Mia the Magnificent (21 page)

Later that night, I brooded over my semi-broken heart as I sat on a cushion on the floor and played with my chopsticks. “Is this going to take much longer?” I said. “I have a lot of homework to do.”

“Patience, daughter-san,” my mom said, bowing to me before sitting on the cushion beside me.

I rolled my eyes. I hated multicultural night.

As my dad chopped up vegetables on the electric skillet like a Japanese chef, my mom smiled and said, “I have wonderful news for you.”

“We’re going out to McDonald’s for dinner?” Chris said hopefully.

“No, we are having a traditional Japanese meal, which is why I’m wearing this silk robe,” my mom replied.

“Like you wearing your robe to dinner is anything special,” I said. “I mean, you’ve worn nothing but sweats and pajamas while you’ve worked on that stupid book.”

“Which brings me to my good news,” my mom said, breaking into a gigantic grin. “I officially finished my book today, and I promise you, after you read it, you won’t think it’s stupid.”

She handed the thick stack of papers to me. As I looked at the title page, a queasy feeling—not associated with the raw meat my dad had in a bowl beside the griddle—settled in my gut. “Your book is called
Shianne the Shy?”

My mom beamed. “It’s about this teenage girl who is really shy, but doesn’t want to be shy anymore. So, she changes her appearance—you know, gets rid of her braces and glasses, and grows her hair out—but then a new neighbor moves in and chaos ensues.”

I quickly pawed through her manuscript. “You named the neighbor Jim?!”

“Why, yes.” My mom’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong with the name Jim?”

“Mom!” I stared at her, not believing she was that dense. “Jim rhymes with Tim! This is the story of my life!”

“It is not,” my mom said. “I might’ve used some events that have happened to you, but—”

“This is pure and simple plagiarism!” I shouted.

“Plagiarism is when you steal someone else’s written work,” my dad said.

“Then it’s identity theft!” I screamed. “Mom stole my life! I wouldn’t be surprised if she was planning a sequel about my summer at Little Tyke’s Theatre called
Shianne the Show Girl.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of
Shianne in Show Business,”
my mom murmured.

“Don’t forget to put in that scene where Mia left me to die at the state fair,” Chris said.

“Oh, thanks, Chris,” my mom said, hopping up off the floor so she could write the idea down in the notebook she kept with her at all times. “That’s a good one.”

“I can’t believe this!” I said, grabbing my crutches. “You can’t do this to me. It’s my life, not yours!”

“But such interesting things have happened to you over the past year,” my mom said. “I thought you’d be thrilled if I wrote about your life. If it makes you feel any better, my next series is going to be about Chris.”

“What are you going to call it?” I asked.
“Max the Moron?”

“No,” my mom said. “I was thinking about
Bill the Butthead.”

I paused. “Did you just say
butthead?”

“Yes, I did.” My mom burst out laughing.

I turned to Chris. “She has officially lost her mind.”

“Hey, you’re not the one she called
butthead,”
Chris muttered.

“I think I’m giddy from all those hours in front of the computer,” my mom said, still giggling like a little girl. “And you know I was only kidding, Chris. I’m planning on calling your book
Connor the Confident.
”

“How about
Steve the Stud?”
Chris said.

“She writes realistic fiction, Chris,” I said. “Not horror.”

“So, really, are you OK with me using some of your life in my book?” my mom asked.

“I guess,” I said grudgingly. My mom was so happy—I didn’t want to that take away from her. “But you’re going to have to write under a pseudonym, change more facts, and make the names way more different,” I said. “Plus, I get final approval.”

“Then it’s settled,” my dad said. “Let’s celebrate!” He flipped a knife in the air, but unfortunately, as it came down, he grabbed the wrong end. And what he yelled next was definitely not Japanese.

A few hours, a few stitches, and a few sips of saké later, my parents were crashed on the living room couch.

“Remind me not to be this pathetic when I’m old,” I said to Chris.

“What do you mean, when you’re old?” Chris replied. “You’re pathetic now. By the time you get to be their age, you’ll be beyond worthless.

“Just be quiet and help me take out the garbage,” I said. “This sushi is starting to stink.”

As Chris and I left the house to dump the trash into the bin, we saw Tim on the basketball court. “Hey, Chris,” he called, “want to shoot a few hoops with me?”

“Sure.” Chris ran onto the court.

“Get back here, Chris!” I yelled. “You still need to help me finish
cleaning up the kitchen.”

“We can do that later!” Chris shouted. “Mom and Dad are out for the night.”

“All right,” I said, crutching to a lawn chair and lowering myself into it. “But I’m staying out here until you’re done, because I’m not getting suckered into cleaning it all on my own.”

“Hey,” Tim said from the court, “I haven’t seen you upright for a while.”

