Mia the Melodramatic (17 page)

My eyes widened to the size of hubcaps.
Boy
?
Tree
?
Sick
?

“It was the most pathetic sight,” the woman continued. “He was rolling on the ground, vomiting all over the place, and calling out for someone named Mia.”

I grabbed the lady’s arm. “What did you just say?”

She snatched her arm back and gave me a curious stare. “I said a boy over there is sicker than a dog, and he’s yelling for his sister Mia, who left him under the tree. Can you believe the nerve of some people?”

“Um, uh, maybe,” I stuttered.

“Well,
I
can’t,” said the woman.

“Are you sure he was asking for Mia?” I asked. “Could he possibly have said Leah, or Sophia, or Maria? Or maybe he said he was from Korea?”

“No, I’m sure he was asking for a girl named Mia,” the lady replied.

“Oh, no,” I groaned.

“What’s wrong?” The lady peered to the front of the line. “Did they shut down the stand early?”

“No, but when my parents find out about this, I bet my social life will be shut down permanently.”

I turned around, leaving the woman with a confused look on her face, and bumped into Eric, Henry, and Zoë, who’d finally caught up with me.

Taking in my expression, Eric said, “What’s wrong?”

I winced. “You hear those sirens? They’re here for Chris.”

“I told you we should have checked on him,” Eric said.

Zoë added, “I told you he looked awfully green to me.”

“Do you think he’s contagious?” Henry said, wiping his hands on his shorts.

I looked toward the tree I’d left Chris propped up against, but couldn’t see him among the thousands of people piling in to see the fireworks. “How am I ever going to get to him?”

“Leave it to me,” Zoë said as she shoved people out of our way like a fullback on Super Bowl Sunday.

After a few incidents, which I’m pretty sure Zoë could have been arrested for, we finally made it to the tree. Seeing Chris being loaded onto a gurney, I pushed past a woman taking pictures of him with her cell phone and yelled, “Wait! I’m his sister!”

A hush fell over the crowd and I felt the scorn of a hundred eyes burning into my flesh.

“You’re his sister?” one of the paramedics asked. “Are you the one
who left this boy out here all alone when he was so sick?”

“Um, that’s me,” I squeaked.

“Well, you’re lucky we got here when we did. I think your brother has acute appendicitis and needs emergency surgery right away.”

I ran to Chris’s side and held his hand as they rolled him towards the ambulance. “Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” he whispered.

Then he leaned over the side of the gurney and threw up all over my shoes.

“I
f Chris dies, it’ll be all my fault!” I wailed in the waiting room of St. Luke’s Hospital. “I should’ve known he was really sick and brought him home.”

Eric put his arm around me and pulled me into a comforting hug. “Mia, it’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know.” Zoë shrugged. “I think Princess has a point. She should never have brought him to the festival in the first place. If he croaks, it’ll be on your conscience, Preppy.”

“Chris is not going to die. The doctors said they got the appendix out before it burst and he’ll be fine in a couple of weeks,” Eric said. “Besides, we’re all to blame. We all saw that Chris was sick and none of us did anything about it.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Henry said. “It wasn’t
my
fault. I was just there for the free music and to check out the babes.”

“If anyone’s to blame,” Aunt Maeve said as she wearily stood up, “it’s me. I should’ve kept a closer watch on you kids. Chris told me he didn’t feel well, but I ignored him. I guess your mom was right—I’d make a lousy parent.”

I peeled myself from Eric’s warm embrace and walked over to my aunt. I gave her a hug just as my parents came racing around the corner. The moment they saw us, they stopped.

“How is he?” Mom asked frantically. “Is the surgery over?”

Aunt Maeve released me and walked over to her sister. “Chris is fine. The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery and should be
released in a couple of days.”

“How could this happen?” Dad said. “Why didn’t you call us sooner?”

“I’m sorry, Andrew. I was so involved in my work that I didn’t notice how sick Chris was.” Aunt Maeve wiped at her eyes. “I should never have let him go with Mia to the fireworks.”

“Oh, Mia!” Mom said, running over to me and giving me a bear hug. “Chris was lucky you were with him. Thank you so much for calling the paramedics. You saved his life.”

“Uh.” I pulled away from Mom’s arms and stared at my puke-stained shoes. “Well, see, um, actually, I didn’t call the paramedics.”

“Of course, you couldn’t have called them.” Mom smiled. “You must have been taking care of Chris. Your friends must have called 9-1-1.”

“Um, they didn’t call either,” I stammered as Zoë, Henry, and Eric suddenly became engrossed in the painting of a bunch of kittens in a basket hanging on the waiting room wall. “You see, I really don’t know who called them because I kind of left Chris and didn’t get back to him until they were loading him into the ambulance.”

