Sunny laughs. “Mom, it’s athlete’s foot. Not athletic foot.”
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. Mrs. Ramal’s English is just a little bit off, so it’s funny. She moved here from India when she was seventeen.
Mrs. Ramal shakes her head. “Athlete’s. Athletic. I don’t see a difference.”
“Never mind, Mom,” Sunny groans, turning to face me. “Lucy, that’s so awesome!”
“I’m just happy customers are actually in the store.”
Mrs. Ramal looks at me through the rearview mirror again. “Lucy, I heard about you and your makeup design. My neighbor was raving about you. She wants to come in with her daughters before her cousin’s wedding.”
“Oh, thanks.” Wow. I can’t believe how fast word is spreading.
When we get to Sunny’s house, we have our favorite snack, sugar cookies and apple cider, and then start our magazine reading. I’ve brought over as many old ones from the pharmacy as I could find. We kick off our sneakers, spread out on her daybed, and dig in, folding down pages that we want to discuss with each other later on.
When I get cozy and comfortable with one of Sunny’s throw pillows behind my back, Yamir barges in. He’s carrying their pug, Oscar, in his arms and blowing bubbles with bright red gum.
“Yamir!” Sunny shrieks. “Get out of here!”
Ignoring her, he plops himself down on Sunny’s beanbag chair. Oscar hops out of his arms and onto Sunny’s bed, crumpling up the magazines as he walks over them.
“I mean it, get out!” Sunny yells again.
“Calm down, Sunner,” he says. “I came to talk to Lucy. Not you.”
“Huh?” I say.
“I heard you’re a makeup artist.” Yamir clears his throat. “Will you do my makeup for the eighth-grade masquerade?”
“Yamir, what planet are you from?” Sunny asks.
“What? It’s totally normal. The eighth graders do it every year. I mean, they’ve never gotten their makeup done professionally before, but they do wear makeup every year.” Yamir grins. “I can bring Lucy tons of business.”
Sunny gives me a “what on earth is he talking about?” look, but part of me is flattered. And it is a whole new market that I’d never even thought of before.
“Thanks, Yamir,” I say. “Let’s talk about this when it gets closer to the dance.”
He scoops Oscar off Sunny’s bed. “Gets closer? It’s in, like, two weeks, right before the winter vacation. Get with the program, Lu.” He lowers his head and squints at me. “Later, losers.”
“I had no idea the eighth-grade masquerade was so soon,” I say to Sunny. “Did you?”
Sunny doesn’t answer. She’s still giving me that “Yamir’s crazy” look long after he’s left the room. I can tell she wants me to say something about how annoying he is, but I don’t feel like it. He is annoying, but he wants to help the business. I can’t argue with that.
“Knock, knock,” Mrs. Ramal says before knocking on Sunny’s door.
“Come in,” Sunny says.
“Lucy, are you staying for dinner?” Mrs. Ramal asks.
I smile. “Oh, no, I can’t tonight. Mom, Grandma, and I are going out for pizza.”
“That’s right.” Mrs. Ramal smiles like she knew that but wanted an excuse to come in here. “Okay, well don’t leave yet. Giri will be home in a minute, and he has something to tell you.”
Sunny looks confused. “Dad has something to tell Lucy?”
Mrs. Ramal smiles and closes the door.
“What could my dad have to tell you?” Sunny asks.
“I have no idea.” I shrug. Sunny sometimes gets all weird about dads. I think it’s because she feels like I’ll get upset or something since I barely even see my own dad. It’s a little way that Sunny looks out for me. But dads don’t bother me. Besides, Sunny’s dad is really nice.
“Room service!” Sunny’s dad yells through the door, trying to be funny.
“Dad, what do you want?” Sunny yells back. He opens the door. Mrs. Ramal is standing next to him. I wonder what they’re about to tell us. One second I think it’s something serious. But with Sunny’s dad’s joking, it can’t be that serious.
“Lucy, as you know, we’re remodeling the downstairs,” Mrs. Ramal says. “And thankfully, Giri has allowed me to decorate this time, since he did such a pitiful job last time.”
