My Perfect Life (16 page)

I took longer than usual to get ready on Thursday morning because I wanted to look my best. The debate was being held in a special assembly right after homeroom, so there wouldn’t be any time to repair make-up or re-do hair. I’d been planning to wear my blue A-line with the matching jacket, but when I looked at it in the cold morning light it looked so much like something Hillary Clinton would wear that I put it back in the closet. I knew Lola was wearing her purple camouflage pants and the Free Tibet T-shirt her father brought her back from India, but my wardrobe didn’t include any clothes that might be considered a declaration of war. I went for the dragon shirt Lola gave me and my black jeans. At least the shirt was red.

Lola always met me at the entrance to Woodford in the morning. If I was a little late, she’d chat with Fabio, the security guard. I was a little late that Thursday morning, but Fabio was alone in his booth.

I wasn’t worried. Lola – being Lola – is late a lot more often than I am. It happens all the time.

Fabio looked up when the news on the radio finished. “Doesn’t look like she’s coming, does it?”

This wasn’t unheard of, either. Not only does Lola take ages to get ready for anything more public than putting the garbage out, but her family is very prone to domestic crises. Things are always exploding, or breaking, or getting lost. I waited an hour and a half for her once because her sisters’ gerbil got trapped under the floor.

“Doesn’t she have a cell phone?” asked Fabio.

The answer to that was “no”. Lola would sell one of the twins to get a cell phone, but her mother won’t let her have one. She says it would be like giving an Uzzi to a serial killer.

Fabio handed me his phone. “Call her from here. See what happened.”

The answer machine was on.

“Maybe her mother gave her a ride,” suggested Fabio.

“Yeah,” I said. “She probably did.”

But I was now officially starting to worry despite my resolution not to. I imagined dark, hooded figures standing along the side of the road, chanting in Greek, as I pedalled along.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told myself. “She’ll be waiting at the bike rack.”

It was Sam who was waiting at the bike rack.

“Where’s Lola?” I called as I coasted to a stop.

Sam gave me one of his Are-you-talking-to-me? looks. “Isn’t she supposed to be with you?”

“She didn’t turn up at the gate.”

“Well, you know Lola.” Sam gave me a reassuring grin. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.” You’ll notice he didn’t say “logical explanation”. “She wouldn’t miss today for anything but a Broadway part.”

And it would have to be a really good part.

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m getting myself worked up about nothing. Maybe she had a flat tyre or something. She’s probably on her way.”

Sam took his cell phone out of his pocket. “Phone your mom. See if Lola called after you left.”

Lola hadn’t called.

The dark, hooded figures who had been lining the road all the way to school were now standing in front of the administration building, muttering to themselves.

“Maybe Karen gave her a lift,” Sam suggested. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to make me feel better, or himself. “She’s probably already in homeroom.”

Lola wasn’t in homeroom.

Carla Santini was. She was wearing a dark green silk trouser suit and a smile that could freeze gasoline.

“Where’s Tweedledum?” she whispered as I passed her seat. “Don’t tell me she’s deserted you in your hour of need?”

I don’t know if Sam heard her or not, but he picked his books back up from his desk. “Tell you what,” he said into my ear. “I’ll just go take a quick spin and look for her. You know, in case she did get a flat. I’ll be right back.”

If Carla Santini hadn’t been watching us as if we were about to start sprouting flowers I would have begged him not to leave me. But I could feel Carla’s eyes on us, so all I did was nod.

Mr Geraldi looked up. “Was it something I said, Sam?” he asked. “Won’t you change your mind and stay?”

“I left my gym stuff in the car. I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, right…” snorted Alma. “He won’t be back till lunch.”

Tina and Marcia giggled.

“Shhh…” hissed Carla, swivelling her whole head around to glance at me. “Don’t tease Ella. You know how nervous she is about the debate.”

By the end of homeroom, I was so nervous I was practically hyperventilating. Not only was there no sign of Lola, but there was no sign of Sam, either.

I couldn’t believe it! After all I’d done for her – lied, stolen, been arrested – the one time I really needed Lola, she wasn’t around. And I wasn’t even asking for any major sacrifices. All I wanted was a little moral support. Was that too much to ask? A little moral support, and someone to grab the mike if I fainted?

