Away for the Weekend

Lucinda rolls her eyes. “You really are acting weird this morning.”

Who’s acting?

“What the hell are you screaming like that for, woman?”

Gabriela turns. Standing in the doorway – looming, more like – is a girl who has to be at least six-feet tall, and who is definitely built like a member of the team whose shirt she wears. Not only does her hair stick up all over her head like each strand has a mind of its own, she doesn’t shave her legs either and her toenails are more like claws. No polish, needless to say. She is, in her way, an impressive sight, especially with the bedside lamp held menacingly over her head.

It would be stretching it to suggest that the sight of Delila has a calming effect on Gabriela, but it does bring her to her senses rather sharply. “Who are you supposed to be?” she snaps. “Xena, Warrior Princess?”

“From the way you were screaming, you sounded like you needed Xena.” The girl lowers the lamp. “I thought somebody was killing you.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up like that.” Gabriela gives one of her silly-me laughs, but it doesn’t sound as charming coming from Beth as it does from someone with a musical voice, sparkling eyes and dimples. “I just— You know … I just had a fright.” Two if you count the sudden appearance of Beth’s room-mate.

Delila puts the light back where it belongs. “You had a fright? You could’ve cut my promising young life short by decades carryin’ on like that!”

“I said I didn’t mean to.”

“Ooooh…” Delila makes a well-excuse-me face. “Somebody sure got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

No, just the wrong bed.

Gabriela takes a deep breath and tries again. “Something scared me, that’s all.”

“Oh, I’m sure something scared you, all right.” Delila laughs, though not unkindly. “So what was it? You suddenly remembered you forgot your malaria medicine? You thought there could be somebody hiding in the shower?” She shakes her finger as if she’s tapping something out of a jar. “I know! You were practising screaming just in case there’s some kind of emergency later.”

Gabriela may have shared a class with Beth since they started high school, but all she knows about her is that she’s a brain, that she talks so softly the only way you could tell what she’s saying would be if you read lips and her name: Beth Beeby (which has occasionally been rhymed with “creepy”). She knows nothing about the fears and anxieties that follow Beth around like an especially aggressive pack of paparazzi; or about Lillian Beeby, the poet laureate of angst. Which is why she’s beginning to think that, on top of everything else, Delila is clinically insane.

“What are you talking about? I was still half asleep, that’s all.” Gabriela intends to stalk out of the bathroom, but Delila just stands there, watching her with amusement and blocking the way, so she squeezes past her instead. And then realizes, of course, that there is nowhere to go – just the one small room. A room that seems to be getting smaller by the minute.

“You don’t need to get all snippy with me,” says Delila from approximately an inch behind her. “I was only fooling around. I’m on your side, remember?”

“Right. Of course.” Gabriela gives her a wan smile. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me this morning.” At least that much is true.

“Major discombobulation,” judges Delila. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’re really stressed out. Last night was OK and everything, but there were moments.” She rolls her eyes in a long-suffering kind of way. “I swear those preppy types make my butt hurt like I’ve been sitting on rocks for seventy-two hours. They’re so damn full of themselves—” She squashes her lips together and wrinkles her nose as though some unpleasant odour has been let loose in the room. “Man, if those girls’d dropped any more names the floor would’ve caved in.”

All Gabriela really registers is the major-discombobulation part. That’s putting it mildly, if you ask her. She’s like that story about the ugly duckling in reverse. Yesterday she was a beautiful swan and now look at her! Beth Beeby in shades of brown and grey. Quackquackquack.

“You’re right,” says Gabriela. “I am really stressed out.” If she were not a resilient young woman but the heaviest duty polyester thread, she would already have snapped. And she’s not going to feel less stressed until she gets rid of Xena here. Science may not be Gabriela’s best subject, but she does remember that Somebody’s Great Law says that two things can’t occupy the same space at the same time (which, let’s face it, doesn’t take a big brain to figure out – anybody who’s ever tried to find a place for a couple of new pairs of shoes in her shoe rack could tell you that). Which means that if Gabriela is in Beth’s body, then there’s a pretty good chance that – as a further example of just how heart-crushingly ironic (and unfair) life can be – Beth is in hers. Which means that she has to talk to Beth. Alone. “That’s why— That’s why I think maybe I need some personal time.”

“Personal time?” Many people, hearing such a ridiculous statement, would laugh. Delila folds her arms in front of her, pursing her lips: a warrior princess assessing unfamiliar terrain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, that I need some time by myself.”

“Some time by yourself.” Delila cocks her head to one side. “Today. Of all the 365 days in the year, this is the one when you want time by yourself?”

Gabriela, accustomed as she is to being agreed with and indulged, not questioned, ignores Delila’s sarcastic tone and seeing-through-concrete gaze.

“Yeah, you know… I don’t really feel up to hanging out with everybody. I think I’ll just skip—”

“Skip? Am I suffering from some sudden hearing defect, or are you suggesting that you skip today?”

“It’s not like anyone’s going to miss me.” After all, Beth Beeby’s been at Jeremiah High School for three years and most of the staff and students don’t even know that she’s there.

“I’d miss you. And you can bet your last printer cartridge that Professor Gryck would miss you, too. And she’s not gonna buy that ‘personal time’ dog-dooh, either. You can’t skip today. Not one infinitesimal part of it. Not unless you’re being hauled off in some vehicle that has a siren.”

“Professor Gryck?” repeats Gabriela.

“Yeah, you know.” Delila’s fingers tap against her upper arms. “She’s the one organizing everything? Built like a water tower? You sat next to her at dinner last night and had a big talk about tension headaches.”

Gabriela does her oh-silly-me laugh again. “Oh that Professor Gryck.”

“Yeah, that Professor Gryck. And she’s not going to be too happy to find out you came all the way to LA just so you can spend the day in bed.” Delila gives her another scrutinous look. “What’s wrong with you, Beth? I thought you said this was the most important thing that ever happened to you. I thought you said you would’ve made it here if you had three migraines and body-hives.”

What a difference a day can make.

“Well, I am here. Only now I need some time by myself. It’s a lot more stressful than I thought it would be.” Which is certainly true.

“Well, it’s not gonna happen.” If Delila were a warrior princess, she would definitely be one who takes no prisoners. “Santa Claus doesn’t sleep through Christmas, and you’re not sleeping through the biggest weekend in your life. There’s no way I’m letting you lunch it because your nerves are all a-jitter. Your nerves are always a-jitter. Eat an onion and chill out. Because unless they have to put you on life support, you’re coming.”

This is insane. Who is this girl to stand there like a prison door? Gabriela not only likes to keep the things in her mental closet limited to what she actually needs, she only deals with them one item at a time. She can’t think about what’s happened to her and what to do about it and deal with whatever it is Beth and the Moving Mountain are doing here.

“Excuse me,” says Gabriela, “but in case you didn’t notice, you aren’t my mother.” She may not know who this girl is, but she at least is sure of that much in what seems to be a very uncertain world. “You can’t—” An old- fashioned phone starts to ring – bringggbringggbringgg – sounding as if it’s coming from under Gabriela’s pillow. She looks towards the bed.

“Speak of the devil…” mutters Delila. She, too, is looking at Gabriela’s bed. “Tell her you can’t talk now.”

Gabriela moves her attention back to Delila. “Tell who?”

“You know who. Tell her we have to get down to breakfast. Pronto.”

Breakfast? Gabriela hasn’t eaten breakfast since she was nine, when she went on her first diet. “Oh, look, I’ll