Mia the Melodramatic (18 page)

After getting all the kids back into costume at the next park, I counted heads. Coming up one short, I asked, “Has anyone seen Charlie?”

A girl dressed as a squirrel said, “I saw him. He said he was going to the pond to feed the fish.”

I smacked my head. I should have known.

To the remaining cast of tree animals, I said, “Stay right here until Jan calls you up on stage. I’m going to get Charlie.”

The squirrel waved her bushy tail at me and I took off for the pond. Someone really needed to buy this Charlie kid a dog so he could stop messing with every creature he saw.

Seeing Charlie perched on the edge of the pond, I called, “Hey, wise old owl, we need you on stage.”

“No, I want to feed the fish.” Charlie threw a hunk of something into the pond.

Fish surged to the surface, flopping over one another in a psychotic swirl of black, orange, and white to get a taste of whatever it was he had tossed in the pond.

“Where did you get that food?” I asked.

Charlie threw another chunk into the muddy water. “I found a sandwich and chips in the cooler by the truck. I thought the fish might like it.”

I watched him throw another piece of my ham and cheese at the frenzied fish. “Charlie, that was my lunch!”

He peered at me from behind his round glasses. “You said I could feed ’em.”

“I meant you could feed ’em when we were done with the play,
and I definitely didn’t mean you could give them my lunch.” I grabbed for my bag of Doritos that Charlie was about to dump into the pond. “Now, give those to me.”

“No!”

Charlie ripped the bag away from me and lost his footing. For a second, he teetered precariously on the edge of the pond before landing in the murky waters with a splash. He struggled to get to the surface as fish swarmed him, trying to get at the open chip bag.

“Help me!” he gurgled as the fish convulsed over him in a crazed Dorito delirium.

Without thinking my rescue plan all the way through, I jumped into the water. I waded toward Charlie and the fish hurled their slimy bodies toward me in a thrashing mob. Their cavernous mouths gaped as they tried to latch onto my flesh, and I nearly retched at their awful stench. Charlie’s head ducked under the water, and I knew I had to get to him faster. I grabbed a gargantuan goldfish by its gills and hurled it over my head. Then I snatched up a few others by their fins and flung them through the air, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. It was like something out of the fishes and loaves story in the Bible—the fish just kept multiplying.

“I’m coming, Charlie,” I yelled, taking a deep breath and submerging my head under the water. Swimming below the fish, I opened my eyes, but couldn’t see anything through the hazy film of filth. I took another few strokes and bumped into Charlie’s knees. Breaking through the surface, I grabbed hold of his owl wings and lifted his head out of the water. My feet sank into the mud as I pushed through the horde of fish sucking on my skin like a bunch of souped-up vacuum cleaners.

After receiving what seemed like a thousand fish hickeys, I finally made it to the edge of the pond. Using all my strength, I picked up Charlie and placed him on dry land. Then, giving one final kick to a persistent fish trying to eat my sock, I pulled myself to safety and flopped onto the knee-high weeds like a rag doll left out in the
rain.

I rolled my head over and looked at Charlie’s pathetic face framed by his dripping, drooping, and dismal owl hood. “Are you all right?”

“I’m OK.” Charlie’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t think I like fish anymore, though. They were kind of scary.”

That was the understatement of the year.

Charlie wiped his wet hair from his eyes. “I’m sorry I fed the fish your lunch.”

“I forgive you,” I said, lifting myself from the weeds and picking a blade of grass from his feathers. “But, now, I better get you back to the Play Wagon. We need to get you into some dry clothes and explain to your mom what happened.”

“But what about the play? I can’t be a wise, old owl without my costume.”

“Sure, you can,” I said, rubbing his soggy hood. “A really good actor can make the audience believe whatever he wants them to. Now, get going, so the play can start.”

As I watched him run toward the Play Wagon, my stomach growled, reminding me of my lost lunch. I glanced toward the pond and, for a split-second, wondered what one of those freaks of nature would taste like fried and dipped in tartar sauce.

I
pulled my bike into the driveway and heard a basketball thudding on our backyard court. That’s weird, I thought as I headed to see who it could be. With the Radfords gone, and Chris sick, I was the only one left in the neighborhood who used our court. Rounding the corner, I caught Chris in the middle of a jump shot.

He dropped the ball. “Uh-oh.”

“I knew it!” I screamed, “You
are
better!”

“W-w-what are you doing home so early?” Chris stammered.

I narrowed my eyes. “Nancy let me go because I fell in a fish pond. Now, you’re going to tell me why you’re playing basketball when you’re supposedly still recovering from appendicitis.”

Chris smiled a wicked grin. “I guess I’m busted.”

I lunged for him, knocking him onto the grass and pinning him under me. “You’re a disgusting little sneak! How long have you been better?”

“Get off me!” He tried to shove me off him, but I wouldn’t budge. “You smell like a pig.”

“It’s goat mixed with fish,” I said, leaning in closer and letting him get a good whiff. “And I’m not getting off you until you tell me how long you’ve been hiding the fact you’re better.”