Where is she?
I kept asking myself.
Where could she be?

I feel like a fool saying it now, but not for the most infinitesimal fraction of a second was I worried that Lola might have been run over or anything like that. I know Lola has a lot of faults – she exaggerates, she’s manipulative, she’s a pathological liar – but a lack of loyalty is not one of them. And yet all I could think of right then was me.

Where is she? Where could she be? How could she do this to me?

By the time Morty, Carla and I got to the auditorium, I was starting to shake.

Morty stood with me making chit-chat while we waited behind the curtain for the sound check to be done.

Casual to the point of boredom, Carla lounged on one side of the stage. Every time she caught my eye, Carla would glance at her watch and give me a hopeless smile.

I peered through the curtains for the zillionth time. There was still no sign of Lola or Sam.

“Stop worrying,” advised Morty. “They’ll turn up. Lola wouldn’t miss—”

“I know,” I snapped. “Lola wouldn’t miss this if she were dead.”

Morty put a hand on my shoulder. “You have to calm down, Ella. Remember what happened that time you had to give a speech in English. You don’t want to make yourself vomit again.”

“Thanks,” I said. “That really makes me feel better.”

“I don’t even see what the big deal is,” Morty went on. “I mean, it doesn’t really make any difference if she’s here or not.”

“It does to me.” Now my voice was starting to shake.

Dr Alsop clapped his hands and told us to get in our places. “Just two minutes to go,” he announced.

He might as well have been announcing the time for my hanging.

“No Lola yet?” asked Carla as she took her seat. She turned to Morty, suddenly in conversational mode. “That’s what happens when you rely on someone like Lola, isn’t it?” said Carla. “She only thinks of herself.”

“Which makes her different to whom?” asked Morty.

The lights went on, the curtains opened, and Dr Alsop stepped up to the lectern.

My stomach lurched.

Dr Alsop gave one of his little talks about the election and how energetic and passionate it had been. You could hear someone snoring in the middle of the auditorium.

Then he explained the format of the debate. Dr Alsop would introduce each of the candidates in turn; and each of the candidates would give a brief speech setting out his or her basic platform. Then Dr Alsop would read out questions submitted by the students and each candidate would be given a turn to reply.

Dr Alsop folded his hands in front of him in a final kind of way when he was done. “Anything anyone wants to ask?”

It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but someone at the back shouted out, “Yes. Is Carla having a victory party, too?”

Dr Alsop was one of the few people who didn’t laugh.

Carla was introduced first. As soon as Dr Alsop spoke her name, some of her supporters started shouting and whistling. It sounded like the football team.

Dr Alsop told them to settle down.

Carla wiped a tear from her eye for this unexpected and spontaneous demonstration of affection and said a few well-chosen words about her civic and environmental record, as well as her commitment to enjoying yourself and having fun.

“After all,” said Carla, “it’s not going to end world hunger if you don’t buy yourself that double cheeseburger, is it?”

Morty was introduced next. Morty’s supporters were more subtle than Carla’s. They turned on tiny flashlights and hummed the song from some computer game. Morty compared high school to the cosmos. I stopped listening when he started talking about quantum mechanics and I suspect that everyone else did, too.

And then it was my turn.

“I saw her,” Morty whispered as we passed. “Towards the back.”

No one clapped or whistled or flashed their lights for me.

I hung onto the lectern, and stared out at the sea of people in front of me. Blindly. Morty was lying; there was no way he could have seen Lola in the glare from the stage lights. On the other hand, I told myself, that didn’t mean she wasn’t out there. Maybe she was pinned against a wall way at the back and couldn’t wave. Pinned against the wall and gagged.

She is there … she is there … she is there …
I silently chanted.
She is there … she is there … she is there…
Way, way at the back with a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth.

Feeling as though I might possibly be able to speak and breathe at the same time, I cleared my throat. I took a deep breath and smiled into the blur of faces. I couldn’t remember a single word. This unnerved me so much that I dropped my notes on the floor.

Someone indelicately giggled very softly behind me. It didn’t sound like Morty.

