Mia the Melodramatic (19 page)

Eric peered out at the audience, and then turned back to me. “Yeah, it’s Stephanie Rasco.”

“Forget about Stephanie,” Henry said. “Who’s that cinnamon dolce crème standing next to her?”

“That’s Cassie Foster.” I grimaced. “The wicked witch of St. Hilary’s.”

After making sure all the kids were in the right carpool for the next round of plays at Murphy’s Park, I went onstage to gather the props. Grabbing the papier-mâché rock that played the starring role in
Stone Soup,
I watched with dismay as Cassie and Stephanie approached the Play Wagon. I hadn’t seen Cassie since the end of May, and unfortunately, she’d only gotten better-looking over the summer. Her white-blond hair had grown out, accentuating her icy-blue eyes. But what was even more amazing to me was the fact that her chest looked even bigger and perkier than last year. It was so not fair.

“Hi, Mia,” Cassie said, smiling at me. But even her blindingly white teeth couldn’t mask the hatred in her eyes. “I didn’t know your mom enrolled you in Little Tyke’s Theatre this summer.”

I unclenched my teeth long enough to reply, “I’m not enrolled in Little Tyke’s—I work here.”

“Oh well, you should think about becoming a full-time actor. I mean, I really thought you were a blade of grass when you were up on stage. But maybe it was because you just looked the part. You know, being so tall and flat and everything.”

As Stephanie snorted a laugh, I looked at the rock in my hand, wondering how much damage it would cause if I hurled it at their heads. Instead, I asked, “So, what are you guys doing at the park?”

“We’re having our cheerleading team picture taken for the yearbook,” Cassie said. “The photographer thought it would be a more interesting photo if we were outside. You know, since all the boring pictures, like of the Student Council, are taken in the library. He wants to spice up the yearbook with the more attractive groups like us.”

Before I could stop myself, I said, “It’s probably just because the cheerleaders have more time to waste than the other school groups. When I was Student Council president last year, I was way too busy to hang around some park waiting to have my picture taken.”

Cassie’s tan face paled slightly, probably at the memory of how I’d been elected president over her, but she quickly recovered. “Yeah, maybe that’s why you couldn’t hold onto Tim this summer. You were too
busy.”

“What do you know about me and Tim?” I asked suspiciously.

“I know everything,” Cassie replied. “Tim told me all about it. You know, when Tim first called me this summer, I was still pretty angry with him after how he treated me last fall. But after he apologized about a million times for the way he acted, I finally forgave him, and since then we’ve been calling and e-mailing each other every day.”

I shook my head at her lies. “Give it up, Cassie. I don’t believe
you.”

“Fine, don’t believe me. I don’t care.” Cassie shrugged. “But can you be absolutely sure I’m lying? After all, you haven’t talked to Tim since you so rudely insulted him on the phone on the Fourth of July.”

My knees felt weak. “You know about that?”

“I told you—I know everything,” Cassie replied.

“You almost packed up?” Eric asked as he appeared from the back of the Play Wagon. He looked at the props still scattered on the stage. “Mia, what have you been doing? We need to get to Murphy’s Park.”

Stephanie’s eyes lit up at the sight of Eric. She tossed her red curls over her shoulder. “How’re you doing, Eric?” she said.

“I’m fine.” He tried to hide his grimace. “And you?”

“I could be better.”

“Oh, um, OK.” Eric looked at me with a pleading expression. “I’d better help you get this stuff packed up, Mia. We’re really running late.”

“That’s OK—we were just leaving anyway. It was nice to meet you, Eric,” Cassie said. “And Mia, maybe I’ll see you around your neighborhood—you know, now that Tim and I are seeing each other again.”

“What?” I stared at her in disbelief.

“You heard me.” Cassie’s eyes twinkled with revenge. “Tim and I are an item again. I told you he’d get tired of you and come back to me. He asked me to come over when he gets home next week. I can’t wait to welcome him back, if you know what I mean.”

Her words hit me like a spray of bullets, and I dropped the papier-mâché rock on my foot.

“Mia, are you all right?” Eric asked as Cassie and Stephanie walked away. He stooped down to pick up the prop. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” I said, fighting back the tears. “A lot.”

T
he next ten days were filled with a constant inner struggle. Should I, or shouldn’t I, call Tim and ask him about Cassie? If they really weren’t dating, it would be nice to catch Cassie in another one of her lies. But at the same time, I didn’t want to give Tim the satisfaction of knowing I cared enough about him to check on who he was dating. Besides, what if Tim
was
dating Cassie? Did I really want to know? Maybe it was better to be kept in the dark. But did I really want to wait until Tim was home before I found out for sure?

