Pink & Green is the New Black (24 page)

“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 deserves 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.”

“Okay. Well, summer is still a while away.” I pause for a second. It's hard to take him seriously with the green and brown blobs all over his face. “I'll think about it.”

The song ends and we pull apart, and Travis says, “See ya, Lucy,” as if he's leaving the dance for good.

I stand there, watching him walk away, wondering why I
can't just like him. But I can't. You can't force yourself to like someone. It just doesn't work that way.

“Did you see? Did you see?” Zoe asks, all out of breath, falling into me.

“No! What? Tell!”

“You didn't see Gavin and me dancing? For real?”

“Sorry,” I say. “Was it awesome?”

“Yes, beyond.” She smiles, still out of breath. “I hope there are more slow songs coming up.”

“That's great, Zo.” I high-five her. “I'm really happy for you.”

It feels good to be happy for someone else even when you're not all-around happy in the same category yourself. Like, she has a boy that she likes that probably likes her, and even though I don't have that, I'm excited for her.

That's what being a true friend is all about, I think. That's what Erica still needs to work on. But maybe she's the kind of person who won't ever realize that. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

The Masquerade continues. There are more slow dances, but Travis doesn't ask me again. No one else does either. It's okay, though. Erica and I sway together during one. And then I do a little group dance with the AGE girls during another.

I go over to the medicine bottle table and check out the
anonymous advice seekers. I shake the bottles a little so I can see the answers.

Someone wrote: How can I be more outgoing? And someone else answered: Smile and try to say hi to one new person each day.

Good advice.

Another person wrote: Any idea how I can get my parents to understand me?