by Meg Cabot
every waking moment of the day, or anything like that.
And Mr G suggesting that I spent the entirety of second period this morning writing in my journal is completely laughable.
I fully paid attention to his little lecture about the polynomials towards the last ten minutes or so of class. PLEASE!
And that thing where I wrote HRH Michael Moscovitz Renaldo seventeen times at the bottom of my worksheet was just a JOKE. God. Mr. G, what happened to you? You used to have a sense of humour.
Friday, May 2, Bio
So . . . did he ask you last night? At your birthday dinner. S
No.
Mia! There are exactly nine days until the prom. You are going to have to take matters into your own hands and
just ask him.
SHAMEEKA! You know I can't do that.
Well, it's getting to be crunch time. If he doesn't ask you by the party tomorrow night, you aren't going to be able
to say yes if he DOES ask you. I mean, a girl has to have some pride.
That is very easy for someone like you to say, Shameeka. You are a cheerleader.
Yeah. And you're a princess!
You know what I mean.
Mia,you can't let him take you for granted in this way. You have to keep boys on their toes . . . no matter how many songs they write for you, or snowflake necklaces they giveyou. You've got to let them know YOU'RE in charge.
You sound just like my grandmother sometimes.
EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW!
Friday, May 2, Gifted and Talented
Oh my God, Lilly will NOT shut up about Jangbu and his plight. Look, I feel for the guy, too, but I am not about to violate
the poor man's privacy by trying to track down his home phone number - especially not using a certain royal's BRAND-SPANKING-NEW MOBILE PHONE.
I have not even been able to make ONE call from it. Not ONE. Lilly has already made five.
This busboy thing is totally out of control. Lesley Cho, The Atom's editor-in-chief, stopped by our table at lunch and asked
if I could do an in-depth story on the incident for Monday's paper. I realize that now at last I have been given my entree into real reporting, and not just working the cafeteria beat, but does Lesley really think I am the most appropriate person for this job? I mean, isn't she running the risk of this story being less than completely prejudice-free and unbiased? Sure, I think Grandmere was wrong, but she's still my GRANDMOTHER, for crying out loud.
I am not sure I really appreciate this peek into the seedy underbelly of school newspaper reporting. Working on a novel
instead of writing for The Atom is starting to look more and more appealing.
Since it is Friday and Michael was up at the bean bar getting me a second helping, and Lilly was otherwise occupied, Tina asked me what I am going to do about Michael's not having asked me to the prom yet.
'What CAN I do?' I wailed. 'I just have to sit around and wait, like Jane Eyre did when Mr Rochester was busy playing billiards with Blanche Ingram and pretending like he didn't know Jane was alive.'
To which Tina replied, 'I really think you should say something. Maybe tomorrow night, at your party?'
Oh, great. I was kind of looking forward to my party -you know, except for the part where Mom was sure to stop everyone
at the door and tell them all about her Incredible Shrinking Bladder - but now? No chance. Because I know Tina will be
staring at me all night, willing me to ask Michael about the prom. Great. Thanks.
Lilly just handed me this giant sign. It says, LES HAUTES MANGER IS UN-AMERICAN!
I pointed out to Lilly that everyone already knows Les Hautes Manger is un-American. It is a French restaurant. To which
Lilly replied, 'Just because its owner was born in France is no reason for him to think he does not have to abide by our
nation's laws and social customs.'
I said I thought it was one of our laws that people could pretty much hire and fire who they wanted to. You know, within certain parameters.
'Just whose side are you on in this, anyway, Mia?' Lilly wanted to know.
I said, 'Yours, of course. I mean, Jangbu's.'
But doesn't Lilly realize I have way too many problems of my own to take on an itinerant busboy's as well? I mean, I have
the summer to worry about, not to mention my Algebra grade, and an African orphan to support. And I really don't think I
can be expected to help get Jangbu's job back when I can't even get my own boyfriend to ask me to the prom.
I gave Lilly her sign back, explaining that I won't be able to come to the protest after school, as I have a princess lesson to attend. Lilly accused me of being more concerned for myself than for Jangbu's three starving children. I asked her how she knew Jangbu even had kids, because so far as I knew this had not been mentioned in any of the newspaper articles about the incident, and Lilly still hadn't managed to get hold of him. But she just said she meant figuratively, not literally.
I am very concerned about Jangbu and his figurative children, it is true. But it is a dog-eat-dog world out there, and right now, I've got problems of my own. I'm almost positive Jangbu would understand.
But I told Lilly I'd try to talk Grandmere into talking the owner of Les Hautes Manger into hiring Jangbu back. I guess it's the least I can do, considering my presence on earth is the reason the poor guy's livelihood was destroyed.
