Well, it’s not YOUR fault it got canceled. Besides, I wouldn’t have had that much fun at it anyway. I mean, not if the only other girl from my class was going to be LANA!!!!!!!!! By the way, did you hear about Tina?
No. What?
Yesterday, when Boris was waiting at his locker for Lilly—you know, he put that Happy Ad in the paper, asking her to meet him there after school, so they could talk—well, Tina decided to meet him, you know, and ask him if he wanted to grab a frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity, because she felt so sorry for him and all. Well, I guess he finally gave up on waiting for Lilly, since he said yes and the two of them went, and this morning, I swear I saw them holding hands beside the Foamboard sculpture of the Parthenon outside the language lab.
WAIT A MINUTE. WHAT? YOU SAW TINA AND BORIS HOLDING HANDS. TINA AND BORIS. TINA and BORIS PELKOWSKI????
Yes.
Tina. Tina Hakim Baba. And Boris Pelkowski. TINA AND BORIS?????????
YES!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, my God. What is happening to the world we live in?
Thursday, May 8, third-floor stairwell
Shameeka and I cornered Tina after we came out of Bio and dragged her up here to demand confirmation of the holding-hands-with-Boris thing. I am skipping Health and Safety, but who cares? I would only end up sitting there under the hostile gazes of my fellow Health and Safety practitioners, one of whom includes my ex-best-friend Lilly Moscovitz, whom I have absolutely no desire to speak to anyway.
Besides, my Asperger’s syndrome report is due, and I didn’t exactly have a chance to finish it, due to the severe emotional problems I am suffering right now on account of my mother’s bladder problems and my boyfriend’s refusal to take me to the prom and the whole strike thing and all.
I cannot believe the stuff that is spilling out of Tina’s mouth. About how all her life, she’s just been looking for a man who could love her the way heroes in the romance novels she likes to read so much love their heroines. About how she never thought she would meet a man who could love a woman with the intensity of the heroes she admires most, like Mr. Rochester and Heathcliff and Colonel Brandon and Mr. Darcy and Spider-Man and all.
Then she says that watching the way Boris fell apart after Lilly left him for Jangbu Panasa made her realize that out of all the boys she had ever met, he was the only one who seemed close to fitting her description of the perfect boyfriend. Except, of course, for the whole looks thing. But other than that, he is everything Tina has ever wanted in a boyfriend:
Loyal
(Well, that goes without saying. Boris would never even LOOK at another girl after he hooked up with Lilly.)
Passionate
(Uh, I guess the whole globe thing proved Boris is deeply passionate. Or has Asperger’s syndrome.)
Intelligent
(4.0 GPA)
Musical
(As I can only too readily testify.)
In touch with popular culture
(He does watch Smallville.)
Fond of Chinese food
(This is true as well.)
Absolutely uninterested in competitive sports
(Except figure skating. Well, he is Russian.)
Plus, Tina adds, he is a really good kisser, once he takes out his bionater.
A REALLY GOOD KISSER, ONCE HE TAKES OUT HIS BIONATER.
You know what that means, don’t you? IT MEANS THAT TINA AND BORIS HAVE KISSED! How would she know this if they hadn’t????????
Oh, my God. I can’t stop gagging. I like Boris—I really do. I mean, except for the fact that he is COMPLETELY INSANE I think he is a really nice guy. He is sensitive and funny and if you can forget the asthma inhaler and the mouth breathing and the violin playing and the whole sweater thing, yeah, okay, I guess he is PASSABLY attractive.
I mean, at least he is taller than Tina.
BUT OH, MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!! BORIS PELKOWSKI, TINA’S MR. ROCHESTER????? NO, NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
But as Shameeka just pointed out to me (while Tina was checking her text messages) Boris doesn’t necessarily have to be her Mr. Rochester for all eternity. He could just be her Mr. Rochester for, you know, now. Until her real Mr. Rochester comes along.
Oh, my God. I just don’t know. I mean, BORIS PELKOWSKI.
