My Life in Pink & Green

by Lisa Greenwald

  GREEN EARTH BOOK AWARD RECOMMENDED BOOK

  “Greenwald makes a bright debut.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Greenwald deftly blends eco-facts and makeup tips,

  friendship and family dynamics, and spot-on middle—

  school politics into a warm, uplifting debut.”

  —Booklist

  “[A] playful, thought-provoking novel of girl power.”

  —Washington Post

  “Greenwald clearly takes preteens seriously.”

  —Kirkus, starred review

  “Greenwald has created a smart, spunky heroine.”

  —School Library Journal

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is

  a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

  incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or

  are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

  dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition of this book as follows:

  Greenwald, Lisa.

  My life in pink and green / by Lisa Greenwald.

  p. cm.

  Summary: When the family’s drugstore is failing, seventh grader Lucy uses her problem-solving talents to come

  up with a solution that might resuscitate the business, along with helping the environment.

  ISBN 978-0-8109-8352-6 (alk. paper)

  [1. Family problems—Fiction. 2. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 3. Cosmetics—Fiction. 4. Green movement—

  Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.G85199My 2009

  [Fic]—dc22

  2008025577

  Paperback ISBN 978-0-8109-8984-9

  Text copyright © 2009 Lisa Greenwald

  Book design by Chad W. Beckerman

  Laura Mercier epigraphs reprinted with permission of Atria Books, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., from The New Beauty

  Secrets: Your Ultimate Guide to a Flawless Face by Laura Mercier.

  Copyright © 2006 by Gurwitch Products, LLC.

  Originally published in hardcover in 2009 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. This edition published in 2010. All

  rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by

  any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and

  promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to

  specification. For details, contact specialmarkets@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

  Beauty tip: Putting cold cucumbers on your

  eyes can reduce puffiness and relieve stress.

  That’s what Grandma says, anyway, whenever something really bad happens. I’ve always thought that was a pretty good way to look at life. But lately I’m not so sure, because I don’t think things can really get any worse.

  It’s Friday afternoon—a time when most normal seventh-grade girls would be at a friend’s house or maybe the mall or even the movies.

  But where am I?

  The pharmacy.

  And what am I doing?

  Opening mail.

  When I’m at the pharmacy after school, it’s my job to open the mail. I do it first thing so that I have the rest of the time free. But it’s not like there’s so much for me to do the rest of the time. It’s not like if I don’t open the mail first thing, I won’t have time to do it later. I just don’t like to have things hanging over my head.

  I bet most kids my age would find opening the mail to be the most boring thing in the world. And sometimes it is. But it’s also kind of comforting. I like coming to the pharmacy straight from school and having my snack in the back office.

  It’s nice to know you always have a place to go.

  Besides, I don’t usually read the mail; I just open it and put it in a neat pile. But today big, bold, black letters catch my eye: THREE DELINQUENT MORTGAGE PAYMENTS. My throat starts to feel like it’s getting tighter and tighter, almost like it’s closing up. And my heart starts beating fast and furious, when it was beating calmly just a second ago.

  THREE DELINQUENT MORTGAGE PAYMENTS. What does that mean? That we haven’t paid the mortgage for three months? Or that the payments weren’t enough?

  The next sentence: YOU ARE IN DANGER OF FORECLOSURE.

  We get a lot of mail at the pharmacy because we get all of the business mail, obviously, and all of our regular mail too. The pharmacy is like our second home. Lately I’m beginning to think we spend more time there than at our real house.

  “Jane!” Grandma calls. I see her coming into the office, and I try to put the letter under the stack of regular mail, but I’m not quick enough. Grandma hasn’t even said hi to me yet and already she’s upset. “Jane Scarlett Desberg!”

  Even though my mom’s forty, my grandma still uses her whole name when she’s angry at her.

  “Ma, what?” My mom comes into the office, her cleaning apron only half on. She was in the middle of dusting and reorganizing her favorite section of the store—the magazine area. Old Mill Pharmacy doesn’t just carry the usual magazines like People and Glamour and Time. We have those, but we also carry magazines that are hard to find on the average drugstore news rack, like the Nation and the Progressive.

  My mom’s a huge reader. She’ll read anything she can get her hands on, and especially stuff about people making a difference or taking a stand on complicated issues. She doesn’t just accept situations as they are—she’s always questioning things, so she likes to read magazines and newspapers that reflect that state of mind.

  She’s one of those people who truly believe one person can change the world.

  “ ‘Three delinquent mortgage payments’—that’s what!” Grandma shoves the letter in front of my mom’s nose. “ ‘In danger of foreclosure’! Can you please explain?”

  My mom rolls her eyes and fastens her apron around her waist, admiring herself in the office’s full-length mirror. “Oh, Ma. They always say that. We’ll pay. Don’t worry. I’ve been putting off our last few payments to save up for the Small Businesses, Big World conference I told you about. We need to do more than just fill prescriptions. Our business can make a difference in the world. We just need to find out what we can do.”