“Well, you’d better get used to it,” I said, “because pretty soon, I’ll be off these crutches, and then I’ll be back to beating you in basketball.”

“When have you ever beaten me in basketball?” Tim asked, shooting a lay-up.

“Like every time we played?”

Tim threw the ball to Chris. “Is she on her pain medication again? I think she’s hallucinating.”

“Leave me out of this,” Chris said, checking the ball back to Tim. “I’m just here to play some ball. I’ll ask Kevin if he wants to join us.”

“Yeah, you better,” Tim said as he dribbled the ball up the court. “Because if you’re going to play against me, you’ll definitely need reinforcements.”

“You talk a lot of smack for a guy who’s going down,” Chris said, jogging across the Radfords’ yard.

“Oh, they’re so cute when they’re feisty,” Tim said, pulling up a lawn chair and sitting down beside me. “So, how are you doing?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I ran into Eric when he left your place, and he told me about New York City. I thought you might be a little bummed. Want to talk about it?”

“With you?” I chuckled. “I don’t exactly see you as the kind of guy to tell all my guy troubles to.”

“So,” Tim said, moving his chair in closer, “I’m curious. What kind
of guy do you see me as?”

“The kind of guy way more concerned with himself than others,” I replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim said. “I’ve done a ton of nice stuff for other people.”

“Name one thing.”

“I helped you clean up the student store last year when it broke on the school parking lot.”

“All right, I’ll give you that, but I bet you can’t think of another one.”

Tim’s forehead creased. “That’s not fair. You can’t spring that kind of question on me. I need time to think.”

“I think you just answered your own question,” I said as Chris and Kevin ran onto the court. Grabbing my crutches, I hoisted myself out of the chair. “I think I changed my mind. It’s too cold out here. But you go ahead and play basketball with Chris. After all, Tim, playing games is the one thing you’re truly good at.”

“What do you mean Katrina Doyle has mono?” I asked Lisa as we stood in front of our lockers.

“I mean just that,” Lisa replied. “Haven’t you noticed how pale Katrina’s been, and how hoarse she sounded during rehearsals this week?”

“I thought it was the strain of being the lead, or having to kiss Jake.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” said Lisa. “Her parents took her to the doctor this morning, and he said she needed strict bed rest for several weeks. He refused to give her permission to act tonight. So, you’re on.”

“What?!” I asked, pounding one of my crutches onto the linoleum. “There’s no way I’m going to play the lead tonight. You’ll have to cancel the show.”

“Mia, listen to me,” Lisa said. “I’m the one who convinced Mrs. Ingram to keep you on as the understudy, even though she didn’t want to, so this is my neck on the line, too.”

“See? Even Mrs. Ingram knows I can’t do it!”

“Mrs. Ingram doesn’t know you as well as I do. I have confidence you won’t let us down. And if you don’t show up, I’ll come and drag you to the play myself,” Lisa said. “So rest your voice today. You’ll need it tonight.” And then she scurried away to her first class, knowing I was too slow to catch her.

When I got home from school, my mom was even more nervous than I was. “Now, remember, enunciate your words,” she said. “You don’t want people to have to guess what you’re saying. And don’t forget to breathe when you sing. You wouldn’t want to pass out on stage. Oh, and if you forget a line, just say anything that makes sense and the other actors will help you. If you trip and fall, just pretend you meant to do it. And if the lights are too hot and you start sweating profusely—”

I grabbed my stomach and crutched toward the bathroom. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I said with a groan.

After a few minutes with my head over the toilet, I heard footsteps from the doorway. “I hope it isn’t contagious,” Tim muttered.

I looked up from the toilet bowl. “It’s nerves.”

“Are you sure? Because you look horrible.”

“Puke into the toilet with
your
leg in a full cast and see how good
you
look,” I said, burying my face into the basin and heaving up some more bile.

“That’s just gross,” Tim said.

Wiping the spit from my face, I said, “Is there a reason you’re here other than to make me feel worse than I already do?”

“Actually, I came over to give you these,” Tim said, holding out a full bouquet of daisies. “For good luck. I know they’re not roses, but I heard daisies are your favorite flower. I had to go to three florists after school before I could find them.”

“You bought these for me?” I peered up from the toilet bowl. “What’s the catch?”

“The proper response is to say thank you,” Tim replied.

I rolled over and sat down on the floor, leaning my back against the bathtub. Looking at him curiously, I said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Tim said, placing the daisies on the bathroom counter. “Well, I should get going. I need to go make sure the set is ready for tonight. You should try and clean up a little—or a lot— before the show. See you soon.”

“Hey, Tim,” I called. “Who told you I liked daisies?”

“Chris,” Tim said. “We had a pretty good talk last night on the basketball court. You know, he’s actually not a bad kid.”

“Yeah, I guess he does kind of grow on you after a while.”