Tammy the Little Mermaid, Part Seven

Wow, it feels like I've been posting this one forever! Actually it's probably the longest of the stories that I know I still have. (If I find the "super special" where the Fruitville girls go on a camping trip, that one's even longer. They're a little nicer to each other in that book.)

I thought about posting the rest of Tammy's adventures in one fell swoop, but I might as well stick with just two chapters. Let's see what happens after Brett dumped in her front of the whole orphanage...

Chapter Thirteen

"Quit!" Mr. DiBiaz exploded, running after Tammy. "You can't quit! (I'm firing you!) What are you talking about? You're Ariel!"

"I don't care!" Tammy sobbed, turning around. "Jeez, all you care about is the stupid play. Don't you see what just went on in there? Haven't you seen what's been going on ever since this play started? No one wants me in there, Mr. DiBiaz. I quit! It'll make them all happy."

"Wait! What?" Mr. DiBiaz sputtered. "What are you talking about? You're wonderful up there on stage!"

"Yes, but that doesn't matter to them. Why don't you just go direct the play. Find a new Ariel. Have Beth do it. Or Stella." Tammy started to walk off.

"Don't go!" Mr. DiBiaz begged. "Please don't quit. We need you. No one can memorize their lines fast enough to get a new Ariel now." (Well, she is mute for half the story...)

"Make them," Tammy said simply.

Mr. DiBiaz decided to try the tough act. "Tammy Morris -- you get into that auditorium and onto that stage right now!" he cried, pointing a finger toward the auditorium.

Tammy just stood there.

"You're going to ruin the play," Mr. DiBiaz warned.

"I'm sorry, Mr. DiBiaz," Tammy sighed. "But right now some things are more important to me than this play."

Tammy walked away while Mr. DiBiaz watched her helplessly. There goes my star, he thought.

(Okay, Mr. DiBiaz is way, way too into this play. Like anyone would care about it. Except maybe Brett's mom and a few other parents.)

"Mr. DiBiaz, are we ever going to start?!" a voice yelled impatiently from the auditorium.

"Yes! Yes, I'm coming." The orphans and Madison kids were all crowded in a big heap on the stage.

"Where's Ariel?" a boy cried.

Mr. DiBiaz took a deep breath. "Ariel quit," he replied matter-of-factly, looking expectantly at the orphans. But none of them looked like they were about to admit anything.

"Well?!" Mr. DiBiaz cried impatiently after about five minutes of silence. (That long? Or is my third person omniscient narrator exaggerating?) "Why did she quit?!"

"I don't know," about sixty people replied innocently.

Mr. DiBiaz rolled his eyes. "She said something about something that just went on and something that's been going on since the play started. What was she talking about? Brett? Do you know?"

"I have no idea," Brett mumbled, looking very uncomfortable. (Liar!)

"Well, okay. But there's no play anymore."

"What?!" everyone cried.

"We have to have the play!" Beth shouted.

"We've worked so hard on it!" Kevin Sumner added.

Mr. DiBiaz threw his arms up. "We can't have The Little Mermaid with no Ariel! (Then you should have cast an understudy like a good play director, Mr. DiBiaz.) I'm sorry. I'm just as disappointed as you are."

Stella raised her hand. "Mr. DiBiaz, I know most of Ariel's lines. Do you think I could do the part? You can give me a try right now. I bet I can do it."

"You know Ariel's part? All of it?"

"Most of it," Stella replied. "I can memorize the rest."

"But who will play Ursula in disguise?"

"I'll do it," Beth volunteered. "It's barely a part at all. I can learn it."

"Beth? You will?" Mr. DiBiaz cried. "You girls've got the ... wait! I just thought of something." Mr. DiBiaz sighed. "The programs were just sent out. The programs have Tammy's name on them."

"So?" Stella smiled. "Having a successful play is more important than being a star. I don't care if no one knows my name."

"Great! You girls've got the parts! Let's give you both a run right now to see how you are."

"Okay!" Beth and Stella cried happily. "Stel," Beth whispered in Stella's ear before they began. "I think we should do this planning stuff professionally!" (Retch.)

***

Tammy was lying on her bed daydreaming about the good old days -- when she was back in her old town, in her old house. Those were the days when she actually had friends. Why did she have to lose everything so suddenly? Before she came to this stupid orphanage, she had the perfect life. She had never been dumped. (Imagine that ... eleven years old and never been dumped!) Ever.(She had also never cared for any other boy as much as she cared about Brett.)

