The Nail Art Club Zoe Ridson is my best friend. Well, she was. At least until exactly 4:27 PM, last Tuesday. I remember because she was teasing me about my watch. Let me start at the beginning. My name is April Wittman. I have long brown hair that tumbles past my shoulders and big brown eyes. I'm kinda tall. Not too tall, but tall enough for me to be a human giraffe at movie theaters. Now let me explain what happened. See, Zoe is real popular. She has wavy, strawberry-blond hair that she always seems to know how to tame, baby blue eyes, and a 150-watt smile. She is just a little bit shorter than me, and her clothes are AMAZING. Don't even get me started on her room. Or her Shih Tzu, Sherbert. Now that you know Zoe, let me tell you what an honor it is to be her best friend. Every girl yearns to hold the title, "Zoe Ridson's BFF". She's a good friend, and she's really fun, and all that, but I kind of had my doubts about her. For starters, she picks on others that are different from her. When I ask her about it, she frowns and says, "She's not my type." Well, hel-LO. Ever step back and take a look at how different we are, Zoe? I would want to ask. When I did ask her, she said, "Ironic, isn't it?" Then she would laugh and change the subject. There are a couple of other things she does, too, but I don't like talking about other people behind their back, unlike SOME people I know... Anyway, Zoe and I were walking home from school one day and we started to talk about nail art. I think you might have guessed already, but Zoe has AMAZING nail art. And nail art stuff, too. And every stencil money could buy. So anyway, we were talking about the best colors for a French manicure. Then she said, "Why don't we start a club?" "Perfect," I breathed. "A nail art club!" We high fived. Later, she called me up and said that she'd spread the word on her blog and that testing would begin tomorrow at lunch recess. "Testing?" I said. "What are we testing for?" "To see who's in or out of the club, of course," she replied. "Um... How do we test?" I asked. "Simple," she said. "Anyone who wants to join must apply a French manicure onto their fingernails. If it's perfect, they can join." I was shocked. Never before had I heard of testing a new member of a club. It sounded... Unfair. I don't know why, it just did. "What if they don't know how to DO a French manicure?" I inquired. "Then they won't stand a chance in our club." Zoe said. "Um... Okay, I guess. Hey, will I have to take the test?" "April, you and I are the founders of the club. We're automatically in the club. Permanently, too." After I had hung up, brushed my teeth, changed into my nightgown, and crawled into bed, I was still thinking about the test. I thought clubs were for everyone, I thought. I don't like exclusive or private clubs or groups. Oh, April, said a tiny voice in my head. Who doesn't know how to apply a simple French manicure? Plenty of people, I argued. Like... Like... But I couldn't think of anyone. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, read the latest fashion magazines and knew what was in and what was out. Who wouldn't know how to apply a French manicure? My question was answered the following day.