“All right! I’ve been better for two weeks. Now, get off of me before I puke all over you again.”

My fingers clenched into a fist and I started wailing on him. “I
can’t believe you! I was grounded for a month and had to wait on you hand and foot while you were perfectly fine?”

Blocking my blows, Chris grabbed my arm and shoved me aside. Then he lunged for my knees and tackled me. Sitting on top of me, he tried to hit me as I clawed at his face. “What about you? You left me to die at that park.”

“I thought you were faking—just like you’ve faked being sick for so long.”

“So
what
if I was faking it? You deserved it!”

“Stop it this instant!”

We both dropped our fists and stared at Mom, who had just pulled into the driveway. She yanked open her car door, stormed over to us, and tore Chris off me.

“What’s going on here? When I left, you were moaning about how much pain you were in and asking me to get you your favorite ice cream, and now you’re out here beating up your sister?”

“Um, I suddenly felt a lot better.” Chris smiled guiltily. “I guess it’s a miracle.”

Mom glowered at him. “I’ll tell you what a miracle is. It’s a miracle any of us survived all your demands the past month. Chris, you’re grounded. Mia, you’re not. Now, I’m going into the house, and I’m going to eat this ice cream all by myself, and don’t either of you come near me.”

As Mom slammed the door behind her, I glared at Chris and said, “I will get you back for this. I don’t know when or how, but you will pay for ruining the last month of my summer.”

“Ooh,” Chris said sarcastically. “I’m so scared.”

“You should be,” I replied.

T
he next day, I was walking around to the back of the Play Wagon. As she fastened a grass skirt around a little girl’s waist, Jan looked up. “Where have you been? It’s bad enough you left early yesterday. I don’t need you strolling in late for work today.”

“Sorry, I was—”

“There’s no time for excuses. I need you to finish dressing these blades of grass and then slip some hats onto the raindrops. When you’re done with that, you can fluff up the clouds.” She pointed at some kids with cotton balls stuck all over their tunics. “I caught them rolling in the grass, and now they’re all flat. We can’t have flat clouds, now can we?”

“Of course not,” I mumbled as I tied a grass skirt around a pudgy little girl named Cynthia.

Jan ran after a group of sunbeams escaping toward the park’s swing set and shouted to me over her shoulder, “I don’t know if Zoë told you, but Betsy’s parents called this morning. She’s got poison ivy, so I’ll need you to stand in for her and be a blade of grass today.”

I scowled. When Zoë volunteered to be Playhouse Pal this morning, I knew it was too good to be true.

Cynthia patted my arm. “Don’t worry—I’ll help you learn your lines.”

“The spring sun warms us and melts away the snow,” I chanted onstage next to Cynthia, who smiled at me with encouragement. “Then the raindrops feed us, and up and up we grow!” I put my arms over my head and pretended to shoot up from the ground along with the rest of the blades of grass. “The spring wind’s gentle breeze moves us to and fro. And we like to do the hula when the wind does blow.”

I swayed my hips from side to side with my fellow grass blades, and the grass skirt I’d tucked into the top of my shorts dropped to the ground. I quickly picked it up and tucked it back in without missing a beat. After a summer of being forced to stand in for sick or vacationing kids—and wearing costumes designed for people half my size—I’d become a pro at handling any type of wardrobe malfunction.

When the sunrays came out, Cynthia grabbed my hand and led me to the side of the stage.
Phew!
Spring was over. Now all I had to do was squat beside Cynthia while the kids playing the summer and fall parts recited their lines. I used my momentary break to scan the audience. Not a bad crowd for a morning show—the usual mix of stay-at-home moms, dressed-up fathers, siblings, grandparents, daycare workers, and a group of high school cheerleaders...

Cheerleaders
? I did a double-take. No, it couldn’t be. What would she be doing here?

Cynthia nudged me. “Pay attention. We’re on next.”

I shook my head, trying to refocus my attention on the play. Standing up, I chorused alongside Cynthia, “Now that fall is over and winter will soon be here, it’s time for us to say goodbye.” I wagged my finger back and forth. “But please don’t shed a tear.”

All the grass blades put their heads on their hands and chanted, “Because we are only resting—we won’t disappear. We will be back
green and strong when the sun comes out next year!”

The audience applauded and I hustled the kids offstage, hoping to avoid any possible calls for an encore.

As soon as we were backstage, Cynthia gave me a hug. “You were really good—almost as good as Betsy.”

I tousled her hair. “Thanks,” I said as I handed her off to her mom so I could gather up the next group of kids for their rousing rendition of
The Three Little Kittens.

After successfully herding the mother cat and her forgetful offspring onto the stage, I walked over to Eric, who was hanging out by the sound system. “I want you to look at the cheerleaders standing in the back of the audience and see if you recognize anyone.”

“Cheerleaders?” Henry asked, standing up and trying to look over Eric’s shoulder. “Squat down—let me see ’em.”