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But Becca ignored her.
“Is it the snails?” Becca wanted to know.
I just blinked at her. “The what?”
“The snails,” she said. “You know, the ones you dumped in the bay. Are you worried about how everyone is upset about them?”
“Um,” I said, wondering if she, like Tina, had seen this on the news. “I guess so.”
“That’s understandable,” Becca said. “I’d be worried, too. Why don’t you take up yoga?” she suggested. “That always helps me to relax.”
“Or watch more TV,” suggested Dee, who enjoys creating totem poles and then dancing around them with pieces of liver strapped beneath her arms.
I couldn’t believe this. I was being told by these intelligent women to watch MORE TV? Clearly, they’re not friends with Karen Martinez.
“Stop picking on Mia.” Windstorm, who happens to be one of my mom’s oldest friends AND a midwife AND a minister AND a professional choreographer, got up to put more ice in the blender. “She’s got a right to think too much and freak out if she wants to. There isn’t anything more stressful than being a fifteen-year-old, with the possible exception of being a fifteen-year-old princess.”
I had never thought of that before. DO I think too much? Do other people not think as much as I do? Except according to Ms. Martinez, I don’t think ENOUGH….
“I guess it must have been one of those delivery boys, slipping a menu under the door,” my mom said, coming back to the table. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing,” I said, taking my plate and hurrying off to my room. “Have fun, you guys! I mean, women!”
I wonder if Windstorm is right. About my thinking too much. Maybe that’s my problem. I can’t shut my brain off. Maybe other people can, but I can’t. I’ve never actually tried, of course, because who wants to have an empty head? Except for, you know, the Hilton sisters. Because it’s probably easier to party all the time if you aren’t worrying about killer algae or all the petroleum running out.
Still, maybe there’s something to it. I can hardly sleep at night, my mind is so busy whirring away up there, wondering what I’m going to do if aliens come in the night and take over everything, or whatever. I would LOVE to be able to shut my mind off, the way other people seem to be able to. If Windstorm is right, anyway.
Ooooo, Michael’s Instant Messaging me now!
SKINNERBX: So, are we still getting together on Saturday?
Right as Michael asked this, I got another Instant Message.
WOMYNRULE: BL, what are you doing Saturday?
Seriously. Why me? WHY?
FTLOUIE: I can’t talk to you right now. I’m IMing your brother.
WOMYNRULE: Tell him Mom’s turning his room into a shrine to the Reverend Moon.
FTLOUIE: LILLY! GO AWAY!
WOMYNRULE: Just keep Saturday free, okay? It’s important. It has to do with the campaign.
FTLOUIE: I already have plans with your brother on Saturday.
WOMYNRULE: What, are you two going to Do It then, or something?
FTLOUIE: NO WE ARE NOT GOING TO DO IT THEN. WHO TOLD YOU THAT?
WOMYNRULE: No one! Geez! Don’t get the princess panties in a royal twist. Why would you even get so mad about that unless—Wait—ARE YOU GUYS DOING IT???? AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME??????????
FTLOUIE: NO, FOR THE LAST TIME WE ARE NOT DOING IT!!!!
SKINNERBX: Doing what? What are you talking about?
OH, MY GOD.
