Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

Ella gave me a “don’t-start” look.

“The Simpsons moved, that’s what happened.” Ella stared into my eyes. “Kali couldn’t take it.”

I raised my chin. “Well, I can.”

“That’s what you think,” said Ella. “But Carla’s only been playing with you so far. She didn’t really think you were a threat before. But now – if she wants to, Lola, she can really make your life hell.”

“I’m not afraid of Carla Santini,” I said, chin still in its give-me-your-best-shot position. I believe it’s important in life not to be afraid of anyone or anything, not even a bad review. “She’s a teenage girl, for heaven’s sake, Ella, not Lady Macbeth. There’s no way I’m going to let Carla Santini keep me away from the Sidartha concert.”

“Have you listened to one word I’ve said?” asked Ella. She shook her head in a kind of dumbfounded way. “You know,” she sighed, “sometimes I can’t tell whether you’re just stubborn or if you’re stupid, too.”

Lady Macbeth At Deadwood High

A few brave souls quietly congratulated me on my triumph over Carla Santini with a smile or a nod of the head or a quick “good one, Lola”, but Sam Creek was the only one who made a public statement about the casting.

Sam had been out all week, but on Friday he gave me the thumbs up when I walked into maths.

“The Queen’s been severely wounded,” Sam shouted gleefully. “May she die of serious complications.”

A couple of the other kids glanced our way, but no one laughed or winked or anything like that. I could feel Carla watching us from the back of the room. She was always watching me now, even when she was talking to someone else. But she never gave any sign that she actually saw me.

My counter offensive was to pretend that it was Carla and her friends who didn’t exist. I flapped my cape and laughed.

“We can only hope for the best,” I said loudly as I took my seat. My smile was sour. “I’m afraid, however, that the prognosis doesn’t look too good.”

Sam hooted. He may not have any friends, and he might have missed the first few days of my and Ella’s punishment, but he isn’t stupid. He’d noticed the way the room went quiet when I stepped through the door, and he’d noticed the way none of the others greeted me.

“That’s a shame,” said Sam. He kind of jerked his head in the Santini direction. “You may have to hire a food taster if this keeps up.”

Among the BTWs and BTRs, however, no one said a word.

And when I say they didn’t say a word, I mean not a word.

It took a few days, but by Friday, when the whole school knew that I was playing Eliza Doolittle and Carla Santini was playing Mrs Higgins, even kids who had never heard of Pygmalion were treating me and Ella as if we were the Invisible Girls. Silent and unsmiling, the friends, friends of friends, and would-be friends of Carla Santini passed us in the hallways, sat next to us in classes, and stood near us on the lunch line as though we had ceased to exist. And all with no outward sign of hostility or show of temper from Carla herself. There were no snide comments or black looks; no nasty whispers or back-stabbing attacks. She shimmered around campus like a butterfly, smiling and laughing and tossing her head as though she didn’t have an enemy in the world. But she could pass within inches of me or Ella as though we were air. She could say something to the entire class, and everyone would know somehow that Ella and I weren’t included because we weren’t really there. I got to the point where I could almost empathize with Carla. No wonder she’s the way she is, I’d think as I walked ghostlike through the corridors. She must be frustrated and bored out of her mind. That was when I began to realize that Carla Santini is as wasted in Deadwood as I am – and more or less for the same reason. My spirit and talents are too large for the narrow confines of a suburban world, and so are Carla’s.

“You almost have to admire her, don’t you?” I said to Ella as we walked down the hallway together like prisoners of war being marched through the streets. “Think what she could do if she were in a position of real power.”

Like me, Ella kept her eyes straight ahead of her, as though unaware of the darting looks and quivering silence that followed us wherever we went.

“She’s already got more power than she should,” said Ella. “If it gets any colder, we’re going to have to wear thermals to school.”

“Oh, please…” I pleaded. “These are humans, not ants.” In my experience, human group actions tend to fall apart eventually. “It can’t last.”

Ella gave me a look. “Yes it can. This is all Carla’s doing, and it won’t be over till she says so.”

I laughed again, this time heartily.

“Give me a break, will you? Who is Carla, Stalin? What’s she going to do when people get tired of acting like jerks and start talking to us again, send them to Siberia?”

Ella nodded vehemently. “That’s right. She’ll send them to Siberia – with us.”

I shook my head as we came to a stop outside the auditorium. “She can’t,” I said, dragging reason in on my side. “Carla Santini herself is going to have to start talking to me in a few minutes.” The rehearsals were beginning that afternoon. Which was one of the reasons I’d been able to take the Big Freeze with a certain amount of humour. There really was no way it could last. “And when she does, everybody else will give up with relief.”

Ella readjusted her book bag. “Carla won’t give up,” said Ella grimly. “The only thing Carla Santini’s ever given up on is the concept of letting someone else have their way.”

I, however, was optimistic as I walked into the auditorium by myself. Carla might have been waging a cold war against me during every other minute of the day, but she would have to leave her weapons outside the theatre. The way I saw it, that was the rule. Inside, we were part of the same team. A nation divided against itself must perish; and so must the cast of Pygmalion.

I paused with my hand on the door. Through the thick metal I could hear the rest of the cast reading the revised script and chatting aimlessly while they waited for the rehearsal to begin. I ruffled my hair for that urgent, passionate look, and flung my cape casually over one shoulder.

The silence of the Apocalypse fell over the room as I opened the door. All but a few people were pretending to look through their scripts or brush dirt from their shoes, as if they didn’t know I’d arrived. The rest were watching me and watching Carla at the same time, waiting to see what was going to happen.

Carla Santini hadn’t left her weapons in her locker, as she should have.

She was sitting in the front row, looking at Mrs Baggoli’s revisions. I could tell from the set of her back that she was fully armed.

I called out a general, “Hi!”

There were a few brave mumbles in return.

I came to a stop at the front row. Carla was in an aisle seat, deeply absorbed in what she was reading. I couldn’t back down. One way or another, I was going to make her talk to me.

“Hi, Carla,” I said, as though these weren’t the first words I’d said to her in days. I threw myself into the seat across the aisle from hers. “All ready to start?”

Carla Santini is not a great actor – she’s too self-absorbed for that – but she is a good one. She did the best impersonation of a stone wall I’d ever seen.

Glances were furtively exchanged among our audience.

“What do you think of Mrs Baggoli’s changes?” I asked with so much good humour and interest that I should have been given an Oscar.

Carla looked up then. But not at me. Carla looked at Andy, the boy who was playing Colonel Pickering.

“I wonder what’s keeping Mrs Baggoli,” said Carla, sounding so concerned you would have thought there was a good chance that Mrs Baggoli had been jumped by hostile guerrillas in the English wing.

Andy blinked. It took him a second to realize that Carla was asking him a question. She didn’t normally speak to Andy; he’s overweight and has acne. He looked around uneasily, a drowning man desperately searching for a passing log. Jon, who was playing Professor Higgins, rolled his eyes towards the gods. Everyone else was even less helpful; they looked away.

I raised my voice, just a little. “I saw her heading towards the office after last class.”