Mia the Magnificent (5 page)

I rolled my eyes. “Obviously, your sense of humor hasn’t improved.”

“Plainly, neither has your appreciation for a good joke,” Tim replied. “But I’ll let that pass, since I’m also here to lend you moral support.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t you need morals before you lend them out?”

“Well, if you’re going to be nasty about it,” Tim said, picking his backpack up off the floor, “I’ll just take my cookies and sit somewhere else.”

“Wait!” I grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him back into his seat. “Did you say cookies?”

“Not so fast.” Tim reached into his backpack, removed a big bag of cookies, and held them out of my reach. “First, I want you to apologize.”

“For what? The fact that you have no morals or that I simply stated the truth?”

Tim waved the bag in front of my face. “They’re double stuffed.”

I paused, weighing my options. It was a tough choice. Deciding to go for the instant gratification—I could always go to confession later—I bowed my head in mock sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

“Absolutely, really, truly, positively sorry?” Tim asked.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said impatiently. “I’m absolutely, really, truly, positively sorry.”

“But, are you categorically, unquestionably, absolutely—”

“Don’t push it,” I said, snatching the bag from his hand and shoving an Oreo into my mouth.

“How can you do that?” Tim asked.

“What?” I mumbled, my mouth full of cookie.

“Put the whole Oreo in your mouth at once. Don’t you know you’re supposed to twist the cookie apart, lick out the filling, and then eat the cookie?”

“That’s way too much work.” I grabbed another Oreo from the bag. “Besides, eating it in one bite allows me to enjoy all the flavors at once. It’s a genuine taste-a-palooza. And it’s how the cookie’s supposed
to be eaten. I mean, if the cookie-makers wanted people to eat the filling separately, they would sell it that way.”

“Cookie-makers? Like little elves that live in trees?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Very rarely do I know what you mean,” Tim said as he twisted his cookie apart and licked the center filling.

“Now, that’s just disgusting,” I said, watching his tongue flick back and forth against the white surface. “Just eat the cookie. Don’t make out with it.”

“Why? Are you jealous?” Tim asked, taking another long tongue swipe at the cream filling.

“In case you’ve forgotten, just last week, I was kissing a gorgeous blonde guy named Eric.” I reached into the bag for another cookie. “Why would I be jealous of you ogling an Oreo?”

“Because you and Eric are never going to last,” Tim replied, finishing off the filling and moving onto the cookie part. “In less than a month, you guys will break up, and then you’ll be crawling back to me.”

“Your logic is like the
Titanic
after hitting the iceberg—completely full of holes.” I took a bite of my Oreo. “First of all, Eric and I aren’t even going out, so we can’t possibly break up, and secondly, I guarantee there will never ever be any crawling back to you.”

“Eric hasn’t asked you out yet? What’s holding him back?” Tim patted my arm in sympathy. “Is it because he’s so
sensitive
?”

I shoved his hand away. “No, he’s busy and I don’t want another boyfriend. My
last
boyfriend turned out to be such a jerk, so I decided to take a break from dating for a while.” Spotting Cassie Foster sitting a few rows behind Alyssa, I said, “Maybe you should try taking a break from dating, too.”

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Cassie, who seemed to have grown more stunning over the summer, and said, “Now why would I want to break it off with someone like that?”

“Because even the Tin Man had more of a heart than she does?”

“Body organs are totally overrated,” Tim replied. “Besides, Cassie and I aren’t serious or anything.”

“Does she know that?” I asked as Tim’s gaze shifted to Alyssa.

“I guess.” Tim shrugged. “Cassie and I don’t talk a whole lot when we’re together.”

Deciding to end the conversation before I tossed the cookies I just ate, I stood up and wiped the crumbs from my face. “Well, as much as I’d love to hear more about your and Cassie’s meaningful relationship, I better go get ready for my audition.”

“Break a leg,” Tim said as I inched my way out of the aisle. “That way, I can nurse you back to health when you and I get back together.”

“Tim,” I said with a sigh, “the chance of you and I getting back together is about as good as me breaking both my legs.”

“Hey, at least there’s a chance,” Tim replied with a grin.

“So, do you want the good news or bad news first?” Lisa asked on Friday morning when I spotted her on our usual corner.

“Haven’t you ever heard of saying hello?”

“Hello,” Lisa said, already a half house ahead of me. “Now what do you want to hear first?”

Jogging to catch up with her, I said, “You might as well start with the bad news first.”

“I talked to Mrs. Ingram last night,” Lisa said, her voice filled with sympathy. “You’re only playing a townsperson in the musical. All the big roles went to upperclassmen.”

My heart sunk a few inches and rested on my stomach. “You mean I didn’t even get one line?”

“Yes, you did,” Lisa said as excitement replaced her sympathy. “That’s some of the good news. Mrs. Ingram was really impressed
with how well you read, so she gave you a line to say. At the beginning of the play, you get to say, ‘Good morning, Mayor Shinn.’”

I looked at Lisa with skepticism. “Did Mrs. Ingram really think I read well, or did you and my mom bully her into giving me a part?”

“I swear we had nothing to do with it,” Lisa said as her big blue eyes grew even wider. “Mrs. Ingram really liked your audition and gave you a line without even talking to me first.”

A small smile crossed my lips. I got a speaking part all on my own. “So, you said my line was just some of the good news. What’s the rest of it?”

“Well,” Lisa replied, “the
really
good news is that I convinced Mrs. Ingram you’d be perfect as the understudy for Marian the librarian. She’s a lead role! Isn’t that super?”

I stopped walking. “You did what?”

