Mia the Melodramatic (9 page)

I wanted to add, “cleaning up barf and wiping snot from kids’ noses,” but restrained myself.

I hit send. At least I didn’t sound too pathetic.
If Tim’s having a great summer, the least I can do is pretend I’m having one, too.

I shut off the computer, lumbered up to my bedroom, and crawled into bed. As soon as I closed my eyes, into my brain came an image of Tim and Felicity sailing into the moonlight. Of course, Felicity was blonde and beautiful—like Tim’s ex-girlfriend Cassie. But while Cassie was a witch, Felicity was probably so sweet and kind that forest animals flocked to her side while she sang in her super-high soprano voice. OK, maybe that was Snow White, but still...

As I drifted off to sleep, Tim transformed into a pirate, and Felicity changed into a beautiful parrot sitting on his shoulder. Tim looked totally hot in his torn red shirt and black knickers. Even the patch on his eye looked sexy. When he leaned over me, I could tell he wanted to say something, but I couldn’t understand him because every time he opened his mouth, Felicity chirped like a cricket and drowned out his voice. As I tried to get my ear closer to his mouth, something plopped onto my head.

My eyes flew open.
Something was moving on my cheek!
I tentatively reached over to brush it off, and it jumped onto my lips. Screaming,
I pushed it off, but something else landed on my arm. My skin was crawling with bugs! I hurtled off my bed, flicked on the light, and gasped in horror. My room was completely covered with crickets! There had to be a hundred of them crawling and hopping all over my bed and floor!

“Mom! Dad!” I screamed, racing into the hall. “Get in here!”

Mom and Dad flew out of their bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” Dad yelled as he ran to my bedroom. He stopped in my doorway. “What the—?!”

“Mia, what are you—” Mom’s hand flew to her mouth when she walked into my room. “Where did all these crickets come from?”

“That’s what I want to know!” I shouted, “Chris, get in here now!”

Chris walked out of his room, rubbing his eyes like a cartoon character. He stretched and yawned dramatically, acting like he was just waking up. I glared at him. He was such a faker.

“What’s going on?” he asked sleepily. As he looked inside my room, I saw him bite his lips and try to suppress a smile. “Man, how did all these crickets get in here?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “That seems to be the magic question,” I said.

Chris faked innocence. “You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?”

“Mia,” Dad said, “how would Chris get this many crickets in here?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?”

Mom skeptically raised her eyebrow. “It does seem a little unusual that this many crickets would find their way into Mia’s bedroom so soon after Mia pulled that horrible toothpaste prank on you.”

“I swear,” Chris said, holding up his hand as if taking an oath, “I didn’t have anything to do with this. Maybe you should be asking Mia why God sent a plague of crickets on her.”

“You’re the only plague around here,” I said, “and if you think
Mom and Dad are going to believe any more of your lies, you’re even more of an idiot than I thought.” I turned to Mom and Dad. “Right?”

Mom stared into his eyes. “Chris, do you promise me you had nothing to do with this?”

Chris crossed his heart. “I promise.”

“Because God knows if you’re lying,” Dad added.

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Of course he’s lying, and he’s way more afraid of you guys than God. God can’t take away his TV privileges.”

“Mia, unless you have proof that Chris infested your room with crickets, there’s nothing we can do about it,” Mom said. “I’ll call the exterminator tomorrow to figure out if there’s a crack in your wall.”

“The only crack in here,” I said, “is the crack in Chris’s brain.”

“That’s enough, Mia. Instead of wasting your time blaming Chris, why don’t you focus your anger on these bugs before they escape into the rest of the house?” Dad picked up my flip-flop lying in the middle of my room, and with it, smashed a cricket to smithereens.

Great! That was my favorite pair of shoes. And now I’d never be able to wear them again unless splattered cricket guts suddenly became all the rage in lady’s footwear.

T
he next morning, Zoë asked me, “What’s up? You look like something my cat spit up.”

“I’ll tell you what’s up,” I said, yawning and placing my head down on the picnic table outside the Little Tyke’s cottages. “Crickets.”

Zoë shook her head. “You’re making even less sense than usual, Princess.”

“Last night I woke up to find my bedroom covered in crickets. I spent most of the night killing them. Then I was up the rest of the night reliving the horror of them crawling all over my face.”

Zoë cracked her gum. “So, the hood has roaches and the ’burbs have crickets?”

