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Um. Yeah. About that.
Mom:
That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Doesn’t she realize you are barely passing Geometry? You don’t have time to be starring in any play. You have to concentrate on your studies. You have enough extracurricular activities, what with the president thing and princess lessons. And now this? Who does she think she’s kidding?
Me:
Musical.
Mom:
What?
Me:
It’s a musical, not a play.
Mom:
I don’t care what it is. I’m calling your father tomorrow and telling him to make her cut it out.
Me (stricken, because if she does that, Grandmère will totally spill the beans to Amber Cheeseman about the money, and I will be elbowed in the throat. But I can’t tell Mom that, either, so I have to lie. Again):
No! Don’t! Please, Mom? I really… um… I really love it.
Mom:
Love what?
Me:
The play. I mean, musical. I really want to do it. Theater is my life. Please don’t make me stop.
Mom:
Mia. Are you feeling all right?
Me:
Fine! Just don’t call Dad, okay? He’s really busy with Parliament and everything right now. Let’s not bother him. I really like Grandmère’s play. It’s fun and a good chance for me to, um, broaden my horizons.
Mom:
Well… I don’t know….
Me:
Please, Mom. I swear my grades won’t slip.
Mom:
Well. All right. But if you bring home so much as a single C on a quiz, I’m calling Genovia.
Me:
Oh, thanks, Mom! Don’t worry, I won’t.
Then I had to go into my room and breathe into a paper bag because I thought I might be hyperventilating.
