by Meg Cabot
“Well, you could have said something back to him.” Lilly always gets disgruntled when Michael comes to my rescue—especially when he does it while she is attacking me about the lack of honesty in my emotional life. “Instead of just leaving him hanging there.”
“And what,” I demanded—injudiciously, I now realize—“should I have said to him?”
“How about,” Lilly said, “that you love him back?”
WHY? That’s all I want to know. WHY was I cursed with a best friend who doesn’t understand that there are some things you just don’t say in front of EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE GIFTED AND TALENTED CLASSROOM, INCLUDING HER BROTHER????
The problem is, Lilly has never been embarrassed about anything in her life. She simply does not know the meaning of the word embarrassment.
“Look,” I said, feeling my cheeks begin to burn. I couldn’t lie, of course. How could I lie, considering what I now knew about my nostrils? And okay, Lilly hadn’t figured it out yet, but it was only a matter of time. I mean, if Grandmère knew . . . “I really and truly value Kenny’s companionship,” I said, carefully. “But love. I mean, love. That is a very big thing. I’m not, I mean, I don’t . . .”
I dribbled off pathetically, acutely aware that everyone in the room, most especially Michael, was listening.
“I see,” Lilly said, narrowing her eyes. “Fear of commitment.”
“I do not fear commitment,” I insisted. “I just—”
But Lilly’s dark eyes were already shining in eager anticipation. She was getting ready to psychoanalyze me, one of her favorite hobbies, unfortunately.
“Let’s examine the situation, shall we?” she said. “I mean, here you’ve got this guy going around the hallways, screaming about how much he loves you, and you just stare at him like a rat caught in the path of the D train. What do you suppose that means?”
“Have you ever considered,” I demanded, “that maybe the reason I didn’t tell him I love him back is because I—”
I almost said it. Really. I did. I almost said that I don’t love Kenny.
But I couldn’t. Because if I’d said that, somehow it would have gotten back to Kenny, and that would be even worse than my breaking up with him. I couldn’t do it.
So all I said instead was, “Lilly, you know perfectly well I do not fear commitment. I mean, there are lots of boys I—”
“Oh, yeah?” Lilly seemed to be enjoying herself way more than usual. It was almost as if she was playing to an audience. Which, of course, she was. The audience of her brother and his girlfriend. “Name one.”
“One what?”
“Name a boy that you could see yourself committing to for all eternity.”
“What do you want, a list?” I asked her.
“A list would be nice,” Lilly said.
So I drew up the following list:
GUYS MIA THERMOPOLIS COULD SEE HERSELF COMMITTING TO FOR ALL ETERNITY
Wolverine of the X-men
That Gladiator guy
Will Smith
Tarzan from the Disney cartoon
The Beast from Beauty and the Beast
That hot soldier guy from Mulan
The guy Brendan Fraser played in The Mummy
Angel
Tom on Daria
Justin Baxendale
But this list turned out to be no good, because Lilly totally took it and analyzed it, and it works out that half the guys on it are actually cartoon characters; one is a vampire; and one is a mutant who can make spikes shoot out of his knuckles.
In fact, except for Will Smith and Justin Baxendale—the good-looking senior who just transferred from Trinity and who a lot of girls at Albert Einstein High School are already in love with—all the guys I listed are fictional creations. Apparently, the fact that I could list no guy I had a hope of actually getting together with—or who even lives in the third dimension—is indicative of something.
Not, of course, indicative of the fact that the guy I like was actually in the room at the time, sitting next to his new girlfriend, and so I couldn’t list him.
Oh, no. Nobody thought of that.
No, the lack of actual attainable men on my list was apparently indicative of my unrealistic expectations where men are concerned, and further proof of my inability to commit.
Lilly says if I don’t lower my expectations somewhat, I am destined for an unsatisfactory love life.
As if the way things have been going, I’ve ever expected anything else.
