by Meg Cabot
Which is why I had to get Michael to help me install baby plugs in all of the outlets, and baby guards on all of our lower cabinet drawers—something Mom didn’t entirely appreciate, since she now has trouble getting out the salad spinner.
She’ll thank me one day though when she realizes that it’s entirely because of me that Rocky hasn’t gotten into any devastating salad spinner accidents.
When we weren’t busy baby-proofing the loft, Michael and I didn’t do much. I mean, there’s lots of things a couple deeply in love can do in New York City during the summer: boating on the lake in Central Park, carriage rides along Fifth Avenue, visiting museums and gazing upon great works of art, attending the opera on the Great Lawn, dining at outdoor cafés in Little Italy, et cetera.
However, all of these things can get quite expensive (unless you take advantage of student rates) except that whole opera-in-the-park thing, which is free, but you have to get there at like eight in the morning to stake out your place and even then those weird opera people are all territorial and yell at you if your blanket accidentally touches theirs. And besides, everyone in operas always dies and I hate that as much as the blanket thing.
And while it’s true that I am a princess, I am still extremely limited in the funds department, because my father keeps me on an absurdly small allowance of only twenty dollars a week, in the hopes that I will not become a party girl (like certain socialites I could mention) if I don’t have a lot of disposable income to spend on things like rubber miniskirts and heroin.
And although Michael got a summer job at the Apple Store in SoHo, he is saving all of his money for a copy of Logic Platinum, the music software program, so he can continue to write songs even though his band, Skinner Box, is on hiatus while its members scatter across the nation to attend various colleges and rehab clinics. He also wants a Cinema HD, a twenty-three-inch flat-panel display screen, to go with the Power Mac G5 he’s also hoping to buy, all of which he can get with his employee discount, but which all together will still cost as much as a single Segway Human Transporter, something I’ve been lobbying for my dad to buy me for some time now to no avail.
Besides, it’s no fun to go on a carriage ride through Central Park with your boyfriend and YOUR BODYGUARD.
So mostly when we weren’t at my place installing baby guards, we spent June just hanging out at Michael’s place, since then Lars could watch ESPN or chat with the Drs. Moscovitz, when they were not with patients or at their country home in Albany, while Michael and I concentrated on what was really important: making out and playing as much Rebel Strike as was humanly possible before being cruelly separated by my father on July 1 (which was at least an improvement over the June 1 DFG—departure for Genovia—date he’d tried to foist on me originally).
Sadly, that grim day rolled around all too quickly, and I was forced to spend the latter months of the summer in Genovia, where I saved the bay (at least, if all goes as planned) from being overrun by killer algae that were dumped into the Mediterranean by the Oceanographic Museum & Aquarium in next-door Monaco (even though they deny it. Just like they deny that Princess Stephanie was driving the car when she and her mom went over that cliff. Whatever.).
Which is what I ended up writing about. For Ms. Martinez, I mean. You know, about how I surreptitiously ordered (and charged to the offices of the Genovian defense ministry) and then released ten thousand Aplysia depilans marine snails into the Bay of Genovia after reading on the Internet that they are the killer algae’s only natural enemy.
I honestly don’t know why everybody got so angry about it. The algae were strangling the sea kelp that supports hundred of species in that bay! And those snails are as toxic as the algae, so it’s not like anything down there is going to eat them and throw off the existing food chain. They’ll die off naturally as soon as their only source of nutrients—the algae—is gone. And then the bay will be back to normal. So what’s the big deal?
Seriously, it’s as if they think I didn’t consider all this before I did it. It’s almost as if people don’t realize that I am not like a normal teen, concerned solely with partying and Jackass, but am actually Gifted, as well as Talented. Well, sort of.
I left out the part in my writing sample about how everybody got so mad about the snails, though. Still, I just know Ms. Martinez is going to be impressed. I mean, I used a lot of literary allusions and everything. Maybe, with her support, I might even get to write something other than the cafeteria beat on the school paper this year! Or start a novel and get it published, just like that girl I read about in the paper who wrote that scathing tell-all about the kids in her school, and now no one will talk to her and she has to go to school online or whatever.