Homework
Algebra: Who knows
English: Who cares
Biology: Whatever
Health and Safety: Please
Gifted and Talented: As if
French: Something
World Civ.: Something else
Friday, May 2, in the limo on the way home from Grandmere's
Grandmere has decided to act like nothing happened last night. Like she didn't bring her poodle to my birthday dinner and
get an innocent busboy fired. Like her face wasn't plastered all over the front of every newspaper in Manhattan, minus the Times. She was just going on about how in Japan it is considered terrifically rude to poke your chopstick into your rice bowl. Apparently, if you do this, it is a sign of disrespect to the dead, or something.
Whatever. Like I am going to Japan anytime soon. Hello, apparently I am not even going to my own PROM.
'Grandmere,' I said, when I couldn't take it any more. 'Are we going to talk about what happened at dinner last night, or are you just going to pretend like it didn't happen?'
Grandmere looked all innocent. 'I'm sorry, Amelia. I can't think what you mean.'
'Last night,' I said. 'My birthday dinner. At Les Hautes Manger. You got the busboy fired. It was all over the papers this morning.'
'Oh, that.' Grandmere innocently stirred her Sidecar.
'Well?' I asked her. 'What are you going to do about it?'
'Do?' Grandmere looked genuinely surprised. 'Why, nothing. What is there to do?'
I guess I shouldn't have been so shocked. Grandmere can be pretty self-absorbed, when she wants to be.
'Grandmere, a man lost his job because of you,' I cried. 'You've got to do something! He could starve.'
Grandmere looked at the ceiling. 'Good heavens, Amelia. I already got you an orphan. Are you saying you want to adopt a busboy, as well?'
'No. But, Grandmere, it wasn't Jangbu's fault that he spilt soup on you. It was an accident. But it was caused by your dog.'
Grandmere shielded Rommel's ears.
'Not so loud,' she said. 'He's very sensitive. The vet said—'
'I don't care what the vet said,' I yelled. 'Grandmere, you've got to do something! My friends are down at the restaurant picketing it right now!'
Just to be dramatic, I switched on the television and turned it to New York One. I didn't really expect there to be anything
on it about Lilly's protest. Just maybe something about how there was a traffic snarl in the area, due to rubberneckers peering
at the spectacle Lilly was making o
f herself.
So you can imagine I was pretty surprised when a second later, a reporter started describing the 'extraordinary scene outside Les Hautes Manger, the trendy four-star eatery on 57th Street,' and they showed Lilly marching around with a big sign that
said LES HAUTES MANGER MGMT UNFAIR. The biggest surprise wasn't the large number of Albert Einstein High School students Lilly had managed to talk into joining her. I mean, I expected to see Boris there, and it wasn't exactly astonishing to see that the AEHS Socialist Club was there as well, since they will show up to any protest they can find.
No, the big shocker was that there was a large number of men I'd never seen before marching right alongside Lilly and the other AEHS students.
The reporter soon explained why.
'Busboys from all over the city have gathered here in front of Les Hautes Manger to show their solidarity with Jangbu Pinasa, the employee who was dismissed from Les Hautes Manger last night after an incident involving the Dowager Princess of Genovia.'
In spite of all of this, however, Grandmere remained completely unmoved. She just looked at the screen and clacked her tongue.
'Blue,' she said, 'isn't Lilly's best colour, is it?'
I seriously don't know what I am going to do with the woman. She is completely IMPOSSIBLE.
Friday, May 2, the Loft
You would think in my own house I would find a little peace and quiet. But no, I come home to find my mom and Mr.G in a raging fight. Usually their fights are about the fact that Mom wants a home birth with a midwife and Mr G wants a hospital
birth with the staff of the Mayo Clinic in attendance.
But this time it was because my mom wants to name the baby Simone if it's a girl, after Simone de Beauvoir, and Sartre if it's
a boy, after - well, some guy named Sartre, I guess.
But Mr. G wants to name the baby Rose if it's a girl, after his grandma, and Rocky if it's a boy, after . . . well, apparently after Sylvester Stallone. Which, you know, having seen the movie Rocky, isn't necessarily a bad thing, since Rocky was very nice and all...
But my mom says over her dead body will her son - if she has a son - be named after a practically illiterate prizefighter.
Still, if you ask me, Rocky is better than the last name they came up with if it's a boy: Granger. Thank God I went and looked up Granger in the baby-name book I bought them. Because once I let them know that Granger means 'farmer' in Middle French, they totally cooled on it. Who names their baby Farmer?
Amelia doesn't mean anything in French. It is said to be derivative of Emily, or Emmeline, which means 'industrious' in Old German. The name Michael, which is old Hebrew, means 'He who is like the Lord'. So you see that, together, we make a
very nice pair, being industrious and lord-like.
