The situation was quite dire. It had been three days. Taffy's parents whispered with the doctors who came to see their daughter - the doctors, too, had been shut out; Taffy was refusing to speak.
In the corner of the living room, Mrs. Black sat upright on the new green upholstered chair, weeping silently.
Dr. Watson shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Black," he said. "There's nothing I can do."
Mr. Black swore and punched the air.
"The only thing I can recommend..." Dr. Watson began - Mr. Black froze, Mrs. Black wiped her eyes and looked up - "...is calling Myrtle B. Jones."
"Myrtle B. Jones?" Mr. and Mrs. Black said together.
"Yes," Dr. Watson said. "Myrtle B. Jones. A smarter child I've never seen in all my days."
"Except Taffy, of course," Mr. Black said.
"Of course."
After the old doctor had left, Mr. Black said, "Well, I guess I'd better walk over to the Joneses."
"Really, Mr. Black," Mrs. Black said. "You're actually going to do it? Myrtle B. Jones?"
"Her father's a lawyer, Bunny."
"But her mother!"
"I know, but what else can we do?"
Mrs. Black sighed. Mr. Black walked out the door.
Two hours later he came back, disheveled and out of breath, with a ruddy rotund 11-year-old girl in tow. Her hair was a mess, sticking straight out in every direction. Her dress and pinafore were filthy, and she had only one shoe.
"You're Myrtle B. Jones?" Mrs. Black asked her.
"Indeed I am," the girl said. "Show me to the invalid."
"Myrtle," Mr. Black said, "I told you on the way over, she's not an invalid, she just refuses to get out of bed. Do not use that word around her. We don't want her thinking anything's wrong with her."
"Yes yes yes," Myrtle said. "Where is she? Show me to her."
Mr. Black took Myrtle down the hallway to Taffy's door. Before he opened it, he whispered, "Remember, no invalid talk." He knocked softly and then opened the door.
Myrtle stepped into the room alone. It was dark and musty.
"Peww," Myrtle said. "No wonder you're dying, I swear there's toxic fumes floating around in here."
There was movement under the sheets of the bed but Taffy didn't speak.
Myrtle's eyes adjusted somewhat to the darkness of the place. The bedroom floor was covered in clothes, shoes, My Little Ponies, a portable stereo, piles of paper, and a printing press.
"Geesh," Myrtle said. "What a mess. What are you, some kind of pig?"
Taffy stuck her head out of the covers. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"Who are you?" Myrtle said.
"What are you doing here?" Taffy said.
"What are you doing here?" Myrtle said.
Taffy rolled her eyes, Myrtle did the same. Taffy growled, Myrtle just stood there. Finally, Taffy sat up.
"Fine," she said. She got out of bed, walked to the window, and raised the shade. She pushed open the window and got back into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. "There, I hope you're happy now, I'll probably catch my death from the draft."
"You will not," Myrtle said. "Anyway, I'm here to find out what your problem is."
"They sent you?" Taffy asked.
"Yes."
"They're just mad that I won't talk to them."
"I know," Myrtle said. "Parents are so dumb."
"I know," Taffy said. "It's just that I'm so tired of everything."
"So you think this helps?" Myrtle walked over to the foot of the bed and sat down on it.
"I guess not, but I can't stand seeing it, all the mediocrity."
"Yeah. Did you see that snot Britney Whitney's dance recital? Barf!"
"That's why I'm here, that's what sent me over the edge."
"I nearly had the same reaction. But then I thought, you know, the mediocrity is nauseating, but there she is up there in her sequins and spandex doing something."
"Something crappy."
"Yeah, but at least it's something. She's doing something. What are you doing, Taffy Black? Tell me that."
"Shut up," Taffy said.
"You shut up," Myrtle said.
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
"You're Myrtle B. Jones," Taffy said finally.
"I know."
"Fine," Taffy said, "I'll get up. But only if you promise to be my best friend."
"Fine," Myrtle said.
"Good," Taffy said. "Go call my priest."
Myrtle left the room and marched into the living room. "Call her priest," she said. Mrs. Black burst into tears again and Mr. Black fell to his knees.
"Oh knock it off," Myrtle said. "She's not dying, I'm sure. She just wants to talk to someone with half a brain."
Mr. Black got to his feet. "Very well," he said. "I'll call Father Josh."
