Talia Talk

by Christine Hurley Deriso

  “Hello?” Mom answered in a tinkly voice after a couple of rings.

  “Mom, can you come get me?” I asked, the words rushing out.

  “Talia? Honey, is something wrong?”

  I pressed my finger against my lip. “No. I just want to go home.”

  “Um, honey, actually, I’m having dinner with Jake right now. We just ordered. Do you think you could hang in there for another hour or so?”

  My lips tightened. “You didn’t tell me you were having dinner with Jake.”

  “I didn’t think it mattered, since you’d be at the party anyway.”

  I shook my head but didn’t say anything.

  “Talia, we can come now if you absolutely need us to,” Mom said.

  “We”? Who said anything about “we”? I just needed my mom. Why wasn’t she curled up with an afghan in her pajamas watching a chick flick on television? That was what my mom did on Saturday nights. Or that was what she used to do. Now here I was, stuck at this awful party, listening to her use pronouns like we.

  “It’s okay,” I muttered. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  “Are you sure, honey?”

  “I’m sure. Just get here as soon as you can after you’re through at the restaurant. Please?”

  “Okay, sweetie. Try to have a good time, okay?”

  “Please just hurry.”

  Forty minutes. Forty-five minutes. An hour. An hour and twelve minutes. An hour and sixteen minutes.

  Where was Mom?

  I kept glancing out the window, checking to see if she was here yet. Since when did it take an hour and sixteen minutes to eat dinner?

  Make that an hour and twenty-four minutes. Where was she?

  I’d given up trying to make small talk or flap around on the dance floor. (Not that anyone was asking me.) Instead, I stood close to the snack table and mindlessly munched cheese curls. Every once in a while, someone would walk up and say hi to me. “Hi,” I responded. Whatever. Frankly, nobody seemed to be having a very good time at this party.

  Thank heaven Meredith finally started opening presents. That would kill a good half hour or so. She oohed and aahed over her Threads gifts, acting shocked—shocked!—that everyone seemed to know exactly what to give her.

  “Thank heaven for gift registries,” I overheard Meredith’s mom telling another adult. “Otherwise, we’d be at the mall all day tomorrow making returns.”

  “Oh, this will go super with my eyes!” Meredith cooed, holding a stretchy blue shirt against her face. Gag.

  One hour thirty-six minutes.

  “Ooooh, Kayla!” Meredith said, holding up a belt. “The belt I’ve been dying to have! How did you know?”

  Puh-leeze. Where was Mom?

  “Cute earrings,” Meredith said with a sour expression as she opened the next present. “Um, they’re not from Threads, right?” she asked Mark, who blushed and stared at his shoes.

  “Meredith!” her mom snapped.

  “They’re fine, they’re fine!” Meredith said. “I was checking to see where they’re from in case I need to…whatever. They’re fine. Thanks, Mark.”

  Poor Mark, I thought with a snicker. Don’t you know you have to follow the rules?

  “Cute sweater, Talia,” Meredith said as she opened the gift that Mom had dutifully selected from her registry. “Purple is, like, my signature color. You must be psychic!”

  Grrrrrrr…One hour forty-three minutes and one-half. WHERE WAS MOM?

  Aaaaahhhh…hallelujah! I saw the glare of headlights through the window and peered closely. Drat! Not Mom’s car. But then my cell phone rang.

  “Honey? It’s Mom. We’re right outside.”

  I peered closer out into the parking lot.

  “I don’t see your car.”

  “We’re in Jake’s.”

  Well, of course you are.

  I grabbed my purse, slung it over my shoulder and made the obligatory trek to Meredith’s mom. “I’ve got to go now; my mom’s here,” I said. “Thanks so much for having me.”

  “You have to leave so soon?” she asked.

  I smiled apologetically. “Yeah, but I had a really good time.”

  “We certainly enjoyed having you. Thank you so much for coming. Hold on just a second and I’ll have Meredith come over and tell you—”

  “Uh, I really have to go. Sorry. Mom’s in some big hurry.”