But the fight didn't end with die whole Sartre versus Rocky thing. Oh no. My mom wants to go to B.J.'s Wholesale Outlet in Jersey City tomorrow to buy the supplies for my party, but Mr. G is scared terrorists might set off a bomb in the Holland Tunnel, trapping them in there like Sylvester Stallone in the movie Daylight, and then Mom might go into labour prematurely and have the baby with the water from the Hudson River gushing all around.
Mr. G just wants to go to Paper House on Broadway to buy Queen Amidala birthday plates and cups.
Hello, I hope they know I am fifteen years, not months, old, and that I can perfectly understand everything that they are saying.
Whatever. I put on my headphones and turned on my computer in the hopes of finding some solace away from all the raised voices, but no such luck. Lilly could only have just got home from her protest thingy, but she's already managed to send
around a mass email to everyone in school:
Fr: WomynRule
ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS OF ALBERT EINSTEIN HIGH: Your help and support is vitally needed
by the Students Against The Wrongful Dismissal Of Jangbu Pinasa Association (SATWDOJPA)! Join us tomorrow (Saturday, May 3) at noon for a rally in Central Park, and then a
protest march down Fifth Avenue to the doors of Les Hautes Manger on 57th Street. Show your disapproval over the way New York City restaurateurs treat their employees! Do not listen to the people who argue that Generation Y is the Materialistic Generation! Make your voice heard!
Lilly Moscovitz, President
SATWDOJPA
Hello. I didn't know my generation was the Materialistic Generation. How can "that even be? I hardly own anything. Except
a mobile phone. And I've only had that for like a day.
There was another message from Lilly. It went:
Fr: WomynRule
Mia, missed you today at the rally. You should have been there, it was totally AMAZING! Busboys from as far away as Chinatown joined our peaceful protest. There was such a feeling of camaraderie and warmth! Best of all, you'll never guess who showed up ... Jangbu Pinasa himself! He came to Les Hautes Manger to pick up his last pay cheque. Was
he ever surprised to see us all there, picketing on his behalf! He was really shy at
first and didn't want to talk to me. But I informed him that, though I might have been brought up in an upper-class household, and my parents are members of the intelligentsia, at heart I am as working class as he is, and have only the best interests of the common man at heart. Jangbu is coming to the march tomorrow! You should come, too, it's going to be awesome!!!!!!!!
Lilly
PS You didn't tell me Jangbu was only eighteen years old. Did you know that he is a Sherpa? Seriously. Prom Tibet. Back in his home country, he already graduated from high school. He came here searching for a better life because agricultural trade in his homeland has been brought to a standstill by the politics of the Chinese occupying power, and the only non-agricultural job young Sherpas can get is serving as porters and guides in the Himalayas. But Jangbu doesn't like heights.
PPS You also didn't tell me he was so HOT!!!! He looks like a cross between Jackie Chan and Enrique Inglesias. Only without the cheek mole.
It really is quite exhausting to have geniuses as both your best friend as well as your boyfriend. I swear I can hardly keep up with the two of them. Their mental gymnastics are totally beyond me.
Fortunately there was also an email from Tina, whose intellectual capacity is more equal to my own:
Iluvromance
Mia, I've been thinking it over, and I've decided that the best time for you to ask Michael whether or not he is going to ask you to the prom really will be tomorrow night
at your party. What I think we should do is organize a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven. (Your mom won't care, right? I mean, she and Mr G aren't going to actually BE THERE
during the party, are they?) And when you are in the closet with Michael, and things get hot and heavy with him, you should pop the question. Believe me, no boy can say no to anything during Seven Minutes in Heaven. Or so I've read.
Jeez! What is with my friends? It is like they live in a completely different universe from me. Seven Minutes in Heaven? Has Tina lost her mind? I want to have a NICE party, with Coke and Cheetos and maybe the Time Warp if I can get Mr G to help me move the futon couch. I do NOT want a party where people are going off in the closet to make out. I mean, if I want to make out with my boyfriend, I will do it in the privacy of my own room . . . except of course that I'm not allowed to have Michael over when no one else is home, and when he is over I have to leave the bedroom door open at least four inches at all times (thanks, Mr G. You know, it totally sucks having a stepfather who is also a high-school teacher, because who is better equipped to rain on a teenager's parade than a high-school teacher?).
I swear, between my grandmother and my friends, I don't know who causes me the most headaches.
At least Michael left a nice message:
LinuxRulz
You seemed pretty quiet during G and T today. Are you OK?
Thank God my boyfriend can be counted on to always be supportive of me. Except, of course, when he neglects to ask me<
br />
to the prom.
I decided to ignore Lilly's and Tina's emails, but I wrote back to Michael. I tried to implement some of that subtlety Grandmere was talking about the other day. Not that I approve of Grandmere right now, or anything. Still, it must be stated that she has had a lot more boyfriends than I have.
