Talia Talk Read online

  “Ms. Stephens, can I make an announcement today about a sale at Threads?” asked Meredith. “I know it’s not exactly school-related, but tons of girls would be interested—”

  “Stick to the script,” Bridget said.

  Meredith glared at her. “I was asking Ms. Stephens,” she said. “And besides, Talia doesn’t have to stick to a script. She gets to talk about whatever she wants.”

  “Not exactly,” Ms. Stephens said, adjusting the glasses on her nose. “She has to clear her commentaries with me. And sorry, but a sale at Threads doesn’t make the cut.”

  “Do you own stock or something?” Ben asked, balancing the camcorder on a tripod.

  “I’m trying to help make the Oddcast relevant,” Meredith said. “I guarantee you that every girl in the school would be interested in knowing about the sale.” She cut her eyes at Bridget. “Well, almost every girl.”

  Meredith, Brynne, Carl and I took our seats behind the Oddcast desk.

  “I can’t even breathe the same oxygen as Bridget without feeling gross,” Brynne whispered. “How did we stand her all those years?”

  Ms. Stephens cleared her throat from the front of the room. “Guys, let’s settle down and do a run-through,” she said. “And incidentally, great job on your debut Oddcast Friday. I heard lots of nice feedback. Talia, funny commentary. Did your mom see it?”

  I nodded, blushing as all eyes fell on me. “She was a little freaked out, but she’s always told me that writers write what they know…and I know what a dorky volunteer Mom is.”

  The Oddcast staff laughed lightly.

  Ms. Stephens raised a single eyebrow. “Right,” she said with an easy smile. “But you have a platform now, Talia, and that’s a big responsibility. You have to use it wisely. Keep having fun with your commentary, but be mindful of the impact your words might have.”

  “What’s your commentary gonna be about this week?” Ben asked me.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll press for improvements at school, like changing rules we don’t like.”

  “Sweet!” Carl said. “I think we should be able to ride skateboards in the halls.”

  “And take power naps in Mr. Spelman’s history class,” Ben said as they exchanged high fives.

  Ms. Stephens tapped her index fingers together. “Are those the kinds of rules you’d like to challenge, Talia?” she asked.

  I twirled a piece of hair. “I dunno. I’d hate to get flattened in the hall by a skateboarder. Power naps, on the other hand, have definite potential.”

  “Ooooh, pedicures!” Brynne said, raising a hand. “What if there were little booths set up in the cafeteria so we could get our toenails done during lunch?”

  “Then your stinky feet would be infringing on my right to enjoy my lunch,” Carl said.

  Brynne scrunched her nose. “My feet aren’t stinky.”

  Ms. Stephens’s strawberry-blond ponytail bounced as she tilted her head. “That’s the thing about rules,” she said. “They’re intended to protect everybody’s rights. Once you start monkeying around with them, beware the law of unintended consequences. One person’s idea of luxury—lunchtime pedicures—is another person’s idea of torture—stinky feet in the cafeteria.”

  “My feet aren’t stinky!” Brynne sputtered, making everybody laugh more.

  Bridget made a time-out sign. “Twelve minutes till airtime,” she said loudly. “Everybody get in your spot for the run-through.”

  “Pssst.”

  I glanced at Meredith, who held a fingertip to her lips. She bent down toward her purse, signaling me to bend down too. She pretended to rustle around in her purse while leaning closer to me.

  “I have the petition,” she whispered.

  “The what?”

  “Ssssshhh! The petition. To get Bridget fired. I know Ben and Shelley won’t sign it, and I don’t think I can talk David into it. But with signatures from me, you, Brynne and Carl, we’ll have a majority.”

  “Carl?” I whispered. “Why does Carl want Bridget fired?”

  “I told him he could come to my party if he signed it.”

  I pursed my lips. “Ms. Stephens will never go for it,” I said.

  “She said we’re a team, and if more than half the team wants Bridget gone, what can she say?”

  I opened my mouth to respond but sighed with relief as Ms. Stephens quieted the staff to prepare for the Oddcast.

  Of course I wouldn’t sign the petition. But why did I keep finding myself in the middle of this mess?

