shouted my name so loudly that a hush fell over the Dellwood Diner and all eyes turned to us. Ella, who isn’t as accustomed to thinking on her feet as I am, froze. Which meant I froze, too.
It was all I could do not to wail out loud, “Oh ye gods! Why does everything go wrong for me?”
“Lola!” Mr Creek shouted again. “Wait up!”
I looked over my shoulder, smiling with delighted surprise.
“Oh, Mr Creek! Hi!”
Mr Creek slid off his stool with the grace of a man whose tango is a New Jersey legend and moved towards me. “Lola, I was just talking about you.”
“I’m really sorry, Mr Creek, but I’m kind of in a hurry.” I gave Ella a shove.
Mr Creek gestured vaguely behind him. “But I wanted—”
“I’m really sorry, but I can’t now.” I edged myself through the door. “It’s an emergency. Ella’s mother just rang and a raccoon got into the house.” This really did happen to someone in Dellwood, though not to Ella’s mother of course. It’s hard enough for micro-organisms to get into the Gerard house, never mind a largish mammal. I read about it in the local paper.
Mr Creek stopped. “But, Lola—”
“Next time!” I cried, waving wildly as I ran down the steps.
Ella was already on the pavement. “Well they didn’t park on Main Street,” said Ella. “There’s no sign of them.”
I started to run. “Quick! They must’ve parked behind the bank.”
But there was no sign of them in the municipal parking lot behind the bank either.
“They must’ve been helicoptered out,” I moaned as we started back down Main Street.
“Well, we tried,” said Ella. “We came close.”
Close, but no cigar. Not even the stub of a cigar.
Across the street, Mr Creek came out of the diner and climbed into his van. I pulled Ella into a doorway so he wouldn’t see us loitering and wonder what the big rush had been for.
“It’s all his fault,” I muttered. “Why can’t he eat breakfast at home like a normal person?”
The man Mr Creek was sitting next to at the counter came down the steps of the diner, gave him a wave, and got into the maroon people carrier in the next space.
I’ve noticed that sometimes, when something really horrendous happens, to protect you from having a nervous breakdown your mind gets caught on some tiny, mundane detail. I got stuck on the fact that Mr Creek’s breakfast companion had a really long nose. “Ella.” I gave her a poke. “Ella, does that guy look familiar?”
“Only the back of his head looks familiar,” said Ella.
We were too far away and the sun was in our eyes, but I felt like I’d seen him before… you know, like maybe he worked in the supermarket or something.
“No, really. Isn’t he the manager of Food City?”
Mr Creek pulled out of his space and started up Main Street, and the maroon car followed.
“Like you care, right?” said Ella.
“It’s just that I—”
The people carrier was right in front of us, and I could finally see the driver clearly.
A soul-ripping cry (not dissimilar to that of a mother gorilla watching her baby being carried off by poachers) shattered the dull quiet of the Dellwood morning.
Ella jumped. “For God’s sake! Now what’s wrong?”
“Oh, Ella!” I pointed after the vanishing New York number plate. “That was Charley Hottle!”
As If Enough Things Aren’t Going Wrong, Sam Turns Against Me
A s soon as I’d recovered sufficiently from my shock, horror, disappointment and frustration, I called Sam to see if he wanted to go to a movie that night.
He jumped at the chance.
“I thought you’d forgotten all about me,” said Sam. “We’re a little stretched right now, so I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
Another thing experience has taught me is that nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems. Not even me. Although I’d been so busy that I hadn’t even spoken to Sam since we went to Triolo’s and was really looking forward to seeing him, missing Sam wasn’t the main reason
It was all I could do not to wail out loud, “Oh ye gods! Why does everything go wrong for me?”
“Lola!” Mr Creek shouted again. “Wait up!”
I looked over my shoulder, smiling with delighted surprise.
“Oh, Mr Creek! Hi!”
Mr Creek slid off his stool with the grace of a man whose tango is a New Jersey legend and moved towards me. “Lola, I was just talking about you.”
“I’m really sorry, Mr Creek, but I’m kind of in a hurry.” I gave Ella a shove.
Mr Creek gestured vaguely behind him. “But I wanted—”
“I’m really sorry, but I can’t now.” I edged myself through the door. “It’s an emergency. Ella’s mother just rang and a raccoon got into the house.” This really did happen to someone in Dellwood, though not to Ella’s mother of course. It’s hard enough for micro-organisms to get into the Gerard house, never mind a largish mammal. I read about it in the local paper.
Mr Creek stopped. “But, Lola—”
“Next time!” I cried, waving wildly as I ran down the steps.
Ella was already on the pavement. “Well they didn’t park on Main Street,” said Ella. “There’s no sign of them.”
I started to run. “Quick! They must’ve parked behind the bank.”
But there was no sign of them in the municipal parking lot behind the bank either.
“They must’ve been helicoptered out,” I moaned as we started back down Main Street.
“Well, we tried,” said Ella. “We came close.”
Close, but no cigar. Not even the stub of a cigar.
Across the street, Mr Creek came out of the diner and climbed into his van. I pulled Ella into a doorway so he wouldn’t see us loitering and wonder what the big rush had been for.
“It’s all his fault,” I muttered. “Why can’t he eat breakfast at home like a normal person?”
The man Mr Creek was sitting next to at the counter came down the steps of the diner, gave him a wave, and got into the maroon people carrier in the next space.
I’ve noticed that sometimes, when something really horrendous happens, to protect you from having a nervous breakdown your mind gets caught on some tiny, mundane detail. I got stuck on the fact that Mr Creek’s breakfast companion had a really long nose. “Ella.” I gave her a poke. “Ella, does that guy look familiar?”
“Only the back of his head looks familiar,” said Ella.
We were too far away and the sun was in our eyes, but I felt like I’d seen him before… you know, like maybe he worked in the supermarket or something.
“No, really. Isn’t he the manager of Food City?”
Mr Creek pulled out of his space and started up Main Street, and the maroon car followed.
“Like you care, right?” said Ella.
“It’s just that I—”
The people carrier was right in front of us, and I could finally see the driver clearly.
A soul-ripping cry (not dissimilar to that of a mother gorilla watching her baby being carried off by poachers) shattered the dull quiet of the Dellwood morning.
Ella jumped. “For God’s sake! Now what’s wrong?”
“Oh, Ella!” I pointed after the vanishing New York number plate. “That was Charley Hottle!”
As If Enough Things Aren’t Going Wrong, Sam Turns Against Me
A s soon as I’d recovered sufficiently from my shock, horror, disappointment and frustration, I called Sam to see if he wanted to go to a movie that night.
He jumped at the chance.
“I thought you’d forgotten all about me,” said Sam. “We’re a little stretched right now, so I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
Another thing experience has taught me is that nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems. Not even me. Although I’d been so busy that I hadn’t even spoken to Sam since we went to Triolo’s and was really looking forward to seeing him, missing Sam wasn’t the main reason
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