Mom’s face paled under her Vegas tan. “Are you telling me you left your brother alone in his time of need?”

“I thought he was faking—”

“Well, it seems you thought wrong,” she said as anger rose to the top of her flaming red hair. “And since you weren’t there when he needed you, I’ll make sure you are there when he needs anything— and I mean anything—during his recovery. You’re grounded until he’s fully healed!”

C
hris rang his bell and I clenched my teeth in frustration. I swear, if he didn’t stop ringing that thing, I was going to place it in a part of his body that would be impossible for him to reach. Ignoring his call, I continued to brush my hair. But within 30 seconds, he began to ring his bell again, and this time he didn’t stop.

I hurled my brush onto the bathroom counter and stormed into his room. “What is it?”

He held out his empty glass. “I need some more orange juice. And this time, can you make sure there isn’t any pulp in it? The pulp gets stuck between my teeth.”

“Mom didn’t buy the no-pulp kind this time,” I replied. “So, too bad.”

“You could strain it for me.”

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to strain—”

Chris coughed weakly. “You know, your threats aren’t helping me get any better. The doctor said I need to take it easy while I recover. Mom said you need to help me heal.”

“It’s been almost four weeks!” I screamed. “I’ve read every article there is on the Internet, and each one of them says you were supposed to be better two weeks ago!”

Chris closed his eyes. “I’m feeling weak. Would you please hurry up with my strained juice? Oh, and I’d also like a piece of toast. You know how I like it.”

“No crusts, creamy peanut butter, and only a touch of strawberry jam,” I snarled.

“And try to get it right this time. It’s getting a little old having to keep sending you back to the kitchen to re-make my breakfast.”

I snatched the glass from his hand and stomped down the stairs. If Chris didn’t get better soon, I swore I was going to kill him.

Later that morning, I looked at my watch.
Cripes
! If we didn’t get the kids moving, we’d never get to the next park on time—I knew it had been a bad idea for Little Tyke’s to perform some plays at the petting zoo.

I called to the little boy standing in the middle of the goat pen, “Charlie, it’s time to go. Your ride is waiting.”

Charlie’s pudgy hand was filled with pellets the petting zoo provided as feed. He held it out to one of the goats and said, “But I love animals!”

“But we have to go right now.” I opened the gate to the pen, but stayed well away from the pack of bloated goats. Who knew what they would do to me if I separated them from the hand that fed them? “We’re going to be late for the next set of shows.”

“Hold on.” Charlie grabbed another handful of pellets from the feed bin and the goats clambered over each other trying to get to his outstretched hand. “Can’t you see they’re hungry?”

I looked at their swollen bellies. “I think the goats have had plenty of food. In fact, a little dieting might be good for them. Now, come on.”

He wrapped his arms around a spotted goat’s neck and clung to it. “No. I want to stay with the goats.”

“Please, Charlie.” I tentatively moved forward, reached my hand over one of the less intimidating goats, and tried to grab Charlie’s
hand. “Let’s go.”

But, instead of grabbing my hand, Charlie buried his head in the goat’s side. I grimaced—his mom was definitely going to have to give him a flea bath when he got home.

Zoë honked the horn of the truck. “Let’s move it, Princess!”

“I’m coming!” I shouted over my shoulder as I thought of a way to get this goat-loving kid out of the pen and into a car.

Turning back to Charlie, I said sweetly, “How about I let you feed the fish at the next park? There’s a pond there, and it’s filled with really pretty fish.”

“Fish?” Charlie looked up at me hopefully. “I like fish.”

“Yes, really big fish,” I said enticingly.

“OK,” Charlie agreed as he broke his bond with the goats and headed for the gate.

Seeing that their gravy train was abandoning them, the goats immediately surrounded me to see if I had any pellets stashed in my pockets.

I waved my arms in the air. “Shoo!”

One of the goats started chewing on my shirt. Another nibbled at my toes. The rest of the herd closed in on me.

“I said, ‘shoo.’” I feebly tried to push one of the goats out of my way. “Get away from me.”

The goats ignored my pleas and moved in closer, their gigantic bellies knocking me off-balance as I shuffled toward the exit. The spotted goat butted me in the derriere and I screamed. Sprinting toward the gate, I threw open the door and closed it on the pack. But just when I thought I was safe, the spotted goat jumped the fence, obviously wanting a second chance at my caboose. When I took off for the truck, he began chasing me. Henry held open the door and I jumped into the backseat just as the goat caught up.

I slammed the door and Henry immediately plugged his nose. “You stink! Do I really have to sit in the back seat with you? You smell like Old McDonald’s farm.”

“E-I-E-I-O,” I muttered as I watched the goat head back to his pen, probably lying in wait for his next victim.