Free Mia the Melodramatic by Eileen Boggess Page B

get my bedroom, too. I dragged a kitchen chair into the dining room.
    “What an interesting style you have,” Mom gushed as I squished my chair into the space beside Zoë. “Mia, how come you never do anything fun like that to your hair?”
    I stared at her. “You’re kidding, right? You won’t even let me wear mascara.”
    “Mom’s right,” Chris said. “Maybe if you colored your hair, people wouldn’t notice you’re so ugly you needed tinted windows on your incubator.”
    Zoë looked across the table. “You must be Chris.”
    Chris wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “I see my reputationprecedes me.”
    Zoë shrugged. “Something like that.”
    Chris looked meaningfully into Zoë’s eyes. “I should tell you that I’m very mature for my age and I have a way with older women.”
    “Then, I should tell you that I don’t date guys who still need a bib,” Zoë said, pointing at Chris’s shirt, “and that you have a big glob of spaghetti sauce on your chest.”
    Chris looked down and his face turned the color of the stain spread across his tee-shirt. Mom immediately wet the edge of her napkin in her mouth and reached over to dab at Chris’ shirt, but he pushed her away and got up from the table.
    “May I be excused?” he asked, his face a model of mortification.
    “But I was just about to serve dessert,” Mom said. “We’re having cannoli.”
    I could tell Chris was dying to tell Mom what to do with her cannoli, but instead said through gritted teeth, “I’ve lost my appetite.”
    “Leave the son. I’ll take the cannoli,” Dad said, hitting an all-time low with his play on words as he served up the first cannoli to Zoë.
    Zoë took a bite. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Fullerton. Do I taste a touch of pistachios?”
    “Yes, you do. I’m so glad you like it.” Mom beamed. “It’s a new recipe. Would you like me to make a copy of it for your mom?”
    “That would be super,” Zoë said.
    Super? I stared in disbelief. Who was this girl?
    “Mr. and Mrs. Fullerton,” Zoë said as she daintily wiped the sides of her mouth with a napkin, “I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you. You see, my band is playing on Friday night at a coffeehouse and I would really like Mia to come hear us. I promise it’s a safe environment, and Eric has already said he’ll bring Mia home right afterward.”
    Mom looked across the table at Dad. “I don’t know...”
    Zoë woefully blinked her eyes. “It would really mean a lot to me.”
    “If that’s the case,” Dad said, scratching under his chin and continuing his awful Don Corleone impersonation, “how ’bout I make you an offer you can’t refuse?”
    “Marlon Brando, right?” Zoë asked. “I love those Godfather movies.”
    I shook my head in total awe. Eric had been right—Zoë was good.
    Dad, obviously trying to impress Zoë, now took his impersonation over the top. “How’s about we let Mia go hear your band if you stay and sing some more Sinatra with us?”
    When he stuck out his hand, I was afraid he was going to ask Zoë to kiss his pinky ring.
    Instead, she reached out her hand and matched his grip. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Fullerton.”

Chapter
Thirteen
    A fter work on Friday, I logged onto the computer to respond to Tim’s latest e-mail, which contained way too many references to his “boom,” “winch,” and “rudder” for my taste.
    From: FullofFun
    Date: June 24, 5:47 P.M.
    To: Radford1104
    Subject: Re: Hey
    Tim,
    Thanks for your e-mail. I’m really learning a lot about sailing.
    I rolled my eyes and continued typing.
    Zoë’s band is playing at the Flying Squirrel tonight and my parents are actually letting me go. No time to write because I have to get ready, but I’ll e-mail you tomorrow and tell you all about it.
    —Mia.
    I hit “send” and then went up to my room to get ready. Opening my closet, I looked for something black and depressing to wear, hoping to blend in with Zoë’s crowd. Unfortunately,