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Must find out what’s up with Walt, I think, making a mental note as I ease open the door to the lounge.
Inside are Ms. Smidgens, The Nutmeg advisor, along with Ms. Pizchiek, who teaches homemaking and typing. They’re both smoking and talking about how they might get their colors done at the G. Fox department store in Hartford. “Susie says it changed her life,” Ms. Pizchiek says. “All her life she was wearing blues, and it turned out she should have been wearing orange.”
“Orange is for pumpkins,” Ms. Smidgens says, which makes me kind of like her a little because I agree. “This whole color analysis craze is a crock. It’s only another way to part unsuspecting fools and their money.” And is probably useless if your skin is gray from smoking three packs of cigarettes a day.
“Oh, but it’s fun,” Ms. Pizchiek counters, with no dampening of enthusiasm. “We get a group of gals together on a Saturday morning and then have lunch afterward—” She suddenly looks up and sees me standing in the doorway. “Yes?” she asks curtly. The teachers’ lounge is strictly off-limits for students.
“I need to talk to Ms. Smidgens.”
Ms. Smidgens must be really bored with Ms. Pizchiek, because instead of turning me away, she says, “Carrie Bradshaw, right? Well, come in. And close the door behind you.”
I smile as I attempt to hold my breath. Even though I smoke sometimes, being in a closed environment with two women who are puffing away like chimneys makes me want to wave my hand in front of my face. But that would be rude, so I try breathing through my mouth instead.
“I was wondering—” I begin.
“I get it. You want to work on the newspaper,” Ms. Smidgens says. “Happens every year. Sometime after the first quarter some senior comes to me and suddenly wants in on The Nutmeg. I take it you need to build up your extracurricular activities, right?”
“No,” I say, hoping the smoke won’t make me sick.
“Then why?” Smidgens asks.
“I think I could bring some fresh perspective to the paper.”
This is obviously the wrong thing to say, because she says, “Oh, really?” like she’s heard it a million times before.
“I think I’m a pretty good writer,” I say cautiously, refusing to give up.
Ms. Smidgens is not impressed. “Everyone wants to write. We need people to do layout.” Now she’s really trying to get rid of me, but I don’t go. I just stand there, holding my breath with my eyes bugging out of my head. My face must scare her a little, because she relents. “I suppose if you did layout, we could let you try writing something. The editorial committee meets three times a week—Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at four. If you miss more than one meeting a week, you’re out.”
“Okay,” I mumble, nodding vigorously.
“So we’ll see you this afternoon at four.”
I give her a little wave and skittle out of there.
“I bet Peter’s going to dump Maggie,” Lali says, removing her clothes. She stretches, naked, before sliding into her Speedo. I’ve always admired Lali’s lack of modesty when it comes to her body. I’ve never been able to let go of my insecurity about being naked, and I have to contort my arms and legs to maintain a level of dignity when getting changed.
“No way.” I tuck my butt as I remove my underwear. “He’s in love with her.”
“He’s in lust with her,” Lali corrects. “Sebastian told me Peter was asking him all about the other women he’s been with. Specifically, Donna LaDonna. Does that sound like a guy who’s madly in love to you?”
Hearing the name Donna LaDonna still makes me cringe. It’s been weeks since she launched her smear campaign, and while it’s been reduced to dirty looks in the hall, I suspect it’s merely bubbling under the surface, ready to erupt at any moment. Perhaps it’s part of Donna’s plan to seduce Peter and wreak havoc.
“Sebastian told you?” I frown. “That’s funny. He didn’t tell me. If Peter told Sebastian he was interested in Donna, Sebastian would have definitely mentioned it.”
“Maybe he doesn’t tell you everything,” Lali says casually.
What’s that supposed to mean? I wonder, giving her a look. But she seems to be completely unaware of any breach of friendship etiquette, bending over and shaking out her arms.
“Do you think we should tell Maggie?”
“I’m not going to tell her,” Lali says.
“He hasn’t done anything, has he? So maybe it was just talk. Besides, Peter’s always boasting about how he’s friends with Donna.”
“Didn’t Sebastian date her?” Lali asks.
