My Perfect Life (2 page)

“Oh, for God’s sake, Ella. I should think that it’s obvious – especially to you,” and she stalked off, her bangles clattering and her shawl flapping.

And suddenly it was obvious. It was so obvious that I was surprised I hadn’t been expecting it. I guess I just assumed that because Lola considered politics beneath the creative soul it was one theatre where she would be willing to let Carla Santini take centre stage. How naïve can you be?

I practically had to run to catch up with her.

“You can’t be serious,” I gasped. “You’re not actually suggesting that
you’re
planning to run against Carla for President, are you?”

Lola was already unlocking her bike. She eyed me over one shoulder, aloof and cool. “And why not?”

There was one really obvious answer to this question: because Carla Santini would decimate her. All Carla had to do was remind everyone that Lola was not only an outsider, but an outsider who was on record as being a major liar as well, and the student body would close ranks. It’s something they’re good at. Plus, Carla would have the time of her life doing it.

But there was an equally obvious reason why I wasn’t going to mention this to Lola just then. I knew Lola well. Telling her that she couldn’t run against Carla because Carla would grind her into powder would be like waving a hunk of bloody antelope at a hungry lion; she wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Why not?” I pretended to consider this question thoroughly. “Well, let’s see… For one thing, you’re totally uninterested in politics and school government—”

“Not if Carla Santini’s planning to run, I’m not,” Lola informed me. “That changes things.”

“I don’t see that it changes anything…” I had to be careful what I said. You can’t simply tell Lola not to do something, because she’ll have done it before you’ve finished your sentence. You have to let her convince herself. “You’re an actor, not a politician. You don’t want to waste your talent on something you’re not interested in.” I gave her a glance. “Something so crass.”

Lola stood up. “Well, no, of course, I don’t. Acting is my passion and my very life. But the two aren’t totally incompatible—”

I cut in before she started listing all the successful actors who had gone on to be successful politicians.

“But it would depress you. I mean, what if you have so much to do as President that you can’t even be in the play next year?”

I figured I had her with that one. Lola would rather be imprisoned in Mexico than not be in the school play.

Lola waved this objection away as if it were a gnat. “Oh, that’s not a problem. While I’m busy with rehearsals, you can take over my duties.”

My jaw dropped. “
Me?
How did I get into this?”

“Well, you’ll run as my Vice President of course! And, as Vice President, it’ll be your job to step in when I’m busy. You know, like when the President of the United States gets killed or impeached or something like that. That’s what the Vice President’s for.”

For someone who’d only just learned about the election she’d certainly thought it all through pretty quickly.

“But, Lola—”

“There are no buts.” Lola struck a defiant pose. It was either Joan of Arc or Scarlett O’Hara. “I can’t let Carla get the Presidency. She’ll only use it to extend her tyrannical hold over the minds and hearts and souls of our fellow students. Carla doesn’t understand about democracy. The election’s just a formality to her. She thinks she should rule by divine right. We owe it to the students of Dellwood High to give them a real government.” She threw back her head and raised an arm in the air. The effect was a little less impressive than she intended, since she still had her bike lock in her hand. “One that is based on freedom and creativity, not oppression and conformity.”

I backed my bike out of the rack. “I don’t think there’s much risk of Carla setting up a dictatorship. The Student President’s just a figurehead – you know, like the Queen of England. She doesn’t really do anything either.”

“But she could,” argued Lola. “Prince Charles is always getting into trouble for doing stuff. The monarchy, like anything else, is what you make it.”

I said, “But—”

Lola rattled her bike lock. “I’m not thinking of myself, I’m thinking of everyone else. “The people need me!” cried Lola. “That’s all that matters when the last curtain falls.”

Personally, I doubted that the people were ready for Lola. At least not the people of Dellwood High.

“You think it might help you play Lear, don’t you?” I asked. One of Lola’s ten major life ambitions is to play Lear, preferably at the Globe in London.

“Not just Lear. There’s the Richards to think of, too.”