Well, at least Tina’s right about one thing: he does feel things passionately. I have my blood-soaked sweater to prove it. Well, not really, because Mrs. Pelkowski returned it and the dry cleaner really did get out all the stains.
But still.
Tina and BORIS PELKOWSKI?????????????
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, May 8, 3 p.m., the loft
After Lars had to shield me from yet another projectile— this one thrown with stunning accuracy by a senior science-fair winner—he called my dad and said he thought that, for safety reasons, I should be removed from school premises.
So my dad said okay. So I got the rest of the day off.
Except not really, because now Mr. G is going over everything I haven’t been paying much attention to in his class for the past week and a half, using the front of the refrigerator as a chalkboard, and the magnetic alphabet as the coefficients in the problems I’m supposed to be solving.
Whatever, Mr. G. Can’t you see I have way bigger problems right now than a sinking grade in your class? I mean, hello, I cannot even set foot in my own school without being pelted with fruit.
I’m so depressed. I mean, after everything with the strike, and then with Tina, and now this thing with everybody hating me, I really don’t see how I’m going to make it through the rest of the week. I already called my dad and was like, “Tell Grandmère thanks a lot. Now I’m not even safe at my own institution of secondary education, and it’s all her fault.”
I don’t know if he told her, though. I’m not sure he and Grandmère are speaking anymore.
I know I’M not speaking to Grandmère. It seems like I’m not speaking to a lot of people, actually… Grandmère, Lilly, Lana Weinberger….
Well, I’ve never really been on speaking terms with Lana. But you know what I mean.
Wow, what if I can never go back to school again? Like, what if I have to be home-schooled? That would suck so bad! I mean, how would I keep up with all the gossip? Like who was going out with whom? And when would I ever see Michael? Just on weekends, and that’s it. That would be so WRONG!!!! The high point of my day is seeing him waiting outside his building to be picked up by my limo on the way to school. I know that I am going to be deprived of this forever when he starts going to Columbia. But I thought I’d still be able to enjoy it for the rest of the school year, anyway.
Oh, my God, this is bumming me out so badly. I mean, I never really LIKED Albert Einstein High, but considering the alternatives… you know, home-schooling, or even worse, school in GENOVIA… my God, in comparison, AEHS is like Shangri-la.
Whatever Shangri-la is.
How dare they try to keep me from it? AEHS, I mean. HOW DARE THEY??????????
Oh, someone is at the door. Please let it be Michael with the rest of my homework. Not because I’m desperate to do the rest of my homework, but because if I have ever needed to be comforted with the smell of Michael’s neck, it’s now….
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
Thursday, May 8, later, the loft
Well, it wasn’t Michael. But it was close. It was a Moscovitz.
Just the wrong one.
I really think Lilly has some nerve coming around here after what she put me through. I mean, Asperger’s or not. She has made my life a perfect hell these past few days, and then she shows up at my door, crying, and begging to be forgiven?
But what could I do? I couldn’t exactly slam the door in her face. Well, I could have, of course, but it would have been terribly unprincesslike.
Instead, I invited her in—but coldly. Very coldly. Who’s the wea
k one NOW, I’d like to know????
We went into my room. I shut the door (I’m allowed to shut my bedroom door so long as anybody but Michael is inside there with me).
And Lilly let loose.
Not, as I was expecting, with the heartfelt apology I deserved for her dreadful treatment of me, dragging my good name and royal lineage across the airwaves in the manner she had.
Oh, no. Nothing like that. Instead, Lilly is crying because she heard about Tina and Boris.
That’s right. Lilly’s crying because she wants her boyfriend back.
Seriously! And after the way she’d treated him!
I’m just sitting here in stunned silence, staring at Lilly as she rants. She’s stomping around my room in her Mao jacket and Birkenstocks, shaking her glossy curls, her eyes, behind the lenses of her glasses (I guess revolutionaries working to empower the people don’t wear their contacts), filled with bitter tears.
“How could he?” she keeps wailing. “I turn my back for five minutes—five minutes!—and he runs off with another girl? What can he be thinking?”