"Boy," Tammy muttered. "My parents, my friends, my dog, and my boyfriend all in less than a year."

(I'm surprised she bothered to include her parents...)

"Do you enjoy talking to yourself?" Beth asked rudely, coming into the room.

"Beth, please get out of here," Tammy sighed. She was in no mood to fight.

"I just wanted to give you this," Beth snickered. She tossed the small, flowered diary onto Tammy's bed and walked off, whistling. (Wow, what a brazen little antagonist!)

Tammy rolled her eyes and opened the book. Maybe now she could find out what Brett was talking about.

The first fake entry was dated March 12th. It began:

Well, today I did it. I got my guy! Brett has definitely fallen for me. Poor sucker. Little does he know what I'm really doing...

Tammy read the rest of the entry, feeling horrified. "Oh, my gosh," she murmured, closing the diary. "I didn't write that." But no wonder Brett hated her! He must have thought she was some kind of maniac.

The next entry was even worse. It said that Tammy was going to put detergent in Stella's drink. Detergent! Tammy would never kill anyone. But apparently, Brett didn't know that.

For the second time that day, Tammy began to cry. She wished she could put detergent in her own drink. (Oh, for crying out loud, just call Brett and tell him you didn't write it!) She had never been more embarrassed in her life. What a year this was turning out to be!

Christina opened the door. "Dinner!" she called out in a sugar-sweet voice.

"I don't want any," Tammy muttered, turning around so Christina wouldn't see her crying.

"Why? Will it remind you of the dinner Brett was supposed to have..."

"Christina, SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF HERE!" Tammy yelled. She pushed Christina out of the way, shut the door, and locked it. Ten minutes later, no one had even come to beg for her to come eat. (Gee, you're not just fishing for attention, Tammy.) The grown-ups don't even care, Tammy thought bitterly. (But five minutes later, a stupid brown tray was pushed under her door.)

The next day, Megan Bagley was the first one to notice Tammy wasn't in class. "Where's Tammy?" she asked anxiously.

"Who cares?" Beth snickered.

"No one's ever absent. She could've killed herself or something. I haven't seen her since play practice yesterday."

Beth was beginning to look the slightest bit worried. "Maybe someone should go check on her."

"She was just fine in the morning!" spoke up Janine.

"Then that means she's skipping!" Beth cried gleefully. "I'm going to tell on her. Miss Jenkins! Miss Jenkins!"

"Yes, Beth?" Miss Jenkins replied coolly.

"Tammy's not in class, and she's not sick," Beth announced.

Miss Jenkins looked at Tammy's empty desk. "Why, you're right! Tsk, tsk." She picked up the wall phone and all the orphans watched curiously as she said, "Nick? Tammy Morris is not in class ... mmm-hmm ... mmm-hmm ... oh, I see ... yes ... yes, I will ... thank you." Miss Jenkins hung up the phone and looked around at her students. "Megan Bagley, will you please go up to B-2 and get Tammy?"

"Sure," Megan replied. She stood up and was just about out the door when Miss Jenkins leaned over and whispered, "Tell her she's not in trouble and we understand, but she has to come to school."

"Okay," Megan said. On the way up to Tammy's room, Megan decided she was glad Miss Jenkins had chosen her. She had never really been mad at Tammy, and she kind of sensed Beth was lying about all those "names" Tammy called everyone. She wanted to let Tammy know she still had one friend.

(Sure, Megan, as long as you're by yourself and don't have to worry about crossing Beth, then Tammy is your friend...)

But when Megan saw Tammy's door closed, she began to feel a little uneasy. Who knew what could be behind there?

"Oh, well," Megan muttered. Bravely, she knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" a voice called glumly.

"It's me. Megan. Can I come in?"

There was a pause. "Why?"

"Mr. DiBiaz wants you to come to school," Megan replied honestly.

The voice sighed. "Hang on. I'm coming out."

Megan stood there for about ten minutes. "Tammy?" she finally said.

"Megan, can you come in here for a sec?" (Isn't that what she just asked you if she could do?)

"Okay," Megan replied stupidly. She opened the door. Tammy was sitting on her bed, biting her lip and looking like she was about to cry.

"Are you okay?" Megan asked.

"Yeah ... I don't know. I can't go out there. Everybody saw ... that yesterday. I can't ever go out there again!"