I was more concerned with the incredible potential for pain and stress Lola running for Student President would mean.

Lola raised her bike lock towards the sky. “‘A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!’” she shouted.

And not just for me. Lola was going to need a lot more than a horse once Carla Santini was through with her.

“‘Mine honour is my life; both grow in one: Take honour from me, and my life is done’!”

Exactly, I thought; that’s exactly what Carla will do. And all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, would never put Lola back together again.

It was then that I finally remembered something that was guaranteed to stop all argument about the election once and for all. I almost laughed out loud.

“I just thought of something,” I said instead.

Lola said, “What?”

I even managed not to smile. “You can’t run.”

Lola laughed. It was a Meryl Streep laugh, throaty and surprised. “Can’t win?
I
can’t win?”

“I didn’t say you can’t
win
,” I explained, though that was probably true, too. “I said you can’t
run
.”

Lola pointed her bike lock in my direction. “What do you mean I can’t run?”

“I mean you can’t run. Presidential candidates have to have served at least one term as a homeroom representative. It’s a rule.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s in the school constitution.”

I figured that was the end of it.

Even Lola couldn’t get around that.

Carla
Santini was the first person to declare her nomination for President of the Student Council. No surprise there.

And probably the only person who was surprised at how quickly Carla handed in her petition of fifty names supporting her candidacy was Dr Alsop, the principal, who was still in the parking lot when she gave it to him.

By the time the first bell rang, Carla’s henchmen already had posters up all over the school. The posters featured a large studio photograph of Carla and the slogan:

SANTINI – YOU KNOW SHE’S THE BEST.

Although Dr Alsop applauded Carla’s enthusiasm, he made her take them down until the campaign officially began the next Monday.

Lola and I were sitting on the grass in front of the library, determinedly avoiding any talk of the election by discussing
Oedipus Rex
while we ate our lunches. We were doing Greek drama in English. Mrs Baggoli, our English teacher, says you can’t appreciate Western literature without an understanding of Greek drama. Lola, naturally, loves Greek drama, especially the tragedies, but I was finding the Greeks a little gloomy and depressing.

“How can you say that?” wailed Lola, her voice loud and her gestures large and – because of her bracelets – noisy. She was wearing a lot of scarves that day and about six different dangling earrings, which made her look like some kind of ancient priestess – though not particularly Greek. “Can’t you feel their passion? Their thirst for life? Their intimate knowledge of the nature of the universe?”

There were quite a few people nearby, but nobody even glanced over. They were all pretty used to Lola by then.

“I don’t see what passion and an intimate knowledge of the universe have to do with it.” I unwrapped my dessert, which looked like it might be solid sugar. My mother was doing an advanced course in Asian cooking. “Poor Oedipus. He never had a chance.”

“Speaking of losers,” said Lola. “There’s someone else who doesn’t have a chance.”

Morty Slinger was loping towards us, his nomination petition in his hand. Morty’s glasses are held together with neon-coloured tape, and he always wears a suit that doesn’t fit (not him, at least), yet he has SAT scores that look like the combined national debts of Nicaragua and Brazil. Morty was the only person either brave or foolish enough to run against Carla Santini. It was enough to break your heart.

Morty loomed over us. It was like being accosted by an accountant. He cleared his throat and shuffled from one foot to the other. “I wondered if you two would sign my nomination petition. I only need forty more names.”

“Gee,” I said. “Only forty.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” said Lola. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t realize you had a masochistic streak.”

“I consider it a defiant gesture.” Morty squatted beside her. “You know, like when you went against Carla for the lead in the school play.”

“There is a difference, though,” said Lola. “Let’s not forget that I got the lead. Barring divine intervention, you have less chance of winning against the Santini than of becoming a ballerina.”

But Morty isn’t just a brilliant mathematician and scientist; there’s a touch of the philosopher in him, too.

“I can but try.” He sighed. “Somebody has to. If no one else volunteers for this suicide mission, she won’t even break a fingernail campaigning. She’ll just walk into the presidency the same way she walks into everything else.”

