already started frantically searching through cabinets and drawers. I quickly join in, scouring the contents under the sink for something that resembles the picture in the brochure.
“Got it!” I hear Angie’s hoarse whisper come from above my head. I see her pull the familiar-looking white and purple plastic jar from the medicine cabinet and place it on the counter. She wastes no time uncapping the Tupperware container.
“Okay,” she whispers excitedly. “Let’s make the switch and get the heck out of here.”
The butterflies are now back and flitting happily around in my stomach as I remove the lid of the Myzaclin jar.
This is really happening!
I think to myself.
It’s actually going to work!
But when I look into the open jar, my breath suddenly catches in my throat, and my whole body turns cold.
Angie is standing poised next to me, plastic spoon in hand, prepared to scoop out the contents of the jar, wash it down the drain, and replace it with our improved concoction.
“Uh . . . Angie?” I manage to say weakly, without making eye contact. “There’s a
slight
problem.”
Angie cocks her head to the side and glares at me with an impatient look. “What?”
I hold out the open jar for her to look inside and see what I see. “It’s green,” I tell her apologetically.
Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “Green? What the . . .” Then she violently rips the jar from my hands and holds it closer to her face, tilting it at different angles. As if the light reflection might actually cause it to change color. But of course, it doesn’t.
“I don’t understand, how could it be green?”
she shrieks loudly. Much
too
loudly.
In a panic, I reach out and put my hand over her mouth. “Shhh!”
“I don’t understand,” she whines, much quieter. “All the pictures in the brochure show
white
cream!”
I take the jar from her and study it. Something immediately catches my eye, and I point toward a small line of text on the label. “Now with soothing cucumber extract,” I read aloud. “That’s probably where the green is coming from.”
Angie grabs it back from me once again and reads the label for herself. “Crap!” she yells softly. “This must be some new variation or something. What the heck are we supposed to do now? We can’t replace green face cream with white face cream!”
At this moment, it’s almost as if Angie and I have entered some kind of strange parallel role-reversal universe. Because for the first time in the history of our friendship, she’s the one who’s totally freaking out while I seem to be struck with an unusual air of calmness.
“Well,” I say with a deep breath. “I guess we’ll just have to find some green food coloring.”
Forty-five seconds later, Angie and I have hastily laid out a very rushed but seemingly feasible plan of action. When she rejoins Jade—who I’m sure is quickly running out of bogus questions to ask Heather’s mom in the kitchen—I listen quietly at the bathroom door for my cue.
After a few moments of muted small talk coming from the end of the hallway, I hear Angie say loudly (for my benefit), “Um, wait a minute. Jade, you forgot to ask Mrs. Campbell about her laundry detergent.”
There’s a short silence, in which Jade is most likely shooting Angie a puzzled look and Angie is probably trying desperately to convince her with her eyes to just go with it. I’m assuming it worked, because I soon hear Jade play along with “Oh, right. I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Do you mind if we visit the laundry room now?”
I duck my head out of the bathroom and see Mrs. Campbell,Jade, and Angie step into another room. Then Angie’s arm shoots back into the hallway as if it is no longer attached to her body and her hand motions quickly to me before closing the door behind her.
I dart quietly into the kitchen and immediately start opening cabinets around the oven, next to the sink, and over the dishwasher. It
“Got it!” I hear Angie’s hoarse whisper come from above my head. I see her pull the familiar-looking white and purple plastic jar from the medicine cabinet and place it on the counter. She wastes no time uncapping the Tupperware container.
“Okay,” she whispers excitedly. “Let’s make the switch and get the heck out of here.”
The butterflies are now back and flitting happily around in my stomach as I remove the lid of the Myzaclin jar.
This is really happening!
I think to myself.
It’s actually going to work!
But when I look into the open jar, my breath suddenly catches in my throat, and my whole body turns cold.
Angie is standing poised next to me, plastic spoon in hand, prepared to scoop out the contents of the jar, wash it down the drain, and replace it with our improved concoction.
“Uh . . . Angie?” I manage to say weakly, without making eye contact. “There’s a
slight
problem.”
Angie cocks her head to the side and glares at me with an impatient look. “What?”
I hold out the open jar for her to look inside and see what I see. “It’s green,” I tell her apologetically.
Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “Green? What the . . .” Then she violently rips the jar from my hands and holds it closer to her face, tilting it at different angles. As if the light reflection might actually cause it to change color. But of course, it doesn’t.
“I don’t understand, how could it be green?”
she shrieks loudly. Much
too
loudly.
In a panic, I reach out and put my hand over her mouth. “Shhh!”
“I don’t understand,” she whines, much quieter. “All the pictures in the brochure show
white
cream!”
I take the jar from her and study it. Something immediately catches my eye, and I point toward a small line of text on the label. “Now with soothing cucumber extract,” I read aloud. “That’s probably where the green is coming from.”
Angie grabs it back from me once again and reads the label for herself. “Crap!” she yells softly. “This must be some new variation or something. What the heck are we supposed to do now? We can’t replace green face cream with white face cream!”
At this moment, it’s almost as if Angie and I have entered some kind of strange parallel role-reversal universe. Because for the first time in the history of our friendship, she’s the one who’s totally freaking out while I seem to be struck with an unusual air of calmness.
“Well,” I say with a deep breath. “I guess we’ll just have to find some green food coloring.”
Forty-five seconds later, Angie and I have hastily laid out a very rushed but seemingly feasible plan of action. When she rejoins Jade—who I’m sure is quickly running out of bogus questions to ask Heather’s mom in the kitchen—I listen quietly at the bathroom door for my cue.
After a few moments of muted small talk coming from the end of the hallway, I hear Angie say loudly (for my benefit), “Um, wait a minute. Jade, you forgot to ask Mrs. Campbell about her laundry detergent.”
There’s a short silence, in which Jade is most likely shooting Angie a puzzled look and Angie is probably trying desperately to convince her with her eyes to just go with it. I’m assuming it worked, because I soon hear Jade play along with “Oh, right. I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Do you mind if we visit the laundry room now?”
I duck my head out of the bathroom and see Mrs. Campbell,Jade, and Angie step into another room. Then Angie’s arm shoots back into the hallway as if it is no longer attached to her body and her hand motions quickly to me before closing the door behind her.
I dart quietly into the kitchen and immediately start opening cabinets around the oven, next to the sink, and over the dishwasher. It