PG01. My Life in Pink & Green

by Lisa Greenwald

  She nods, puts her hands down on the mall floor, and gets up. “Sorry,” she says.

  “You better be.” I roll my eyes at her. “But seriously, Sunny, he wanted to hang out with you! Don’t you realize that?”

  “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I guess so.”

  I grab her hand and guide her toward the Sephora. Then I put her right in front of one of their little stand-up mirrors. “See how pretty you are?” I ask, standing behind her.

  “Lucy,” she groans. “Stop. You sound like my mother.”

  “Your mom’s pretty smart, and usually right.”

  Sunny shakes her head and rolls her eyes at me like I’m crazy, and we walk out of the store. “I can’t wait until we’re older and you have your own makeup line and it’s sold in Sephora,” she says, trying to change the subject.

  “Don’t rush.” I smile. “I have a lot to do before that can happen!”

  The credit card disaster made me realize now, more than ever, how dire the pharmacy’s financial situation is. And Sunny has reminded me—I do have a lot to do. I really need to look at that grant application again; maybe I can figure it out this time.

  Maybe it’s just what we need to stay in business.

  But I also realize something else. Why is the mall always the hangout? It’s not so great—the benches aren’t even that comfortable, and they’re usually taken. And the food in the food court is pretty mediocre. Plus, there’s no personal touch in any of the stores.

  What if the pharmacy was the hangout instead of the mall? It used to be a hangout back in the day. We still have the grill, the soda fountain, the stools, and now we also have the Relaxation Room. It’s easy to walk to, unlike the mall, and it’s perfect for kids, because its not like a restaurant or bar.

  If the pharmacy were a local meeting spot, a place where people felt comfortable sitting and staying for a few hours, it would definitely help business!

  As we’re walking out of the mall, I notice that Sunny’s smiling. I think she feels a little bit better about herself now.

  And that makes me feel better too.

  Balance is the key to a beautifully made-up face.

  –Laura Mercier

  tidying up, rearranging the magazines, and waiting for Kristin to get here for her makeup application. I realize that I don’t really have the perfect place to do her makeup. There’s no tall chair or special mirror or even a good place to put the products. Since the pharmacy is quiet today, though, I figure I can use the Relaxation Room as my makeup artistry space. It’s not like getting your makeup done is very stressful anyway. It kind of fits with the relaxation theme.

  And after I’m done with Kristin’s makeup, I’m going to sit down in the Relaxation Room and get some work done on the grant, or at least try to. I don’t want to put it off any longer. I feel like the credit card getting declined was a sign that I need to really work hard to get things done. I found the grant application online that day for a reason; now I have to make it happen.

  I can’t just forget about it because it seems hard.

  “I’m heeeeeere,” Kristin says, more cheerful than I’ve ever seen her in the four years that I’ve known Cassandra. “And I brought my friend Erin with me. So she can see how it’s done.”

  “Hi, um, sit down.” I’ve propped a whole bunch of pillows up on the side of the couch so Kristin will be high enough. Also, I’ve turned on some more lights. I know that doesn’t totally go with relaxation, but it’s necessary.

  “Erin, if you want your makeup done too, I have time,” I say, trying as hard as I can not to laugh, because of course I have time! What else do I have to do?

  “Not today, but maybe in a few weeks. We have another sweet sixteen coming up, and a Quin-sin-eera, or however you pronounce it!” She laughs, almost snorting. “I take French, not Spanish!”

  Kristin hands me all of the makeup that she purchased the other day, and in my head, I start trying to figure out the best way to do this. She didn’t buy any foundation, and she doesn’t need it. However, she did buy powder, and that’ll be the perfect way to blend her skin, making it all the same color.

  “First I’m going to wash your face, okay?” Claudia taught me how important it is for your face to be clean before you put makeup on. “I’m just gonna use one of these Insta-facials.”

  After that, I apply the powder, and then the blush.

  I take a break to show Kristin how she looks so far, in one of the makeup mirrors we sell by the front of the store. “What do you think?”

  “Oh my God, I look, like, put together,” Kristin says, turning to Erin. “Right?”