Kenny just tossed me this note:
Mia—I’m sorry about what happened today in the hallway. I understand now that I embarrassed you. Sometimes I forget that even though you are a princess, you are still quite introverted. I promise never to do anything like that again. Can I make it up to you by taking you to lunch at Big Wong on Thursday?—Kenny
I said yes, of course. Not just because I really like Big Wong’s steamed vegetable dumplings, or even because I don’t want people thinking I fear commitment. I didn’t even say yes because I suspect that, over dumplings and hot tea, Kenny is finally going to ask me to the Nondenominational Winter Dance.
I said yes because in spite of it all, I really do like Kenny, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
And I’d feel the same way even if I weren’t a princess, and always had to do the right thing.
HOMEWORK
Algebra: review questions at the end of Chapters 4–7
English: term paper
World Civ: review questions at the end of Chapters 5–9
G & T: none
French: review questions at the end of Chapters 4–6
Biology: review questions at the end of Chapters 6–8
Tuesday, December 9, 4 p.m., in the limo on the way to the Plaza
The following conversation took place between Mr. Gianini and me today after Algebra review:
Mr. G: Mia, is everything all right?
Me: (Surprised) Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?
Mr. G: Well, it’s just that I thought you’d pretty much grasped the FOIL method, but on today’s pop quiz, you got all five problems wrong.
Me: I guess I’ve sort of had a lot on my mind.
Mr. G: Your trip to Genovia?
Me: Yeah, that, and . . . other things.
Mr. G: Well, if you want to talk about the, um, other things, you know I’m always here for you. And your mother. I know we might seem preoccupied with the baby coming and everything, but you’re always number one on our list of priorities. You know that, don’t you?
Me: (Mortified) Yes. But there’s nothing wrong. Really.
Thank God he doesn’t know about my nostrils.
And really, what else could I have said? “Mr. G, my boyfriend is a nut case but I can’t break up with him on account of finals, and I’m in love with my best friend’s brother?”
I highly doubt he’d be able to offer any meaningful advice on any of the above.
Tuesday, December 9, 7 p.m.
I don’t believe this. I’m home before Baywatch Hawaii starts for the first time in, like, months. Something must be wrong with Grandmère. Although she seemed pretty normal at our lesson today. I mean, for her. Except that she stopped me in the middle of my reciting the Genovian pledge of allegiance (which I have to memorize, of course, for when I am visiting schools in Genovia. I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of a bunch of five-year-olds for not knowing it) to ask me what I’d decided to do about Kenny.
It’s kind of funny about her taking an interest in my personal life, since she certainly never has before. Well, not very much, anyway.
And she kept on saying stuff about how ingenious it had been of Kenny, sending me those anonymous love letters last October, the ones I thought (well, okay, hoped, not really thought) Michael was writing.
I was all, “What was so ingenious about that?” to which Grandmère just replied, “Well, you’re his girlfriend now, aren’t you?”
Which I never really thought about, but I guess she�
�s right.
Anyway, my mom was so surprised to see me home so early, she actually let me be in charge of choosing the takeout (pizza margherita for me. I let her get rigatoni bolognese, even though the sausage in the sauce is probably steeped in nitrates that could harm a developing fetus. Still, it was sort of a special occasion, what with me actually being home for dinner for a change. Even Mr. Gianini got a little wild and had something with porcini mushrooms in it).
I am psyched to be home early, because you wouldn’t believe all the studying I have to do, plus I should probably start my term paper, then there’s figuring out what I’m going to get people for Christmas and Hannukah, not to mention going over the thank-you speech I have to make to the people of Genovia in my nationally televised (in Genovia, anyway) introduction to the people I will one day rule.
I had really better buckle down and get to work!
Tuesday, December 9, 7:30 p.m.
Okay, so I was taking a study break, and I just realized something. You can learn a lot from watching Baywatch. Seriously.
