Let’s review:
I was seated at table C-8, otherwise known as the changing table.
I was not seated at table A-11, otherwise known as CJ and Dylan’s love table.
I did not kiss CJ.
CJ was busy kissing an underwear model.
The boy who wanted to kiss me was busy being nine.
My Hollywood career went down the tubes. Insiders aren’t sure whether this is a result of my own neglect following the heartbreak or the Galenka green dress snafu.
I ate a pound of chocolate in one sitting.
I did not kiss CJ.
There was no disco, no ice-skating rink, no bumper cars, and, of course, no world-famous rock band whose identity was to be kept secret.
And most importantly:
I DID NOT KISS CJ.
And I probably never will.
Comments:
Logged in at 1:28 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: I know how awful you must feel. But you and CJ still have the speech to work on. Once you turn on the ol’ Raisin charm, he might realize he likes you better than Dylan.
Logged in at 1:32 PM, EST
kweenclaudia: plus there’s always meatloaf. that kid’s really growing on me.
Logged in at 1:35 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: Plus you won the iPod!
1:55 PM, EST
Pia, you’re right. I did win the iPod, which is something. And it’s nice of you to try and give me hope as far as CJ’s concerned. And Claudia, it’s nice of you to find the good in someone as annoying and overly large as Meatloaf—maybe when you come to visit, the two of you can get to know each other better.
But the way I see it, there really is no hope for CJ and me. He’s obviously made his choice, and there’s no way I can compete with her.
And since I can’t really imagine sharing my life with anyone else, since there’s no one else I can see myself growing old with, no one else I can see trusting to illustrate my cartoon strip, “Raisin’s Life,” or helping me to design my own fashion line or look after my deranged, boy-obsessed baby sister after she’s run my mother ragged, I’ve come to a very important decision, which I will share with you now.
I, RAISIN RAMONA RASPUTIN RODRIGUEZ, DO SOLEMNLY TAKE AN OATH TO SWEAR OFF BOYS.
There. It’s done. I took an oath and there’s no turn- ing back.
So please, don’t try and talk me out of it.
2:04 PM, EST
Knowing me and all the crazy shenanigans I’m capable of pulling, you probably think I’m writing again because I’ve found a way to go back on my word. But I haven’t.
So again, please don’t try and talk me out of it.
3:17 PM, EST
Like I said, it’s really what’s best for me. So I beg you, please don’t talk me out of it.
4:25 PM, EST
Just testing you.
5:34 PM, EST
Okay, you guys are really with me on this. I appreciate that. Thanks for your respect.
6:46 PM, EST
Is this some kind of joke? I mean, what’s with all the respect? You two have really changed.
9:55 PM, EST
Fine. I get it. You guys think I’m meant to be alone. That no boy over the age of nine could ever love me.
Good. Have it your way. I hereby renew my vow:
I, RAISIN RAMONA RASPUTIN RODRIGUEZ, DO SOLEMNLY TAKE AN OATH TO SWEAR OFF BOYS. AND THIS TIME I MEAN IT.
10:02 PM, EST
Where are you guys?
Comments:
Logged in at 10:22 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: Hey, Rae! Don’t worry! I’m here! Just got back from the Harvest Festival at school. I know how you feel about wanting to swear off boys. Sometimes I also wish they didn’t exist. Then I wouldn’t want one so badly. Today Claudia brought Clint to the festival and they spent the whole afternoon alone under the bleachers. (I mean not that I’m not happy for you, Claud. Because I am.) And it was hard to keep from wishing that I had someone to hang out with too.
Logged in at 10:31 PM, EST kweenclaudia: but if you’re swearing off boys, then how will you end up with one as your boyfriend?
Monday, November 29
7:03 AM, EST
Kitties,
Claudia, you’re right. Swearing off boys is not the answer. Especially since today of all days, my hair looks better than it’s looked in months. The weird burnt part has grown in and the frizz has been replaced with a glossy sheen.
It must be the weather. In Berkeley it’s always humid, which brings on the frizz. Here, in the winter at least, it’s mostly dry and cold. Which brings out the best in my hair. So even though my love life is a mess and my career as a famous celebrity is washed up and I miss you guys desperately, I know now that I could never leave Philadelphia.
PS—Something is going on with my mom and Horse Ass and Samantha. There’s been lots of whispering and door slamming and Sam didn’t touch her breakfast.
Hopefully it’s something juicy. A real-life drama to take my mind off my own problems.
12:22 PM, EST
During algebra, CJ passed me a note asking me if I had time to come over after school and help him with the speech.
It said:
Dear Raisin,
Can you come over to my house after school today and help me with the speech?
Your friend,
CJ
I’m glad he isn’t wigged out by my running out of the skybox yesterday. But I’m not sure what this note means. Does he still like me after all? Is he trying to two-time Dylan with me? Maybe he’s like one of those guys in Utah who believes a man should have many wives?
During homeroom I asked Lynn what she thought the note meant, and you know what she said? She said, “I don’t know, Raise. I think it means he wants to know if you can go to his house after school and help him.”