"You have to. You have to go to school." (dork)

"I can't. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

"Well, I can imagine..." Megan began.

"No, you can't. Nobody hates you."

"That must be pretty hard," Megan said sympathetically.

Tammy sighed. "I was starting to get used to it, until yesterday. Why is everyone, anyway? Mad at me, I mean."

"Well ... we weren't exactly happy when we heard those names you called us..."

"What names?" Tammy asked.

"L-like me," Megan stammered. "You called me a mouse, and a geek, and..."

"Who told you this?"

"Beth," Megan whispered.

"Beth, huh?" Tammy sighed. "Figures."

"Is it even true?"

"Of course not. But it doesn't matter. It's too late. Everyone already hates me."

"I don't," Megan said.

"You're the only one. Can you just tell Mr. DiBiaz or Miss Jenkins or whoever that I'm not coming down?"

"You have to..."

"Megan, if the whole world, who hated you in the first place, watched your boyfriend dump you and call you a maniac, would you go back the next day?"

"No," Megan admitted.

"I'm not ever leaving here. Tell them they can punish me any way they want. I'm not leaving."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"Positive?" Megan pressed.

"Megan, get out of here!" Tammy's voice shook a little, and she began to cry. Since Megan felt she was at least partly responsible for all of this, she left quickly.

"Miss Jenkins, she won't come down," Megan said quietly when she was back in her classroom.

Miss Jenkins sighed. "She won't?"

Megan shook her head. "Uh-uh. I tried..."

"Oh, I know you did. You're not in trouble, honey. Just go sit down."

"Okay." Megan sat back in her seat.

"What happened?" Beth whispered.

"She won't come down," Megan replied.

Beth started to laugh, but Megan shot her a look. "Beth ... are you sure you heard Tammy say all those things about us? I mean, maybe you misunderstood..."

"Misunderstood? Are you saying I'm lying?"

"No, no," Megan replied quickly. "It's just that ... well, she's up there crying, Beth. I've never seen her cry."

"She's just doing it to get attention." (Well, yeah!)

"Then why is she in her room?"

"I - I don't know," Beth said stupidly. "She wants us to go up there?"

Megan gave Beth a doubtful look. "I just feel sort of sorry for her, that's all. That would be embarrassing to be dumped like that in front of everyone."

"She deserves it," Beth insisted. Even though she didn't think Brett should have dumped Tammy in front of everyone, nothing would change Beth's opinion. Tammy was still a conceited snob, and that's all there was to it.

***

Tammy stayed in her room for a week. Mrs. DiBiaz brought her assignments and food up. Nobody seemed to mind much. Janine and Christina got tired of bugging her, and in the outside world, the play was coming along just fine -- almost...

"COSTUMES!!!" Mr. DiBiaz boomed about a week before the play. "Your costumes are here!"
(So much for all those orphans he assigned as costume designers!)

All of the kids started to run toward him, screaming. "Where's mine?" "I want to see mine!" "Give me my costume!"

"Hold on!" Mr. DiBiaz shouted angrily. "I can't just throw them at you and have you run out and catch them! I'm going to hand them out. You all go sit down, and when I call your character's name, come up ... quietly ... and get your costume."

"Do mine first!" Belinda Kazmeyer yelled.

Mr. DiBiaz gave her a dirty look. "I will hand out your costumes in the order of which they are packaged. First..." With a struggle, he tore open the first box and pulled out a fuzzy green Oscar the Grouch costume. "Huh?" he muttered.

The next costume Mr. DiBiaz pulled out was very big, very yellow, and very feathery. The one after that had a long, banana-like face and a striped shirt (and a unibrow?) and the one afer that was dark blue with a round, light-pink nose. Impatiently, Mr. DiBiaz dug through the rest of the costumes until he came to a little booklet at the bottom of the box. The booklet said: A Day With Sesame Street - Costume Ideas.

"Oh, no!" Mr. DiBiaz cried. "They sent us the wrong costumes! The company sent us the wrong costumes." (Josephine sent them!)

"They did?!" the orphans and boys screeched. "What'd they send us?"

"Sesame Street. Sesame Street, of all things. The least they could've done was send us some Disney costumes. (Yes, because that would make so much difference for The Little Mermaid if you had a Mickey Mouse costume instead of an Oscar the Grouch one.) Oh this is just wonderful. What are we supposed to do now?"

