Too Much Drama Read Free Page A

anymore. Understand?”
    Krystal nodded.
    â€œGreat!” said Billy. Then he handed Krystal a half-used roll of toilet paper, and we left. As May, June, Sophie, Billy, and I walked to the Cold Shack for ice cream, we were all in good moods.
    â€œYou sounded like a mobster,” said Sophie.
    We were all laughing as Sophie imitated the way he’d talked to Krystal. When we got home, May came into my room and thanked me. I was happy having done something to help my sister. I think Billy and Sophie were too. I can’t help but think that it’s really sad and pretty stupid that what started with a backpack full of toilet paper and a desire to help May led to all the problems with Brynn.
    10:32 p.m.
Thinking about Brynn
    I didn’t know what would happen at school today, after my “breakup” with Brynn yesterday. The good news is that not much did.
    I saw Brynn, dressed in black, looking morose, but she didn’t look at me. In fact, she looked everywhere but at me. I was worried all day that it would be awkward when we got to dance practice. I guess I should be grateful to Ms. Baumann, who by chance put us in different groups.
    I don’t know why, but I keep thinking about the play kitchen Brynn had in her room when she was little. I can still picture it perfectly. It was light pink and yellow, and it had an oven, stove, refrigerator, and cabinet all built in. I thought it was beautiful.
    When we were in kindergarten and first grade, we’d make pretend tea parties with all the little dishes and plastic foods. As we got older, we’d play restaurant and make up menus and elaborate dishes. We named our restaurant Choco-Cherry. I never liked the name, but Brynn said we were at her house, so she got to pick it.
    Brynn also got to decide which dishes and foods we would use and what we would put on the menus we made. I remember telling her one day that I wanted to decide what we would serve, and she told me that’s not how the game was played. I went along with what she wanted, and we kept playing.
    I’m sure I thought it was no big deal then, but Brynn was always the one in charge. This sounds very high school English class, but I think it’s a metaphor for the demise of our friendship. It worked as long as I played by Brynn’s rules.
    I guess it has just taken me a very long time to come to that realization.
    10:47 p.m.
Text with Sophie
    Sophie: Can I wear the sweatshirt you left at Gaga’s?
    Me: Why would you want to?
    Sophie: I love it.
    Me: It looks like a dishrag.
    Sophie: I’m wearing it inside out.
    Me: Sounds worse than right-side out.
    Sophie: It’s super cute!
    Me: You can have it.
    Sophie: You’ll want it back.
    Me: It’s yours.
    Sophie: It has your name in it.
    Sophie: Literally. Camp name tag I think.
    Me:
    Sophie:
    I couldn’t help smiling as I put my phone away for the night. Sophie could easily be the kind of person who is intimidating—she’s beautiful and sophisticated, and she speaks fluent French. But then she does little things, like taking an old sweatshirt and turning it into something she thinks is cute and then wanting to give it back to me because she thinks I’ll like it. Stuff like that makes her easy to be friends with.
    I don’t want to name names, but not everyone belongs in that category.

Something’s wrong. I didn’t get my way.
    â€”Glinda,
Wicked
    Wednesday, December 3, 7:48 p.m.
In my room
Bad day at dance
    Brynn showed up to school this morning wearing all black, and dark sunglasses between classes, for the third day in a row. She was making a statement. I ignored it all day, but when we were in the bathroom in the gym changing for dance, she was actually making moaning sounds like she was in pain.
    I felt I had to ask. “Are you OK?”
    â€œObviously not,” she said. Then she looked at me like it was physically painful to be in the same room with me. “You know you’re