From the author of the acclaimed My Life in the Fish Tank and Maybe He Just Likes You comes a moving and relatable middle grade novel about secrets, family, and the power of forgiveness. Twelve-year-old Wren loves makeup—special effect makeup, to be exact. When she is experimenting with new looks, Wren can create a different version of herself. A girl who isn’t in a sort-of-best friendship with someone who seems like she hates her. A girl whose parents aren’t divorced and doesn’t have to learn to like her new stepmom. So, when Wren and her mom move to a new town for a fresh start, she is cautiously optimistic. And things seem to fall into place when Wren meets potential friends and gets selected as the makeup artist for her school’s upcoming production of Wicked . Only, Wren’s mom isn’t doing so well. She’s taking a lot of naps, starts snapping at Wren for no reason, and always seems to be sick. And what’s worse, Wren keeps getting hints that things aren’t going well at her new job at the hospital, where her mom is a nurse. And after an opening night disaster leads to a heartbreaking discovery, Wren realizes that her mother has a serious problem—a problem that can’t be wiped away or covered up. After all the progress she’s made, can Wren start over again with her devastating new normal? And will she ever be able to heal the broken trust with her mom? Dee addresses with aplomb important topics such as opioid addiction, divorce, bullying, and moving. This inspired novel deftly depicts the self-doubt and loneliness that many children (and adults) feel. -- September 2021 ― School Library Journal One of School Library Journal 's Best Books of 2021, middle-grade category. Barbara Dee is the author of fourteen middle grade novels including Unstuck , Haven Jacobs Saves the Planet , Violets Are Blue , My Life in the Fish Tank , Maybe He Just Likes You , Everything I Know About You , Halfway Normal , and Star-Crossed . Her books have earned several starred reviews and have been named to many best-of lists, including The Washington Post ’s Best Children’s Books, the ALA Notable Children’s Books, the ALA Rise: A Feminist Book Project List, the NCSS-CBC Notable Social Studies Trade Books for Young People, and the ALA Rainbow List Top Ten. Barbara lives with her family, including a naughty cat named Luna and a sweet rescue hound named Ripley, in Westchester County, New York. 1. Click Click Hey, guys, Cat FX here. Sorry if my voice sounds funny—my allergies are going full blast this morning. Also, I couldn’t sleep. So I spent the night thinking what I wanted to say to you, and here it is: It’s really important not to overdo stuff, okay? Yes, I know it’s exciting when you have all these shiny new products to play with, and you want to use everything all at once. But trust me on this, it’s better to go slowly, adding layer on top of layer, building your character from the inside out. Know what I mean? Also—and guys, I can’t stress this enough—try not to be too obvious. Have fun with these techniques. Experiment, take risks, but always leave room for a bit of mystery. Tonight my face was Seafoam Blue. Not my whole face. Just a light swish across my forehead, the tops of my cheekbones, and around my chin. The trick was to go slowly, like Cat FX said, applying layer on top of layer. Better to add than to subtract. Build the character from the inside out. And to be who I imagined—my mental mermaid—I couldn’t just slather on a ton of blue pigment. My mermaid’s superpower was a kind of camouflage: blending into her surroundings. Slipping undetected through sunken ships. Escaping deadly sea monsters. Coming up for air when necessary. The other thing I’d decided was that she was a collector. So when she won a battle, or discovered buried treasure, she would always decorate herself with souvenirs. To never forget what she’d been through, what she’d seen. To make it part of herself forever. Which was why I was gluing a plastic pearl to my eyebrow when I heard the GRRRRUUUNNNCCCHHH . My stomach clenched. We’d been living here for almost three months, and I still couldn’t get used to the awful grinding sound of the garage door. But at least it gave me warning. Before Mom could get all the way upstairs, I tossed the jar of Seafoam Blue face pigment, the eye shadow in Cyber Purple, the waterproof eyebrow pencil in Medium Brown, and the spidery false eyelashes into my secret makeup kit. Then I slid it under my bed, all the way to the farthest corner, tossing in an old sneaker to hide it. The shoebox marked M stayed on my desk. Visible. I checked the clock. Only 8:35. Mom clomped up the stairs in her thick-soled Jungle Mocs, which I’m pretty sure is the official footwear of ER nurses when they aren’t wearing sneakers. Just in time, I beat her to the door of my bedroom. “Hey, honeybee,” she called as she reached the top step. In her wrinkled spearmint-green scrub