Free earthgirl by Jennifer Cowan Page B

charity fundraisers.
    Yup, if Carmen and Ella were indicative of anything, it was the fickle yet shrewd and discriminating nature of my peeps. Of my entire generation. And the importance of working from the inside out.
    Thankfully, I was an insider. A long-time and most importantly beloved (if occasionally lovingly mocked) insider.
    â€œMaybe if we rattled some cages we’d care less about cars and driving,” I said, with what I hoped sounded like equal parts humor and wisdom.
    Ella elbowed Carmen and huffed a little laugh.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNothing,” Ella said, making it abundantly clear it was definitely something. “Carmee and me have a little wager that you’d do this, that’s all.”
    â€œYou keep hanging on to all this blah, blah, blah inconvenient truth stuff. We sat through those lectures, too. We’re fine with the Kyoto or fritchin’ Toyota protocols, but it’s not up to us, Sabine,” Carmen explained calmly. “We’re at the bottom of the food chain and if corporations and governments sit on their asses, me using a plastic fork won’t end the world.”
    â€œFine. Make fun of me, but slagging off personal responsibility lets them get away with their corruption. They’re accountable to us, you know. We live in a democracy.”
    â€œWe can’t even vote and we can barely drive,” Ella said bluntly.
    â€œAnd most of us don’t have jobs or pay taxes,” Carmen continued. “Trust me, it’s sweet of you to get all riled up, but no one in power gives a flyer.”
    â€œThey will,” I said confidently. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you guys a prezzie.” I reached into my backpack and grabbed the thoughtful new gifts. One for Carmen, one for Ella and one for me to signify friendship, solidarity and taking care of the planet.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Carmen asked, tangling and untangling her French manicured talons from the unbleached organic cotton mesh.
    â€œA stringbag,” I beamed. “From the co-op. They’re fair trade.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œTo keep in your purse or your pack, in case you buy something.”
    â€œIf I buy something, they give me a bag,” Carmen said, handing it back.
    I put my hand out to block her.
    â€œThis way they don’t have to,” I explained as Ella played with hers, stretching it, then springing it back to its contracted size like a kid.
    â€œYeah,” Carmen nodded. “Except they want to and I want them to.”
    â€œAnd you create more garbage.”
    â€œNo, I don’t. I use that Guess bag from when I got that silky top. I brought it to your house when I gave you my old CosmoGirls and Vogues. Okay, maybe not the Banana Republic bag, but it’s just a normal shopping-bag bag. Though the one from the Betsey Johnson store is cute.”
    â€œThat’s a really nice one,” Ella agreed.
    â€œYou guys don’t get it, do you?” I sighed.
    â€œWe get it,” Ella insisted. “You want to be Sabine the green, so we’re supposed to be excited. But we’re not. Sorry.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked, genuinely confused.
    â€œLook, we’ve been through this already and it sucks you got beaned with trash, but it’s not our fault the world is going to hell in a handbasket or a breadbasket or whatever,” Carmen shrugged. “And just to be clear, I’d rather have funand live and buy stuff than spend my time worrying and marching around whining.”
    â€œI’m not whining,” I said, hoping I wasn’t. “I just think this is important. It’s life or death.”
    â€œNo, you think it’ll impress the wild boy with the stupid name,” Carmen said. “And when you get over him, you’ll gravitate to the next thing. It’s no biggie. We all do it. You don’t actually think I like watching Darren’s basketball practice? Or sitting there