Well, actually, I don’t think I’d like that.
But I wouldn’t mind not having to write about buffalo bites anymore.
Oh no, Lilly is IMing me again. Doesn’t she realize it is past eleven? I need to get my sleep in order to look my best for—
Huh. I was going to say for Michael. But I won’t even be seeing him at school tomorrow.
So what do I even care about how I look?
FTLOUIE: What do you want?
WOMYNRULE: God, touchy much? Are you done talking to my brother yet?
FTLOUIE: Yes.
WOMYNRULE: You two make me sick. You know that, don’t you?
Poor Lilly. She and Boris went out for so long that she still isn’t used to not having a boyfriend who calls to say good night. Not that Michael was going to bed yet when he called, but he knew I was. Michael doesn’t have to get to sleep early because even though he is taking eighteen credit hours this semester—so that he can graduate in three years instead of four and take a year off before he starts graduate school and I start college so we can work together with Greenpeace at saving the whales—he purposely only chose classes that start after ten so he can sleep in.
You have to admire a man who is so good at planning ahead. I can barely even figure out what I’m going to have for lunch every day, so this is extremely impressive to me.
But Michael is an excellent planner. It would only have taken him about half an hour to move into his dorm at Columbia over the weekend (if the elevators hadn’t broken down), because he had everything so organized. I went with the rest of his family to help, and to see what his room was like, and to, you know, see him for the first time since getting back from Genovia, and all. I don’t know how much Columbia charges for its student housing, but I wasn’t very impressed. Michael’s room is very cinderblocky, with a view of an air shaft.
Not that Michael even cares. All he was concerned about was whether it had enough data jacks. He didn’t even look in the bathroom to see if it had one of those smelly vinyl shower curtains or the even smellier rubber ones (I looked for him: rubber one. Ew.).
Guys are so weird.
I didn’t meet his roommate because he hadn’t moved in yet, but the sign on the door said his name was Doo Pak Sun. I hope Doo Pak turns out to be nice and not allergic to cat hair or anything. Because I plan on being in their room a LOT.
Still, I felt bad for Lilly, on account of her not having a one true love and all, so I thought I’d try to cheer her up.
FTLOUIE: But it must be nice to have the apartment all to yourself now. I mean, isn’t that what you always wanted? No Michael to drink all the Sunny D and eat all the Honey Nut Cheerios?
WOMYNRULE: Whatever! Suddenly I have to do all MY chores AND Michael’s, too. And who do you think has to take care of Pavlov now?
FTLOUIE: Like Michael’s not paying you.
WOMYNRULE: Only twenty bucks a week. Hello, I worked it out, and that is only like a dollar a pooper-scooperful.
FTLOUIE: TMI!!!!!!!!!!!!
WOMYNRULE: Whatever. I suppose you LOVE scooping up after Fat Louie.
FTLOUIE: Fat Louie’s poops are cute, just like he is. Same with Rocky’s.
WOMYNRULE: Um, NOW who is giving TMI, baby-licker?
FTLOUIE: I am choosing to ignore
that. Hey, do you think the part in Dr. Gupta’s letter about not wearing shorts beneath your school skirt is because Lana always wore Josh’s lacrosse uniform shorts under her skirt last year? You know, to show that Josh was her property?
WOMYNRULE: I don’t know and I don’t care. Listen, about tomorrow—
FTLOUIE: What?
WOMYNRULE: Never mind. Sleep tight.
FTLOUIE: ??????????????
WOMYNRULE: terminated
Seriously. I can already tell that being a sophomore is not exactly going to be a picnic.Tuesday, September 8, Homeroom
OH MY GOD.
So I thought it was going to be so depressing to be back here. I mean, because school totally sucks anyway, but without Michael, it’s REALLY going to suck.
