Mia the Melodramatic (13 page)

With a new resolve, I flipped my covers back, got out of bed, and marched to my bulletin board. Pulling out the thumbtack holding the picture Mom had taken of our Academic Quiz Bowl team last year—right after we won the tournament—I ripped Tim out of it. Then, smiling for the first time in two days, I tossed Tim’s part of the picture into the garbage before putting the newly edited version back up.

Feeling much better, I switched off the radio just as the DJ announced the title of the song I’d requested—“We are the Champions”—and left my room to take a shower.

Chris met me in the hallway. “That was the easiest money I ever made.”

“What are you talking about?”

He smiled. “Mom said if I could get you out of bed, she’d pay me
five bucks. Man, you are so easy to manipulate.”

I tossed my greasy hair over my shoulder and stormed into the bathroom. I should have known. The twinkle of humanity in Chris’s eyes had really been just the sun shining through the space between his ears.

“W
hat’s wrong with you, Preppy?” Zoë asked Monday morning as we unloaded the props for that day’s plays. “You find out that khaki shorts went out of style ten years ago?”

“Very funny.”

“No, I mean it. There’s something different about you. You look more mopey and miserable than usual, like your dog just got shot or something.”

I sighed. “Just leave me alone.”

She winced. “Oh man, your dog didn’t just get shot, did it?”

“Relax. I don’t even have a dog.”

“Then what is it? You couldn’t have lost your best friend... because you don’t have any friends, do you?”

“I have friends. They all happen to be gone this summer.” I scowled at her. “And if it will get you off my back, I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I broke up with my boyfriend this weekend.”

“So what’s the big deal? I’ve broken up with tons of guys, and there’s always a new one to take their place. Just find someone else.”

I looked away. How could I explain to Zoë that the only guy I wanted was the one who had just stomped my heart into smithereens?

“Wow, you’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”

I nodded and my lower lip trembled. I sat down on the picnic
table bench and turned away from her, fighting back the urge to bawl.

Zoë sat beside me and put her arm around my shoulder. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll be Playhouse Pal and ask Jan to take it easy on you today. It’s the least I can do. After all, you saved my skin at the Flying Squirrel Friday night and I owe you one.”

Her surprising gesture of kindness toppled my resolve. Breaking into tears, I sniffled. “Thanks.”

Zoë jumped up. “Hey, watch the goobers! I just got this tee-shirt. Jeez, you do one nice thing for someone and they snot all over you. That’ll teach me.”

“How exactly is this taking it easy on me?” I asked Zoë as she tugged at a six-foot-long braided wig and put it on top of my head.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you have to be Rapunzel today,” Zoë said. “If you would’ve gotten Maggie to the bathroom fast enough, her mom wouldn’t have had to take her home for a change of clothes and she’d be here playing the part.”

“She’s seven! Excuse me if I thought she could make it to the bathroom on time.” I lifted the braid to lighten the load on my head. “Are you sure you can’t play Rapunzel today and I be Playhouse Pal?”

“Are you kidding me?” Zoë asked. “There’s no way I’m taking off all this makeup just because you’re too chicken to say a couple of lines on stage.”

“All right.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “Just tell me one more time what I’m supposed to do.”

“Follow the kids up on stage, sit behind the tower, and then read Rapunzel’s lines from the script. It’s not brain surgery, Princess.” Zoë laughed. “Get it? You’re playing Rapunzel and I just called you
Princess?”

“Uh, I don’t remember the story that well, but I don’t think Rapunzel was a princess,” I said. “I think she was just a peasant’s daughter.”

“But she becomes a princess after she lets the prince climb her hair.” Zoë rolled her eyes. “You know, I really should write a letter to those nuns at St. Hilary’s and tell them you’re not as bright as they think you are.”

“The play’s about to start,” Jan said, poking her head around the side of the Play Wagon. “Let’s go, Mia.”

I sighed and followed the first-grade cast members onto the stage, feeling more like the giant in
Jack and the Beanstalk
than Rapunzel. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me again. First, it was Playhouse Pal, then a punk rock singer, and now a play? What was next? Performing a concerto at Carnegie Hall? Who cared if I couldn’t play the piano? I couldn’t sing, dance, or act, but that hadn’t stopped anyone from making me do those things.

More than a little bent out of shape, I grudgingly took my place on stage and hid behind the cardboard castle. The play began, and I followed along with the script, waiting for my part. As the witch and Rapunzel’s parents made their ill-fated agreement about her future, I shook my head in disgust. What kind of parent sells their kid for some lettuce? Human Services should definitely do some investigating, if you ask me.

I flipped the page of the script and saw my first line coming up.

The witch—who was actually played by a sweet little girl named Rose—cackled, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

“I will do whatever you ask,” I read as I flung my braid of yellow yarn out the window.

As the witch used my hair like some sort of gymnasium rope, I became a little annoyed with my character.
I’ll do whatever you ask?
Rapunzel obviously had some self-esteem issues.

