Pink & Green is the New Black

by Lisa Greenwald

  I get a quick reply:

  Glad you’re excited. All is well here. Frigid but good. Bean & I are going skiing this weekend. xoxo

  We text back and forth a few more times. I watch the clock ticking above the doorway. This evening will end. Even the most boring, awkward evenings come to an end eventually.

  Soon everyone comes back, Zoe orders a pizza, and we all sit around eating and laughing. I don’t know if Hunter really likes Erica, but maybe it doesn’t matter. She seems happy now, and he’s not even paying that much attention to her. Maybe sometimes we just need to be told what we want to hear, even if it’s not totally true. It’s not lying exactly, just a little fib.

  Like the whole thing with Claudia—I wonder if Mom and Grandma really would have forbidden her from marrying Bean. She’s an adult; could they even do that? But I think hearing them say “no way” was what Claudia wanted to hear. She loves Bean and she’s happy with him, but I think she was scared to think too much about getting married. She almost wanted them to forbid her. Even though it was a fake proposal with a Ring Pop for two years from now, she still got scared.

  I guess Erica was scared too. Scared of everyone moving on to high school with boyfriends, maybe. Or scared of being all alone. It’s hard to say.

  So many things have surprised me this year. Some good surprises. Some bad surprises. I guess that’s just the way life works sometimes. The more you feel like you have everything figured out, the less you actually do.

  Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:

  Try to slow down and enjoy the moment.

  I wake up at five in the morning on the day of the Masquerade. I try as hard as I can to fall back asleep, but I can’t. My mind is spinning with worry and excitement and is fizzy with anticipation.

  I go downstairs and cuddle up under a blanket on the couch. Maybe if I turn on the TV, I’ll drift back to sleep. But no. I’m up. I text Sunny to see if she’s up too, but I don’t get a response. She must still be sleeping.

  When you wake up at five in the morning, you’re starving. So I scramble up some eggs with cheese. I pop some slices of my favorite oatmeal bread into the toaster. I cut up strawberries and bananas and pour myself a tall glass of grapefruit juice. A breakfast fit for a queen. And as nervous as I am, I’m still able to eat all of it.

  After breakfast, I go back upstairs, crawl into bed, and start reading. And then I fall back asleep. I guess my body was so tired from all the eating that it just needed to rest again. When I wake up this time, it’s eight, and I only have fifteen minutes to get to the spa before the first appointment.

  Now I’m running late and I’m rushing, and the gourmet breakfast I ate is sitting in my stomach like a pile of wet laundry.

  I pack my costume carefully in a bag and head downstairs, dressed in whatever sweatpants and sweatshirt were on my desk chair. They seem clean enough.

  “You ready?” Mom asks as soon as she sees me. “I was worried you’d oversleep.”

  “I was up at five,” I explain. “And then I fell back asleep.”

  “Ah, so that’s where the frying pan in the sink came from. I thought we had middle-of-the-night intruders who like omelets.”

  “Nope. Only me.”

  “Dad’s on his way to drive you to the spa,” Mom says. “He wanted to make sure he saw you on your special day.”

  I take a minute to think about that, and appreciate it. All the years he lived in London, I never imagined he’d be back and living so close to me. That’s the thing about life—you never really know what will change, and whether that change is good or bad. You have to be open to anything.

  “Ready?” my dad asks me after I’m in the car.

  “I think so.” I smile. “Thanks for driving me.”

  I almost fall asleep on the short drive over to the spa. I’m so excited about this day, but I’m also really tired. I hope I can run on adrenaline. Ninety makeup treatments need to go smoothly, and then I need to have the best time ever at Eighth-Grade Masquerade. After everything that’s happened, I’m still striving for perfection. I guess that’s just the way I am.

  And you’re only in eighth grade once, after all.

  Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:

  Baked goods make a good thing even better.

  At the spa, Penelope has set up the reception area with the most amazing spread: scones, muffins, cut-up fruit, fresh-squeezed juice, and Greek yogurt.

  “I didn’t want anyone to get hungry,” Penelope explains. “And if we run out of seats, I set up the Relaxation Room as well.”