  Erin shrugs. “I guess?”

  I tap Kristin on the shoulder so that she’ll turn back around and face me. “Okay, now it’s time for the eyes.” I put some foundation eye shadow on first, to create an even base color. Then I apply the pale pink shadow she bought, with a little of the charcoal gray shadow in the creases.

  After that, all that’s left is the lipstick, and it’s too early for that. “I’m not gonna do the lipstick now,” I tell her. “It’ll rub off way before it’s time for the party. And then your lips will be kind of stained and stuff. It’s better to wait.”

  Kristin nods like she’d believe anything I said.

  “So are you ready for a look at the final product?” I glance over at Erin to get a sense of what Kristin’s reaction is going to be. I figure if Erin looks impressed, Kristin will too. But unfortunately, Erin looks horrified. Her hand is over her mouth, and she has a mushed-up, distorted kind of expression on her face.

  I’m ready for Kristin to yell out an emphatic yes! but sadly she does the same thing I did and turns to look at Erin.

  “What?” Kristin asks Erin, sounding suddenly on the verge of tears. “What? Tell me.”

  Erin tightens her face, making it look like a dried-up prune. “It’s just . . . um . . . It’s just . . .”

  “It’s just what?” Kristin yells. “What, Erin?”

  “You look, so, I don’t know. So, like, mature, and grownup, and adultish.”

  I hand Kristin the mirror, and that’s when her jaw drops and her cheeks get red, natural red, in addition to the pinkness of the blush.

  “I love it!” Kristin jumps up from the pillows, puts down the mirror, and reaches out to hug me like I’ve just given her one of those big checks from Publishers Clearing House.

  “Lucy, you are a makeup goddess. A genius. You have made me feel so much better. I’ll go tonight, and even if my royal blue dress is cheesy and lame, I’ll look good anyway.”

  “Kristin, I was the one who suggested you get that royal blue dress,” Erin says.

  “Yeah, and I do like it. Just not as much as this makeup!” Kristin hugs me again. “I love it. And it’s not too much. Right? I mean, do you think it’s too much?”

  I’m not sure if she’s asking me or asking Erin, but I don’t really want to hear Erin’s response. “No way,” I say. “I didn’t even put eyeliner on you. Your eyes look really natural, and so does the blush. It’s called Au-Natural blush.”

  “Okay, good. My mom won’t, like, freak out or anything?”

  I shake my head. “Makeup isn’t supposed to make you look like a clown or like a Broadway star or anything. It’s supposed to enhance your natural beauty!”

  “I didn’t know I had natural beauty,” Kristin says. “Remember, Erin, in eighth grade, when Jessy Eliv called me a linebacker? When Amanda Janoff called me brutal?”

  Erin folds her arms across her chest and turns away from Kristin and me. “Yes, I remember,” she grunts. “Now can we go, please?”

  “Well, you look beautiful,” I say to Kristin. “So have the best time tonight. And let me know how it is. And tell Cass I say hi.”

  “Totally. Thank you so much, Lucy.” She pauses for a second as we’re walking toward the front of the store. “Can I at least give you a tip? My mom told me I should ask.”

  “Um.” I shrug. “I guess, if you insist.�
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  Kristin looks around the store for a second and takes a little painted ceramic bowl with flowers on it off the shelf. “Here. This will be your tip bowl.” She laughs, puts ten dollars in it, and hands it to me. “Thank you so, so, so much.”

  “You’re welcome.” I smile and walk them to the door. Kristin’s pretty smart—I’d never even thought of a tip bowl. “Bye, Erin.”

  “Bye, Lucy,” she says, without expression.

  Erin seems like a girl who is always expecting the worst and always scared of what’s right around the corner. Kristin is the leader, and Erin just follows along. But Erin’s freaked out now—like she doesn’t want her friend to change at all.

  I wish Erin could just realize that it’s okay, that a little makeup isn’t really gonna change her best friend. Maybe it’ll change her a little, make her more self-confident and even a little happier. But it’s not like Kristin will morph into some kind of monster. Erin would be happier if she knew that.

  Beauty tip: A face mask before a big day can

  help your skin look its best.