“Hello?” Zoë knocked on my head. “Are you listening to me?”

“Sorry. I was just thinking about something,” I said, rubbing the spot where she’d just pounded me.

“Yeah, I know. You were thinking about lover boy and that chick—what was her name again?”

“Cassie,” I said, flinching at the taste of her name on my lips. “So, what did you want?”

“I was just checking to see if you wanted to be Playhouse Pal today,” Zoë said, waving the red and white polka-dotted clown suit at me. “You know, this is the last day of work, and you might never get a chance to wear it again.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” I replied. “I’m positive I don’t want to be Playhouse Pal. I’ve already counted kids and everyone is here, so I won’t have to wear anything but my own clothes today.”

“But your outfit is such a yawn—anything else you put on will be
a step up for you.”

I smiled at her. “You can’t trick me into it. I was Playhouse Pal all week, and now it’s your turn. Besides, when we celebrate our last day over pizza tonight, I don’t want to smell like Noxema.”

Zoë began climbing into the clown suit. “If you’re sure...”

“I’m sure,” I said at the exact moment that Jan ran over to us.

“Come quick! Susan just vomited and I need you to clean it up and then put on her daisy costume. You’ll need to fill in for her today.”

I looked at Zoë, hoping to cut a deal.

“No way,” she said. “You had your chance. Now go get a bucket and get to work.”

The hot August sun beat down on me, wilting the daisy petals stapled to the side of a green hood that still smelled slightly of vomit. I wiped away the sweat dripping down my cheek, and for the fourth time that day, said, “I’m a crazy daisy. Watch how silly I am.” I stuck my tongue out, crossed my eyes, and finished my crazy daisy routine by spinning around and falling to the ground, where I had to stay until the end of the play.

As I laid stock-still on stage, broiling like a cheeseburger on a grill, I thought about how much I had changed over the summer. I mean, here I was onstage, dressed like a flower, and I wasn’t even freaked out—OK, maybe I was still a little freaked out about acting, but not as much as before. My group of friends had also significantly been altered during the past ten weeks. When vacation started, I was dating Tim and was best friends with Lisa. Now, I hated Tim, I hadn’t talked to Lisa for over two months, and the person I hung out with the most sometimes wore a safety pin in her nose. I don’t know if things can get any more different than that.

The little boy playing the snapdragon said the play’s ending line,
“Let’s make a flower garden!” and I perked up.
Hallelujah!
I could get up off the ground—and just in time, too. I was way past well-done and on the way to being charbroiled.

I stood alongside the other flowers as we all joined in for the grand finale. The tiger lily roared, the sunflower put on sunglasses and sunscreen, the birds of paradise flapped their wings, the rose pouted, the snapdragon snapped his fingers, and I made the only other silly face I knew how to do, pulling down my eyes with one hand while making my nose into a pig snout with another.

Given our meager talent and the lame script, the audience applauded appropriately, and I shuffled the kids offstage. Within a few minutes, I had all the actors out of costume, into the right cars, and out of my hair for the rest of the summer.

A few hours later, I was nestled into a booth next to Eric and chowing down on a slice of Nick’s special. I wiped away the sauce dribbling down my chin. “I can’t believe the summer is over and I actually survived.”

“You and me both,” Zoë said from across the booth. “When I saw your skinny butt that first day, I never thought you’d make it through the afternoon, let alone the summer.”

“Thanks a lot.” I threw my crumpled napkin at her.

Eric put his arm around my shoulder and said, “I knew Mia would be great, and she was.”

“Jeez. Are you trying to make me sick or what?” Zoë asked.

“Hey,” Henry said, “did you guys see that dude taking pictures of us today?”

“Yeah,” Eric replied. “He’s from the
Des Moines Register.
He’s taking pictures for a series on teens’ summer jobs. Didn’t you see that spread he did on those lifeguards?”

“See it?” Henry exclaimed. “I have it framed on my bedroom wall.
Those girls were smokin’.”

“Well, this week he’s focusing on some of the more unique summer jobs teens have,” Eric said, sprinkling some parmesan cheese on his pizza. “He asked for all our names and said our pictures would be in tomorrow’s edition.”

“Oh, great.” I sighed. “The first time I get my picture taken for the paper and I’m wearing a stupid flower on my head.”

“Relax, Preppy,” Zoë replied. “There’s no way that guy’s going to put your picture in the paper, especially since he had the perfect model—me.”

For the first time all summer, I hoped Zoë was right.

“So,” Zoë said, picking a mushroom off her slice of pizza and plopping it into her mouth, “you guys still coming to hear my band tomorrow night?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Henry replied. “I
finally
passed my driver’s test and will be getting my license tomorrow morning, so I’ll be bringing a date.”