PG03. Pink & Green is the New Black

by Lisa Greenwald

  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.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Greenwald, Lisa.

  Pink & green is the new black / Lisa Greenwald.

  pages cm. — (Pink & green ; book 3)

  ISBN 978-1-4197-1225-8 (hardback) — ISBN 978-1-61312-700-1 (ebook)

  [1. Middle schools—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction. 3. Cosmetics—Fiction. 4. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Pink and green is the new black.

  PZ7.G85199Pi 2014

  [Fic]—dc23

  2014011249

  Text copyright © 2014 Lisa Greenwald

  Title page illustrations copyright © 2014 Jonathan Beckerman

  Book design by Jessie Gang

  Published in 2014 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. 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 and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  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 specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

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  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:

  Reach out to people for help when you need it.

  My dad and I are sitting on the rocking chairs on the front porch drinking hot chocolate. It’s freezing outside, but sometimes you need fresh air, even in January.

  “Are you sure this is instant hot chocolate?” my dad asks. “It tastes like gourmet, like the homemade kind they have at 384 Sprinkles.”

  I know he’s just saying this to be nice. It’s nothing fancy, just the powdered kind, but to me it’s delicious. My dad doesn’t live with us, but he’s close enough that he’s able to stop by pretty much every other day. It’s so much better than when he lived in London. Every visit with my dad needed careful planning and of course involved plane tickets and school breaks and passports. Now we can have hot chocolate in the middle of the week, whenever we feel like it, without really even having to plan. It’s pretty great.

  “Are you okay, Luce? You seem quiet.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Once you start telling people you’re fine and that nothing is wrong, it’s hard to go back and say that there is actually something bothering you. I’ve gotten so used to saying everything is fine that it just kind of comes out of my mouth now. A tiny part of me even believes it.

  And the thing is, so many parts of my life really are great. Our family’s eco-spa is up and running, and business is booming. Grandma is so happy about that, and Mom is too. They barely fight these days. Dad lives close by and I see him all the time. Sunny and I are BFFs like always, and in a way it seems like we’ve gotten even closer. All my efforts at the pharmacy and on the grant totally paid off, and my work with Earth Club has been going well too. The school board vote on approving a green cafeteria is tomorrow night.

  But even when so many things are going well, there can still be lingering frustrating parts to life. And sometimes, even if you don’t talk about them, those things take over.

  “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?” my dad asks, finishing the last few sips of hot chocolate.

  I nod again but don’t say anything. It’s not like something is seriously wrong—not like I’m failing out of school or I robbed a bank or anything. If things were really bad, I could talk about it. At least I think I could. But right now all my thoughts are jumbled like a word search. It’s hard to express your feelings when you’re not even sure how you feel.

  Our hands are about to freeze, so we head inside and put our mugs in the dishwasher. Grandma is making her famous chicken potpie for dinner, and Mom is closing up at the pharmacy.

  “You staying for dinner, Sam?” Grandma asks from the stove.

  “Um, sure, I’d love to.”

  I’m grateful for the little things like this.

  “Grandma, don’t forget that tomorrow is my big meeting with the school board,” I tell her. “So I won’t be home for dinner.”

  My grandma is a big believer in the whole family-eating-together thing. Claudia’s back at school, so it’s just the three of us again. Except when Dad stays for dinner, and then it’s the four of us.

  “Got it, Lucy. You all set for that?” She finally turns around and faces me. “Any last-minute preparations?”

  “I don’t think so.” I pop a grape in my mouth. “We’ve been ready for ages, since we were supposed to have the meeting in October. Waiting for the school board to put it back on the agenda after the hurricane hasn’t fazed us at all.”

  “She talks like an adult, doesn’t she, Sam?” My grandma laughs. “Thirteen going on forty-five.”

  I want to tell her that there’s an actual movie called 13 Going on 30, but I don’t because I get what she’s saying. Most kids wouldn’t really care that much about a school board meeting, but I’ve been working on making the cafeteria green since last year. It may actually happen soon. Fingers crossed.

  My dad has to make a few calls for work, and Grandma is busy finishing dinner. My homework is done, so I go upstairs to check my e-mail.

  But as soon as I sign in, I see that there’s nothing new. I had hoped that Yamir would get in touch, but both my phone and e-mail are just as I left them this morning.

  I can’t be the one to contact him again. It just makes me feel stupid. But sitting here thinking all of this makes me feel stupid too.

  The one good thing is that Yamir is my best friend’s brother, so I can always call their house, looking for Sunny—but really hoping Yamir picks up the phone. The only problem is that I rarely call their home phone anymore, now that we all have cell phones. I wonder why anyone even bothers having a landline.