  Sunny’s nervousness about Evan Mass and Earth Club all morning. She’s not herself. Ever since the mall incident, she’s all out of whack, like she forgot what life used to be like before her Evan Mass crush.

  She’s squirmy in her seat in every class, taking her hair out of its ponytail and pulling it back up a billion times. Even now, I just asked her a question and she hasn’t responded. I shouldn’t have to ask it three times, or tap her or shake her. But she’s on another planet.

  Unfortunately for her, Earth Club is after school, so she has to wait. I guess that’s unfortunate for me too. I feel like this crush is a monster that has eaten my friend, and I’m waiting for the monster to spit her back up. Gross, but true.

  “Sunny!” I’m trying to get her attention for the fourth time. We’re on our way to lunch, after Spanish.

  Finally, she responds. “Yeah?” she says it so softly I can barely hear her.

  “Do you want to trade lunches?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She readjusts her backpack on her shoulders. “Actually, you can just have mine. I’m not hungry.”

  I give her a “come on!” look. “Sunny, you have to eat.”

  We agree to trade, which is lucky for me, and unlucky for her. Grandma made me a boring turkey sandwich with honey mustard, but I saw Sunny’s lunch earlier this morning when we were at our lockers. It’s leftover mushroom pizza. Cold. My favorite.

  It was probably wrong to get Sunny to trade lunches when she’s so vulnerable and out of it. But I don’t get the chance to have cold pizza that often.

  We make our way to the lunch table, and it feels like I’m guiding Sunny, like she’s wearing a blindfold. Her head looks wobbly, and she’s staring at what seems like nothing. I know this look; I remember when Claudia went through this, when she was in love with Barry Lyman. It wasn’t fun then, and it’s definitely not fun now.

  When we’re sitting, Sunny hands me her lunch bag, and I hand her mine. She inspects the lunch, not overly pleased but not annoyed either. “Oh, Kettle Chips, my fave,” she says, not sounding at all like they really are her fave.

  When we get to Earth Club, I plop myself right down next to Evan so that Sunny’s close to him.

  “Lucy, are you going to Marnie Kastman’s bat mitzvah?” Evan asks me. I guess he doesn’t even want to talk to Sunny anymore since she acted so weird at the mall.

  “Um, no,” I say hesitantly, debating what to say next. “I wasn’t invited.”

  “Oh,” Evan says, and Sunny kicks me in the shin.

  When Evan turns away to talk to Brent, Sunny whispers, “See, we’re not cool enough for him. I told you.”

  “Shh!” I say, kicking her back. “Who cares about Marnie Kastman?”

  Marnie Kastman and Erica Crane are like a dynamic duo of obnoxiousness. I wouldn’t want to go to her bat mitzvah even if I were invited. I don’t know why Sunny cares.

  “Okay, quiet down, quiet down,” Mrs. Deleccio says. “We’re going to continue our research today, but I also need the group of people who were interested in doing the anti-Styrofoam campaign to start working on that.”

  I whisper to Sunny, “I’m doing the research.” She should know that by now, but lately it’s hard to tell what she knows and doesn’t know, and I wanted to make it clear.

  “Me too,” she says.

  “Me three,” Evan whispers, laughing.

  Yamir and most of the other eighth graders go to the front of the room to go over the anti-Styrofoam letter-writing campaign with Mrs. Deleccio, and the rest of us go to the computers to start our research.

  Sunny sits down next to me but just stares at her screen, opening up a Web site whenever Mrs. Deleccio walks by so she’ll think Sunny’s actually doing something.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask. “Why do you look like something horrible just happened?”

  She makes a face at me like I should know the answer to that.

  “You’re still upset about Marnie Kastman?”

  She nods.

  “Get over it, Sunny,” I say. “C’mon, we have research to do.”

  I’m a little surprised that I’m eager to go back to researching. I mean, I’m tired from school and I’d rather be at home on the couch, or at least in the Relaxation Room, but the research was fun last time. It was inspiring to see what average, run-of-the-mill people can do to help the world.

