Dyan Sheldon - Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

Sam gave me a look. It was not an encouraging one.

“Have you been paying any attention to what’s happening?” he asked. He sounded as though he was worried about my sanity. “So what if you have Stu Wolff’s T-shirt, Lola? How are you planning to prove he gave it to you, or even that it’s his?”

I opened my mouth to answer. “Well … I … uh…” I closed it again. Sam was right, of course. It was like agreeing to fight a duel with pistols and discovering that your opponent had a nuclear bomb. I mean, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call playing by the rules. But then, as even Carla had tried to explain to me, Carla has her own rules, and everyone else has to play by them .

“People will believe me,” I said firmly. I wasn’t going to let Carla Santini shake my faith in all mankind. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

He winked. “Why would any of us lie, Lola?” asked Sam.

The Big Freeze had settled over Deadwood High once again. I had no opportunity to explain to anyone where my new T-shirt had come from, because no one was specifically talking to me. Or to Ella.

“Gee,” said Ella as we walked to the auditorium together after English through a sea of indifference, “seems like old times, doesn’t it?”

“I’m really starting to get tired of this,” I answered angrily. It’s one thing being humiliated when you know you’re slightly in the wrong; but it’s something else when you know you’re totally in the right. The injustice of it all was galling! “If she doesn’t back down, I may seriously have to consider killing her.”

“You’d get caught,” said Ella. “And either she wouldn’t die, or she’d just come back as someone worse.”

Enveloped in gloom, Ella came to a stop at her bike.

“All is not lost,” I informed her. “I may be down, but I’m not beaten.”

“Really?” Ella eyed me curiously. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m going to do what I promised.” I grinned. “I’m going to tell the truth.”

The mood at that afternoon’s rehearsal was nervous. Nervous and tense. I exchanged polite greetings with everyone except Carla, but that was as far as conversation went. You could tell the others were all waiting to see what would happen between Princess Santini and me.

I gave away nothing until we were ready to start.

“All right!” boomed Mrs Baggoli. “Places, everyone!”

“Mrs Baggoli?” I stepped to the edge of the stage. “Mrs Baggoli,” I said loudly and clearly. “There’s something I have to say before we begin.”

The expression on Mrs Baggoli’s face was like a sigh. Opening night was only three days away. She didn’t want any interruptions.

“Now what?” asked Mrs Baggoli.

I held my head up, bathed by the spotlight. “Mrs Baggoli,” I said. “I have a confession to make.” My eyes met hers. “A confession and an apology.”

Someone made a gagging sound from behind me.

“A confession?” Mrs Baggoli smiled a little uneasily. “A confession about what?”

“I did a terrible thing, Mrs Baggoli.” I spoke slowly, with dignity, dragging the attention of everyone to me.

“Lola…” Mrs Baggoli laughed a little. “What on earth have you done?”

I took a deep breath, the moral torment I’d been enduring showing in my face. “I borrowed Eliza’s dress,” I said flatly. “I’m really sorry, but I honestly felt that I had no choice.”

“Eliza’s dress?” Mrs Baggoli repeated. “No choice?”

I nodded. “Yes.” I shook my head. “No, I really had no choice.”

Mrs Baggoli, to her credit, picked up her line automatically.

“But why?” she asked. “Why would you borrow Eliza’s dress?”

You could have heard a feather crash to the floor, the room was so quiet. Even Carla Santini wasn’t saying anything under her breath – for a change.

“So I could go to the Sidartha party,” I informed her.

Mrs Baggoli frowned. “The Sidartha party?”

“But you didn’t go to the party,” said Henry Higgins. “Carla said—”

I turned to him with a small smile. “I know what Carla said … but it isn’t true. Ella and I were at the party.” I clasped my hands together, looking beseechingly at Mrs Baggoli. “It was Sidartha’s last concert,” I explained. “I had to go…”

“Oh, please…” Carla groaned. “When are you going to give up, Lola?” she demanded. “No one’s interested in your lies any more. First you lied about being invited to the party and now you’ve come up with this ridiculous story about Eliza’s dress—”

“But how could you possibly have taken the dress?” Mrs Baggoli was asking. “The cupboard’s always locked.”

“There are ways…” I said vaguely.

“Oh, sure,” muttered Carla. “Now you want us to believe you’re a lock-picker as well as a liar.”

Mrs Baggoli scowled in her direction. “Carla, if you don’t mind…” She turned back to me. “And where is the dress now?”

“I put it back in the drama room.”

Mrs Baggoli got to her feet. “Well, there’s one way of settling this,” she said more or less to herself. She marched off out of the room.

Carla took advantage of Mrs Baggoli’s absence to take centre stage.

“You really are too much, you know?” she declaimed. “I don’t know where you get off, thinking you can manipulate everyone the way you do. Just because we don’t come from New York City doesn’t mean we’re stupid, you know.” She glanced around at our fellow actors, so they’d understand that she was including them in this.

“You’re the one who manipulates everyone,” I hissed back. “You treat everybody like they’re puppets. Everything you say is a lie.”

“Here comes Mrs Baggoli,” said Colonel Pickering. He sounded relieved.

Both Carla and I smiled as Mrs Baggoli came back in the room.

“Well, the dress is back in the cupboard,” says Mrs Baggoli. “But in all honesty, Lola, I have to say that it doesn’t look as though it’s been touched.” She sounded relieved, too.

“That’s because Stu Wolff had it cleaned.” I nearly laughed out loud. At last I had my chance to explain – and to an eager audience. “You see, just as we got there, Ella and I saw Stu Wolff leave the party, and we followed him. It’d been raining all afternoon, so the dress got kind of wet and dirty, and Stu said he’d have it cleaned for me.” I glanced at Carla out of the corner of my eye. “He said it was the least he could do, seeing as Ella and I practically saved his life.”

Mrs Baggoli’s eyes shifted between Carla and me. She wasn’t sure what to believe any more.

“Well, maybe you took the dress and maybe you didn’t,” she said almost vaguely. “As far as I’m concerned, what’s important is that it’s where it should be now, and in the condition it came to us in.”

“But Mrs Baggoli!” Why wouldn’t anyone ever follow the script I was using? “Mrs Baggoli, I did take the dress.” I pulled at my T-shirt. “See? Stu Wolff gave me this to wear so I wouldn’t catch pneumonia.”

Mrs Baggoli sat down with finality. “Lola,” said Mrs Baggoli, “I really don’t want to continue this discussion now. We have a lot to do before Friday night.”

Carla stepped up behind me. “Sure, he did…” she whined in my ear. “Maybe he gave you his class ring, too.”

Colonel Pickering and Henry Higgins chortled softly.

Driven by my righteous sense of indignation, I ignored Mrs Baggoli and turned on Carla. “He did give it to me!” I shouted. “It’s a roadie T-shirt from their last tour. Where else would I get it?”

“You got it where you get all your clothes,” shrieked Carla. “In a junk store.”