What kind of help is that? She must have known very well that I wasn’t asking her to tell me what the note means. I was asking her to tell me that the note means that CJ likes me. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.
Since Lynn refused to tell me what I wanted to hear, I asked Jeremy, who was standing right next to her.
He said the exact same thing that Lynn did. Only louder. Then he looked at Lynn and giggled. He’s becoming more of a pig-head by the minute. I really did not see the humor in any of it. And if Jeremy had ever known true love the way I know true love, he might have been a little more sensitive.
I really don’t know what to do. It’d be great if CJ and I worked on the speech and he admitted that it was just an excuse to get to know me better.
But what if I go and all he wants to do is work on the speech? That would be very painful. Especially knowing that he made out with Dylan.
And worse, what if I get to his house and Dylan is there too? Just waiting for us to finish so that they can be alone?
To make out.
Until they rub each other’s mouths off?
Then of course, I might not like CJ quite as much.
I’m lying. It doesn’t matter to me whether CJ has a mouth or not. My love for him goes beyond appearance.
Not too far beyond, though. If Dylan ever kisses his beautiful eyelashes off, we’re through.
In the meantime, I can’t decide. Do I go to CJ’s house or not?
3:07 PM, EST
I decided not to go. I didn’t want to risk feeling all that pain.
I found CJ at dismissal. He was taking a turquoise Tiffany’s bag out from his locker. He must keep a stash of backup shopping bags in there in case his violin rips through the one he’s using.
As soon as I said hello to him, his shoulders stiffened. Then he quickly stuffed the Tiffany’s bag back in the locker, slammed the door, and turned to face me. I wish he weren’t so embarrassed of his violin. If only he acted a little more like other people, I might not be so hopelessly in love with him.
“Are you coming to my house?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Okay,
well, do you want to stay here and work in the library?”
It pained me to have to turn him down again.
“How about the bowling alley? This might seem counterintuitive, but sometimes when I really need to think, I like to go bowling. The chaotic atmosphere helps me focus.”
He was killing me. Bowling alleys are for third-grade birthday parties or middle-aged dads. Not seventh graders who use the words counterintuitive, conducive, and I love you, Raisin. Only someone as unique and creative as CJ would concentrate well in a place as noisy as a bowling alley. Sometimes I wonder if he acts mental on purpose just to drive me wild.
“I’m sorry, CJ. I can’t help you today. I have to go get my flu shot,” I lied.
I just couldn’t bear the possibility of hanging out with him as friends. I need a little more time to get used to the idea of our non-boyfriend/girlfriend, non-kissing relationship.
I hope I did the right thing. I’m going to ask Samantha what she thinks.
5:02 PM, EST
You guys, I knocked on Samantha’s door and she told me to go away. She never speaks to me like that. I think she was crying. I could hear her sniffling. Whatever’s going on between her and my parents seems really serious. Plus it’s taking her attention away from what’s really important: me and my problems.
5:11 PM, EST
This is getting starting to get weird. Now Lola won’t speak to me either. I went to go visit her, but the moment I walked into her room, she pointed her finger at me and said, “You are NOT my friend.” I was hurt. And confused, frankly. This morning over Loop Loops, or Froot Loops, as they are known in the human world, she told me that I was her friend.
The truth is, I wasn’t even looking for friendship. All I wanted was one good squeeze of her fat rolls to cheer me up and I’d have been on my way.
It’s like everyone I know has decided to be mean to me.
5:31 PM, EST
That does it. I am officially the biggest loser in the world. Now even my mom and Horse Ass are snubbing me.
Not that I would ever consider discussing my love life with them. But it had been more than two hours since I’d had a conversation with someone and it was freaking me out. I was beginning to wonder if I was actually alive.
I knew they were in the TV room, so I went inside to join them. But as soon as I walked through the door, my mom said, “Sweetie, Horace and I are having a conversation.”
A conversation! That’s exactly what I was looking for. She must have been reading my mind!
“Cool,” I said. “What’s it about?” At which point my mother gave Horace a look. Different than the one Jeremy gave Lynn when I asked him about CJ’s note. That was a look that said, Why does she have to be so ridiculous? This was a look that said, Why does she have to be my daughter?
“We’re discussing something,” she snapped.
Since when am I not part of family discussions?!
Jeez! If being rejected by a boy makes you a loser, what does being rejected by your family make you? I bet even that boy who chews on miniature light bulbs doesn’t get rejected by his family. That’s what family is for: so that when a loser is accidentally born, he or she will always have someone who doesn’t reject them. Someone to do loserish things with, like go to Chuck E. Cheese on a Saturday night or have a Star Trek-athon complete with homemade s’mores instead of going to the prom.
Comments:
Logged in at 7:01 PM, EST kweenclaudia: maybe you should try having a conversation with someone from light bulb boy’s family. i bet they’d find you a breath of fresh air.
Logged in at 7:03 PM, EST
PiaBallerina: Rae, you’re not a loser. Just like I’m not a loser. You know?
Tuesday, November 30
7:04 AM, EST
Here, Kitty Kitty,
You’re right, Pi. Neither of us is a loser.
12:23 PM, EST
Except for me.