  Grandma’s face falls. The tension in the room seems to be expanding like a balloon that’s about to pop. This is my time to walk away. “I’m going to straighten up the toy section!” I say, more cheerfully than I’d normally say it.

  But instead of straightening, I close the door and wait outside the office so that I can eavesdrop. I need to find out what foreclosure means.

  I make fake walking sounds so that Mom and Grandma think I’m far enough away that I won’t be able to hear them, and then I scooch down toward the floor and gently press my ear against the wooden door.

  “Jane, time to come out of your save-the-world daze, sweetheart,” Grandma says. “We don’t have enough money to save the world. We need to save this pharmacy. You have two children to support. And frankly, I’m sick of having to tell you this.”

  “Ma, relax,” Mom says, acting like she has everything under control. There’s a long silence, and I’m wondering if the conversation’s over and if I really should go and clean the toy section.

  “We’re sitting down tonight with all of the bills,” Grandma says, sounding calmer now. “And I’m letting Tory and Charise go. I have to. I don’t have a choice.”

  Tory and Charise have been
working at the pharmacy for as long as I can remember. Tory does all of the loading and unloading of boxes and stocking of the shelves. And Charise makes sure the pharmacy’s spick-and-span and helps out behind the counter. She always tells me stories about the old days, when people would have to wait in line for sodas and snacks and stuff. I even remember when Grandpa was alive and so many of the kids in our neighborhood would hang out at the store, having snacks at the counter after school. Sometimes Grandpa would even help them with their homework.

  It’s not like that anymore. Not at all.

  Nowadays, people will occasionally come in for a soda, but they’re usually high school kids who are going to the movies next door and don’t want to pay movie-theater prices. No one ever orders items from the grill; Grandma barely even turns it on anymore. Things have changed a lot, and not in a good way. I wish there was a way to go back to the way they used to be.

  I especially feel bad for Tory and Charise. I know they need the money. And I know Grandma would never let them go if she didn’t have to.

  That’s how I know things are bad.

  Business tip: Follow up with new clients,

  but make sure to stay in touch with old ones too.

  that Grandma has just laid off Tory and Charise, she says what she always says: “I’m coming home. That’s it. There’s no reason why I need to be at some fancy-pants private school when you’re all struggling. I’ll come home, go to UConn, and that’ll be that.”

  “Claudia,” I say in my groany voice. “No one expects you to do that.”

  “Put Mom on the phone,” Claudia insists. So I walk downstairs and hand Mom the cordless. She’s making chicken and her famous Spanish rice, and I hate, hate, hate Spanish rice more than anything in the world. She makes it extra spicy with jalapeños, and the recipe doesn’t even call for that.

  I can only hear my mom’s end of the conversation, and all she’s saying is, “No, that won’t be necessary,” and “Honey, this doesn’t concern you,” and finally “I hope you’ve been eating only organic meat, because you know how they are treating animals these days.”

  Finally, she hangs up. She pushes her blonde spiral curls behind her ears. “Lucy, go wash up. And call Grandma at the pharmacy and tell her dinner will be ready in five minutes. Either she gets here in time, or we eat without her.”

  It’s already eight thirty and we haven’t even eaten dinner yet. That isn’t normal. Well, it’s normal for us, but not normal for normal people. But even though my mom threatens to eat without Grandma, I know we won’t. We always eat together as a family. As Grandma always says, “A family that eats together, stays together.”

  Grandma gets home just in time, and she puts the chicken cutlets on a platter while Mom serves the rice.

  At first we’re all quiet because we’re so busy eating.

  “Delicious rice, Jane,” Grandma says after a few minutes. “It gets better each time you make it. The sautéed onions are perfect.” I know this is just a simple compliment, but it’s a relief to hear, considering how much Grandma and Mom have been fighting lately.

  “Thanks, Ma,” Mom says. “I thought I might’ve gone overboard with the onions this time.”

  “Not at all,” Grandma says. “It’s wonderful.” She pauses. “So, as you know, I let Tory and Charise go. But I spoke to Bruce from the fish market, and he very generously offered to help with the unloading of boxes. Lucy, I know you can handle stocking the shelves.” She looks at me through the bottoms of her wire-rimmed eyeglasses.

  I’m not really a fan of manual labor, but I know complaining won’t do any good. Plus, I figure we all have to do our part; the pharmacy’s important to me too.

  “And Jane,” Grandma goes on. “I’m wondering if you can speed up your degree. One class a year is hardly a fast path to becoming a pharmacist.”

  When Grandma says that, I feel bad for my mom. It wasn’t exactly her dream in life to be a pharmacist. I’m not really sure if she ever had a dream job. She just always wanted to be an activist, to work for causes she believed in.

  My mom and dad got married right after college, and my mom had Claudia when she was twenty-two. My parents didn’t really have any money, so they figured they’d move in with my grandparents for a little while so they could save up and eventually buy a house. Grandma tells me that Mom was always protesting, trying to make the world a better place, even with a new baby.

  She’d constantly write letters to the editors of so many magazines and newspapers; she has them all in a shoe box in her bedroom. One snow day, I read them all.

