Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [13]
Even Ella admitted that it was worth it, just to see the expression on Carla Santini’s face when she strode through the door and saw us sitting in her seats. It only lasted a nanosecond, but it was a beauty: pure, primal rage. Scarlett O’Hara couldn’t have done it better. Then, without any hesitation, she screamed out, “I’m bored with sitting in the same place all the time, let’s sit at the back for a change,” and she sailed past us, her entourage shuffling after her.
At the end of my first week at Deadwood High, Carla Santini came up to me on the lunch line. She was smiling like a salesman on commission. She has an incredible number of teeth – at least twice as many as the rest of us – each of them perfect and white.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Carla Santini.”
As if I didn’t know that. It was like Cher coming up to you on the lunch line and saying. “Hi, I’m Cher.”
I smiled back. “I know.”
Carla’s smile became a little less bright but no less toothy. The salesman was about to tell me a price I didn’t want to hear. “I know you’re new here, Lola,” purred Carla Santini, “and you don’t understand how things work yet.” Her smile solidified. “I’ve been making allowances for that.”
My own smile dimmed slightly. Even though I hadn’t heard it yet, I could tell I wasn’t going to like the price.
“So are you going to tell me how things work?” I purred back.
Carla Santini said, “Yes,” and stopped smiling. Then she told me. I was sitting in her seat in English. I was attracting too much attention. I was committing social suicide by hanging out with Ella-Never-Had-a-Fella.
“I thought you and Ella were friends.” I still had a smile on my face.
“Of course we’re friends.” She held up her hand, the first and second fingers crossed. “We were like that when we were little. But she doesn’t have your potential, does she?” She openly turned and flicked her head to where Ella was sitting with her lunch in front of her, waiting for me. “I mean, look at her. She dresses like a politician’s wife. I know she’s very sweet, but, let’s face it, she’s about as exciting as lettuce.” The curls shuddered and she looked back to me. “But you … you’re different. You could really be somebody at Dellwood.”
I could hear her adding silently, If I let you… That’s how Carla Santini works: you don’t do anything or get anything unless she says so. It’s like dealing with the Godfather.
“Wow…” I said. “Then I could die happy.”
If it could be bottled, the Santini smile could be used as a chemical weapon.
“It’s a lot better than dying unhappy,” cooed Carla.
I picked up my tray.
“Thanks for the advice,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I nodded to where Ella was staring at us, her mouth open and a forkful of food hovering in the air beside it, like a politician’s wife whose lunch has been disturbed by the arrival of Martians. “My friend is waiting for me.”
Those were the first shots fired in what turned out to be a pretty ugly war.
I TRY TO LIVE WITH DISASTER
My mother was still sitting at the table, reading the newspaper, when I finally staggered into the kitchen the morning after the end of the world, but the twins had already left for school. Thank the gods for their small mercies. I could face my mother – she, at least, usually tries to act like an adult – but I couldn’t have faced her other progeny on that black, black morn. To have to sit with them while they shrieked at each other, babbled about nothing, and spat half-chewed cereal everywhere while my heart was being devoured by the worms of death would have killed me on the spot.
My mother gave me a glance when I came in.
“I called you twice,” she said, her eyes already back on the article she was reading. “What happened? Did you fall asleep again?”
I took a dragon mug from the shelf, but I was almost too weak to lift it. I leaned against the counter for support.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” I said in a voice that had lost all trace of joy. Probably forever. “I had a very fraught night.” Which was