Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen - Dyan Sheldon [37]
“Oh, how gross…” squealed Paula.
My mother lost a little of her compassionate manner.
“Mary can’t be throwing up,” she assured them. “She hasn’t eaten anything in nearly three days. Remember?”
“Mom’s right,” I gasped. I figured that since I had an audience, I might as well play to them. “I’m just tearing my empty stomach apart.” Choking so much I was turning red, I spat the potato back on my plate.
“Why do I feel like I’m watching a tragedy in one act?” asked my mother.
Still choking, I started to cry.
“Make her eat more,” pleaded Pam. “I want to see her throw up again.”
“Is Mary going to die?” asked Paula.
My mother’s brows were knit.
“It smells like something has died in here,” she said.
I peeked through my tears and sobs to find her looking around suspiciously, her nose twitching.
“Am I the only one who smells that?” she demanded.
Paula and Pam hurled themselves into my room.
“Peeoiu!” they shrieked, holding their noses.
“It smells like rotting eggs,” said my mother.
“It smells like it’s coming from the bed,” said Paula.
It was rotting eggs. And it was coming from around the bed. Saturday morning, Ella had brought me some leftovers from her supper the night before and I’d stuck the plate under the bed because I wasn’t hungry then. I’d totally forgotten about it.
My mother dove under the bed like a beagle and, like a beagle, came up with the remains of Mrs Gerard’s mushroom quiche. She looked at it for a few seconds, and then she looked at me.
That was my cue.
I pretended to faint.
OUR MINOR DETAILS GROW
Despite my unexpected setback with passive resistance, I was in a good mood on Monday.
Indeed, I was more than happy; I was ecstatic. George Blue made the announcement Saturday night: Monday was the day the tickets to the Sidartha concert went on sale.
“I’ll tell Mrs Baggoli I have bad cramps and can’t make rehearsal today,” I was saying to Ella as we walked to class. It was a big chance to take, missing rehearsal. Carla Santini was my understudy, after all. It made me nervous, her playing my part. But it was a chance I would have to take. “Then right after school we’ll go to the mall and get our tickets.” I spread my arms and the black velvet fluttered like a raven’s wings. “I’m practically dancing in Stu Wolff’s embrace.”
“Lola,” said Ella. “Lola, it may have slipped your mind, but neither of us has permission to go to the concert.”
“Details, details,” I cried as we turned into the English wing. “I’ll just tell my mom I’m spending the night with you, and you’ll tell your parents you’re spending the night with me.” I snapped my fingers. “What could be easier?” It seemed pretty foolproof to me.
But it didn’t seem that foolproof to Ella.
“It won’t work,” Ella said flatly. She swung her book bag back and forth between us in a resigned way. “You know what my mother’s like. She’s guaranteed to call your house at least once to make sure I didn’t forget anything.”
Sadly, I did know what Ella’s mother was like. Mrs Gerard still reminds Ella to brush her teeth. I mean, really. Ella’s sixteen. Was her mother going to move into Ella’s dorm when she went to college so she could remind her to brush her teeth every night then, too?
“OK,” I said reasonably. “Then we’ll tell them the truth.”
Ella gave me a sour look.
“The truth? You want to tell them that we’re going to go to the Sidartha concert, and then we’re going to crash a party where everyone will probably be drunk or on drugs and making out in the bathroom?”
I sighed. “Not that truth. We’ll tell them we’re going to the concert, but that we’re going with my friend, Shana, and that her folks are going to meet us at the train and escort us to the Garden.” Shana was the friend I told Ella I was seeing when I visited my father. I really did visit Shana when I first moved to Deadwood, but we’d drifted apart, as people do.
“Um…” said Ella.
“And we’ll tell them we’re going to spend the night with her,” I went on. “Her parents have been married for twenty-five years. Your parents will like that.”
“Lola,” said Ella in