  I practically ran out the door, then through the parking lot to Jake’s car. I got in the backseat and slammed the door shut.

  “Killer party, huh?” Jake asked.

  I slunk lower into my seat.

  “What was so awful about it?” Mom asked, turning to face me.

  I cracked a window and held my face closer.

  “Talia?” Mom said. “Are you giving us the silent treatment?”

  “It was just a stupid party, okay?” I said.

  Silence.

  “Talia, why are you in such a terrible mood?” Mom asked, craning her neck again to see me.

  More silence.

  “I guess the party wasn’t such a good idea after all?” Mom said. I made some noncommittal grunt from the back of my throat.

  Jake turned on his radio and started whistling along. Mom stared straight ahead. A few minutes passed, and Jake finally turned into our neighborhood.

  “Hey,” he said cheerily, “I’ve got an idea. Can I challenge you girls to a game of Scrabble?”

  Hot tears suddenly filled my eyes. “I don’t think so,” I said, my voice trembling.

  Jake turned into our driveway. Mom murmured apologies to him while she hustled me out of the car. She closed the front door behind us as soon as we were in the house.

  “Talia,” she said, “what is going on?”

  Tears spilled onto my cheeks. At first, I brushed them away angrily with my fist, but they kept coming, so I just let them flow as Mom guided me toward the couch.

  “What happened?” she asked, sitting beside me on the couch and stroking my hair.

  “Nothing,” I whimpered. “It was just a stupid party. I hated it. Everybody there was acting so snotty and fake. Meredith’s mom made me dance with stupid Mark Miller, and I looked like a total moron. Then Meredith and Brynne started telling me how Bridget and I are, like, the biggest losers in school, and…”

  A sob churned up my throat and drowned out my words. Mom pulled me into her arms.

  “Then,” I continued through my tears, “I called you and you hadn’t even told me you were going out with Jake tonight….”

  “But, honey—”

  “And I told you I was having a horrible time and wanted to go home, and you said you’d come as soon as you finished dinner, and, like, an hour and forty minutes later…”

  “But, Talia, we were—”

  “And then I’m in the car with Jake, feeling totally crummy and not wanting to talk, knowing I’m making you mad by acting like a brat, and feeling totally guilty because you’re finally interested in a nice guy and I’m just ruining the whole thing, but I can’t help it because I’m feeling like I’m going to cry and I don’t know what to say, and then…Scrabble! Mom, I’m sorry. I know you like Jake, and I like him, too, but Scrabble! It’s like…Dad’s thing.”

  I buried my head in Mom’s chest and cried some more as she ran her fingers through the back of my hair. We sat there for a long time before I realized Mom was dabbing her eyes too. Then I rubbed her hair. Eventually, we fell asleep right there on the couch, tasting each other’s salty tears and tangled in each other’s arms.

  23

  “Bridge! Thank heaven you’re home. Can you come over?”

  Silence.

  “Bridget?”

  More silence.

  I held my cell phone closer to my mouth and adjusted my position on my bed. “Hello? Hello?”

  “I’m here,” Bridget finally said, softly.

  “Bridge, I have to tell you about my horrible night. Mom made her Sunday roast beef. Come eat with us and let me spill my guts.”

/>   Silence.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry. I can’t make it.”

  “What? Why not?”

  Pause. “I already heard about your night.”

  My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you weren’t going to Meredith’s party,” Bridget said in a small but steely voice.

  I hadn’t actually told her that…had I? “I wish I hadn’t gone,” I said quickly, trying to push past the awkwardness. “It was awful.” I paused. “Who told you I went?”

  Silence.

  “Bridget! What’s up with the silent treatment?”

  I heard her sniffling on the other end of the phone.

  “Bridge? Golden Gate Bridget? Are you crying?”

  She sniffled some more. “I don’t know why it takes me so long to catch on. You’ve been trying to dump me since school started,” she said, her voice cracking. “I guess I’m just slow, huh?”

  My hand clenched the phone tighter. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t have to tell me about Meredith’s party, Talia,” Bridget said, her voice stronger now. “Meredith already did. She called to rub it in.”

