forest and die by myself.
In fact, Ella and I didn’t talk much that day. I was in too deep a state of grief for idle chit-chat, and besides that, I was laying the ground for a sudden attack of influenza. It was the easiest way. I mean, I couldn’t very well go to Mrs Baggoli and say, “I’ve decided to step down as Eliza, since Carla wants the part so much.”
I was quiet and distracted in my classes.
My teachers noticed that the student they relied on for animated participation was listless and withdrawn.
“Lola,” they said. “Are you all right? You’re very quiet today.”
“It’s nothing,” I answered. “I have a headache”, or “My throat’s a little sore”, or, by the end of the afternoon, “I think I have a fever.”
As soon as I got home, I took to my bed.
My mother found me, prostrate on the couch, wrapped in the old granny-square afghan my dad crocheted when he hurt himself falling off a mountain in the Catskills and was laid up for a few weeks. Whenever anyone’s sick in Ella’s house, they take an aspirin and go to bed. But whenever anyone’s sick in my house, they lie on the couch with the afghan and watch TV.
“What’s wrong?” asked my mother. “Aren’t you feeling well?” Her usual suspiciousness had been replaced with maternal concern. She knew the play meant more to me than anything; it wouldn’t occur to her that I was only acting.
I raised my head as she crossed the room. “My throat hurts,” I croaked, barely loud enough to be heard. “And my head…” I fell back against the pillows. “I think I have a fever…” I stifled a moan of pain. “My skin feels like it’s on fire.”
My mother wiped her hands on her clay-covered apron and felt my forehead. Her face clouded with concern. “You do feel warm…”
I should have felt warm; I’d been lying there with the hot water bottle pressed to my head, waiting for her to come out of her studio.
“I hope you’re not coming down with something…”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I whispered hoarsely. “Stress…”
“It could be the flu,” said my mother. “There’s a lot of it going around…” She started feeling my glands. “Serves you right for running around in that storm on Saturday.”
“I can’t be sick,” I moaned feebly. “Tomorrow’s
“I’ll make you a herbal tea,” said my mother, “and a compress for your fever. Maybe it’s just one of those twenty-four hour bugs.”
I moaned again. “It has to be,” I said as she bustled out of the room. “I can’t miss the play.”
My mother’s voice was respectfully low and full of concern. “I’m really sorry, Ella,” she was saying, “but I’m afraid she can’t come to the phone. She isn’t feeling well.”
She paused while Ella spoke.
“It looks like some kind of flu,” my mother continued. “You know, throat, head and fever. But despite all appearances, she isn’t going to die. It doesn’t look like she’ll be going to school tomorrow, though.”
I could hear the sound of Ella’s voice coming through the receiver, but not the words themselves.
“I know,” said my mother, “it really is a shame. My folks are coming all the way from Connecticut, and of course there’s Mary’s dad… They’re all going to be really disappointed.”
I didn’t want to hear about all the people I was supposedly letting down. I lifted my hand and waved it in my mother’s direction. I was much too weak and my voice much too sore to tell her to say hello to Ella for me.
My mother gave me a nod. “She says to say hello,” she said to Ella. My mother looked over at me again. “Ella says hi,” she reported.
“That’d be great,” said my mother. “I’ll tell her.”
“Tell me what?” I asked as my mother hung up the phone.
“Ella says she’ll make sure she gets all your homework for you.”
Struggling against the pain, I smiled my gratitude. What a friend.
As you can imagine, I had another bad night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Carla Santini in the red satin dress, smiling into the spotlight like a glacier. I heard the cheers and cries of “Bravo!”. I watched her step in front of everyone else to take another bow.
I was awake at dawn.
I knew I was doing the right thing; I was sure of it. It meant that I had forever lost the fight against Carla Santini and the forces of darkness, but what did it matter? There’s no point in waging a battle you know you’ll lose even if you win.
All I had to do was stay in bed for the next twenty-four hours, and it would all be over. But I had to stop thinking about it. I had to stop the corkscrew of pain that gouged at my heart every time I imagined Carla Santini in Eliza’s dress.
I heard my mother get up and go into the kitchen. I heard the twins erupt into consciousness. I heard the radio go on. (The weather was going to be mild and sunny. I’d been hoping for rain. Rain’s always so comforting when you’re unhappy.) And then I heard the door bell. I looked at my clock. It was too early for the mailman with a package, or even for the UPS man, come to take some boxes of dinnerware away.
Pam tripped over something and fell, so Paula reached the door first.
“She’s sick!” shouted Paula. “She isn’t going to school today. So now we don’t have to go to her boring play.”
“Now nobody has to go to the boring play,” said Ella.
This was not Ella-like behaviour, this coming to the house at seven-thirty in the morning. She hadn’t been able to bring me my homework the afternoon before because she had to do something with her mother at the last minute, but I’d figured she’d wait till the weekend to come. I had the thought to jump up and lock the door, but before I could it opened and Ella Marjorie Gerard, the girl once destined to be picked as Most Shy in our high-school yearbook, marched in.
“I want to talk to you,” said Ella, and she slammed the door in Pam and Paula’s faces.
“Not now,” I said. I rubbed my eyes sleepily. “I just woke up.”
Ella threw her book bag on the foot of my bed. “Oh, sure you did,” said Ella.
“I really don’t feel well—” I began.
“You can cut the crap,” said the most polite and well-mannered teenager in New Jersey. “I know what you’re doing.” She grabbed the blanket and yanked it off me. “And I’m not going to let you get away with it. Get up now and get dressed for school.”
I stared at her, agog. I’d never heard Ella talk to anyone like that. I didn’t think she was capable of it.
“I’m telling you I’m sick,” I said. I pulled the blanket back around me, shivering slightly. “I have a fever,” I told her. “Ask my mother.”
“What do you think I am, stupid?” asked Ella. “You’re not sick. You’re bailing out of the play.” She folded her arms in front of her and set her jaw. She looked like she was in a play herself. “You’re giving up,” said Ella.
Admitting defeat was beginning to get easier and easier.
“All right,” I snapped. “So what if I am?” I glared at her. “I wish I’d done it when you wanted me to. I could have saved myself a lot of time and trouble.”
“Well, I don’t want you to now,” said Ella. She dropped her arms and sat down on the bed. “You can’t do this, Lola. Everybody’s depending on you.”
Sure they were. Depending on me to play the fool.
“Hah hah,” I said. “Nobody will even notice the difference.”
“Of course they will,” said Ella. “What about your parents? And your grandparents? And me? And Sam? Sam’s never been to a school function before in his life. He’s only going for you.”
“Maybe he can get a refund.” I fluffed up my pillow and leaned back. “Maybe all of you can.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” said Ella. “This isn’t like you at all. What happened to the person who never gives up? What happened to the person who told me her motto was ‘never say die’?”