I have compiled this list:
THINGS I HAVE LEARNED FROM WATCHING BAYWATCH
If you are paralyzed from the waist down, you just need to see a kid being attacked by a murderer, and you will be able to get up and save him.
If you have bulimia, it is probably because two men love you at the same time. Just tell the two of them you only want to be friends, and your bulimia will go away.
It is always easy to get a parking place near the beach.
Male lifeguards always put a shirt on when they leave the beach. Female lifeguards don’t need to bother.
If you meet a beautiful but troubled girl, she is probably either a diamond smuggler or suffering from split personality disorder: Do not accept her invitation to dinner.
Dick van Patten, though a senior citizen, can be surprisingly hard to quell in a fistfight.
If people are mysteriously dying in the water, it is probably because a giant electric eel has escaped from a nearby aquarium.
A girl who is thinking about abandoning her baby should just leave it on the beach. Chances are, a nice lifeguard will take it home, adopt it, and raise it as his own.
It is very easy to outswim a shark.
Wild seals make adorable and easily trained pets.
Tuesday, December 9, 8:30 p.m.
I just got an e-mail from Lilly. I’m not the only one who got it, either. Somehow she figured out how to do a mass e-mail to every kid in school.
Well, I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. She is a genius. Still, she has clearly developed atrophy of the brain from too much studying, because look what she wrote:
ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS AT
ALBERT EINSTEIN HIGH SCHOOL
Stressed from too many exams, term papers, and final projects? Don’t just passively accept the oppressive workload handed down to us by the tyrannical administration! A silent walkout has been scheduled for tomorrow. At 10 a.m. exactly, join your fellow students in showing our teachers how we feel about inflexible exam schedules, repressive censorship, and having only one reading day on which to prepare for our finals. Leave your pencils, leave your books, and gather on East 75th Street between Madison and Park (use doors by main administration offices, if possible) for a rally against Principal Gupta and the trustees. Let your voice be heard!
I am so sure. I can’t walk out tomorrow at 10 a.m. That’s right in the middle of Algebra. Mr. Gianini’s feelings will be so hurt if we all just get up and leave.
But if I say I’m not going to take part in it, Lilly will be furious.
But if I do take part in it, my dad will kill me. Not to mention my mom. I mean, we could all get suspended, or something. Or hit by a delivery truck. There are a lot of them on 75th at that time of day.
Why? Why must I be saddled with a best friend who is so clearly a sociopath?
Tuesday, December 9, 8:45 p.m.
I just got the following Instant Message from Michael:
CRACKING: Did you just get that whacked-out mass e-mail from my sister?
I replied at once.
FTLOUIE: Yes.
CRACKING: You’re not going along with her stupid walkout, are you?
FTLOUIE: Oh, right. She won’t be too mad if I don’t, or anything.
CRACKING: You don’t have to do everything she says, you know, Mia. I mean, you’ve stood up to her before. Why not now?
Um, because I have enough to worry about right now—for instance, finals; my impending trip to Genovia; and, oh, yeah, the fact that I love you—without adding a fight with my best friend to the list.
But I didn’t say that, of course.
FTLOUIE: I find that the path of least resistance is often the safest one when dealing with your sister.
CRACKING: Well, I’m not doing it. Walking out, I mean.
FTLOUIE: It’s different for you. You’re her brother. She has to remain on speaking terms with you. You live together.
CRACKING: Not for much longer. Thank God.
Oh, right. He’s going away to college soon.
Well, not too far away. But about a hundred blocks or so.
FTLOUIE: That’s right. You got accepted to Columbia. Early decision, too. I never did congratulate you. So congratulations.
CRACKING: Thanks.
FTLOUIE: You must be happy that you’ll know at least one other person there. Judith Gershner, I mean.
CRACKING: Yeah, I guess so. Listen, you’re still going to be in town for the Winter Carnival, right? I mean, you’re not leaving for Genovia before the 19th are you?
