Mia the Melodramatic (2 page)

I
looked out my bedroom window and saw Tim’s dad loading suitcases into the family minivan. I couldn’t believe it! My boyfriend for the past 209 days was leaving to spend the whole summer with his grandparents in Maine. And though I thought it was rotten when Lisa told me she was abandoning me for the summer, the pain didn’t compare to when Tim told me his parents were shipping him and his brother Kevin off for a summer by the ocean. I mean, Tim and I had spent practically every day together during the previous six months. We studied together, played basketball together, rode bikes together, kissed together, and laughed together. OK, so maybe we fought together most of the time, too. But what was I going to do without him for an entire summer?

When I saw Tim walk out his front door and cut across my yard, I ran out of my room and down the stairs to meet him before he rang the bell. I wanted to say goodbye without my whole family standing around gawking at us. If I wasn’t going to be around any testosterone for the next ten weeks, I hoped to get in one last make-out session before I was left high and dry.

I slipped outside just as Tim reached my porch. For a few moments, we simply stared at each other. I think it was the first time since we met, during my meeker days, that neither of us knew what to say.

Finally, Tim spoke. “Well, our flight’s in a couple of hours.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“No luck convincing your parents of an upcoming lobster flu epidemic?”

“Nope.” Tim smiled. “I even tried the rabid moose attack argument, but nothing worked. They’re bent on having Kevin and me spend the summer with our grandparents. They keep saying it’s because they want us to get to know Grandma and Grandpa Radford better, but I think they’re just trying to get rid of Kevin for the summer.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Then why are they sending you, too?”

“Because they can’t let Kevin know they love me more than him.” Tim held up his hands. “And who can blame ’em? I’m handsome, charming, witty, caring—”

“Don’t forget modest,” I added.

“That, too.”

His dad slammed the back hatch of the van and called from their driveway, “Come on, Tim. You don’t want to miss your flight.”

Tim looked over his shoulder. “Give me a minute, Dad.”

His dad tapped his watch. “One minute and then we’re out of here,” he said as he walked up the steps and disappeared into their house.

With a big swallow, I tried to hold back all the emotions threatening to burst. If I let Tim see me cry, I’d never hear the end of it. “See you in August,” I said.

“Yeah, August.” Tim’s dark brown eyes met mine. “That’s only ten weeks away. Besides, don’t people say distance makes the heart grow fonder?”

“I think it’s
‘absence
makes the heart grow fonder.’”

He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure it’s
distance.”

“And I know it’s
absence.
My mom’s an English teacher, remember? I know every literary cliché there is.”

“Fine. I’ll give you that one,” Tim replied, “but only because I feel bad about beating you in basketball last night.”

I punched his arm. “You only beat me because you cheated.”

“I did
not
cheat. That ball was still in bounds.”

“It was totally out of bounds before you made that basket,” I sputtered.

“Maybe I better get you some cheese with that whine.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe I’ll just find someone else to play basketball with this summer. After all, another expression is, ‘out of sight, out of mind.’” Tim stepped in closer to me. “Aw, come on. You know you don’t mean that.”

I ignored the warmth creeping up my skin. “Maybe I do.”

Tim lifted my chin and kissed me. “You’ll never get me out of your mind. And I only have 20 seconds left, so you better be nice to me.”

I sighed—he was right. But I didn’t need to tell him that. Besides, I put my arms around him, and actions speak louder than words.

O
n Monday morning, I was in the middle of spooning cereal into my mouth when Chris walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of old boxer shorts. I averted my eyes. “Go put some clothes on before I get sick,” I said. “Can’t you see I’m eating?”

“What are you doing up so early?” Chris asked as he opened the cupboard and took out the Sugar Snaps. “Did Mom and Dad ask you to run away from home again?”

I got up and dumped the rest of my cereal down the drain. After seeing Chris in his underwear, I lost my appetite.

“Maybe if you pulled your head out of those comic books you call ‘graphic novels,’ you would’ve heard Mom, Dad, and me talking about my new job at Little Tyke’s Theatre. I start work today.”

Chris poured his Sugar Snaps into a giant bowl, dumped in half a gallon of milk, and said, “You got a job at Little Tyke’s Theatre? Why’d they hire you? You don’t have any talent.”

“They need someone to help take care of the kids between plays. It pays minimum wage, but it keeps me away from you, which is almost worth working for free.”

Chris slurped up a spoonful of Sugar Snaps. “Somebody actually hired Mia the Meek to be on stage?”

“Nobody calls me that anymore. And besides, all my work is going to be
back
stage.”

“I hope so, because there’s no way you can act in a play. You
have enough trouble acting human,” he said as he shoveled another load of Sugar Snaps into his mouth and dribbled milk down his bare chest.

I winced. “Don’t you need a license to be that revolting?”

Chris burped in reply.

“You know,” I said, “I used to think you were a pain in the neck.” I opened the back door to make my escape. “But now I have a much lower opinion of you.” And I shut the door before he had a chance to respond.

Little Tyke’s Theatre was in a complex of red-brick cottages built during the Civil War. Originally, they were used as a hospital for wounded soldiers. The buildings lay abandoned for years, and when we were younger, Lisa and I used to climb up the tunnel-shaped fire escapes attached to the cottages and explore the empty buildings. Nowadays, some non-profit businesses like Little Tyke’s Theatre and Big Brothers-Big Sisters used the buildings as their headquarters. But even after all the renovations, I swore I could still smell the blood of dying soldiers in the air.