"Check the other two boxes," Stella suggested.

Mr. DiBiaz took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "Good idea. Good idea, they're probably in there." Hopefully, he tore open the second box, and pulled out ... a fish costume!

"Whew! They are in here. I was getting worried there for a second!"

"Give me my Ursula costume!" Belinda yelled.

"Wait, sweetie. I'm not sure we have all the costumes."

They didn't. And unfortunately, the ones they were missing were Ariel's, Erik's, Sebastian's, Flounder's, Triton's, Scuttle's, and Ursula's.

"Our main characters!" Mr. DiBiaz screamed. "We don't have costumes for our main characters. What are we supposed to do now?"

The kids began to screech. "Does this mean I can't be in the play?" "Some play this is going to be now!" "Great!" "Oh, boy, what a play!"

"All right, all right, calm down, kids. I'll send these Sesame things in right away, and get the real costumes on rush order." Mr. DiBiaz sighed. "I just hope they come in on time."
(Have them delivered overnight, genius.)

"And what if they don't?" Stella yelled.

"They will. They will."

The second thing that went wrong didn't happen until the "new" Ariel entered. At first, Stella just stood there.

"Say your line," Mr. DiBiaz instructed.

"I can't," Stella murmured.

"And why not?"

"I forgot it."

"STELLA SMITH! YOU'VE HAD ALMOST A WEEK TO MEMORIZE THESE LINES! HOW COME YOU FORGOT?"

Stella shrugged. "I don't know. I'm trying my best."

Mr. DiBiaz sighed, and muttered something about "not happening when Tammy was here."

Meg and Stella stood there.

"GO ON!!!!"

"Okay, okay. Um ... I can't. I don't know my line."

"SOMEBODY FEED STELLA HER LINE!"

"With a spoon?!" Virginia Vaughn yelled. She howled and slapped her knee.

"Virginia, to time-out ... right now!!! I don't have time to fool around like this!" Virgina hurried off, and Megan told Stella her line. Then the rehearsal went normally for awhile until Mr. DiBiaz realized something.

"Where's the scenery?!" he yelled.

Nobody answered.

"WHERE IS THE SCENERY?!!!!"

"Ask the set designers," Scarlett Steinberg replied, shrugging.

Mr. DiBiaz sighed. "And just where are these set designers?"

"It's Shelley, Thea, Ingrid, and Roberta," said Alexis Lugbein. "They're in the home-ec room."

('Thea' is Thea DiBiaz. Is Mr. DiBiaz too busy with orphans to keep track of his own daughter?)

"Do you know if they're close to being done, Alexis?"

Alexis shrugged. "No. They're always laughing and goofing off."

Mr. DiBiaz groaned. "Great. Great. Kids, none of this was happening when Tammy was still here. Can someone go get her ... PLEASE?!!"

"But I'm Ariel now!" Stella cried, sounding hurt.

"And she won't come out of her room," Megan added.

"Plus, it's not like bringing her into the play will make the scenery all of a sudden done and our costumes appear," Beth pointed out. "She quit. It has nothing to do with the rest of the play."

Mr. DiBiaz sighed for about the millionth time. "You're right. You're right. Orphans, boys ... I don't want to say this. I really hope this play works out. But I don't think it will."

(Sure, Mr. DiBiaz, sure. We all know it will work out just perfectly for everyone in the end. Sorry if I'm spoiling that for anyone.)

Chapter Fourteen

On Saturday morning, Tammy received a slip from the office that said, Come to the office. Immediately! This is urgent! If you don't come, you will be in time-out for a month.


(Way to make it sound like she's being threatened with solitary...)

Tammy decided to go. She was totally bored with her room anyway, and if any of the orphans saw her and made a crack, she'd just make a crack right back.

The door was closed, but it had a sign attached to it that read: Come on in, friend! So Tammy did. Mr. and Mrs. DiBiaz were sitting side-by-side at the desk.

"Tammy!" they cried in unison. "Long time no see!"

Tammy managed a small smile. "Hi."

"Sit down, sit down," said Mr. DiBiaz. "Make yourself comfortable. You're not in trouble, we just want to talk to you."

"About what?" Tammy asked, sitting down in a big, brown leather chair.

The DiBiaz's glanced at each other. "Well," Mrs. DiBiaz said. "We know something's been bothering you."

"We're not trying to interfere," Mr. DiBiaz added.

