Pink & Green is the New Black by Lisa Greenwald Page A

strangest sushi-eating experience of my life. And that includes one time when I’m pretty sure my dad ate a live fish.

Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:
    Have faith that things will eventually work out.
    My good feelings about Yamir coming to Sushi of Gari—proof that he was thinking about me—pretty much evaporated after he didn’t say good-bye. And he still hasn’t replied to my e-mail.
    Eighth grade keeps getting stranger and stranger. It feels like the time we took the high-speed ferry to Block Island for vacation. The boat wobbled and swayed so much before it even started out.
    Right now I’m in the wobbly phase, and I have a feeling that most of what’s going to happen hasn’t even started yet.
    I’m not sure why I was so confident that I could make this the best semester yet. I was so sure of it, and it didn’t seem that hard to accomplish. But with each day that passes, I seem to get further and further away from the possibility of perfection.
    Take right now, for example. Erica Crane and Zoe Feldmanare sitting at our lunch table. Not just stopping by, or kicking a chair as they pass, or knocking over a milk container.
    They’re actually sitting here, eating their lunches.
    Erica has some kind of fancy mozzarella and tomato salad from Antonio’s Italian Deli downtown. And Zoe’s eating a bagel with cream cheese.
    â€œSo, I heard a rumor about you, Lucy, and I think I might need you to help me,” Zoe says between bites.
    â€œYeah?” I ask. Zoe doesn’t make me as nervous as Erica does, but she still makes me a little nervous. I’m scared she’ll ask me something really personal in front of everyone at the table, like how many boys I’ve kissed or something. I don’t completely trust her.
    â€œSo, everyone is talking about how Travis likes you,” she starts.
    â€œThey are?” I exclaim. That can’t be good. I mean, it’s flattering and everything. But technically I still have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who I really like—even though he’s a total jerk.
    Erica gives me a look that seems to say I’ve been living on another planet.
    â€œYeah. I mean, everyone knows,” Zoe says.
    â€œOh. Um. Okay.”
    â€œWait until Yami-pajami finds out,” Erica sings, like she’s happy about this news.
    I ignore her. “So, what do you need my help with?” I ask Zoe.
    â€œI like Gavin.” Zoe sounds confident and proud of herself somehow. “I want to go to the Masquerade with him.”
    â€œI don’t really know Gavin,” I say.
    â€œRight. But we’ll get to know him. Together.” Zoe wipes the cream cheese off her hands and puts an arm around me. “And then can you teach me that amazing eyeliner trick that Erica’s told me about.”
    I nod. I don’t understand what is happening here. Zoe needing my help. A boy telling the whole class he likes me.
    â€œI think I have an idea for you,” I tell Zoe. “Come with me after lunch, and I’ll explain.”
    People always tell me that I worry about grown-up problems: saving the pharmacy, getting the grant, helping the ecospa get off the ground. And that’s true—I do worry about grown-up problems, and I find a way to solve them.
    But now I have real thirteen-year-old problems to worry about. And I have no idea how to handle any of them.
    I get home from school and find two e-mails from Clint’s dad. I don’t know if it’s funny or pathetic, but I get more e-mails from him than I do from boys my own age.
    He’s reminding me to send him the list of the vendors weresearched, so he can make sure they’re all approved by the food services director. Easy enough.
    I look through the rest of my e-mails and realize that Claudia hasn’t written me back. Neither has Bean. That’s so unlike them. Maybe they’re busy. But with what? First-semester finals are over.
    I