All I could think was, Why is he asking me this? I mean, he can’t be going to ask me to the dance. He must know I’m going with Kenny. I mean, if Kenny ever gets around to asking me, that is. Besides, it isn’t as if Michael is available. Isn’t he going with Judith? Well? ISN’T HE?
FTLOUIE: I’m leaving for Genovia on the 20th.
CRACKING: Oh, good. Because you should really stop by the Computer Club’s booth at the Carnival, and check out this program I’ve been working on. I think you’ll like it.
I should have known. Michael isn’t going to ask me to any dance. Not in this lifetime, anyway. I should have known it was just his stupid computer program he wanted me to see. Who even cares? I suppose dumb army guys will pop out at me, and I’ll have to shoot them, or whatever. Judith’s idea, I’m sure.
I wanted to write to him, Don’t you have the slightest idea what I’m going through? That the only person with whom I can see myself committing to for all eternity is YOU? Don’t you KNOW that by now????
But instead I wrote:
FTLOUIE: Can’t wait. Well, I have to go. Bye.
Sometimes I completely hate myself.
Wednesday, December 10, 3 a.m.
You’re never going to believe this. Something Grandmère said is keeping me awake.
Seriously. I was dead asleep—well, as asleep as you can be with a twenty-five pound cat purring on your abdomen—when all of a sudden, I woke up with this totally random phrase going around in my head:
“Well, you’re his girlfriend now, aren’t you?”
That’s what Grandmère said when I asked her what was so ingenious about Kenny’s having sent me those anonymous love letters.
And do you know what?
SHE’S RIGHT.
It seems totally bizarre to admit that Grandmère might be right about something, but I think it’s true. Kenny’s anonymous love letters did work. I mean, I am his girlfriend now.
So what’s to keep me from writing some anonymous love letters to the boy I like? I mean, really? Besides the fact that I already have a boyfriend, and the guy I like already has a girlfriend?
I think this is a plan that might have some merit. It needs more work, of course, but hey, desperate measures call for desperate times. Or something like that. Too sleepy to figure it out.
Wednesday, December 10, Homeroom
Okay, I was up all night thinking about it, and I’m prett
y sure I’ve got it figured out. Even as I sit here, my plan is being put into action, thanks to Tina Hakim Baba and a stop at Ho’s Deli before school started.
Actually, Ho’s didn’t really have what I wanted. I wanted a card that was blank inside, with a picture on the front that was sophisticated but not too sexy. But the only blank cards they had at Ho’s (that weren’t plastered with pictures of kittens) were ones with photos of fruit being dipped into chocolate sauce.
I tried to choose a non-phallic fruit, but even the strawberry I got is kind of sexier than I would have liked. I don’t know what’s sexy about fruit with chocolate sauce dripping off it, but Tina was like, “Whoa,” when she saw it.
Still, she gamely agreed to print my poem on the inside of the card, so Michael won’t recognize my handwriting. She even liked my poem, which I came up with at five this morning:
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
You may not know it
But someone loves you.
Not my best work, I will admit, but it was really hard to come up with something better after only three hours of sleep.
I hesitated somewhat over the use of the L word. I thought maybe I should substitute like for love. I don’t want him to think there’s a creepy stalker after him, and all.
But Tina said love was absolutely right. Because, as she put it, “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
And since it’s anonymous, I guess it doesn’t matter that I am laying open my soul.
Anyway, Tina goes by Michael’s locker right before we have PE, so she’s going to slip it to him then.
I can’t believe that this is the low I have stooped to. But like Dad once told me, Faint heart never won fair lady.
Wednesday, December 10, Homeroom
Lars just pointed out that I’m not exactly risking anything, seeing as how I didn’t sign the card and even went to the extreme of having someone else write out the poem for me (Lars knows all about this, on account of I had to explain to him why we had to go into Ho’s at eight fifteen in the morning). He helped pick the card, but I would be happy if that was the extent of his contribution to this particular project. Because he’s a man, I cannot imagine his input is at all valuable.