And it WAS kind of sad to pull up in front of Lilly’s building this morning and not see Michael there waiting for me, his neck all pinkly shaved. Instead there was just Lilly, not wearing any makeup and with her hair in ten thousand barrettes and her glasses on instead of contacts. Because now that Lilly has lost her one true love to another, she barely bothers to Make an Effort. Grandmère would be APPALLED.
And, hello, I have even less reason than Lilly does to look good, but at least I washed my hair this morning. I mean, I still have a boyfriend, he’s just going to another school. Lilly’s the one who has yet to meet the man of her dreams.
Who is going to run from her the way people ran from Britney’s last album if she doesn’t at least TRY to look a little more attractive.
But I didn’t mention this to her, because it’s not the kind of thing anyone wants to hear first thing in the morning.
Besides, as Lilly put it, we both have PE first thing. Why shower BEFORE PE when you’re just going to have to shower again after?
Which is a good point.
Except that I think Lilly sort of regretted her decision not to bathe pre-PE when we stepped out of the limo in front of school and there was Tina Hakim Baba stepping out of HER limo. And Tina was all, “Oh, my God! It’s so good to see you guys!” tactfully not mentioning anything about Lilly’s glasses or hair, and we were hugging when this guy walked up and at first I was like, Whoa, hottie alert, because even though I’m taken, I’m not DEAD, you know, and he was so big and tall and blond and everything…
…until he reached out and took Tina’s hand and I realized he was BORIS PELKOWSKI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
BORIS PELKOWSKI GOT HOT OVER THE SUMMER!!!!!!!
I know it sounds completely insane but there really is no other way to put it. Tina says Boris’s violin teacher told him he’d have more stamina and play better if he started lifting weights, and so he did, and he must have put on, like, thirty pounds of pure unadulterated muscle.
Plus, he had laser surgery to correct his myopia so he wouldn’t have to keep pushing up his glasses as he plays.
Also, he got rid of his bionater and must have grown, like, two inches or maybe more because now he’s as tall as Lars and almost as wide in the shoulders.
Plus, his hair has these blond highlights in it—Tina says from the sun in the Hamptons.
Seriously, it’s like he got one of those Queer Eye makeovers or something.
Except they left out the part about not tucking his sweater into his pants. That’s the only way I recognized him. Well, that, and he still breathes from his mouth. Seriously, I was all, “Hi, who are—BORIS?”
But MY astonishment was NOTHING compared to LILLY’S! She stared at him for, like, a whole minute after he was all, “Oh, hey, hi, you guys”—even his VOICE has changed. It’s sort of deeper now, like that kid’s who plays Harry Potter in the movies.
When Lilly heard it, then turned around and recognized him, she kind of sucked in her cheeks…
…and just headed into school without a word.
But then when I saw her in the Ladies’ just before the bell rang, she’d put on some lipgloss and had slipped her contacts in and taken some of the barrettes out.
As soon as Lilly was gone, I totally grabbed Tina and was all, “OH, MY GOD, WHAT DID YOU DO TO BORIS????” but in a whisper in her ear because I didn’t want Boris to hear.
But Tina swears she had nothing to do with it. Also, she said not to say anything in front of Boris about it, because he totally hasn’t realized yet that he’s hot. Tina is trying to keep him from finding out about his new hotness because she’s afraid that as soon as he does he’ll dump her for someone thin.
Except that Boris would never do anything like that because you can see the lovelight for Tina shining in his eyes every time he looks her way. Especially now that he doesn’t have those thick lenses.
Geez! Who knew someone could change so much in just a couple of months?
Although, come to think of it, Tina might have a point because with last year’s senior class gone, there are a LOT of totally gorgeous girls who are completely boyfriendless now. Like Lana Weinberger, for instance. Not that I think Boris would EVER go for Lana, but I totally saw her giving him the Hey! Come over here finger crook over by the water fountain before she figured out who he was and instead of crooking her finger, pretended to be sticking it down her throat like she was barfing at the sight of him.
So I guess SOME people haven’t changed over the summer.