Lola took another bite of her apple. “Carla really should be living in South America. She was born to be a military dictator.”

“She practically is.” Morty shrugged. “I just wish a few people out of our year had ever heard of me. I’m like the invisible Valedictorian.” He glanced at Lola. “Now if it were you – everybody knows you. You’re famous at Dellwood.”

He meant infamous.

Lola, however, was already shaking her head. “It can’t be me. I know Ronald Reagan was both an actor and a politician, but he wasn’t really very good at either.
I
, however, am destined to be a great actress. I can’t waste my talent on the crass and tawdry world of politics.”

Morty gave her a look. “You mean because of the Sidartha incident? You figure Carla would use it to turn you into victory confetti?”

Lola laughed. I have to hand it to her: she definitely has promise as a politician as well as an actor.

“Oh, please… The Sidartha incident, as you call it, just happened to be a major personal triumph for me and Ella.”

Despite, among other things, being taken into police custody, I thought the Sidartha incident a major personal triumph, too – in a roundabout kind of way.

“Lying Lola,” murmured Morty.

But it did have a dimension of public humiliation.

Lola shook her head and her earrings clattered. “That was nothing but character assassination. It was Carla who was lying, not I. Ella and I went, and saw, and conquered.”

Morty, however, isn’t top of our year for nothing. He tapped his pen against his petition thoughtfully. “But Carla does have a lot on you, doesn’t she? And what she doesn’t have she could make up.” He smiled warily in Lola’s direction. “I mean, there’s not much people wouldn’t believe about you after that.”

I wanted him to shut up. If he didn’t stop he was going to end up goading her into action.

Lola gave him one of her scathing Bette Davis looks. “I’m not afraid of Carla Santini, and everyone knows it.” She said it quite loudly. “And besides, that was eons ago.”

It was a month or two before.

The Sidartha incident happened around the time of the school play. Because she was so furious at losing the lead in
Pygmalion
to Lola, Carla made a big deal about being invited to Sidartha’s farewell concert and the party after it. Sidartha was our favourite band. Not one to ignore an impossible challenge, Lola immediately announced that she and I had been invited, too. Everyone knew Lola was lying. Which was why Carla Santini was able to convince everyone that we hadn’t been at the party, when in fact we were. After the police released us.

“So why don’t you run, then?” asked Morty. “Forget Reagan. Clint Eastwood never stopped acting even when he was mayor of Carmel County. And he directs.”

Lola was shaking her head, sadly and with regret. “I can’t,” she repeated. “I’d be torn in two. ‘A house divided against itself cannot stand’.”

Morty seemed to have forgotten the crucial rule about homeroom representatives; it made him persistent.

“I’d’ve thought you of all people would want to see Carla sweat a little.”

“Carla doesn’t sweat,” I corrected. “She oozes Calvin Klein.”

Morty laughed.

Lola said, “Well, of course I do…”

There was something in her voice that made me look at her. She was gazing somewhere above my head in that way she has, as though she’s watching a movie being shown on the clouds. This is never a good sign. It means that she’s thinking. Which in this case meant that she was about to come up with some outrageous scheme to circumvent the school constitution that would almost definitely involve me and play havoc with my stress levels. It was a good time to distract her.

“So, Morty,” I said loudly and brightly. “Let’s have that petition. I’ll sign.”

Lola stopped gazing at her private movie screen. She put out her hand to stop him. “Wait.”

“Wait for what?” asked Morty. “I’ve got a pen right here.”

Lola looked from him to me. Her eyes were glowing like something that was about to blow up.

“I just realized that I wasn’t thinking laterally before. I was just thinking psychopathic mudslinging and having no time to reread
Lear
… But now I am thinking laterally. And I’ve got an idea!” She looked to me for encouragement, and when it didn’t come she went on without it. “You’re right, Morty,” Lola proclaimed, picking up steam and volume at the same time. “Carla can’t be allowed to just swan into the presidency as if it’s her birthright or something.” She waved one of her scarves in the air. “She must be stopped!”