“It’s not my neighborhood,” I said, yawning even louder. “It’s my brother Chris. He’s the one who put them in my room, and now I have to think of some way to get back at him. But I’m so tired, I can’t even think straight.”

“Well, you better wake up quick because it’s your turn to be Playhouse Pal.”

I closed my eyes. “I can’t. I’m too tired.”

“I know what’ll make you feel better.” Zoë stuck her fingers into her mouth and whistled. “Hey, Henry! Fire up the espresso machine. We need to get Mia some caffeine, stat.”

I tried to draw Playhouse Pal’s black triangles over my eyebrows, but my hands were shaking too badly. “Wow, what’s in that espresso stuff? I feel great! I could run a marathon!”

Zoë grabbed the eyebrow pencil from my hand. “Slow down there, Preppy. I think you’ve had a little too much caffeine. Are you sure you can be Playhouse Pal this morning?”

“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to run out there and sing! I’ve got so much energy!” I said, fidgeting while Zoë finished my makeup.

“I bet you do.”

“Hurry up!” My toes tapped the ground. “I can’t just sit here all day.”

Zoë finished coloring in my smile, then patted my back. “Go get ’em, Princess.”

“Why does my head hurt so much?” I moaned a few hours later as I lay in the backseat of the Play Wagon truck.

Henry handed me a couple aspirin and a glass of water. “You must be coming down off your caffeine buzz. I really shouldn’t have let you drink that third cup.”

I rolled over on my side to shield my eyes from the sun. My stomach churned, as if acid was eating away the lining. “Do you always feel like this after you drink coffee?”

“You have to build up your tolerance,” Henry said. “Nobody goes from not ever trying coffee to drinking three double espressos in a row. That’s enough to kill you.”

“Well, the wagon’s hitched up to the truck,” Eric said, slamming
the driver’s seat door. I immediately groaned at the noise. “Sorry about that, Mia.” He looked at Henry. “Did you have to let her drink all that coffee?”

Henry buckled me up. “Hey, don’t yell at me. Zoë’s the one who told me she needed some caffeine.”

“I said
some
caffeine,” Zoë said. “Not a vat of it. But, I have to say, today was the most energetic I’ve ever seen Playhouse Pal. Did you see the cartwheels Mia did across the front of the stage?”

“And what about the three verses she added to ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It?’” Henry added. “When she got done with them, those kids were panting.”

“Yeah,” Eric said with a chuckle. “And I bet her ‘Hokey Pokey’ would’ve won the Guinness world record for fastest song ever sung.”

“It isn’t funny,” I muttered.

“Yeah, it is,” Zoë said. “But what’s even funnier is that your brother filled your room with crickets and your parents let him get away with it. They must be even more naïve than you are.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said as I leaned my head against the truck window. “And I’m pretty sure there’s no way they’ll let me hear your band Friday night.”

“That’s not fair. Everybody deserves to hear good music—even stiffs like you.” Zoë turned around in her seat. “How about if I come over to your house to talk to them tonight?”

“I don’t know. They sometimes thought Mr. Rogers was a little too outrageous with some of his sweater choices. I can’t imagine what they’ll think of your wardrobe.”

“Don’t worry, Preppy. I’m great with parents.”

“She’s right,” Eric said. “Zoë’s the one who got my mom to agree to let me visit New York City with my drama class last spring.”

“And if she can’t convince them,” Henry said, “they’ll die of shock seeing who you’ve been working with this summer, and she’ll at least know where to bury the bodies.”

W
hen I got home from work that night and opened the door, Frank Sinatra’s voice greeted me as he belted out a song about New York, New York. Too tired to switch off the CD, I fell back onto the couch and closed my eyes.

My mom walked into the living room. “
Buona sera.
”

“Oh, no,” I muttered. “Don’t tell me it’s multicultural night.”

Once a month, my parents force Chris and me to eat an authentic meal from another country, which wouldn’t be such a bad idea if my parents didn’t get so carried away with it.

“Si, Signorina.
Tonight we will eat as the Italians do.” She hoisted me off the couch. “Now, go set the table.”

I trudged into the dining room, where an old green Chianti bottle with a candle shoved in it sat in the center of the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. I got out the good china from the hutch and started setting the table, wondering what horrendous food I was going to be forced to endure tonight.

Mom walked into the dining room and presented me a plate filled with what looked like fried vegetables. “Here, try some calamari and let me know what you think.”

I took a step back. “Calamari?”

“It’s good. I promise.” Mom waved the plate under my nose, and I had to admit, it didn’t smell half-bad.