“She will never let me forget it,” Sunny’s dad says. “My wife is forcing me to get rid of the Turbo Massage Chair 7000. I have no choice. She will either get rid of the chair or get rid of me. And I couldn’t live without her.” He looks at Mrs. Ramal and gives her a kiss on the forehead. “So, Lucy. I want you to have the Turbo Massage Chair 7000. It is a wonderful chair, and I have only used it about three and a half times. It turns out I prefer regular chairs.”
We all laugh. I’m not really sure why Mr. Ramal wants me, of all people, to have the chair, but it’s kind of cool. “Oh, um, thank you, Mr. Ramal.”
“For your Relax Room,” he says, and then looks at Mrs. Ramal and Sunny.
“Relaxation Room, Dad,” Sunny says. “But close enough.”
Mr. Ramal nods. “Right. So what could be better for a Relaxation Room than the Turbo Massage Chair 7000?”
Finally, it’s sinking in. This is so, so, so fabulous! “Oh my God. Thank you so much! Thank you so, so, so much!” I hop up from Sunny’s bed and give Mr. Ramal the biggest hug I’ve ever given him in the seven years that I’ve known him.
I look back at Sunny to see if she knew about this, but she looks as surprised as I am. I wonder when they decided about this.
“You’re very welcome,” Mr. Ramal says.
The pizza place where Mom, Grandma, and I are going for dinner is around the corner from Sunny’s house, so I call Mom on her cell phone to tell her that I’ll walk and meet them there. I decide to tell them the good news about the chair in person.
As I’m walking over, gratitude washes over me. I’m so lucky. I’m one of the luckiest twelve-year-olds in the world, I bet. I have Sunny for a best friend, and Sunny comes with the awesomest parents in the universe. And I can do makeup. People actually want me to do makeup.
I know things are getting better. I just know it. And I haven’t even told Mom and Grandma about the grant and spa yet. That is going to be amazing. Maybe I’ll even see if I can borrow the Ramals’ video camera so that I can record it when I tell them.
The right makeup can really emphasize your eye color. –
Laura Mercier
to use cell phones in school, and I try to follow that rule. But right now, I just can’t. So much is going on with the grant, and I’m at school for Earth Club until at least five thirty. I need to check in with Claudia.
Wut is happening wit grant?
Friend Bean is looking it over with me.
Bean?
Nickname. Talk later. ILY
“Ready, Luce?” Sunny comes up behind me and puts her arm around me.
“Yup,” I say. “Claudia has a friend named Bean. Weird, huh?”
“Really weird.”
“So are you ready to actually talk to Evan today?” I ask Sunny. “’Cuz I’m running out of patience. I’m in this Earth Club for you, y’know.”
Sunny rolls her eyes. They look extra green today because of the pale green eye shadow I gave her and smudged on her eyelids after Social Studies. “Hello! Remember the grant? The one that will probably save your business? You wouldn’t know about it without Earth Club.”
I shake my head at her. “Maybe you’re a little bit right. But let’s not get crazy about it saving the business—we may not even get it.”
“Confidence goes a long way, you know,” she says, mocking me.
I guess we’re late, because when we get to Mrs. Deleccio’s classroom, everyone’s already sitting down, and she’s standing at the front of the room ready to start the meeting.
“Find a seat, girls, please,” she says. “If our goal is to go to the first school board
meeting of the year, in the fall, and present our proposal for going green, then we have a lot of work to do. We’re going to split into small groups today, so there will be two to three people per computer.”
“Can we pick partners?” Annabelle Wilson asks. “Please.”
“Not today,” Mrs. Deleccio says. “I want you all to learn about working with others, not just your friends.”
Everyone says, “Awwww, man,” and “No fair,” and stuff like that. I look over at Sunny, and she’s biting her nails and tapping her foot at the same time. If Mrs. Deleccio assigns Evan and Sunny to work together, Sunny may pass out right here. That really won’t be good.
“Okay, raise your hands if you want to do the fields cleanup,” Mrs. Deleccio says. All the sixth-grade boys raise their hands for that, and so do a few eighth-grade girls. Mrs. Deleccio sends all of them to the right side of the classroom. “Now raise your hands if you want to do the research on going green in school. But I need serious commitments now. I know some of you have been doing this all along, but now we’re really getting into the nitty-gritty.”
Sunny and Evan and I and a few of his friends, Yamir and a few of his friends, Annabelle, and a few others raise our hands for this one. Sunny, Annabelle, and I end up working together. It’s not as good as a Sunny and Evan pairing, but I’m glad Sunny and I get to stick together.
“Wait! Sorry I’m late!” We all turn around and see Erica Crane running in, her imitation Louis Vuitton bag hanging off her wrist. “Sorry, Mrs. Deleccio. I had another after-school commitment.”
Yeah, right. That girl is trouble with a capital T. Why is she even here? She was never in Earth Club before.
“Take a seat, Erica,” Mrs. Deleccio says. She explains who is doing what, and Erica walks right over to our side of the room. But she doesn’t do what I expect her to—she doesn’t sit next to me so she can bug me the entire time. Instead, she sits next to Yamir. Then she flips her hair over her shoulder; some of it even lands on the computer keyboard. “Hey, Yami,” she says, all flirty.
Yami?
Sunny and I look at each other at the exact same second.
Erica Crane flirting with Yamir? No way. No way. No way!
Then Clint says, “Hey, Yami,” imitating Erica. And Anthony says, “What’s up, Yami? Yami Pajami?”
“Guys, shut up, okay?” Yamir says. And I’m not sure whose cheeks turn the reddest: Yamir’s, Sunny’s, or mine.
Erica’s, on the other hand, stay perfectly white and freckled.
It takes all the effort I can muster to focus on the going-green research. I don’t know why this Erica Crane thing is weirding me out so much. Why do I even care? It’s just Yamir.
Even though I liked it better when we could research on our own, working as a group isn’t so bad. When it’s my turn at the computer, I find the most amazing Web site. Annabelle and Sunny pull their chairs in closer.
“Do you guys see this?” I ask. “It’s all these ways the cafeteria can be more earth friendly. They could change the kinds of paper products they use, get recycled-plastic utensils, and even buy recycled-plastic lunch trays.”
“Yeah. I hadn’t even thought of the cafeteria,” Annabelle says. “Probably because I always bring my lunch!”
“I’m printing this page out,” I say, already clicking to the next section of the site, which talks about heating and cooling systems in schools.
“Make sure you’re documenting all your sources,” Mrs. Deleccio calls out from the front of the classroom. “If we are going to the school board, we need to have a very professional demonstration.”
“This lightbulb thing is really easy to do,” Sunny says, reading over my shoulder. “Look, it says it’s even cheaper to order in bulk. We could make sure the head of facilities or whoever stocks up.”
“Good idea,” Annabelle says.
“Sunny, what’d you just say about the lightbulbs?” Evan asks from a few computer stations away.
“Um, uh, just that the school should stock up, and it’s cheaper that way,” Sunny mumbles, fiddling with the strands of hair hanging outside her ponytail.
“That’s an awesome idea,” Evan says. I discreetly kick the side of my shoe against the side of Sunny’s. She kicks me back.
Mrs. Deleccio tells us that it’s time to wrap up. Before I turn off the computer, I quickly e-mail myself all the links I found.
On our way out, I stop and talk to Mrs. Deleccio. “I found so much stuff on making the cafeteria green, so can I be in charge of that part of the proposal?”
“Yes, definitely,” she says, smiling. “That’s a really great idea. I’m going to write it down. You can give me and the rest of the club updates periodically, okay?”
“Sure. Oh, and Sunny’s gonna help, okay?” I look at Sunny. She nods.
“Great, girls. Have a good night!”
On her way out of the classroom, Erica says, “Bye, Yami.”
Sunny and I shake our heads at each other and follow Yamir to Mrs. Ramal’s car.
On the way home, all I can think about is making the proposal to the school board in the fall and how I’m in charge of the cafeteria part. I’m going to have to speak in front of everyone, but I’ll be in eighth grade then, and I bet I’ll feel more confident. But I’ll have to really know what I’m talking about. Imagine if it goes through, and it really works, and Old Mill Middle School actually becomes a green school.
Think about all the people that would affect. All the energy we’d save. The earth would be healthier just because of us.
I just can’t get enough. Like, my heart beats really fast when I think about it, and sometimes I can’t even fall asleep at night because there’s so much to do.
If you have prominent circles under your eyes, blush can
help distract from that area. – Laura Mercier
Mom asks as she’s squeezing fresh OJ for me. She thinks breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and she always makes an effort to actually make breakfast and not just give me a granola bar or a banana as I run out the door.
I love these moments when she makes my breakfast and I can sit at the table and just start the day out leisurely.
But today Mom looks worn out and exhausted and has dark circles under her eyes. I really, really want to tell her about the grant because I think it’d make her feel better. But I know it’s too soon.
“Nothin’ much,” I say.
“What kind of stuff are you working on?” she asks.
“Recycling, letter-writing campaigns, research. That type of thing.” I pick up the newspaper that’s sitting on the table, hoping she’ll stop asking me questions if she thinks I’m reading.
“That’s great that you’re doing this, Lucy,” she says. “I’m really proud of you.”
Sometimes I feel like my mom can read my mind.
After breakfast, we head over to the pharmacy. Today’s Saturday and Mr. Ramal is coming to the pharmacy to drop off the massage chair. Sunny said she’d come with him and then she’d stay and hang out with me for the rest of the day.
When I told Mom and Grandma about the chair, they were really thrilled, but they asked all their usual questions: “Does Mr. Ramal really want to get rid of the chair?” “Why doesn’t he want it anymore?” “Should we offer to pay for it?”
Of course I told them that it’s a gift and that Mrs. Ramal is redecorating and all of that stuff. Mom and Grandma are such worriers. If they don’t have a specific thing worrying them at that minute, they’ll find something.
Sunny calls to say they’re on their way, and I tell the people in the Relaxation Room that we’re getting a delivery, just so that they’ll be prepared. There are two little old ladies in there gossiping about this other lady who lives on their block and who just started dating a man from around the corner.
I’ve been eavesdropping; I’ll admit it. It may seem weird, eavesdropping on little old ladies. But they’re really good storytellers.
“Giri, this is so wonderful
of you,” my mom says to Mr. Ramal, greeting him and Sunny at the door. “Are you sure we can’t give you something?”
“Jane, don’t mention it. Really. It is my pleasure to add such a small thing to your lovely store,” Mr. Ramal says. I love the formal way he talks. Everything sounds so much more truthful, like he means everything he says and isn’t just saying it to be nice.
“Well, thank you,” Mom says, following behind as Mr. Ramal wheels in the chair. Sunny’s skipping behind them, the way she used to do when we were little. She loved skipping more than anyone I’d ever known.
Sunny plops herself down on one of the couches and closes her eyes. “I’m already relaxed,” she says.
“What do you have to not be relaxed about?” Mr. Ramal asks, and then smooshes Sunny’s hair. “Your life is cherry pie.”
“Dad.” Sunny rolls her eyes at him. “I have tests. I have reports. I have—”
That’s when I burst out laughing, and Sunny does too. We both know what she has to be stressed about.
Soon the chair is all moved in and set up, and Mr. Ramal explains to Mom and me how it works. It looks great in the Relaxation Room, in the corner between the two couches. I just know that people are going to love that chair. It fits right in—like it was always supposed to be here.
“Bye, ladies,” Mr. Ramal says. “Sunita, I will pick you up around five.”
Sunny usually hates when anyone calls her Sunita. But from her dad, it’s okay.
“Lucy, make sure to write Mr. Ramal a thank-you note for the chair,” Mom says.
After that, Sunny and I take turns using the massage chair, testing out all of the different settings. Then we figure we should get up so that other people can use it.
“Let’s spy on who’s going to the movies,” Sunny says. “I bet Evan and his friends go every Saturday. Don’t you think?”
I give her a look. “I have no idea. But that would be really annoying if we spent the whole day spying and they never showed.”
Sunny nods. “So, what should we do now?”
“Let’s go make sure all the vitamins are in order. And then if everything looks okay, we’ll go get ice cream.”
PG01. My Life in Pink & Green Page 10