  I tightened my lips. “What did she say?”

  “Uh…where to start…. I guess we could start with you blabbing my middle name to the Snob Squad.”

  “Wha—? Oh! Bridget! I didn’t mean to.”

  “Right. Was that before or after you signed the petition to get me fired?”

  “I never signed that petition!” I said, leaping from my bed.

  Pause. Bridget was crying again. My heart sank. I could bear just about anything but making Bridget cry.

  “Bridget, I never signed that stupid petition! I swear!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about it?” she asked, her voice shaking through anger and tears.

  I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. At that moment, I would have shaved my head to make Bridget stop crying.

  “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry. But, Bridget, you’re totally misunderstanding. I hated Meredith’s party. And I wasn’t dissing you. I was too busy standing there in my stupid piano-recital dress thinking about what a total zero I was, about how I didn’t belong. And then my mom was late picking me up because she and Jake…well, it’s a long story, but the only thing I wanted to do was to talk to you.”

  Bridget sniffled. “In the immortal words of Mick Jagger, you can’t always get what you want.” I heard her blowing into a tissue. “I get it, Talia, with you trying to figure out what kind of friends you want to have. But you might give a little more thought to what kind of friend you want to be.”

  I grappled for words, but none came to mind.

  “Talia, I don’t mean to sound snotty,” Bridget said softly, “but I gotta go. See you around.”

  24

  “Pssssst.”

  I ignored Meredith.

  “Pssssst!”

  I stared straight ahead.

  “PSSSSST!”

  I jerked my head in Meredith’s direction. “What?”

  “God! You don’t have to bite my head off. Are you going to sign the petition already? With you, me, Brynne and Carl, we’ll have a majority. If we turn it in today, maybe we can get rid of Bridget by tomorrow.”

  The last thing I wanted was to face Meredith in the Oddcast office that morning, but I had no choice. I’d tried apologizing again to Bridget when I walked in, but she’d turned her back to me and started talking to Ben. So here I was, stuck behind the Oddcast desk with the Snob Squad, who had ruined my only real friendship.

  “I’m not signing your stupid petition!” As miserable as I was, I couldn’t help noting that this answer felt much better than a shrug.

  Meredith scowled, then gave Brynne an “I told you so” look.

  “Awwww,” Brynne mocked. “Are Bridget’s feelings hurt because she didn’t get invited to Mer’s party? Well, tell her to grow up. Mer can’t invite the whole school, can she?”

  I spun to face Meredith, my face hot with rage. “Why did you tell Bridget I was making fun of her?”

  Her jaw dropped dramatically. “As if!”

  “Like we don’t have anything better to talk about than you and Loser Bridget Luna,” Brynne said with a sneer.

  “God,” Meredith said. “I wish I hadn’t invited you to my party, either.”

  That so made two of us.

  “Hey, Talia,” Shelley called from across the room, “funny commentary Friday. What are you going to talk about this week?”

  I took a deep breath. “Um, I don’t really know yet,” I said.

  Except now I did.

  25

  “She hates me,” I said, wiping away a tear with the tissue Mom handed me.

  “Oh, honey.” Mom squeezed me closer to her on the couch and kissed my cheek.

  “The worst part is that Bridget was right,” I said, blowing my nose into the tissue as Mom plucked a fresh one from the box. “I was, like, friend shopping.”

  “No, you weren’t, sweetie. All you did was accept an invitation to a party.”

  “If it was so innocent, why didn’t I tell Bridget about it? I lied to her, Mom. I had the best friend in the world, and I tossed her aside like…like…like this tissue.” I let the soggy tissue drop from my fingertips. “Bridget’s right to hate me. I’m hate-worthy.”

  I buried my face in Mom’s chest and cried harder. Mom patted me for a minute, then gently pulled me back so she could look me in the eye.

  “Let’s call her,” she said. “Let’s take her out for ice cream and get this straightened out.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think ice cream can fix this problem. Besides, she wouldn’t go. She wouldn’t even sit with me in the lunchroom today. Why would she want to hang around somebody who lies to her and gossips behind her back?”

