her comforter, I decided that Riley didn't really need makeup, even if it was just to show her natural beauty. That was just it; she was naturally beautiful, and not in the every-person kind of way. Her curly brown hair was tucked neatly behind her ears, flowing just a little bit past her chin. Her skin was still a bit tan, a reminder of the long summer days gone past. It was blemish free, or maybe that was just the mascara. Or foundation, was it?