  Meredith caught my eye and mouthed, “Well?”

  I shrugged. That would have to do for now.

  20

  “Payback,” Mom told the Up and At ’Em audience, “is brutal.”

  She had taped the show and we were watching it when she got home from work that day.

  “I take it you’re referring to Talia’s following in your footsteps,” Chad said.

  Mom nodded. “My job makes her feel a little, um, overexposed periodically.”

  “No,” Chad teased, and the audience laughed.

  “Don’t feel too sorry for her,” Mom said. “She’s discovered the perfect revenge. Her school has a closed-circuit TV show—you know, the kids reading announcements, telling ball game scores, recapping spelling bees—that kind of thing. And Talia made the staff.”

  “How much grief can she cause you by announcing spelling-bee winners?” Chad asked.

  “She has her own weekly commentary,” Mom said. “She gave her first one on Friday. It’s on the school’s Web site, so I checked it out over the weekend.”

  “And?”

  “And it was kinda about me.” She cringed.

  “A little tit for tat, huh?” Chad asked.

  “Something like that. But who could imagine she’d have anything embarrassing to say about me?”

  Chad mugged for the audience and they chuckled.

  “Her debut commentary explored my shortcomings as a school volunteer,” Mom said. “I thought I was a great volunteer—perky, cheerful, the whole bit. Give me a can of shortening, sugar and some food coloring and I can whip up a classroom treat for any and all occasions. I even made little trees for Arbor Day one year and used tiny squiggles of licorice to simulate George Washington’s dour expression for Presidents’ Day cookies.” Mom stretched her lips to ape the expression. “But apparently, these are the very qualities that doomed me to doofusness.”

  “You do get a little carried away over the holidays,” Chad said. “We’ve all seen your theme sweaters.”

  “I should’ve anticipated this development, just as I should have anticipated the day Talia would beat me at tennis,” Mom said. “It’s all part of the natural order: parents teaching their kids how to make their way in the world, then having their kids rub it in their faces by doing it better than their parents ever dreamed of.”

  “Just tell me you’re unloading the theme sweaters at a yard sale,” Chad said.

  “I like my theme sweaters,” Mom said, pouting. “And no matter what Talia says, I still say my George Washington cookies are delicious. And that’s the truth.”

  Mom turned off the TV and tugged my ponytail. “I guess I don’t get the last word anymore, huh?” she said.

  21

  “If you could name the school after a fruit, which one would you pick and why?”

  Most kids were giving us blank stares or rolling their eyes, but a few were hammy enough to mug for the camera and give an answer.

  “Prune School, ’cause we’re the pits,” a chubby boy responded, shaking a victory fist into the camera.

  “Aren’t you the clever one,” Bridget said.

  She, Shelley and Ben had invited me to come along during lunch period to interview kids in the hall for an upcoming Oddcast segment.

  We inched farther down the hall, Ben trailing us with the camcorder. “If you could name the school after a fruit, which one would you pick and why?” Bridget asked the next person who walked by.

  “Um, a
peach, ’cause we’re peachy?” a freckle-faced girl responded shyly.

  “An orange, ’cause we have appeal!” her friend volunteered, and they high-fived each other.

  “Yup. A bunch of real geniuses at this school,” Bridget said.

  “In which case we’d name ourselves the Banana School, right?” Shelley quipped. “Bunch? Banana?”

  “Gee, I don’t get it,” Bridget deadpanned.

  It had been a weird week. Bridget and I had patched things up, but she was spending every spare minute on the Oddcast, so unless I tagged along, we weren’t hanging out much. Mer and Brynne kept bugging me about their petition, and that stupid party was coming up….

  Mom was disappearing into her bedroom for at least half an hour every evening after dinner to “wash her hair” (talk to Jake on the phone), so she wasn’t offering much help in sorting out my feelings.