  I smile. I haven’t heard anyone call it that in so long, but it’s refreshing to hear. My idea. My creation. And it still exists. People still hang out there when they’re waiting for their prescriptions.

  “Great. Thank you so much!” I give Penelope a hug. “And thanks for getting up so early to make it here.”

  “Of course. This is your day. And it’s going to be an amazing one.”

  I hope she’s right. One doofy eighth-grade boy could ruin the whole thing. I’m imagining someone like Matt getting a bloody nose all over the beautiful couches in here. He can’t help it, some people say, but I think he can. I won’t get into the reasons why. They’re too disgusting. Or someone like Andy could sneak in and put on a face mask and walk around that way, making everyone laugh and wasting our products.

  Middle school boys can be so dumb. I guess middle school girls can be dumb too, though—getting into fights, crying over everything, storming out of the room, refusing to talk to someone. I’ve been through it all over the past few years.

  I guess we just have to hope for the best.

  I told Erica, Zoe, and Sunny to get here early too, and they show up right on time. They come rushing in, all excited.

  “Oh my God, it looks unbelievable in here,” Erica says. “I’m too nervous to eat. Okay, actually, I can’t resist.” She takes a chocolate chip scone off the table.

  Penelope takes us on a tour of all the treatment rooms. They’re modified so that a few makeup applications can go on at the same time. Everything is set up perfectly, and I can’t wait for everyone to get here.

  “Here’s the schedule, Lucy.” Grace walks over to us. “I gave each person a half hour. That should be more than enough time. And I know not everyone in the grade signed up. So we can accommodate some walkins.”

  “Those people are dumb,” Erica says. “They clearly don’t know what they’re missing.”

  People with early appointments start trickling in. Grace made sure that kids with complicated costumes come in early—like Luca Smith, who’s getting some crazy Darth Vader thing done, or Blythe Silverstein, who literally wants her face to look like Taylor Swift’s. I’m not exactly sure how Mary the makeup artist is going to make that happen. She’s the best in the world, but that’s still a little complicated. She’s not a plastic surgeon, after all.

  Zoe, Erica, Sunny, and I are getting our makeup done late in the day, because it isn’t that complicated and we wanted it to be as fresh as possible. But we came early to oversee everything. I decided to leave the makeup work to the amazing spa staff, so I could enjoy the day without being too stressed.

  Now groups of kids start to show up. The sporty boys like Phil, Sam, and Mark are getting some kind of wacky makeup that makes their skin look like leather.

  Mina, Leslie, Angie, and all the other super-studious girls aren’t getting much done, just a little eye shadow and blush. I think they’re going as colors of the rainbow.

  It’s funny to see where people go with the whole “come up with your own costume” thing. Most people are following the Pink & Green theme, since Erica basically drilled it into their heads. She reminded the whole grade every day at lunch and put up posters and had all the homeroom teachers remind everyone too. She’s a drill sergeant, but this Masquerade was her big thing and she wants it to go perfectly. I get that.

  The AGE girls come in a little after that, all psyched about their “Shoop Sho
op girls” theme. They even have images printed out from the Internet of what they want their makeup to look like.

  “I am so so so so so excited,” Annabelle tells me. “I never could have imagined how awesome this would be.”

  “Yay! That’s so great!”

  “And you don’t know how happy everyone is that we’re all going stag. No dates to worry about. Just fun with your friends.”

  “Exactly.” I smile.

  “I mean, if Owen McDonald asks me to dance, I won’t say no,” she whispers. “I’ve basically been in love with him since first grade.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.” I widen my eyes. Annabelle thinks she’s revealing a secret, but I think everyone in the entire world knows.

  Around noon, the spa is bursting with people. Even the kids who’ve already had their makeup done hang out and eat and talk with everyone. It’s like there’s a pre-party going on right here.

  I walk around and peek into all the treatment rooms. Everyone seems pleased and looks fabulous. Then I go to the Relaxation Room. Sunny, Zoe, and Erica are sitting on one of the couches in the corner, whispering about something. As soon as they see me, they stop talking. What’s that about?