“You don’t need to thank me. It was the least I could do for my best friend. Mrs. Ingram said they don’t normally cast sophomores as understudies, but since Katrina Dawson—the senior who got the part—has never missed a day of school in her whole life, she thought it would be all right.”

“But, but, but...” I sputtered. “I’m just starting out as an actor. I’m not good enough to be the lead. And I can’t sing!”

“That’s what Mrs. Ingram said, too, but I convinced her you’d practice really hard. Plus, your mom promised to take Mrs. Ingram’s Friday afternoon study hall this semester if you got the understudy role, so you’re in, Mia. And if you do a really good job, Mrs. Ingram will have to give you a bigger part next year.”

“But what about this year?” I asked. “I can’t pull off a part that big.”

“Relax, it’s not like Katrina will miss the show and you’ll have to actually take her part. That stuff only happens in movies.”

Mr. Bodey limped to our driver’s ed car that afternoon.

“What happened to you?” Zoë asked.

“My doctor said it had something to do with a repeated jarring to my knee during the past week,” Mr. Bodey replied, staring directly at Jake.

“What are you lookin’ at me for?” Jake asked.

Mr. Bodey shook his head in disgust, then grabbed his clipboard. “Zoë, you’re driving first today.”

I climbed in the backseat with Jake and Tim, feeling a little like the slice of bologna in an ex-boyfriend sandwich as Zoë started the car and headed out onto the street.

“Hey, dude,” Jake said, moving forward in his seat and tapping Zoë on the shoulder. “I took your advice and tried out for the musical. I’m gonna play some dude named Harry.”

“Harold Hill?” Zoë turned around. “You got the male lead in
The Music Man
?”

“Zoë!” Mr. Bodey grabbed the steering wheel as the car veered to the left. “Quit talking and focus on the road!”

“Chill out.” Zoë pushed Mr. Bodey’s hands off the wheel and returned the car to the correct side of the street. “Look, I got the car back in control, didn’t I? You should give me bonus points for that.”

Mr. Bodey scribbled notes on the page fastened to his clipboard, and judging by the look on his face, I doubted he was giving her extra credit.

“I dunno.” Jake shrugged. “Mrs. Ingram said she needed more guys to try out, so I went on Wikipedia. A bunch of Chicago Bears greats like Dick Butkus, Mike Ditka, Brian Piccolo, and Gale Sayers have been in movies, so I figured bein’ in a play ain’t as girly as I thought.”

“Brian Piccolo and Gale Sayers weren’t actors,” Tim said. “Actors played them in the movie
Brian’s Song.”

“Whatever, dude,” Jake said. “All I know is that if Iron Mike thinks acting is cool, then it’s tight with me.”

“Then maybe you can do commercials, too,” Tim said, “After all, football legend Joe Namath wore panty hose in a TV ad back in the seventies, and there’s nothing tighter than pantyhose.”

“Dude, when you make 173 career touchdowns, you can wear whatever you want,” Jake replied.

I stared at Jake in amazement, both for his enlightened attitude and for the fact he was actually making sense for a change.

Tapping Zoë on the shoulder once more, Jake said, “So, dude, whaddya say? Since I’m gonna be in a play, can my band open for the Barf Bags at the Flying Squirrel next month?”

“You’re headlining at the Flying Squirrel?” I said. “I thought the owners hated the Barf Bags.”

“They didn’t hate my band—they hated you,” Zoë said as she looked over her shoulder at me. “But after I explained why we sucked so bad that night I got food poisoning and you had to stand in for me, they agreed to give us a second chance.”

“Pay attention, Zoë!” Mr. Bodey yelled, again taking hold of the steering wheel as we headed into oncoming traffic.

Zoë yanked the car back into the right lane. “Anyway, Jake, our band voted, and we decided that your band can’t open for us until you change its name.”

“What’s wrong with Smelly Farts?” Jake asked.

“That’s the name of your band?” I asked as Jake’s enlightenment
rating quickly dropped back to zero.

“Yeah, I came up with Smelly Farts all on my own,” Jake said defensively. “You got a problem with it?”

“No,” Tim replied with a straight face. “That name could break wind.”

“Or cut cheese,” Zoë added.

“But you wouldn’t want it to backfire on you,” I said, unable to help myself.

“I don’t care what you dudes say.” Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “Smelly Farts rocks.”

“So is your band silent but deadly?” Tim asked, struggling to keep his composure.

As Zoë and I broke out in laughter, Mr. Bodey shouted, “Everyone stop talking this instant. Zoë needs to concentrate!”

“Yeah, dudes,” Jake said, scowling. “Stop doggin’ on Smelly Farts.”

“Or what?” Tim replied. “You’ll cut loose on us?”

As Zoë and I cracked up again, Mr. Bodey grabbed the wheel and steered the car to the side of the road. “All right! That’s it!” he yelled. “Obviously, Zoë is not able to focus today. We’re switching drivers.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bodey,” Zoë said, trying to bite back her laughter. “I just couldn’t let it pass.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “We didn’t want Jake to toot his own horn.”

“But,” I said with a laugh, “it’s not like we stepped on a duck or anything.”

Slamming his clipboard onto the dashboard, Mr. Bodey, in a menacing tone, growled, “I swear, if I hear one more mention of flatulence, all of you are going to fail today’s lesson.”

“You mean,” Zoë said, “I can’t even squeak one more out?”

“What a rip,” Tim said.

“You guys,” I said, laughing too hard to care about my grade, “quit making such a stink about it.”

As we rolled around in laughter, the car rocking, Mr. Bodey shouted, “I give up!” He threw his clipboard onto the floor, flung his car door open, propelled his injured knee out onto the sidewalk, and shouted, “I’d rather be sacked by a thousand linebackers than spend another moment with the four of you!”