  Thank heaven I had my commentary to concentrate on. It was due Thursday, and I was getting more comfortable spilling my thoughts on paper. I worked on it every night after homework, typing a few lines, deleting some, adding some more, and sometimes just trashing it and starting all over again. Most people’s idea of misery, I know, but I really loved it. I could hear a kind of melody in my head if my words were flowing, and it was the best feeling in the world. By Wednesday night, I was ready to hit Save. Ms. Stephens would still have to approve it, of course, but writing felt so right. I couldn’t wait till Friday.

  “Reporting live from Crossroads Middle School, this is Talia Farrow with ‘Talia Talk.’”

  Okay, maybe I was still a little nervous. My stomach had decided to dance the rumba just as Ben tilted the camcorder toward me for our Friday-morning Oddcast.

  “Some people have told me I should use my commentary to try to change school rules that nobody likes,” I said into the camera, smoothing the trendy peasant shirt Meredith had instructed me to wear. She’d even talked me into putting a little blush on my cheeks. She’d declared me camera-ready when I got to school.

  “I’m pretty sure that nobody likes homework and everybody likes chewing gum,” I continued, following Bridget’s cue to slow my pace. “Most kids hate the dress code, and a lot of them think we need more time to change classes. (Note to future business tycoons: Invent a locker combination that’s easy to use! Your billions, and the gratitude of kids everywhere, are awaiting you.)

  “Now, I don’t know that I can single-handedly transform Crossroads Middle School into a homework-free, gum-chewing paradise, but I do have a few ideas about what could truly make our school a better place. So if I ruled the school, here’s what I would do:

  “Change the name middle school to fabulous school. Nobody likes being in the middle of anything. Everyone likes being fabulous.

  “Forbid students to wear pants that make a swishy sound when they change classes. Corduroy comes to mind. I hate that sound.

  “Forbid the nutrition police (you know you who are) to tell us how many fat grams and preservatives are in our food when we’re trying to eat our chicken nuggets.

  “Forbid cool kids to roll their eyes at the rest of us. We may be uncool, but you’re rude.

  “Forbid teachers to have teachers’ pets. (Oh, yes you do, and we all know it!)

  “Require teachers to play music during tests. It soothes the savage breast, remember? Of course, everybody has different tastes, so we’ll need to appoint a music deputy to select the tunes. I nominate myself.

  “Require teachers to provide tasty snacks during class. Who can think when their blood sugar is low?

  “Eliminate alphabet discrimination! Require teachers to call the roll backward. The Zacharys of the world are tired of their inferiority complex.

  “How’s that for a start? I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I think my rules would make fabulous school a more fabulous place. Since these rules are such no-brainers, I’ll assume the principal will approve them right away. So if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get started on my music selections.

  “Signing off for now, this is Talia Farrow for the Crossroads Oddcast.”

  22

  “Hey, Talia! Liked the Oddcast yesterday.”

  “Thanks.”

  I fingered my necklace with one hand, clutching Meredith’s present with the other as I inched my way along the outskirts of the crowded dance floor. The strobe lights were already pulsing and the deejay cranking up the music by the time I got to the party. I glanced from one face to the next, trying not to make eye contact. A few people were dancing, but most of them were like me: hugging the walls like novice ice skaters who didn’t want to venture too far from the safety bar.

  I’d felt out of place since I walked inside. Everybody was wearing blue jeans except me. I was wearing a stupid dress. Mom had insisted. (“It’s a dance, honey!” Grrrrr…) I knew most of the kids at the party, but for some reason, they looked like strangers under the strobe lights. Carl, the guy from the Oddcast who’d signed the petition to nail an invite (whoopee!) looked like a Martian with the neon lights casting shades of orange, pink and purple on his face. Mark was just Mark at school, but here, he looked right through me like I was invisible, even when I smiled and told him his hair looked nice. Creepy.

  I bit my fingernails.

  “Hi, Talia.”

  I turned toward the voice. “Meredith…hi. Happy birthday.”

  “The gift table is that way,” Meredith said, pointing across the room while eyeing the wrapped box in my hand. “Threads?”

  “What? Oh…yeah.”

  Meredith’s mom stepped up behind her. “Meredith!” she snapped. “Don’t you dare ask your guests where their gifts came from! Can’t you simply say thank you?”

  Meredith rolled her eyes. “Thank you,” she said to me, exaggerating the words like I was deaf.