"But," Mrs. DiBiaz continued. "We're your friends, and we'd like to know what's going on."

Tammy sighed. "It's nothing, nothing's wrong, I'm just fine." She'd rather be in trouble than talk to the DiBiaz's about her problems.

The DiBiaz's sighed. "Tammy, Tammy, Tammy," Mr. DiBiaz said, shaking his head.

"Did I ever tell you the story of the ugly duckling?" Mrs. DiBiaz suddenly asked.

(Great, now I'm ripping off Full House.)

"Thanks a lot!" Tammy cried, sounding insulted. "I'm good-looking."

Mrs. DiBiaz looked hurt. "I just thought your problems might have something to do with your looks. So what are they?"

"Do you have trouble making friends?" Mr. DiBiaz asked softly.

"No! Why do you care, anyway? You already have a new Ariel. I'll stay in my dumb room forever."

"No, no, no!" Mr. DiBiaz cried.

"We're concerned about you," his wife added. "And the reason my husband asked if you have trouble making friends is because the day you quit, you said something about everyone hating you in there, and them being glad you quit. Why did you say that?"

Tammy sighed. "Do I have to tell you?"

"We'd like it if you did," Mrs. DiBiaz said softly.

"Well ... okay. The reason I said that is because it's true ... wait, do you promise you won't tell, like, the whole Fruitville staff about this?"

"We promise," Mr. DiBiaz said firmly. "What you say here is confidential. It won't leave the room."

"Okay. I said that because it's true. The day after we had auditions for this stupid play, Beth Harris did something that made everyone mad at me ... everyone. At first I was a little upset, but then I started talking to Brett, and we started going out. Well, on Monday he dumped me in front of everyone. Now all the Madison kids and all the orphans hate me."

(Um, how about telling them about the diary entries? I didn't know Tammy loved Beth so much that she'd keep her forgeries a secret.)

"Hate is a strong word, Tammy," said Mrs. DiBiaz. "They may be mad at you, but they don't hate you."

"Yes, they do," Tammy argued. "They've been mad at me for over a month."

"Well, did you do something to make them mad?"

"No! That's just it! If I did do something, I'd understand, but I didn't do anything!"

Mr. DiBiaz looked thoughtful. "So, why did you quit the play?"

"Because, didn't you hear? Brett dumped me in front of everybody, and he didn't exactly do it nicely. I can't face him again! I'll start coming back to school when the play is over, but I'm not being in that stupid play."

"But you have to!" Mr. DiBiaz cried desperately. "It's totally falling apart without you! Stella can't memorize her lines, she can't sing to save her life, the company sent us Sesame Street costumes, and we don't have any scenery! Pleeaasse come back!"

Tammy rolled her eyes. "Oh. This little 'confidential' talk is really supposed to talk me into going back into the play," she said disgustedly. "Well, I'm sorry. But the answer is no." She stood up and left the office. This whole stupid play started all of her problems, and she could not get away from it!

Tammy felt another cry coming on, and she slipped into the first room she saw -- the kitchen -- before anyone could see her. (Warning, stereotype-filled depiction of a "fat girl" ahead.) But she was too late. Joan Quackenbush was crouched sneakily by the cupboard, eating peanut butter from the jar with a wooden spoon.

"I-I'm sorry!" Joan sputtered desperately when she noticed Tammy. "I mean ... I mean ... don't tell, I mean ... I, you can have some..." (Ew!)

"Shut up, Joan. It's okay. But can you please go somewhere else?"

"NO!" Joan cried indignantly. "I was here first. What's wrong, anyway?"

"What's wrong is that I hate it here, I wish I never came, and I want to go home. Okay?" Tammy practically screamed.

Joan looked curious. "Why do you hate it here?"

"How nosy," Tammy muttered.

"No, serious. How come? I think it's pretty nifty here."

"Name one 'nifty' point," Tammy challenged.

"Well, uh ... uh ... well ... they have good food," Joan muttered.

Tammy rolled her eyes. "Joan, there are more important things in this world than food."

Joan looked shocked. "There are?!"

"Oh, who cares!" Tammy snapped. "Just shut up and get out of here!"

"Y'know," Joan said, ignoring her. "A famous philosopher once said food wasn't very important. But little did he..." (Oh, Joan, think you can overdo it a little more?)

"I DON'T CARE. GO AWAY!!!"

