Second Skin Read Online Free Page A

and stood, wiping her hands on her navy sweatpants. "I'm green cleaning the house," she announced importantly. She grabbed one of the jugs and gave it a dramatic little shake. "Vinegar."
    "Neat," I said, completely unenthusiastic. I didn't ask for more information. Like it or not, I knew more was coming.
    "I've always hated the idea of showering the house with toxic commercial cleaners," my mother continued, as if she were being interviewed on the Today show. She pointed an accusing finger at a big crate in the corner stuffed with bottles of Windex and Comet. "All those chemicals are petroleum-based."
    I nodded, pretending to be intimately acquainted with the evils of petroleum and all its bases. The information was probably in one of the many articles my mother taped to my door on a daily basis with a "Sam-MUST read!!!" Post-it attached.
    It's not like I tossed the articles out or anything. I mean, I definitely intended to read them. One day. In the meantime, I kept them
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    stacked in my closet next to a box filled with my old Halloween costumes.
    "Philadelphia-well, the entire East Coast, actually-is just so behind the times," my mother said mournfully, placing her hands on her hips. "Did you know that San Francisco has entire cleaning crews that'll green your house for you?"
    In the interest of ending the ecolecture as quickly as possible, I tried to make a face that communicated my outrage at this coast's addiction to lemon Pledge.
    "It really is amazing what you can do with baking soda and a little vinegar," my mother marveled. "And it's incredibly cost-efficient too., I should've done this years ago."
    My mom's a part-time accountant for Greenpeace's Philly office. I guess Greenpeace is the sort of place where even the number crunchers are passionate about the cause.
    I never told either of my parents this, but sometimes I wished they had jobs that were just jobs, not causes. Gwen's dad was a dentist but he never lectured us about WaterPiks or railed against the perils of unflossed gums. And when he watched the news, that's all he did. Watched. He didn't shout things at the television or write angry letters to the anchors.
    It's a miracle that Katie Couric never took out a restraining order against my parents.
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    "So, wanna help me mix?" my mother asked brightly. "We can have a little green party down here."
    Oh god. Did my mom just say "green party"?
    She reached down and grabbed a felt bag with the words I Am Not a Plastic Bag stamped across the front. "And here are some pamphlets about the whole 'Go Green, Stay Clean' movement. I thought you'd want to take them to school. I'm sure the custodial staff would be really interested."
    I felt my stomach clench. For the record, I've never had anything against the environment. Or stuffing my house with I Am Not a Plastic Bag bags. I was even pretty sure that, once my sinuses cleared, I'd get used to living in a bottle of vinaigrette. But home and school are two very different ecosystems.
    I pointed at the offending felt. "I'm not taking that to school."
    "Of course not," my mother said, laughing as if I'd just told her the most hilarious joke. "I'll get you a smaller bag. This one's huge."
    I opened my mouth to protest, then realized the situation was hopeless. Not just because my mother was impossible to argue with, but because if I refused she'd probably just visit the school herself. And that would be way worse than, um, anything.
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    Couldn't I just be a closeted green person?
    I wondered if the felt bags could be ordered with personalized statements printed on them. Sam Klein Is a Hopeless Loser sounded just about right.
    "Forget it," I muttered. "Did I get any mail?"
    "Just another one of your vapid magazines," my mother said, disapproval dripping from her voice. "Elle or something?" She sighed. "I really wish you'd consider reading that was a little more...inspiring."
    "Elle is inspiring," I defended. "Every time I read, I'm inspired to buy a new pair of jeans