  “I’ll take that, Talia, dear,” her mom said, taking the gift from me. “We’re so glad you could come. And you look darling! Love the dress. Just make yourself at home. Mingle, or grab a snack. Or dance! Do you like to dance?”

  “Um…”

  “Mark, why don’t you dance with Talia?”

  Oh no. Meredith’s mom grabbed Mark Miller’s arm and pulled him toward me. He looked like he was waiting for a firing squad to aim their guns.

  “That’s okay,” I said quickly, pulling my hair behind my ear. “I’m not really much of a dancer.”

  “Nonsense!” Meredith’s mom said. “Mark, give her a spin around the dance floor.” She gave both of us a little shove. We exchanged sideways glances and Mark shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Uh…,” he said, then shifted his weight from side to side. I halfheartedly snapped my fingers to the beat and bobbed my head a little. Mark gazed at his feet and I stared at the gift table, where Meredith’s mom was balancing my present on the pile and giving me a thumbs-up.

  Yuck. Why had I come to this party? And why was I self-conscious in front of Mark Miller, the kid whose nervous stomach had kept the custodian trudging to our classroom with a mop and bucket at least once a week all through elementary school? He was three inches shorter than me and dancing like somebody was throwing lit matches at his feet. What a dork! Why in the world was I nervous around him?

  Because I was even dorkier, shifting my weight and snapping my fingers in the stupid dress I’d worn in my piano recital, the one where I’d barfed on my teacher’s shoes. If Bridget had been here, she’d be howling at my stiff little dance moves. Turn hips now, I was instructing myself. Bend elbows now. Point thumb in random direction now. It felt as natural as doing a polka on top of a telephone pole. How many people were looking at me? Certainly not Mark, who was still staring at his shoes.

  We both acted like we’d won the lottery when the music finally wound down. We clapped our hands halfheartedly, then slunk off to separate corners of the room.

  Brynne walked up to me, swaying to the beat of the music and eyeing me up and down. “Nice dress.”

  I blushed.

  “Where’s Brid
get tonight?” she asked. “Off taking graduate courses at nerd academy?”

  “What? Oh, I don’t know where she is.”

  “I can’t figure you out, Talia. One day, you’re hanging out with us in the cafeteria, and the next, you’re back with Barfy Bridget.”

  I scanned the dance floor, just to avoid looking at Brynne. “Didn’t realize I was in such hot demand,” I said testily.

  Brynne huffed. “You know, sometimes you seem totally cool, and sometimes you try to act like you’re better than everybody else.”

  My eyebrows arched. “Like I’m better? Are you serious? I’m the dork standing here in a dress!”

  “Exactly!” Brynne sniffed. “The only advice I can give to you is lose the attitude. Oh, and lose Bridget! Have you signed the petition yet?”

  I shrugged. Good move, Talia, I thought. Just keep shrugging. Never take a stand, and everybody will like you. Right? RIGHT?

  Man, I hated myself right now.

  “Love the dress.” I looked up and saw Meredith walking toward us, curling her lip. “And thanks for keeping Mark occupied on the dance floor. I only invited him because our mothers are friends. Dweeb.”

  “I was just telling Talia that Bridget is, like, totally weighing her down,” Brynne said.

  Meredith nodded sharply. “It’s way past time to move on, Talia,” she said.

  “I guess she can be a little over the top,” I murmured.

  “ ‘Over the top’?” Meredith said. “She’s a loon.”

  “Funny that you say that. Her middle name is Luna, you know. She hates it.”

  Meredith and Brynne dropped their jaws, sputtered in laughter and exchanged high fives. “Luna!” Meredith squealed, prompting Brynne to laugh even harder.

  I smiled halfheartedly, but my heart sank.

  I sneaked a peek at my watch. I’d endured this agony for approximately thirteen minutes, and Mom wasn’t scheduled to pick me up for another two hours and seventeen minutes. I managed to toss a quick smile at Brynne and Meredith, then ducked out into a hallway and called Mom on my cell phone, pressing the keys like they were eject buttons on a doomed spaceship.