  “I tried your cell but it went straight to voice mail,” I say to Sunny after she answers. I’m totally lying and she probably knows it, but that’s the thing about best friends—sometimes it’s okay to tell a little lie.

  “Oh, my battery’s probably dead again,” she says. “What’s up?”

  I listen very carefully to see if I can hear Yamir in the background. If he’s home and didn’t e-mail or text, that will be even more upsetting. But it sounds like he’s st
ill out, at basketball practice maybe.

  “Oh, nothing. Just bored. Did you understand the math homework?” As I talk, I keep refreshing my e-mail in-box. But still nothing.

  “Kind of. Those word problems are always hard,” she says. “But Mrs. O’Rourke never minds explaining it the next day if we’re confused.”

  It seems like Sunny’s home alone, because it’s silent in her house. “So, what are you doing now?”

  “Just sitting around. My dad has a meeting tonight, so my mom said we were going out for Mexican food, but now it’s snowing again.”

  “It is?” I ask, even though I can easily turn my head and look out the window. “Oh, weird.”

  Please say where Yamir is. Please say where Yamir is. I don’t want to have to ask. I wish Sunny would know that I need this information. She is my best friend, after all.

  “Just you and your mom are going out for dinner?” I know I’m being obvious, but I don’t even care. It’s gotten to that point.

  “Well, Yamir was supposed to come, but I think he went to some kid’s house after basketball, and I’m not sure when he’s getting back.” She groans. “Anyway, what’s new with you?”

  “Nada. Just trying to make sure everything is done before tomorrow’s meeting. Did Mrs. Deleccio tell you when we’re going up to speak?”

  “Lucy, you were at the same meeting I was, and she said she doesn’t know the order yet,” Sunny tells me, like I’m totally out of it. “Are you okay? You seem all weird.”

  If both Sunny and my dad are asking if I’m okay, I guess I need to work on my acting skills. I don’t want to be the girl who’s all consumed over a guy. It’s embarrassing, especially because I don’t even know if there’s really anything to be upset about.

  It’s just that it seemed like things were great and then one day they weren’t. I guess the change didn’t happen over a single day, more like over time. It’s hard to say when, exactly. But after a while, I realized something was wrong.

  So of course I’m going to feel confused. And now all I can think about is making it all great again. I can’t accept that this weird, not-knowing feeling is just the way things are now.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just nervous about the meeting.”

  Sunny laughs. “Lucy! Come on, you’ll be fine. I’m sure they already okayed the whole thing and are just making us speak to impress all the parents.” She pauses for a second, and I listen extra hard for Yamir. “They’re not going to say no to a green cafeteria. It’s the right thing to do. Especially after all the work we put into it.”

  “You’re right,” I say, because I don’t really feel like talking about this anymore. “Anyway, I gotta go set the table. Enjoy your Mexican food. Pancho’s or Enchiladas?”

  “Pancho’s, I think,” Sunny says. “My mom thinks it’s soooo much better, even though she only eats cheese quesadillas.”

  I laugh. Her mom really isn’t an adventurous eater.

  “I gotta go, Luce. My mom is calling me. Smooches.”

  She hangs up, and I realize I don’t have any more information than I had before I called.

  Why is Yamir ignoring me?

  I think his ignoring me means something more than just being busy. Something way worse.

  Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:

  It’s okay to change your mind about things.

  Yamir doesn’t call or text or anything to wish me good luck before the school board meeting. Maybe I shouldn’t expect him to. I mean, he’s in high school now, and the Old Mill Middle School Earth Club isn’t part of his life anymore. But still, it would have been nice.

  I’m sick of feeling like this, though—always wondering when I will hear from him. And besides, I have too many awesome things to focus on.

  On my way into school, I decide to have a new outlook: I’m not going to stress over boys anymore. It’s my last semester of middle school, and I need to make it the absolute best it can be. I’ll never be here, in this place, with these people again. I need to make it count.

  I need to make it perfect.

  “Hey, Luce,” Annabelle Wilson says. She’s at her locker, reorganizing for the millionth time. She must have the neatest locker in the whole school. “Ready for tonight? I even brought a new dress to wear, in case we don’t have time to go home and change.”

  “That was such a good idea. I guess I’ll just have my mom or grandma bring over a dress.” I close my locker and sit down on the floor for a few minutes before the first bell rings.

  “Can you believe the meeting is tonight?” Annabelle asks.

  “Not really. But kind of. If that makes any sense.” What I really can’t believe is that Annabelle and I are friends now. In seventh grade we just worked together in Earth Club. And then last summer she took Bevin under her wing. But since the beginning of the year, we’ve actually become friends. I’ve even been to her house a few times. She’s a kiss-up, but I don’t mind it as much anymore. Sometimes she can be fun.

