Page 34 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“How’s it going with Savannah?”

“Not great. I mean I love her to death, and the kids are fantastic, but I’ve got to get away from her husband.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He can’t walk past me without getting a hard-on. He pawed me once when Savannah was out shopping, and I shoved him off. He’s good-looking, great bod, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to wreck the marriage of the only person I’ve got left in my life. I’m moving to Los Angeles right after graduation. I’m thinking about taking acting lessons.”

After breakfast was over, I was expected to speak. Normally it’s a nonevent where the class president makes a few announcements, asks for volunteers for various committees, and ends with a variation on “the first three years have been great, but this one is going to be the best ever.”

I had a better idea. “My father owns a pub,” I said, stepping up to the podium. “And he’d like to make a donation to the class of ’98.”

I had a slide projector set up, and I flashed a picture of a fifteen-and-a-half-gallon stainless steel beer keg on the screen.

The kids cheered, and half a dozen of Rico’s friends who were all at the same table started chanting, “Boss Lady. Boss Lady. Boss Lady.”

I cringed. I knew it wasn’t a compliment. I knew they called me Boss Lady behind my back, and they called Rico Boss Lady’s Bitch to his face.

“Before you get too excited about that keg,” I said, “I should tell you that since we’re all underage, it’s empty.”

I got the expected chorus of boos.

“But we’re going to fill it up,” I said. “Then we’re going to seal it. And then...” I went to the next slide—the same keg, with the wordsHeartstone High School Class of 1998 Time Capsuleon it. “We’re not going to open it again until our twenty-fifth reunion, at which point my father will give us as many kegs as we need—all full.”

I’m not sure if they liked the idea of a class time capsule or the promise of free beer twenty-five years down the road, but they all whooped their approval, with Rico’s buddies pounding the table and catcalling their Boss Lady mantra.

Duff Logan jumped up on his chair. Duff, the undisputed class clown, was a master at working the teenage funny bone, and his legion of fans quieted down to give him center stage. “I say we put Principal Drucker in the time capsule,” he yelled, “and see if he’s any less of an asshole when we let him out in twenty-five years.”

The room went nuts. I know a good exit line when I hear one, so I pumped my fist, shot them a V-for-Victory sign, and stepped away from the podium.

“Maggie!” It was Rico storming toward me. “I can’t take this shit.”

“What shit?” I said.

“You always running the show. My friends say you treat me like I’m your goddam dumb Mexican pool boy.”

“Rico, your friends have no idea how I treat you.”

“I don’t care. It looks bad. If we’re going to stay together, you’ve got to resign from this stupid president job.”

“I have a better idea,” I said.

“Yeah, what?”

“We’re done,” I said, banging my gavel on one of the cafeteria tables. “Terminado.”

“Puta,” he bellowed. His friends turned, and he gave me the finger. “Vete a la mierda,” he added, more for their benefit than for mine.

I smiled as he walked away, feeling very Sandra Day O’Connor about my decision.

I hated to admit it, but I couldn’t wait to share the news with my bogus newscaster sister. Most days the two of us would get home from school about the same time. But one of the waitresses had asked for the night off to take her kids trick-or-treating, so Lizzie agreed to work the dinner shift.

By the time she got home it was almost ten, and I was dying to tell her that I was shopping around for my next frog to kiss, and ask what she thought about Duff Logan, who wasn’t particularly good-looking, but he was funny as hell.

“You’ll never guess what happened at the Halloween breakfast,” I said.

“Tell me later,” she said. “I’ve got something more important to discuss.”

“Well, if your shit’smore important, then by all means?—”

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