As if things weren’t bad enough, I just found out I have a nickname!
What could be more humiliating?
I decided to eat lunch in the bathroom today. I just didn’t feel like hanging out with anyone or running into CJ or Dylan.
When I walked in, I crossed paths with Galenka. Fortunately we were not wearing the same outfit today. Because if we were, I would have been wearing a red V-neck sweater with mauve sweatpants, tube socks, and the famous black patent leather pumps. And on top of everything else that’s happened to me this week, that would have been too much to bear.
“Hello, Meesus Preess,” she said.
“Who’s Meesus Preess?” I asked.
Galenka giggled. “I calling you Meesus Preess because she is your Nicholas name. Mine also. From boys.”
Nicholas name? What was she talking about? And where was her translator? It’s great that she accompanies Galenka to her classes, but the bathroom is where the most important things are said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Just then Fiona, of all people, marched out of the bathroom stall.
“She means that you guys have a new nickname,” Fiona said as she took out a dry foaming towelette from her bag and ran it underwater.
“What is it?” I asked.
Fiona turned off the faucet, threw the towelette into the garbage, and dried her hands with a paper towel. Then she threw out the towel, opened the bathroom door, and finally, just as she was stepping out the door, she put an end to my suspense and answered my question.
“Miss Priss,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulders as the door slammed behind her.
I felt my face and neck get really hot and my heart start to pump at twice the regular speed. As if I didn’t have enough problems, now I had a nickname too! And to think I really thought owning an iPod would fix everything.
Galenka gave me a puzzled look. “What means ‘Mees Prees’?”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” I told her. I’m going to look for Lynn and find out what this is all about.
12:44 PM, EST
I’m so confused. So much is happening. Right now, if someone pointed a gun to my head and said, “Answer this question. Are you or are you not a loser?” I honestly would not know what to tell them.
On the one hand, I am an extreme loser. Lynn told me that the reason people are calling me Miss Priss is because of the way I ran out of the skybox at Roger’s bar mitzvah.
But on the other hand, there’s also a chance that I’m not such a loser. Because when I explained to Lynn that I only ran out of the room because I didn’t want people to see me crying, she asked me why watching a bunch of people play spin the bottle would make me cry.
WHICH MEANS THAT DYLAN AND CJ WEREN’T KISSING BECAUSE THEY LIKE EACH OTHER! THEY WERE KISSING AS PART OF A GAME! WHICH MEANS THAT I STILL HAVE A CHANCE WITH CJ!
“So you ran out of the room because you thought Dylan and CJ were making out for real?“ Lynn asked after I explained what had happened.
“Yes. You’re just realizing that now?” I answered. “But you know how I feel about CJ,” I whispered. We were standing on an empty landing in the stairwell, but there were kids eating lunch on the one above us, so I didn’t want them to hear.
“Well, I, uh . . . I, uh . . . I guess I, uh . . . was really into the game,” she responded—acting kind of strange all of a sudden. I couldn’t figure it out. Why would someone who’s made the first move so many times in her life get all freaky over a kissing game?
“Do you have your period?” I whispered again.
“Raisin, assuming that someone in a confused state or grouchy mood is having their period, regardless of whether they’re a girl or a boy, is kind of bourgeois, don’t you think?”
Just then a voice came booming from behind us, saving me from having to pretend I knew what bourgeois meant.
“Who has her period? Is it Miss Priss?” It was Roger Morris.
“Grow up, Roger,” said Lynn. “And she’s not a priss, by the way. It’s all a big misunderstanding.”
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“Oh, really? Because I heard you wouldn’t kiss my cousin. Or was that a big misunderstanding too?”
“Your cousin is nine years old,” I said.
“So what? He’s inherited the Morris family good looks.”
“More like he’s inherited the Morris family large bones,” I murmured under my breath.
“Don’t worry, Raisin,” Roger said. “You don’t have to be a priss forever. It’s an easy thing to change. I can help you.” Then he wiggled his eyebrows just to make sure I understood what he meant by “help.”
“Get lost, Morris,” Lynn said.
I gave him a look of hate and headed for the exit door. How disgusting can one oversized sweaty boy be?
And why couldn’t CJ be the one saying things like that?
The point is that even though it sucks that I have this new nickname, it’s great that CJ and Dylan aren’t together. Now I have a chance with him again! I’m so excited!
I better go tell Galenka what’s going on.
12:57 PM EST
I found Galenka in front of her locker and explained why everyone was calling me Miss Priss.
“So you are Meesus Prees because you ran out of room. But why am I Meesus Prees?” she asked, tucking her sweater into her sweatpants.
“Well, did you play the kissing games on Saturday?”
“No, I leave room and start to crying.”
That explained why her eyes looked so red when I ran into her in front of the elevator.
“Because you didn’t want to play?”
“Yes—I no want to play because I have boyfriend back home.”
“Well, it’s simple, then. Just tell everyone the reason why you didn’t want to play. Then they’ll stop thinking of you as a priss.”
“Thees ees very good idea. Now I just need figuring out how to get people to talking to me,” she said.
Raisin Rodriguez & the Big-Time Smooch Page 6