  “We’re going to be awesome.” Annabelle high-fives me. “See you at Earth Club later.”

  Even though Annabelle and I are both in honors classes, we’re in different sections, so we never see each other throughout the day. Maybe that’s why it’s easy for us to be friends. We have so much to talk about when we do see each other. I guess I can look at the Yamir situation that way too. We may not be seeing much of each other, but that means we should have tons to talk about, different experiences to share.

  Only we can’t share them, since he never calls! It’s maddening.

  Also, I think it’s different with a boyfriend. I think you’re supposed to hang out a lot. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. Sunny and Evan hang out all the time. Same with my sister, Claudia, and her boyfriend, Bean. If you’re in a relationship, you should spend time together. That’s just the way it is. Otherwise what’s the point of being in the relationship?

  Sunny runs into school four seconds before the first bell rings. She’s out of breath and she’s rolling her bag on the floor instead of carrying it over her shoulder. It’s the kind of backpack that can be carried both ways.

  I’m putting some finishing touches on my “school day” makeup application, using the magnetic pink mirror that I keep inside my locker. I’m not really allowed to wear a lot of makeup to school, but I always do a quick mineral powder spread to make sure my skin looks even, a drop of pale pink eye shadow, and some clear lip gloss.

  It helps me feel ready for the day. More awake. More put together.

  And when I’ve had a stressful morning, a quick makeup application relaxes me. It helps me to slow down and focus.

  “Mrs. O’Rourke is going to kill me. Again.” Sunny throws a few textbooks on the top shelf of her locker and slams the door. “I’m always late to her class.”

  “She does hate tardiness,” I say, which I realize isn’t helpful after I say it. “And I do too. I have a stomachache just thinking about it. Come on.”

  “Calm down,” Sunny says, rolling her eyes. She straightens out her sweater. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “Why are you late?” I ask. I know that’s probably not a question Sunny wants to answer, but best friends want to know everything.

  “Well, I overslept. Yamir took seventeen years in the bathroom, and then I had to shower. I burnt my toast, and my dad was on a business call when he was supposed to drive me.” She takes a banana out of her bag. “And now I’m starving, so I’m eating in the hallway and I don’t even care.”

  There’s a “no eating except in the cafeteria” rule, but no one really follows it, especially the eighth graders. We’re pretty good at sneaking food with no one seeing.

  “Sounds like a hectic morning,” I say. We get to Mrs. O’Rourke’s math class with a minute to spare and take our seats. Georgina and Eve are already working on the Problem of the Day like they’re going to win a prize for figuring it out first. Annabelle has turned them into overachievers. They’re not quite at he
r level yet, but they’re getting close.

  I try to pay attention in class, but all I can think about is tonight’s meeting. Every time the Yamir thing pops into my thoughts, I force myself to focus on the meeting instead. I have much more control over the meeting. I’ve done the prep work and I know what I’m going to say. I can do my best to bring about the outcome I want.

  With Yamir, it’s not like that at all. It sometimes seems like there’s nothing I can do to make it the way I want it to be. And it’s messing up my plan to have a perfect end to middle school.

  At lunch, everyone is already at our table when I get there. I put down my bag and go to wait in the salad bar line.

  Most people don’t spend so much time thinking about their school cafeteria. But it’s been on my mind so much these past few years that it’s become a major part of my life. I see the plastic trays and imagine the biodegradable ones I found from the supplier. I see the plastic utensils and imagine switching to reusable metal ones. It’s a great idea. The school board has to say yes.

  When I get back to the table, it’s clear that everyone has been whispering about me. I don’t think there’s anything more awkward than that. I never know if I should pretend I don’t notice or just ask them what they were saying. I decide to sit there and put the ranch dressing on my salad, sip my iced tea, and stay quiet. These are my friends, so they probably weren’t saying anything bad.

  But they keep staring at me as I chew a cucumber, and then it starts to get really weird.

  “What?” I laugh. “Do I have a stain on my shirt or something?”

  “No.” Eve shakes her head. “Nothing like that. I was just saying how lucky you are that you have an actual, real boyfriend who is in high school.”

  Eve is definitely the most boy-crazy one at the table. She thinks everything should be the way it is in movies. She steals romance novels from her mom’s bookshelf and loves to hear stories about how people propose and get engaged. It’s kind of her hobby.

  My cheeks get hot and I look at Sunny. She lives with Yamir—she has to know the truth, that my boyfriend isn’t so much of a boyfriend anymore. I barely even see him. But she stays quiet, smiles and nods, and takes a bite out of her turkey wrap.