I can’t help but point out that perhaps Boris was thinking about seeing her, Lilly, his girlfriend, with another boy’s tongue down her throat. In MY hallway closet, no less.
“Boris and I never vowed to see each other exclusively,” she insists. “I told him that I am like a restless bird… I can’t be tied down.”
“Well.” I shrug. “Maybe he’s more into the roosting type.”
“Like Tina, you mean?” Lilly rubs her eyes. “I can’t believe she could do this to me. I mean, doesn’t she realize that she’ll never make Boris happy? He’s a genius, after all. It takes a genius to know how to handle a fellow genius.”
I remind Lilly, somewhat stiffly, that I am no genius, but I seem to be handling her brother, whose IQ is 179, quite well.
I don’t mention the whole part about him still refusing to go to the prom and the fact that we haven’t gotten to second base yet.
“Oh, please,” Lilly scoffs. “Michael’s gaga for you. Besides, at least you’re in Gifted and Talented. You get to observe geniuses in action on a daily basis. What does Tina know about them? Why, I don’t think she’s even seen A Beautiful Mind! Because Russell doesn’t take his shirt off enough in it, no doubt.”
“Hey,” I say harshly. I’d noticed this about A Beautiful Mind, too, and I think it’s a valid criticism. “Tina is my friend. A way better friend to me than you’ve been, lately.”
Lilly has the grace to look guilty.
“I’m sorry about all that, Mia,” she says. “I swear I don’t know what came over me. I just saw Jangbu and I… well, I guess I became a slave to my own lust.”
I must say, I am very surprised to hear this. Because while Jangbu is, of course, quite a hottie, I never knew physical attraction was important to Lilly. I mean, after all, she’s been going out with Boris for, like, ever.
But apparently, it was all completely physical between her and Jangbu.
God. I wonder what base they got to. Would it be rude to ask? I mean, I know that, considering we aren’t best friends anymore, it probably isn’t any of my business.
But if she got to third with that guy, I’ll kill her.
“But it’s over between Jangbu and me,” Lilly just announced, very dramatically… so dramatically that Fat Louie, who doesn’t like Lilly very much in the first place, and usually hides in the closet among my shoes when she comes over, just tried to burrow his way into my snowboots. “I thought he had the heart of a proletarian. I thought at last, I had found a man who shared my passion for social causes and the advancement of the worker. But alas… I was wrong. So very, very wrong. I simply cannot be soul mates with a man willing to sell his life story to the press.”
It appears that Jangbu has been approached by a number of magazines, including People and Us Weekly, who are vying for the exclusive rights to the details of his run-in with
the dowager princess of Genovia and her dog.
“Really?” I was very surprised to hear this. “How much are they offering him?”
“Last time I talked to him, they were up to six figures.” Lilly dries her eyes on a piece of lace I received from the crown prince of Austria. “He won’t be needing his job back at Les Hautes Manger, that’s for sure. He’s planning on opening a restaurant of his own. A Nosh in Nepal, he’s planning on calling it.”
“Wow.” I feel for Lilly. I really do. I mean, I know how much it sucks when someone you thought was your spiritual life mate turns out to be a sellout. Especially when he French kisses as well as Josh—I mean Jangbu—does.
Still, just because I feel sorry for Lilly doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive her for what she did. I may not be self-actualized, but at least I have pride.
“But I want you to know,” Lilly is saying, “that I realized I wasn’t in love with Jangbu before all this stuff with the strike happened. I knew I had never stopped loving Boris when he picked up that globe and dropped it on his head for me. I mean, Mia, he was willing to get stitches for me. That’s how much he loves me. No boy has ever loved me enough to risk actual, physical pain and discomfort for me… and certainly not Jangbu. I mean, he’s WAY too caught up in his own fame and celebrity. Not like Boris. I mean, Boris is a thousand times more gifted and talented than Jangbu, and HE isn’t caught up in the fame game.”