  We hear about celebrities doing important stuff all the time: Oprah, Ellen, Angelina, and Bono. But from this research, I’ve realized that even a twelve-year-old from Connecticut can do stuff. Even if it’s only making sure to turn off the light when I leave a room.

  “Sunny, look, this school has a solar-powered water fountain,” I say, trying to get her involved. “We can click this link to find the companies that make them.”

  “Wow,” she says, as unenthusiastically as possible. She puts her head down on her desk. “I hate this club. It’s like a billion hours of extra homework.”

  I can’t even believe this. She’s the reason I’m here, and now I care more about this stuff than she does.

  I don’t really admit this to people usually, but I like research. It’s like a hobby to me in a way. It started when I had to write a report on Connecticut history in fifth grade and Claudia helped me do all this online research. I loved finding all these random tidbits from different Web sites. It was fun, like finding secret facts or buried artifacts.

  Next year, in eighth grade, we have a whole class dedicated to research. I definitely don’t tell people this, but I’m actually excited for it.

  At the end of Earth Club, we all regroup, and Mrs. Deleccio hands each of us a bag of Hershey’s Kisses. “I just wanted to say that I am so proud of all of you for all your hard work,” she says.

  “I’ll meet you outside in a sec,” I tell Sunny. “I just have to ask Mrs. Deleccio something.”

  Sunny makes a face at me like she thinks I’m up to something. That’s one of the problems with doing everything with your best friend—if you ever need a minute to do something alone, your friend gets paranoid.

  “Mrs. Deleccio, may I ask you something?” I say. I’m very careful with my mays and cans now.

  “Sure, Lucy. What is it?” Mrs. Deleccio sits down at her desk and unwraps a Hershey’s Kiss. Yamir told me she has a secret stash of chocolate in her supply cabinet.

  “Well, one day at Earth Club when we were researching, I found this grant online that Mayor Danes is offering, like for local businesses to go green,” I start. “And, um, I think it could be really good for my family’s pharmacy. Will you look it over when I’m done? Before I send it in?”

  Mrs. Deleccio smiles at me in that way teachers do when they’re really proud of a student. “That’s great that you found that, Lucy! I am so proud of you!”

  “Thanks.” I smile.

  “But I think you should talk to your mom first and see if it’s something she’d like to do.
It involves a lot of paperwork.” She pauses and smiles again. “You know, grown-up stuff.”

  I hate when people, especially teachers, talk to kids that way. I really hate it. Actually, it makes me so angry that I get even more determined. Now I am definitely going to fill out that grant application right away. No more putting it off.

  I’ll show her.

  “Thanks,” I say, forcing myself to be nice. “See you tomorrow.”

  Beauty tip: Don’t pick at your face when

  you’re nervous or anxious.

  I text Claudia. After spending three hours reading over the grant application, highlighting and looking up words in the dictionary, I realize that Mrs. Deleccio may be right, just a little bit. I do need help. But at least I’m grown-up enough to admit it. And it’s not so hard that I need Mom or Grandma. Claudia will know what to do.

  Claud. WHERE ARE U? Call me ASAP.

  An hour later, she still hasn’t responded, so I text her again. I called her as soon as I got home last night to tell her, but of course she didn’t call me back.

  Claauuuuuddddddiiiiiaaaaa. Calllll meeeeeee. Pleeeeaaaaaassse.

  She writes back: Calm down, Lucy. I’ll call soon.

  It’s easy for her to tell me to calm down, because she doesn’t know the news that I’m about to tell her. Now I wish I’d told her about the grant as soon as I found it.

  As I’m waiting for her to call, I go downstairs and fill up a big glass of water. Then I decide to read the grant application over back upstairs at my desk. The more I read, the more excited I get. I can actually do this. I mean, we can actually do this. We can actually save the store. Mom and Grandma will be happy, and life will go back to the way it used to be.

  When my cell phone rings, I don’t even say hello. Instead I say, “Go to www.OldMill.gov. Click on News from Mayor Danes.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” she asks. “If Mom’s in jail for protesting something, please tell me.”

  “Ha-ha,” I say, staring at the screen and hoping she’ll also be looking at it in a second.