  I hope they’re not planning some elaborate prank. But Sunny wouldn’t do that to me. At least I don’t think she would.

  “I gotta go meet Evan,” Sunny says. “The ‘toe fungus boys’ should be arriving any minute.” She sticks her tongue out, pretending she’s about to throw up.

  “Yeah, Suzanne the makeup artist was really pumped about that one,” I say. “But she used to do makeup for Broadway shows, so she’s prepared. That’s why Grace assigned her to Evan and the boys.”

  “Good thinking.” Sunny pats me on the shoulder and walks away.

  “Toe fungus costume or not, Gavin is still going to look so cute,” Zoe says. She looks at Erica. “I know, no dates, no dates. But whatever, we’re still going to dance. I mean, that’s okay, right?”

  Erica shrugs. “I guess.”

  “And we’re totally kissing at the end of the night,” Zoe says. “I know we are. It hasn’t happened yet. But it will.”

  “Whatever you say, Zo.” Erica rolls her eyes at me. “Keep dreaming.”

  Erica is so mean to Zoe, and Zoe just takes it. I don’t really get their friendship. I probably never will.

  “If you want to kiss a toe fungus, be my guest.” Erica falls back into the couch, cracking up.

  “Oh, and Elias was soooo much better.” Zoe glares at Erica. “I mean, aren’t you the one who told me he had to ride backward in a car seat until he was, like, six years old?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “And his mom was still bringing him homemade fruit puree in elementary school. Like he didn’t even have teeth!”

  “That’s his mom,” Erica defends. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re over anyway.”

  “You’re lucky you got out now,” Zoe says. “He was definitely weird. Remember that day he said he wondered how many toenail clippings it would take to fill up a whole room?”

  “I’m tired of talking about this. It’s boring,” Erica says. “Good luck with kissing Gavin. We can all find boys to kiss if we want to. It’s just that none of them are worthy of me.”

  I pat Erica on the back. “Okay, let’s go back to the spa,” I say.

  “Oh, you’re in such a rush to see Travis?” Erica asks me. “Now that you’ve broken his heart.”

  “I did not. He didn’t even care. We’re on good terms.”

  To be honest, I’d totally forgotten about him. Even with all the talk about Gavin and Evan and the fungal infection costumes.

  “Whatever you say,” Erica adds.

  We all leave the pharmacy and walk into the spa.

  It occurs to me that when you’re busy thinking about your friends, you don’t have much time to think about boys. Maybe it’s better that way.

  Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:

  Compliment others.

  Each makeup treatment is better than the one before it, and the day flies by. Everyone is thrilled with how they look.

  Soon parents are coming to pick up their kids and take them over to school for the Masquerade. A lot of the kids brought costumes and changed at the spa, so Mom and Grandma take pictures of everyone and e-mail them out right away.

  We get to school, and there’s a giant banner on the building that reads EIGHTH-GRADE MASQUERADE: PINK & GREEN IS THE NEW BLACK.

  “You made that sign?” I ask Erica as we’re walking in.

  “Well, Sunny helped. Her dad too.”

  “Ramal Printing’s finest!” Sunny laughs.

  We walk inside, and the gym is decorated like I’ve never seen before—balloons and streamers and tables with pink-and-green polka-dot tablecloths.

  “You did all of this?” I turn to Erica and Zoe.

  “We did. Our labor of love,” Zoe says.

  We walk over to admire the table that’s set up with all the old medicine bottles and little slips of paper for advice seekers and advice givers.

  “I love this idea,” Zoe says. “I’m so glad you thought of it.”

  “It was all Evan,” I tell them. “I mean, I had the bottles; I found them in the basement of the pharmacy. But it was his idea. He saw it at a crafts fair.” I go on and on about this because it proves one very important thing: sometimes boys can be very helpful.

  The teachers are wearing either all pink or all green, and they look great. People come in and the DJ starts playing music—everything from the Beatles to Justin Timberlake—and everyone is dancing.

  I look around at my class and I can’t believe this is it. Our Eighth-Grade Masquerade is here.