Shameeka says she heard that Lana and Josh are totally over. Apparently their love could not withstand the test of distance, since Lana spent her summer at her family’s house in East Hampton and Josh was in Southampton and the four miles between the two was just too much, especially with him leaving for Yale in the fall and thong bikini bottoms being very popular in Long Island this summer.
Excuse me. Four miles is nothing. Try four THOUSAND. That’s how far Genovia is from New York, and Michael and I still managed to see each other over the summer.
Poor, poor Lana. I feel so sorry for her. NOT. For the first time in my life, I have a boyfriend and Lana doesn’t. It is unprincesslike to gloat over the misfortunes of others, but TEE HEE.
Another plus about Josh being gone is that I can actually get INTO my locker this year, since he and Lana aren’t splayed up against it with their tongues in each other’s mouths.
Although I do have to say that the guy who’s been assigned Josh’s old locker is pretty good-looking. He must be an exchange student because I’ve never seen him before. But he can’t be a freshman because he’s got razor stubble. At eight in the morning. Also, when he said, “So sorry,” after accidentally sloshing some of his grande latte onto my boot while he was wrestling a gym bag into his locker, he fully had a South American accent, like that guy Audrey Hepburn was going to run off with in that movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s before she came to her senses (or lost her mind, in Grandmère’s opinion).
This is so BORING, sitting here listening to announcement after announcement. There’s an assembly this afternoon, so we’ve got an abbreviated seventh period. Who cares? Mr. G (FRANK. FRANK.) looks as tired as I feel. I swear, I love Rocky with every fiber of my being—almost as much as I love Fat Louie, even—but the lungs on that kid! Seriously, he will NOT stop crying unless someone sings to him.
Which is okay during waking hours, because ever since I saw Crossroads I’ve been kind of worried, you know, about what I’m going to sing if I ever have to do karaoke to earn motel money on a road trip, and so Rocky’s obsession with song gives me a good opportunity to practice. I really think I’ve got “Milkshake” down pat, and I’m working on “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” by Shania Twain.
But when he starts up with the crying thing in the middle of the night…whoa. I love him, but even I, the baby-licker—which is SO not fair of Lilly to call me, because I have NOT licked all of Rocky’s fur off like that red panda on Animal Planet did to HER baby—just want to stuff a pillow over my head and ignore it.
Only I can’t. Because everyone else in the loft is doing that. Because Mom’s theory is that we’re just spoiling him, picking him up and singing every time he cries.
But my theory is that he wo
uldn’t cry if there weren’t something wrong. Like what if his blanket has gotten wrapped around his neck and he’s CHOKING???? If no one goes in to check, he could be DEAD by morning!
So, I have to drag myself out of bed and sing the fastest song I know to him—“Yes U Can” by Jewel—and then as soon as he dozes off dive back into my own bed and try to fall back asleep before he starts up again—
OOOOH! My cell phone just buzzed! It’s a text message from Michael!
GOOD LUCK 2DAY. LOVE, M
He got up early just to wish me luck!!!! Could there BE a better boyfriend?Tuesday, September 8, PE
I understand that obesity is epidemic in the U.S. and all of that. I know that the average American is ten pounds heavier than their BMI says they should be, and that we all need to walk more and eat less.
But, seriously, is any of that an excuse for forcing teenage girls to have to CHANGE CLOTHES, much less SHOWER, in front of one another? I so think not.
Like it’s not enough that I even have to TAKE physical education. And it’s not enough that I have to take it FIRST THING IN THE MORNING. And it’s not enough that I have to STRIP DOWN IN FRONT OF VIRTUAL STRANGERS.
No, I also have to do it in front of Miss Lana Weinberger. Who also happens to have first period PE.
And who took the liberty of pointing out in front of everyone, as we were changing into our gym clothes before class, that she “really liked” my Queen Amidala panties—which I only wore for good luck on my first day back to class, although evidently they don’t work anymore—in a tone that suggested she did not like them at all.