Shaking off these gloomy thoughts, I forced myself to get into a Little Tyke’s mindset. After all, I was entering the so-called magical world of make-believe. Death and destruction probably didn’t fit my job description. I locked my bike in the bike rack and tried to focus on happier thoughts—like how Chris must be feeling right about now after ingesting half a box of Sugar Snaps laced with crushed laxatives. I know my prank was childish, but it was his fault. When he poured Tabasco in the ketchup bottle last week, my lips were so burnt I had to talk with a lisp. I warned him that revenge would be “sweet.” And what was sweeter than Sugar Snaps?

A grin worthy of Playhouse Pal crossed my face as I pictured
Chris spending his first day of summer vacation stuck in the bathroom. I was even half-tempted to clap my hands, stomp my feet, and shout “hooray,” but I restrained myself, and instead opened the door to Little Tyke’s Theatre.

A middle-aged woman came rushing through the open door, screaming, “I didn’t mean to do it! You hear me? It was an accident. I didn’t know the gun was loaded!”

My eyes bulging, I flattened myself against the door and let her pass, but she paused in front of me. “I swear, I didn’t mean to kill her.”

“Don’t hurt me,” I whimpered as I welded my back against the screen. “I won’t tell anyone—I promise.”

She walked past me as if in a daze, shrilly repeating, “I didn’t mean to do it! You hear me? It was an accident. I didn’t know the gun was loaded!” Then she disappeared around the corner.

As soon as she was gone, I ran into the building and down the hallway in search of a phone. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. A homicidal maniac was on the loose, and had confessed everything to me! I had to call the police.

Seeing an office door ajar, I ducked inside and jumped about a mile when a voice said, “Mia, I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Nancy, you need to call the cops,” I whispered, closing the door behind me. “There was a crazy woman outside talking about how she killed somebody. But don’t worry. I got a good look at her and think I can give an accurate description to the police sketch artist.”

“Was she talking about how she didn’t know the gun was loaded?” Nancy said.

I nodded, confused by Nancy’s calm reaction.

“Oh, that’s just Jan.” Nancy stood up and walked around from the back of her desk, which was cluttered with a collection of pig costumes, fake swords, and scripts. “She’s rehearsing for a play at the local community theater. If I remember correctly, her character ends up killing ten people by the end of the show.”

I looked over my shoulder and lowered my voice. “Are you sure she’s not dangerous?”

“Of course. Jan is one of our teachers.” Nancy laughed. “Welcome to the theater, Mia.”

What had I gotten myself into? Just last year, I was scared to talk to a stranger, and now it seemed as if I was going to be surrounded by the strangest strangers of all.

“Come on, I’ll show you around so you can get to work.” Nancy led me out of her office and into the hallway. “Little Tyke’s Theatre owns two cottages and the building on the end. This cottage has the main office and two rooms upstairs for theater classes and play rehearsals for our younger shows. Next door is where we keep our props and costumes, and the building on the end has our main stage. It was built about ten years ago and that’s where we hold our plays for our winter shows.” She opened the door. “Let’s head next door so you can meet the rest of the stage crew. Eric’s excited to see you again.”

I faked a smile. Eric was Nancy’s son, and the last time I saw him, he had a mullet haircut, thick glasses, braces, and a case of acne that would have set a dermatologist for life. And unfortunately, his appearance was his best quality. I might be shy, but when we were little, Eric’s personality bordered somewhere between introvert and full-fledged hermit. I wondered how Nancy had ever pried Eric from under his bed to work at a place that puts on plays.

In the next building, we entered a room filled with old telephones, plastic food, musical instruments, tables, chairs, and everything in-between. It even had a giant centipede hanging from the ceiling. “This is our prop storage,” Nancy explained. “As you can see, we have quite a collection of, well... anything you can possibly imagine.”

I picked up a jar that looked like it was filled with eyeballs. A deep voice from behind me said, “Pretty authentic, huh? They’re actually ping pong balls floating in a mixture of water and Karo syrup. We
painted them last summer when we needed a set for a mad scientist.”

I turned around, and there was a guy who was definitely “off the heezy for sheezy,” as my old boyfriend, Jake, used to say. He had blonde hair cut in a shaggy style, eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea, and a lean body that looked as if I could bounce a quarter off it. And he was at least a half foot taller than me, which is difficult to accomplish, considering I’m 5’10” in bare feet.

He continued talking in a voice that would turn any radio station into an overnight success. “What’s up, Mia?”

I shook my head. There was no way I knew this guy. You don’t forget perfection.

Nancy must have sensed my hesitancy. “Mia, you remember Eric, don’t you?”

This was Eric?
I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years, but this couldn’t be the same kid who used to hide in the hayloft when Chris and I were forced to play with him at his farm.

“It’s all right if you didn’t recognize me. A lot of people say they don’t when they haven’t seen me in a while.” Eric shrugged. “It’s probably because I don’t wear glasses anymore.”

“Kind of like Clark Kent when he turns into Superman.”

Eric laughed. “I never thought of it like that.”

I was amazed. Nobody ever got my jokes. So, he was gorgeous
and
clever?