  And soon it will be over. In a few months we’ll all be moving on from Old Mill Middle School. We’ll be leaving behind the disgusting tuna sandwiches. And Mrs. Deleccio and Earth Club. We’ll be going to Old Mill High School with kids we don’t know—kids from Waterside Middle School and Stratfield Middle School.

  “Having fun?” Sunny asks, putting her arm around me.

  “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

  “Pretty great, right?”

  “Where’s your ‘toe fungus boy’?” I ask her, and laugh.

  “Who knows,” she says. “You know, having a boyfriend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “It’s not?” I ask.

  “I mean, it’s great sometimes. But you know how everyone looked at you like your life was perfect just because you had a boyfriend? That whole thing kind of annoys me. It’s really fun and all, but it doesn’t mean everything is perfect in your life all the time. I mean, I still worry about my grandma getting older, and how many times I’ll get to see her since she lives in India. I worry about grades and tests. Life isn’t perfect just because you have a boyfriend.”

  “True.”

  To be honest, I wasn’t even thinking that much about having a boyfriend. I was thinking about how grateful I am that Erica Crane turned a tiny drop nicer, that I stopped worrying about grown-up problems, and that I had time to focus on eighth-grade problems.

  Maybe things aren’t perfect, or how I imagined they’d be. But they’re still pretty great.

  “Travis keeps staring at you, by the way.”

  “He does not,” I declare, because I really want it to be true.

  “He does.” She points over to where he’s standing. “Poor kid.”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” I tell her. “Half the girls here would be happy to dance with him.”

  “If the DJ ever plays a slow song,” Sunny says. “Maybe Erica gave him specific instructions not to.”

  “Very possible,” I say.

  We walk over to the drinks table and pour ourselves glasses of strawberry punch.

  Mr. Marblane stands up on the temporary stage and thanks everyone for all their hard work. He brings Erica up, and everyone applauds her and she curtsies. It’s clear she was waiting for this, and she’s enjoying every second. And she deserv
es it. It’s a great dance.

  Then Mr. Marblane thanks Pink & Green: The Spa at Old Mill Pharmacy for all the awesome makeup work, and he thanks me for coordinating it. He thanks Sunny and Ramal Printing for the great sign. And then he tells everyone to go back to having fun and to continue behaving.

  And then the DJ finally puts on a slow song, and Travis walks over to me, and I want to sink into the floor.

  Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:

  Dance even when you feel awkward about it.

  “Will you dance with me?” Travis asks. The green makeup is piled on his face like clumpy mashed potatoes.

  “Um.” I will myself to say yes. It’s just a dance. “Sure.”

  I put my arms around his neck, and he puts his arms around my waist. He smells like the strawberry punch he’s been drinking all night. Clumps of makeup are falling off his face and landing on his shoulders. I think it’s because he’s sweating so much. The makeup is literally melting off his face.

  “Sorry things got so weird between us,” he says. I want to tell him that they didn’t get weird. That there’s really no us. That sometimes one person likes another person, but that other person doesn’t like them back. It’s a fact of life.

  “They’re not that weird,” I say. I guess he was actually paying attention all those times I tried to talk to him about us. We’re swaying back and forth, and I force myself to look him in the eyes and not look around to see who everyone else is dancing with. I pray that Gavin asked Zoe to dance, and that Erica didn’t ruin it for them.

  “I still like you, Lucy,” Travis says. Oh no. That’s not what I wanted to hear. I thought we were done with this.

  “That’s nice, Travis.” I smile. “I just think I have to do my own thing for a while.”

  Oh Lord. What am I saying?

  “You can do your own thing. I’ll give you space,” he says. “I mean, I just like hanging out with you. And summer is coming soon. And remember when we first met, and you told me how awesome summer in Old Mill is?”

  I nod.

  “I want to hang with you during the awesome time. When we don’t have to worry about school or anything.” He pauses and leans toward me and—oh no, he’s going for a kiss. Not here. Not here. Please not here. But then he pulls back. My heart is still pounding. “Just think about it.”