I really don’t know quite how to respond to all this. I guess Lilly must realize this by the way she’s narrowing her eyes at me and going, “Would you please stop writing in
that journal for ONE MINUTE and tell me how I can win Boris back?”
Though it pains me to do it, I am forced to inform Lilly that I think the chances of her ever winning Boris back are, like, zero. Less than zero, even. Like, in the negative polynomials.
“Tina is really crazy about him,” I tell her. “And I think he feels the same way about her. I mean, he gave her his autographed eight-by-ten glossy of Joshua Bell—”
This information causes Lilly to clutch her heart in existential pain. Or maybe not so existential, since I’m not even really sure what existential means. In any case, she clutches her heart and falls back dramatically across my bed.
“That witch!” she keeps yelling—so loudly that I’m afraid any minute Mr. G is going to come busting in here, thinking we have Charmed turned up too loud. “That black-hearted, back-stabbing witch! I’ll get her for stealing my man! I’ll get her!”
So I have to get very severe with Lilly. I tell her that under no circumstances is she going to “get” anyone. I tell her that Tina really and sincerely adores Boris, which is all he has ever wanted—to love and be loved in return, just like Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge . I tell her that if she really loves Boris the way she says she does, she will leave him and Tina alone, let them enjoy the last few weeks of school together. Then if, in the fall, Lilly still finds herself wanting Boris back, she can say something. But not before.
Lilly is, I think, a little taken aback by my sage—and very direct—advice. In fact, she still appears to be digesting it. She’s sitting on the end of my bed, blinking at my Princess Leia screensaver. I am sure it must be quite a blow to a girl with an ego the size of Lilly’s… you know, that a boy who had once loved her could learn to love again. But she will just have to get used to it. Because after what she put Boris through this week, I for one will see to it that she never, ever dates him again. If I have to stand in front of Boris with a big old sword, like Aragorn in front of that Frodo dude, I will totally do it. That is how determined I am that Lilly will never again mess with Boris Pelkowski’s heavily bandaged, misshapen genius head.
I don’t know if she can see that by how fiercely I am writing, or if there is something particularly determined in my expression, or what. But Lilly just sighs and goes, “Oh, all right.”
Now she is putting on her coat and leaving. Because even though she and Jangbu have parted ways, she is still chairperson of SATWDOJPA, and has loads to do.
None of which apparently includes apologizing to me.
Or so I thought.
At my door, Lilly turns and says, “Listen, Mia. I’m sorry I called you weak the other day. You’re not weak. In fact… you’re one of the strongest people I know.”
Hello! So true! I have battled so many demons in my day, I make those girls on Charmed look like the ones on freaking Full House. Really, I should get a medal, or at least the key to the city, or something.
Sadly, however, just when I thought my bravery was no longer going to be needed—Lilly and I hugged, and she left, after a few words of apology to my mom and Mr. G overthe whole making-out-in-our-hall-closet-with-Jangbu-the-unemployed-busboy thing, which they graciously accepted— the buzzer in the vestibule went off AGAIN. I thought for SURE it had to be Michael this time. He’d promised to collect and bring over all of my remaining assignments.
So you can imagine my horror—my absolute revulsion— when I bounded over to the intercom, hit the TALK button, went, “Hellooo-ooooo?” and the voice that came crackling over it in response was not the deep, warm, familiar voice of my one true love…
…but the hideous cackle of GRANDMÈRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, May 9, 1 a.m., the futon couch in the loft
This is a nightmare. It has to be. Somebody is going to pinch me and I’m going to wake up and it’s all going to be over and I’m going to be back snug in my own bed, not out here on this futon—how come I never noticed how HARD this thing is?—in the living room in the middle of the night.
Except that it’s NOT a nightmare. I know it’s not a nightmare, because to have a nightmare, you actually have to fall ASLEEP, something I can’t do, because Grandmère is SNORING TOO LOUDLY.
That’s right. My grandmother snores. Some scoop for the Post, huh? I should give them a call and hold up the phone to the door to my room (you can hear her even with the door CLOSED). I can just see the headline: