The Fresh New Face of Griselda

by Jennifer Torres

  “But you’re an adult. That counts. They’ll never know.”

  “And you’re not twelve.”

  “But I will be by the deadline.”

  “Do you have any idea how freaked out Mom would be if she found out?”

  “That’s why we won’t tell her. That’s why I need you to sign it.”

  Maribel shakes her head. “You’re at school all day. When, exactly, did you plan to sell”—she pauses and glances down—“five hundred tubes of lip gloss?”

  I grab her elbow. “That’s it. That’s the point. I’m going to sell it at school.”

  I explain to her about Kennedy and how I sold my first lip gloss almost without even trying. How Ava would have bought one, too, if I had more. How if girls like Kennedy and Ava are wearing Alma lip gloss, everyone will want to buy some.

  Maribel doesn’t say anything. She just scrunches her eyes at me as if she’s trying to see things clearly but can’t quite pull it all into focus. So I keep talking.

  “I’ll split the profits with you, fifty-fifty. You’ll make extra money without even trying.”

  That gets her attention. “How much did you say that girl paid for the lip gloss?”

  “Four dollars.”

  Maribel groans. “Oh, Geez. Come on.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not enough.” She drums her fingers on the desk, then pulls up the calculator on her phone and starts punching.

  “The lip gloss retails for eight dollars,” she says, but not exactly to me. “Alma associates buy everything at fifty percent off, so there’s normally a four-dollar profit on each tube. We could drop the price to five or six dollars and still come out ahead. Seven would be better.” Tap, tap, tap. “But that’s probably too expensive for a bunch of schoolkids.”

  Maribel sets her phone down. “How much does lunch cost? If you pay with cash, I mean.”

  “Depends. Three or four dollars, I guess?”

  “And how much does Mom give you?”

  I look down at my shoes and don’t answer.

  “Geez, you know what I mean. How much did Mom used to give you? Or, like, in general, how much money do kids usually get for lunch?”

  “Mom always gave me five dollars, if I was buying that day.”

  “And I bet she never asked you for change back?”

  “No,” I admit. I always felt a little guilty about keeping Mom’s money, but change from lunch was how I paid for teacups when I went to the thrift store with Nana, or packs of marigolds and snapdragons when Dad took me along to the nursery.

  “So, say you saved the change every day. You’d have enough to spend six dollars a week on lip gloss, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  Maribel starts stacking lip gloss boxes again. “Fine. I’ll give you fifty cents a tube.”

  “No way, a dollar.” Even if I don’t win the contest, five hundred tubes of lip gloss means five hundred dollars; that’s enough to buy a costume for the Living History Museum project, at least, and maybe even help Dad with the truck repairs.

  “I’m taking all the risk.”

  “And I’m doing all the work.” Arguing with Maribel is almost always hopeless, but I’ve made it this far, and I can tell she’s at least a little interested.

  She takes back the entry form. “Say I do this for you. It says here you also need to send in forty dollars for your starter kit of Fairytale Collection lip gloss. Do you even have forty dollars?”

  “Not exactly, but…” I kneel down, reach under my bed, and pull out the box of teacups. “I have these. They’re antiques. I thought if I sold some of them…”

  The thing is, I don’t know which ones yet. I hate to give up any of them. But it’s worth it, I tell myself. It’s the only thing I can do to help us find our way back to normal.

  Maribel looks at the box and then quickly away again. Her mouth tightens. After a long pause, she says, “Better idea: I loan you the forty dollars, and all the profits are mine until it’s paid off. Deal?”

  My fingers twitch as I work out the math in the air. Selling the lip gloss for six dollars each leaves a two-dollar profit. Forty dollars divided by two is…

  “Twenty tubes, and I’ve paid you back.” I jump up and wrap my arms around Maribel’s neck. “Deal!”

  “Geez, relax.” She lifts my arms off her neck and gives me her hand to shake instead. Then she counts out ten boxes of lip gloss. “Let’s see how long it takes you to sell these.”

  I turn them over to check the colors. “Do you have any more Once Upon a Time? That’s the one Ava wants—the same as Kennedy.”

  “Free piece of business advice: She’ll want it even more if she can’t have it. Trust me.”

  What choice do I have? I take the boxes and zip them inside my backpack, hoping Maribel is right.

  The sky is inky dark behind Mom’s old lavender curtains. The day is almost over, but in some ways it feels like a beginning. Full of possibility, like a first day is supposed to be. I fall asleep looking at my Lady Bird Johnson teacup, wondering what shade of lipstick she used to wear.

  CHAPTER NINE

  You have to have confidence in your ability, and then be tough enough to follow through.

  —ROSALYNN CARTER

  The next day at lunch, just like she promised, Sophia finds me in the cafeteria line. I feel a tug on my backpack straps and stumble backward. “Guess who?” she says, and giggles.

  Sophia has brought her lunch from home in a pink-and-blue-plaid bag with her initials stitched on top in gold.

  “Logan’s already out there, saving us seats. Why don’t you go find him while I get my food?” I suggest. Even though Logan showed me that no one can tell the difference, I’m still worried Sophia will find out how I’m paying for my lunch—that she’ll find out I’m not actually paying for it, I mean.

  “That’s okay. I’ll keep you company.”

  “But the line’s really long. Don’t you want to start eating?”

  “It’s moving fast.”

  She probably won’t even notice, I tell myself. And so what if she does? She’s my friend. I should just tell her anyway. I put a slice of cheese pizza, a cup of diced peaches, a box of apple juice, and an oatmeal cookie on my tray.

  We inch closer to the cashier. Sophia is describing the new glasses she picked out yesterday, but I’m having trouble paying attention to anything besides the bleeping noise the register makes as each student steps forward to pay.

  Bleep.

  “Thank you.”

  Bleep.

  “Thank you.”

  We take another two steps closer. The sudden squeak of a sneaker against the tile floor startles me, and I almost drop my tray.

  “Whoa, are you okay?” Sophia takes a step backward.

  That’s it. I drop back in line and return everything but the peaches.

  “I’m not actually that hungry after all,” I mumble. I still have the four dollars Kennedy paid me yesterday. I had wanted to save it, but I can spend a little on lunch.

  “Seriously? That’s all you’re getting?” Sophia looks doubtfully at the cup of peaches. “I feel like I could eat ten of those.”

  “Big breakfast.”

  “Coach says never skip breakfast, but she also says never eat a heavy meal before getting in the pool, so now that we have practice at six a.m. every morning, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  Sophia keeps talking as I pay the cashier then lead us to the table where Logan has already unpacked his brown paper lunch bag and is peeling wisps of mozzarella off a stick of string cheese. Just over his shoulder I spot Kennedy and Ava at the table behind ours. I reach around to pat the bottom of my backpack where ten tubes of lip gloss are stashed. I’ve made up my mind to sell three tubes before the school day ends.

  That’s it. Just three.

  “I can do this,” I murmur, too quietly for anyone else to hear. Kennedy and Ava are my best hope.

  Sophia sits down and rips open the Velcro top o
f her lunch bag.

  “Where’s the rest of your food?” Logan asks when I sit down next to him with my peaches.

  “Not hungry.”

  He shakes his head. “No one will notice,” he says. “Or care.”

  I shoot him a pleading look, but fortunately, Sophia doesn’t know what he means.

  “He’s right. You have to eat more than that.” She takes a bag filled with almonds and dried cranberries out of her lunch sack. Next comes half a bagel smeared with peanut butter. Then a hard-boiled egg, a bunch of green grapes, and a plastic container full of bow-tie pasta noodles without any sauce. “Here. Take this.”

  She drops the bagel in front of me. I’m so relieved and so hungry, I tear open the plastic wrapping and take an enormous bite. But the dough is so dense, and the peanut butter is so pasty, I can barely move my jaw enough to chew it.

  Sophia studies my face as I struggle to swallow. “Sorry. You’re gonna want something to wash that down. It’s homemade, from this all-natural recipe book my mom’s trying out. I probably should’ve warned you.”

  Logan slides his water bottle across the table. I gulp down half of it, then give the bagel back to Sophia.

  I know I could have gotten my own lunch, and I know it isn’t Sophia’s fault that I didn’t. But it doesn’t seem fair somehow that she still has homemade peanut butter and a lunch bag with her initials embroidered on top. That she’s acting as if nothing has changed. That for her nothing has.

  I take one more sip of Logan’s water to rinse away the bitter taste in my throat. “Thanks, anyway, Sophia. But I’m not that hungry. Really.”

  She tears off a piece of the bagel, pops it into her mouth, and chews. And chews, and chews, until she reaches for her own water bottle. “Whoa. Yeah, you’d have to be real hungry to choke that down. I wish my mom would let me buy lunch. You’re so lucky.” She takes the lid off her pasta, spears two bow-ties with her fork, then looks up at us. “So, did you hear they’re trying to start up the chess club again? Are you gonna join? It’s after school—I’ll sign up if you do.”

  “How much does it cost?” Logan asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’d rather go to the library after school. Do you wanna know what Lafayette sent George Washington as a present? Dogs. Seven of them, all the way from France.”

  Sophia slumps. “We still haven’t picked names yet,” she complains. “How about you, Geez—have you learned anything new about that Lady Bug person?”

  “Hmm?” I’m trying to keep up with the conversation, but Kennedy and Ava look like they’re almost finished eating, and I don’t want to miss my chance. “Lady Bird, you mean?” I sit up higher on the bench and stretch my neck to try to see what Kennedy is doing. As she wads up her napkin, I pick up my backpack. “Be right back, you guys.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” Sophia says, putting down her pasta. “The student store’s open during lunch. I thought we could go look before the bell rings.”

  I nod without looking back.

  A step away from Kennedy’s table, I stop. I square my shoulders the way I’ve seen Maribel do a million times. I breathe in through my nose, count to three, then breathe out through my mouth the way Mom is always saying I should to help settle my nerves. I step forward.

  “Hi.”

  Kennedy and Ava don’t notice me. Neither do any of their friends. I clear my throat, partly to get their attention and partly to cough out the wobble in my voice. No one looks up.

  I’m about to turn around and go back to my table. I can try again after school, I decide. But then, in the very back of my mind, I hear Maribel. Her toe tapping on the cold bathroom tile. Her fist pounding on a closed door. Oh, Geez.

  The fresh new face of Alma Cosmetics cannot just stand here shaking like a mouse.

  I take another breath. “Um… hey!” I say finally, even louder than I mean to. The whole table stops talking.

  Ava looks at me, then back at her friends, as if one of them might know why I’m standing there. When no one explains, she answers, “Uh, hey, Geez. What’s up?”

  “Hey,” I repeat, not sure what to say next. I don’t know what made me think this would be so easy. I should have practiced, or at least planned, what I was going to say. The whole table is still looking at me, and my cheeks feel as if they’re turning as red as the lipstick in my backpack.

  “So?”

  “So. Um, I talked to my sister about that lip gloss you wanted?”

  Am I asking her, or am I telling her?

  Ava leans in closer to me. “Oh, yeah? Did you bring it?” Kennedy, who had started talking to the girl next to her again, stops and leans in, too.

  I look from one to the other. “Uh… no. Unfortunately, Once Upon a Time is sold out right now.”

  “Oh.” Ava starts to turn away. “Thanks, anyway.”

  “Wait!”

  She looks up at me again. I unzip my backpack and pull out a handful of lip glosses.

  “I don’t have Once Upon a Time, but I do have these other colors.”

  Ava moves aside her lunch, and I arrange the makeup boxes on the table. “Here,” I say, picking one out. “This would look great on you.” It’s called Poison Apple. I shake the tube out of the box and offer it to Ava.

  It’s a deep brownish-red, like an old brick fireplace. Ava looks at it for a long time. “I like it,” she says after a while. “But it’s too dark. My parents would never let me wear this.”

  Kennedy reaches for it. “Here, let me see.”

  I give Poison Apple to Kennedy and open another box for Ava. This time it’s Glass Slipper: the palest pink, with a faint pearly shimmer.

  “I bet they won’t even notice you’re wearing this one.”

  As Ava examines the tube of Glass Slipper lip gloss, Taylor and Hannah Sanchez reach over her, each grabbing one of the other boxes. I remember what Maribel said at Belleza, about customers loving to try things on.

  “Um, you can go ahead and test it? If you want?” I suggest. “I mean, you should go ahead and test it. Do you want me to open them?”

  Kennedy doesn’t wait for my help. She twists off the top of her tube and swipes a layer of Poison Apple over her lips. “What do you think?” she asks Ava.

  “Super dramatic.”

  “It’s four dollars, right?” Kennedy asks me.

  “Actually, it’s six.” I bite my lower lip. Maybe six is too high. “Yesterday was like a… a special.”

  She frowns, then shrugs. “Let me get my wallet.”

  Ava already has hers out.

  “Can I borrow a dollar?” Taylor asks Hannah. “I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” Hannah pulls seven dollar bills out of a pouch in her binder. She hands one to Taylor and six to me in exchange for True Love’s Kiss.

  I can’t help smiling as I walk back to my table with twenty-four dollars in my pocket and only six glosses left in my bag.

  Logan is still there. One of his library books is open on the table, and he’s showing Patrick Garcia a picture of a rattlesnake eating a squirrel.

  “Where’d Sophia go?”

  “Student store.” Logan points.

  Sophia is with Daisy Della Santo, a girl from her swim team, on the other side of the cafeteria where the student store is set up. Sophia tugs at the ends of her hair as if she’s still not used to how short it is. A pink-and-orange friendship bracelet is knotted around her wrist. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. We made dozens of them one weekend last winter when it was too rainy to go outside. Then we gave them to our classmates as valentines.

  I rub my own wrist where I used to wear a matching one, but nothing’s there. The bracelet isn’t lost the way our house is—it’s still mine—but it’s gone just the same, misplaced somewhere with everything else I had to pack up and put away.

  When school gets out that afternoon, I find Sophia in the hallway. I feel bad that we haven’t exactly caught up, and that I sort of ditched her in the cafeteria, even if it was for a good reason.

>   “Find anything in the student store?”

  “Got a couple of folders. And something for you, too.” She gives me a pencil, dark blue with the name of our school printed down the side in white letters.

  “What for?”

  “I just thought you’d like it. It changes color when you hold it. Try it.”

  I take the pencil and squeeze. Blue turns to green, then to red, under my warm fingertips. “Thanks,” I say, wishing I had something to give her in return.

  We walk outside together, but before we can get very far, two seventh graders step in our way.

  “Ava said you’re selling lip gloss?”

  “Huh?” Sophia tilts her head and pushes her glasses up higher on her nose.

  I take a step forward, almost in front of her. “Um, yeah. That’s right.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds.

  “Well, do you have any more?”

  I swing my backpack off my shoulder. “Oh! Yes, I do, actually.”

  Sophia whispers, “See you later,” walking away as I fumble for the boxes.

  Lifting my head to tell her goodbye, I notice Grandpa’s gold sedan pull over at the corner. I can hear the engine rumbling from across the street. Maribel leaves it running as she holds an arm out the window and waves me over. I wave back, then turn to the seventh graders.

  “There’s only a few left,” I tell them, holding two of the last boxes in my fist. “This one is Waltz With Me, and this one is Fairest in the Land.”

  They snatch away the boxes hungrily.

  Honk. Honk.

  It’s coming from Grandpa’s car. Maribel is waving again. I point at the girls. “Just a minute,” I call out.

  “Geez!” she yells back out the window.

  I reach into my bag again to fish out another box.

  “And this one is called Enchanted Castle. It’s really sparkly?”

  The horn blares again. This time when I look over, Maribel is standing outside the car with her hands on her hips. She reaches inside the window.

  Honk. Honk. Honk.

  “Okay, okay, I heard you.” I take all the makeup back.

  “Hey!”