"Not until you tell me why you hate it here," Joan retorted.

"I hate it here because of annoying people like you. Good enough?"

(What a bit*h. Be grateful she's even talking to you, Ms. Everyone-hates-me.)

"Who else is annoying?"

"Beth, Stella, Tami ... you know. They don't like me because they're jealous of me. And you probably are, too," Tammy added smugly.

Joan clucked her tongue. "You popular girls. All you care about are your images. I bet you think they don't like you because you're too pretty, right?"

"Well..." Tammy paused.

Joan nodded knowingly. "I thought so. You probably think they want to be as pretty as you, right?"

"No..."

"Yes, you do. And you know what? You're probably right. They probably are jealous of you."

"See!" Tammy cried triumphantly. "You agree with me."

"Ah, ah, ah!" Joan wagged a finger. "You calling everyone all those names sure didn't help anything."

"What names?! I didn't call anyone any names!"

Joan shook her head. "We all heard you, Tammy. Someone said you called me a Thanksgiving ham fit for an elephant..."

Tammy snickered. "A Thanksgiving ham fit for an elephant? Don't you think I'd come up with something better than that?"

"You don't have to lie, Tammy. 'Cause, you see ... I'm fat. I know I am. I'm ugly, too. And people tease me about it. But I don't let it get to me. You know why?"

Tammy sighed. "Why?"

"Because this is the way I was made. I'm proud of it! I eat to make myself even fatter! I love being fat!"

(Um, healthy. But yay for positive body image?)

"But I don't hate being pretty. I love that, too!" (Shut up, Tammy.)

"But," Joan argued, "You don't love it when people are 'mad' at you like this, do you?"

"No," Tammy admitted.

"And you don't like it when everyone accuses you of only thinking of yourself, do you?"

"Of course not!" Tammy cried.

"You have two problems, Tammy," Joan declared.

"Who are you, my counselor?" Tammy snickered.

"No! Just listen. You have two problems. The first is that you have a bit of a bragging problem."

"What?! You fat..."

Joan held her hand up. "Wait! I'm not saying you're conceited. (But she is!) You just brag a little too much and it makes people have the wrong idea about you. You are a bit self-centered, but I think everyone is a little self-centered."

"What's my second 'problem'?" Tammy muttered.

"Your second problem is that you are too sensitive. You..."

Tammy let out a guffaw. "Sensitive? Me? Ha, ha, ha! I don't care..."

"Hiding in your room for a week because some guy dumped you?" Joan interrupted.

"I was upset, and it's not just 'some guy'!" Tammy cried. "It was Brett. You've never had a boyfriend. You don't know what it's like to have everyone in the world hate you, and then, the only person who does like you dump you in front of everyone!"

"See?" Joan said. "You let things get to you too easily. Just because Beth and a few others made some comments to you, you assumed everyone hates you. I've never hated you, Tyanne never has, and Barbara never has ... your self-centeredness comes into this, too. You'd never give us 'nerds' a chance, so if you hadn't come in here today, you'd never know that we ... along with probably half the orphanage ... don't hate you."

"That's not true..."

"Yes, it is true. You think you're too good for us."

"I do not," Tammy muttered.

"See!" Joan cried triumphantly. "You are too sensitive. You've got that hurt look on your face. Well, who cares what I say? Who cares what anyone says? Just..."

"Joan, what are you trying to prove?" Tammy interrupted. "All I did was come in here ... expecting to find nobody ... and now I'm getting a lecture on how self-centered and sensitive I am."

Joan looked exasperated. "All I'm trying to say is that when you've made up with everyone ... yes, you will make up ... and if, which I guarantee you will, you start bragging again, and they get mad at you again, don't let it get to you. Don't mourn about it. Don't think Oh, who cares about them. I'm better than them! and forget about it either, though. Just try your best to work things out, and take things one step at a time."

"I don't get it," Tammy said.

Joan made a frustrated noise. "You don't get anything, do you ... just kidding, just kidding. Well, I tried. Do you want me to leave now so you can mourn?"

"Yes."

"Okay, okay." Joan left, muttering something about "not even getting to finish my peanut butter." Tammy watched her, smiling. For some strange reason, fat Joan Quackenbush had actually helped. Tammy wasn't ready to go up and face the orphans yet. That was for sure. But for some reason, she didn't feel like crying anymore.

******************************************************************
How touching. Coming up: the last installement! The PLAY!