Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

Stu left us with two very worn Sidartha T-shirts and two pairs of tracksuit bottoms, and went off to find my father. “Imagine meeting Calum Cep,” he said. “I can’t believe my luck!”

“He can’t believe his luck?” I softly shrieked when the door shut behind him. I buried my face in the T-shirt that had so often stunk from Stu Wolff’s sweat. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“Not yet,” said Ella. “Not till Carla Santini sees us.”

We descended the spiral staircase slowly, pausing every rung or two to survey the revellers in their designer clothes and glinting jewellery, our heads held high. What did we care that we looked freshly drowned and ready for a jog? We didn’t. We were the privileged ones. We were the ones who had brought Stu back. We were the ones tripping over his pants.

We were on the last few steps when we spotted Carla. She and Alma were demurely following Mr and Mrs Santini as they cut a path to the door through the throng.

“Carla!” I cried. “We’ve been looking for you.”

I saw her glance over. She didn’t turn her head or scream or anything, but she did glance over. Alma glanced over, too.

And then they disappeared behind a waiter with a tray full of food.

“Did you see her face?” Ella was as delighted as I was. “I’m glad I don’t have to ride home with her – she’s going to be in a really bad mood.”

I laughed out loud. “All’s well that ends well,” I said.

We all had a great time at the party, even Negus. Several people with small children recognized Negus as Buster, the hero of My Dog, Buster and Buster Runs Away, and they made a big fuss over him and stuffed him with canapés. My father and Stu discovered that they were both into climbing and talked till four in the morning about rock faces and ropes. In fact, my father enjoyed himself so much that by the time we got up on Sunday he’d more or less forgotten why we’d gone to the party in the first place. After he called my mother again, he took Ella and me to lunch, and after our dresses came back from Stu’s cleaners (good as new), he drove us home.

My mother, however, had not been at the party, and had not had a good time. My mother said that if I ever pulled a stunt like that again, she’d have me lobotomized. She’d do it herself.

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when your father called?” she screamed. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you, traipsing around Manhattan in the middle of the night? How could you lie to me like that?”

“I was desperate,” I sobbed. “You didn’t understand how important it was to me.”

“And you don’t seem to understand how important keeping you alive is to me,” said my mother.

My punishment was six months’ hard labour, with no chance of parole.

“I don’t care what plans you’ve already made,” raged my mother. “If I need you to baby-sit, that’s what you do. Six months,” she repeated. “You’ll be free for your birthday.” She gave me a motherly smile. “Make sure you live to enjoy it.”

I promised I would. I could afford to be contrite – and generous – I was getting off lightly, and I knew it. My mother knew nothing about the dress, which I’d smuggled into the house in my bag, and that meant that Mrs Baggoli wasn’t going to know about it, either. There was no way she’d be able to tell by looking at it now that it had spent Saturday in New York. I didn’t get off as lightly as Ella, though. Her parents were out when she got home, and the only thing they asked about Saturday was “Have a nice time at Lola’s?” My mother agreed not to tell the Gerards what had happened.

“There’s no point upsetting them now,” said my mother. “Besides, I know Ella had nothing to do with this. She just let herself be persuaded by you. I don’t think that deserves the wrath of the Gerards.” It was the first time I realized that Karen Kapok probably liked Ella’s parents a lot less than they liked her.

Once my mother had calmed down, I spent the rest of Sunday in a state of euphoria. I couldn’t join in the family conversation. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t even face my homework. I just lay on my bed, listening to Sidartha on my stereo and planning my entrance at school the following morning. I wanted every detail straight in my head, so I could stand back and enjoy my total triumph.

Snatching Defeat From The Jaws Of Victory

Sam Creek arrived in his Karmann Ghia to collect me and the dress on Monday morning.

“So?” said Sam as I squashed myself into the front seat. “How’d it go? Did you manage to get in?”

“You won’t believe what happened!” I said, too excited to pretend to be cool. “You just won’t believe it!”

I told him what happened.

“And you should have seen my dad,” I concluded. “Lots of Stu’s friends knew his books. It was really weird.”

Sam took his hands from the wheel for a second. “Hallelujah!” he shouted. “This is the day I’ve been waiting for since kindergarten, when Carla Santini used to talk me out of my dessert every lunch. I cannot wait to see her face.”

He didn’t have long to wait.

Ella was waiting for us in the courtyard, right outside the student lounge. In my old school, the teachers were lucky to have a faculty room, but in Deadwood even the kids have their own room. The student lounge has three walls of glass, a bunch of chairs and low tables, and a drinks machine. Ella jerked her head behind her as we approached.

“Carla’s already started boring everybody to death with every microscopic detail of the concert and the party,” said Ella. She looked a lot different than she had just two days before. Partly this was because she had her hair down, but it was more than that. She looked brighter, happier, sort of more vivid.

Sam and I looked through the wall of windows. Carla Santini was holding court from the centre chair, flanked by Alma, Tina and Marcia, and surrounded by a gaggle of BTWs. She must have known Ella was waiting for me, because she turned to face me and smiled.

“Uh-oh,” said Sam. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?” asked Ella, her back to Carla.

“She smiled,” said Sam.

“Are you sure?” asked Ella.

The way they were carrying on, you’d think they were two Red Guards talking about Stalin. He scratched his ear this morning… Well, someone’s off to the firing squad…

“She’s bluffing,” I said airily. “She doesn’t want everyone to know she spent yesterday crying her eyes out.” I grabbed both of them by the arm and steered them towards the entrance of the lounge. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s watch Carla Santini eat humble pie.”

Everyone turned around as Ella, Sam and I stepped into the lounge.

“Well, if it isn’t the Great Pretender!” called Carla.

“Kill her now,” muttered Sam.

The smile that had been on Carla’s face since she saw us grew like a cancer. “Come to hear what the Sidartha party was like?” she crowed.

As if she’d said something hysterically funny, the rest of them laughed.

“Why would we want to hear what you have to say?” I asked sweetly. “Ella and I were there, remember?”

This, apparently, was even funnier than what Carla had said.

Alma started shrieking hysterically. “Oh, my God!” Tears of laughter watering her mascara, she turned to Carla. “Did you hear that? She said they were there!”

Marcia gave me a pitying look. “You know, lying’s not going to help you,” she said as though she wanted to be helpful. “Everybody already knows that you didn’t go.” She shook her head, baffled, as many of us are, by human