After Rose and I finished our scene, she climbed out the window,
using my hair for a ladder, while the prince—played by Jimmy Bolton, a boy who liked to pick at his scabs and make them bleed—spied on us.

Rose disappeared off stage and I stuck my head through the cutout window and tried my hardest to look sad, just as the script said I was supposed to. But no matter how hard I tried to look weepy, I couldn’t quite get there. After all, if I was Rapunzel, I wouldn’t be sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I’d be ticked off. I mean, her parents sold her for some garden greens, a witch locked her in a tower and then used her hair as some kind of freaking elevator, and now she had to wait around for some kid with scaly skin to save her?

“Who is that beautiful maiden in the window?” Jimmy called to no one in particular. “I will rescue her and bring her back to my castle, where we will be married and live happily ever after.”

I rolled my eyes. Like that was going to happen. If I let this guy save me, I’d be forced to be grateful to him my whole life. And where would that get me? A life filled with having to watch him pick his scabs while he told everyone what a hero he was for saving me? Yeah, right. I’d rather stay in the castle.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” Jimmy called, rousing me from my thoughts. “Let down your hair.”

I shook my head. “No.”

Jimmy looked up at me and nervously said once again, “Um, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

“I don’t want to,” I said, sounding seriously irritated. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“Uh,” Jimmy lowered his voice to a whisper, “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that.”

“And I don’t think you should be spying on me. Haven’t you ever heard of the laws against stalking?” I snapped.

“Um, stalking?” Jimmy said, a look of confusion filling his face.

“Maybe I’m happy up in this tower. Did you ever think to ask if I
even wanted you to rescue me?”

“Um, uh,” Jimmy stammered. “Um, no?”

“Darn right,” I replied. “And another thing: If I wanted to be rescued, don’t you think I could do it myself? I mean, all I’d have to do is cut off this honking braid and climb down it. I’m not stupid, you know.”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “OK.”

“In fact, that’s what I’m going to do right now,” I said, yanking off my wig. “See ya later, Prince.” I climbed through the window, which was pretty difficult considering it was meant for someone half my size, and walked off stage.

As soon as I left, Jan burst through the curtain and started clapping, obviously trying to convince the audience that was how the play was supposed to end.

I stormed off to the truck, still peeved about Rapunzel’s cruddy life.

Zoë grabbed my arm. “What the heck was that all about?”

“I’ll tell you what that was about!” I huffed as I yanked my arm out of her grasp. “I’m tired of being taken advantage of. Why do I always have to be the one to do whatever anybody asks me? Just once I’d like to say no! No, I don’t want to be Playhouse Pal. No, I don’t want to take Tim back. And no, I don’t want some prince to rescue me!”

“Get a hold of yourself,” Zoë said, shaking me back into reality. “No one is taking advantage of you. Nobody made you take this job, no one is making you take Tim back, and Jimmy Bolton definitely did not rescue you. In fact, I think little Jimmy Bolton might never try to rescue a woman again the rest of his life.”

“Oh.” I leaned against the truck, suddenly exhausted. I bit my lip and said sheepishly, “I guess I got a little carried away back there. Sorry about that. My emotions are just a little out of whack right now.”

“You think?” Zoë said, cracking a grin.

“I can’t believe I really said all those things on stage,” I said. “I mean, it was like I was possessed or something. For a minute there, I really felt like I
was
Rapunzel. How weird is that?”

“It’s not weird at all,” Zoë said. “What you did up there, Preppy, is called acting.”

“Acting?”

“Yeah,” Zoë said. “You were totally in character. I mean, you should have stuck to the script and not accused Jimmy of being a stalker, but I think with a little work, there’s hope for you as an actress someday.”

“Yeah, right. Me, an actress?” I scoffed.

“Yeah, you, an actress.”

I met Zoë’s gaze. She was absolutely serious.

A warm sensation crept through my skin.
Me
,
an actress.

A
s I climbed into the front seat of the Play Wagon truck, Eric asked me, “All set?”

I laid my head against the window, worn out from all the apologizing I’d had to do to Jan, the kids, Jimmy Bolton, and all the parents for ruining their children’s play. I sighed, “Yeah.”

“Zoë, Henry, hurry up,” Eric called out the window. “We need to get across town and to the next park before 11:00.”

“Get off my back,” Zoë snapped as she climbed in the back seat. “It’s not my fault I couldn’t get away from all those kids back there. I swear, the second you put on a clown costume, everyone acts like you’re a freaking celebrity.”

“Scoot over,” Henry said as he climbed in behind Zoë. “Your costume is taking up my half of the seat.”

“You try and wear this polka-dot getup someday and see how
your
hips spread.”

Henry pursed his lips. “Maybe if you’d cut down on the Pop Tarts, you wouldn’t have to worry about your hips so much.”

The big red smile painted on Zoë’s face did nothing to cover up the look of death she shot Henry. “Are you saying I have a big butt?”