Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen by Dyan Sheldon Page A

grace under fire.
    “Oh, that…” She waved her nails in the air. “I really don’t know what that was all about.”
    The Big Freeze was over; Carla was speaking to us again. We were about to be engulfed in an avalanche.
    Carla threw herself into the chair next to mine and started rummaging in her bag. “I knew you’d want to see this,” she gushed.
    The only thing Carla Santini could show me that I would want to see is a picture of the house she’s moving to in China.
    “Really?”
    Carla ignored the boredom in my voice.
    “Look what came in the mail for me this morning,” she ordered with girlish excitement. “They’ve just been printed. They won’t even be going on sale for at least another week.”
    She was holding two rectangles of black cardboard. SIDARTHA – THE FAREWELL CONCERT – PRESS was written across them in silver. She raised the tickets in the air for a few seconds so the rest of the cafeteria could admire them, too.
    “And that’s not all!” Carla’s voice was loud enough to deafen anyone within a mile radius. “Look what else I got.”
    She held out a third rectangle of black cardboard. This one said SIDARTHA’S LAST BASH and, under it in smaller print, the place and time and the information that it would admit two.
    There was a chorus of “Wow”s around us. A couple of people crowded closer for a better view.
    “God, you’re lucky,” said one of the onlookers, a girl whom, normally, Carla would never have noticed. “Imagine going to a party like that.”
    Carla smiled on the girl, the queen among the peasants.
    “Oh, but I’m not the only one,” cooed Carla. “Lola has an invitation, too.” I flinched as she put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you, Lola?”
    I didn’t answer. I was still staring at her invitation, imprinting the address on my brain before she put it away.
    Carla made a few loud gestures of shock and outrage. “Don’t tell me you haven’t gotten yours yet,” she cried. “Stu told my father that they’d all gone out.”
    I didn’t believe this for one fraction of a nanosecond. Like Stu Wolff had dropped everything else in his life to make sure Mr Santini knew how the plans for the party were going. Yeah, right…
    “I didn’t say I didn’t get my invitation.” I gave Carla a tolerant and amused smile. “As a matter of fact, mine came yesterday.”
    “Well show it to us,” said Carla. Her eyes flitted over our audience. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who’d like to see it.”
    I laughed as though she’d suggested that I wear my diamonds to school. “I’m not bringing it here .”
    Carla’s smile locked on me like a car clamp. “Oh, come on, Lola,” she coaxed. “Why don’t you just admit that you don’t have one and get it over with? It’ll save you a lot of humiliation later on.”
    I counter-clamped. “I’m sure there’ll be lots of photographers at the party,” I said. “Maybe we can have our picture taken together.”
    “It’s a deal,” said Carla. She turned to face Ella for the first time. “You know,” she went on, gently waving the invitation in the air over our table, “this does admit two, El. If you really want to go you could always come with me.”
    Behind me, Alma gasped in surprise. She was obviously under the impression that she was going with Carla. But she didn’t so much as bleat in protest – she never dares to open her mouth unless it’s to agree.
    “Thanks, but no thanks,” said Ella loyally. “I’m sure I’ll see you there.”

DESPERATE MEASURES FOR DESPERATE TIMES
    “Maybe moving’s not such a bad idea,” said Ella on the phone that afternoon. “I mean, unless Carla suddenly contracts some rare but fatal disease and dies, there really isn’t any other solution.”
    My mother was in her studio, working on a rush order, and the twins were over at a friend’s for supper, so for a change I had a little privacy while I conversed.
    “Of course there’s another solution,” I said