  “You gossiped?” Mom asked anxiously.

  I nodded as my face crumpled into another sob. “Meredith and Brynne are always talking about how obnoxious Bridget is, and every once in a while, I kinda agree with them…or at least make them think I’m agreeing with them by not defending her. I told them at Meredith’s party that Bridget was ‘over the top,’ or something stupid like that. And I told them Bridget’s middle name, which she totally hates. They wasted no time blabbing it to her.”

  Mom hugged me for a minute, smoothing my hair. “Honey, everybody makes mistakes,” she said quietly. “The test of true character is how people handle their mistakes.”

  I tightened my lips. “I’ve already decided how I’m going to handle mine,” I said. I gave Mom a wobbly smile and stood up. “Thanks for talking to me, Mom.”

  I walked to my bedroom. Time to write.

  Talia Talk: I’m Over It

  You know what I hate? Phonies. Fakes. Gossips. People with gift registries for stupid birthday parties.

  I hate that somebody can like you in elementary school and hate you in middle school because suddenly you aren’t cool anymore. Whatever cool means. I hate what people in our school consider cool: the right clothes, the right jewelry, the right look. I hate that people in our school don’t need any truly valuable qualities—intelligence, compassion, a sense of humor—as long as they have a ceramic hair straightener.

  I hate people who talk about other people behind their backs, or even say snotty things to their faces if they think they can get away with it. I hate that people who treat other people like dirt seem to have loads of friends.

  But most of all, I hate that sometimes I act like the people I hate. I’m not sure why I do it. Am I trying to fit in? To be more popular? To be polite, so other people won’t think I’m looking down on them for acting snotty? Maybe I do it just because it’s easier: go along to get along.

  Except that I don’t want to get along anymore. It’s one thing to hate other people; it’s another to hate myself. Right now, I hate myself. And I hate it when that happens. So will I get invited to fewer parties, or have fewer “frien
ds,” or have to concern myself with fewer gift registries? I don’t care. I’m over it.

  “Talia, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  I glanced up from my seat in the cafeteria and saw Ms. Stephens standing there, holding my commentary.

  “Sure,” I said. “Take your pick,” I said, motioning toward the empty chairs at my table.

  I surveyed the cafeteria as she sat down, watching other kids giggle, nudge each other, grab each other’s fries. Bridget was sitting with Shelley and Ben; I’d tried to catch her eye several times, but it never happened.

  Ms. Stephens cleared her throat as she settled into a chair. “I’ll cut to the chase,” she said, putting the commentary on the table. “You can’t read this on the Oddcast.”

  I stabbed a lettuce leaf absently with my fork. “Why not?”

  “Many reasons come to mind, but it’s always a red flag when a writer uses the word hate seventeen times in a single commentary.”

  “You counted?”

  She smiled warmly. “Not really. But I got the idea.”

  I stabbed more lettuce with my fork. “I was just being honest.” I glanced at her, then stared back down at my salad.

  “Honesty’s good, Talia, but you’ll be going to this school for three years. You can’t alienate yourself from people.”

  “I don’t care. Everybody hates me anyway.”

  Ms. Stephens shook her head impatiently. “Talia, I don’t know what happened, but you’re burning too many bridges with this essay. And whoever these people are that you supposedly ‘hate’…well, they have feelings too, you know.”

  I looked at her evenly. “You obviously don’t know these people very well.”

  Ms. Stephens rested her elbows on the table and leaned toward me. “Sure I do. I was eleven once too. There were plenty of parties I wasn’t invited to, and plenty I wish I hadn’t been. You guys didn’t invent cliques, or gossip, or catty remarks. And you made the point yourself that things like this are never black and white. There are lots of gray areas.”

  I was silent for a moment, then felt my eyes fill with tears that I quickly blinked back. “Meredith and Brynne ratted me out, and now Bridget hates me,” I said, my words tumbling out like dominoes as my voice cracked.