It was Dr Alsop who said, “Shhh.” Then he helped me pick up my papers. “Just take your time, Ella,” he whispered. “You’ll be fine.”

I’d never wanted to believe anyone so much in my life.

I cleared my throat again, took another deep breath, and – gripping my notes like a life preserver – began to read my speech.

“Can’t hear her!” screamed several people at once.

Dr Alsop fluttered. “Could you speak up, please Ella?” He gave me a fatherly smile.

I took yet another deep breath, and tried again.

“Still can’t hear her!” someone shouted.

“She hasn’t said anything,” shouted someone else.

Oh how I wished I would faint.

Dr Alsop scampered over and adjusted the microphone. “Try it now.”

This time I yelled my entire speech, reading it without interruption, and without once looking up from my notes. I could tell from the rustlings and coughs that it wasn’t exactly mesmerizing, but it was short.

Morty gave me the thumbs-up as I crumbled into the chair beside him.

Carla gave me a charitable smile. “You did really well,” she whispered. Her smile became an entire soup kitchen. “At least you didn’t throw up, right?”

“Ms Santini!” Dr Alsop rapped on the edge of the lectern. “Why don’t you start us off?”

The first question came completely out of the blue.

“‘What is your position on student demonstrations?’” read Dr Alsop.

I was trying to get my notes back in order, and looked up so sharply I nearly dropped them again.

“At Dellwood?” muttered Morty. “You’d be more likely to find a flock of demonstrating parrots.”

Carla stood up. “In my opinion, the students of Dellwood High demonstrate every day. They demonstrate their intelligence, their interest in the world, and their moral fibre in everything they do. That’s the kind of demonstration I believe in.” Carla sat down.

“Mr Slinger?” prompted Dr Alsop.

Mr Slinger stood up.

“Of course I believe that students should demonstrate when there’s a just cause. It’s a democratic right. And, as we can’t vote, and adults rarely listen to us, it’s one we have a duty to exercise.” Morty raised one arm in the air and twisted his fingers around each other in what I assumed was some kind of computer freak sign. “And don’t forget!” Morty boomed. “In this technocratic age, hacking is a form of social protest, too!”

Morty’s fellow freaks raised their flashlights and stamped their feet in appreciation of this insight.

Dr Alsop rapped once more. “That’s enough, now. Settle down.” He smiled at me. “Ella?”

I stood up and looked at the microphone. I didn’t know what to say. Morty wasn’t the only one who didn’t associate student unrest with Dellwood High. He gave me a nudge.

“Put your head down if you’re feeling nauseous,” whispered Carla.

I went on automatic pilot; I gave an answer I knew. “Yes,” I said, “I believe in student demonstrations.” Even to me I sounded like the android in a bad science-fiction movie. “I think that we should demonstrate our understanding of the world by becoming more involved in our community.”

“There’s actually a question here that’s relevant to that,” said Dr Alsop. “Why don’t we take it next?” He flipped through his cards. “‘If we’re to be more involved with the rest of the world, does this mean that any money we raise should be given to charity?’” he read.

The Carla Santini fan club cheered when Carla said that she thought charity should begin at home.

Morty pointed out that merely making a donation to a worthy cause isn’t the same as being involved.

Carla patted my knee. “Your turn.”

Trying to sound as human as possible, I said that if the student body decided it wanted to support a charity then it should raise funds specifically for that – so that they weren’t just giving money, they were doing something as well.

The next few questions were reassuringly predictable ones about the cafeteria menu, the dress code, and extra-curricular activities. I got through them without too much torture.

I won’t say I started to relax, but I started to think about relaxing. My heart was now beating at a normal rate, and my temperature had gone back up to 98.6 degrees. It looked as though I was going to live through this after all.

It’s a little difficult to explain what happened next. It all went pretty fast.

Dr Alsop was tossing the questions and we were each taking a turn to answer them in a mature and civilized manner when suddenly Carla Santini said, “You know, that’s a very interesting question, Dr Alsop. I’d like to ask Ella what she thinks about counselling for students with special problems – I mean, since her mother’s an alcoholic and everything.”