How many Seventeen articles do I need to read to get it right?  “The makeup should look natural, like it’s not there. The idea is to enhance, not pronounce.” That’s what the people in the article say.Then why is there a swipe of color, same shade as a watermelon Jolly Rancher, shooting up, straight and wide, from the middle of my cheek? It’s an important spot on the face, is what they say. They also say I’m supposed to start the swoop up with my blush brush, just underneath where I should feel a bone, my cheekbone, and go slow and with great precision up the side of my face. I should finish next to my ear and then take my pointer finger and smudge lightly so everything all blends in together. It’s all supposed to look sun-kissed, soft and like it’s not there.

 Problem is, I can’t find the bone. 

 That’s why I’m practicing. And getting ready.

*

Practice, practice, practice.
I’ll practice the way I’ll walk. And talk. And smile.
I’ll practice having fun.
I’ll practice saying, “I’ll be right back, I have to pee.”
I’ll practice tossing my high heels off using my big toe.
I’ll practice how to kiss, touch, push and pull.
How to rub, lean, open and close.
I’ll practice blinking and not blinking.
I’ll practice asking for things:
Ma, can I stay out ‘til 1:30? I’ll be with Missy and Michele, I swear.
Dad, can I have off tomorrow or just work the later shift?
God, can I please not have my period this weekend?

*

There’s no way I’m losing my virginity after the prom. Not to Felix. Yeah, he’s my date and he’s a Swiss exchange student who looks totally Italian but he also carries his cash in the kind of rubber change purse that opens when you squeeze both ends. It’s the kind my grandpa uses for his shiny pennies.

There’s no way. I decided this last Wednesday.

After the prom here’s what’s going to happen: In the girls’ locker room I’ll change into whatever outfit I decide to wear (I can’t believe I still haven’t made up my mind: “What are you wearing after?”) and the black bra with the front clasp that Michele said she’d let me borrow. I’ll put my dress, which will probably be sweaty from all the dancing, in the fancy shopping bag I saved from last week when I went to Bamberger’s with my mom. She got me a gingham halter top and two jean skirts, one red and one regular jean color. All on sale!

I’m not sure if I’ll wash my make-up off in the locker room sink. The water smells weird in there. We’ll see.

Maybe in the car, we’ll chew Juicy Fruit and listen to Yaz.
Felix, can you kiss me like they do in Switzerland?

Then we’ll go to the diner.
Can I please have a root beer and a bowl of beef barley? Oh, and a rice pudding.

*

But now, I’ll keep practicing. With the blush brush, the swoop, the smudging.
So I can get ready for the prom.

-Kathy Curto

Kathy Curto teaches at The Writing Institute at Sarah Lawrence College and Montclair State University. She is the author of Not for Nothing-Glimpses into a Jersey Girlhood, published by Bordighera Press. Her work has been featured in The New York Times, on NPR, in the essay collection, Listen to Your Mother: What She Said Then, What We’re Saying Now, and in Toho Journal, Barrelhouse, La Voce di New York, Drift, Talking Writing, The Inquisitive Eater, Voices in Italian Americana, Ovunque Siamo and Lumina. She has been the recipient of the Kathryn Gurfein Writing Fellowship, the Montclair State University Engaged Teaching Fellowship and also serves on the faculty of the Joe Papaleo Writers’ Workshop in Cetara, Italy. Kathy and her family live in the Hudson Valley. Please visit her site: www.kathycurto.com.