  Back then, my mom worked at the pharmacy; she handled the cash register and offered suggestions to customers. And my dad commuted to Yale (that’s where my parents met) so he could finish getting his master’s degree.

  But all these years later, my mom is still living in the same room. My parents never ended up buying a house. My dad moved to London when I was three; he teaches there.

  A few years ago, when the pharmacy really started to struggle, Mom decided to go back to school and become a pharmacist. But she’s still in school because she ends up taking more electives than required classes.

  It’s easy to see why there’s tension between Mom and Grandma. Plus, Mom’s forty and she still lives with her mother. No other moms I know live with their mothers.

  “Ma.” Mom swallows a piece of chicken and turns to Grandma. “Relax. Everything will be fine.” She smiles at Grandma, then at me. Mom’s an eternal optimist, and when she gets depressed about something, she doesn’t spend too long feeling bad about it. She just finds a way to try to change it. It’s not her fault that her plans don’t always work—there’s a lot of injustice, and anyway she always says everyone can help if they try.

  Grandma slumps back in her chair, wiping the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin like she’s a lady at a very fancy dinner party. “Darling, you know that locked cabinet you have in the office, behind your desk?” Grandma widens her eyes at my mother like she’s inspecting something. “Well, I unlocked it. And I know how grave the situation is.”

  Mom chokes on her ginseng-enhanced iced tea. I can’t believe this; my mom is an adult, a grown woman, and she still gets in trouble with her mother. How did this conversation change tone so quickly?

  Grandma keeps talking. “I’m willing to wait this out for a little while. I have faith that we can pull out of this. But I’m considering selling the house. We can move into the upstairs apartment for a while, save money, and then we can figure out what we’re going to do.”

  My eyes bulge at that, and I literally drop my fork. It clinks against my ceramic plate. “What?”

  “Lucy, I’m beginning to think we don’t really have a choice,” Grandma says, talking to me like I’m an adult, like I can handle whatever she says.

  And that’s exactly when I realize that, yeah, I’ve been wishing and hoping that we’d find a way to save the pharmacy. But now I need to do more than just wish and hope. I need a real plan of action.

  The only problem is, I’m a kid. And maybe in the movies kids can save the day. Like in Home Alone—which I’ve seen on DVD and TV a million times—Kevin just takes on those robbers, protects the house, and even goes out grocery shopping after his parents accidentally leave him home when they go on vacation. He becomes a hero, but that’s a movie. In real life, there’s not so much we can do.

  And this situation is affecting me too personally. Not to sound selfish, but a few weeks ago Grandma told me I’d have to take a break from my art lessons. Up until then, I’d been going once a week since I was seven. When she told me, I didn’t complain at all. Not a bit. Because I understood the situation.

  I excuse myself from the table, put my dishes in the sink, and go up to my room. Maybe I need to do research, read a book or something. Would it be so impossible for someone to write Saving Your Family’s Business for Dummies?

  Beauty tip: If you’re out of blush or

  too young to wear it, pinch your cheeks ar />
  few times to bring color to your face.

  owning a pharmacy is having all the products to play with. No doubt about it. The cosmetics companies we order from send us samples of their new products to get us all excited about ordering them when the products are ready. That’s how we found the Earth Beauty line. They sent us this whole box of samples, and I loved them, so Grandma stocks a bunch of their stuff now.

  I always volunteer to be the official Old Mill Pharmacy tester of these sample products. To be honest, it’s not like I have competition for the tester job. I’m the only one who wants to do it.

  Yesterday, a whole box of makeup samples came in. And not old-lady makeup like sticky, smelly lipstick and blush that looks like it’s made for a clown. Young people’s makeup, and the best stuff too: shimmery silver eye shadow, summer-glow bronzer, and a million different shades of lip-glosses, just waiting in the brown box for me to try them.

  As soon as I get to the pharmacy, I run and grab the box off the desk in the back office. Then I go into the bathroom, lock the door, and start testing.

  The key is not to put on too much. You need to put on just enough to see how the product looks, but not so much that it overwhelms you.

  The shimmery silver eye shadow is perfect. It’s not so thick that if you accidentally rub your eye it all comes off in a clump on your finger. It’s smooth and even on the eyelids, and it shimmers in just the right spots.

  The bronzer’s good too, but bronzer is bronzer, really. The most important thing to remember is not to use too much. Make it look natural. I’m brushing it on softly with the special bronzer brush we have, making sure to highlight my cheeks.

  And finally, the best part: testing the lip-glosses. The ones that came yesterday are from the Extra Glossy line, and they’re all candy names: Red Candy Cane, Beige Butterscotch, Burgundy Gumdrop, and lots more.

  I put each one on lightly. They’re the kind of lip-glosses that come in a skinny tube with a mini-brush to paint them on. I put on a little of each one, check it out in the mirror, and then wipe it off carefully with a tissue. It’s hard to see the new color if there’s a little bit of the one before peeking out from underneath.

  The last color I try is my favorite: Pink Lollipop. It looks soft and colorful without being too much. And it smells delicious. Like a summer carnival.