By the time they got home—four hours later—Mamaw and Papaw were still sitting exactly where they’d been when Mom and Mr. G left (in front of the TV, watching reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos) and Rocky was sound asleep. All Mamaw said was, “Well, he’s got a set of lungs on him, I’ll say that fer’im.”
Anyway, Mom says Mr. G was a real trooper, and that if she hadn’t been sure he loved her before, she definitely knows it now, because no other man would willingly have put up with as many indignities as he endured on her behalf, one of which included riding on Papaw’s tractor (Mr. G says the closest to a tractor he’s ever been before is the Zamboni at a Rangers game). Mr. G says he was particularly impressed by the road signs he saw along the highway from the Indianapolis International Airport, urging him to repent his sins and be saved. Although, he reports that sadly, the Versailles County Bank appears to have taken down the IF BANK IS CLOSED, PLEASE SLIDE MONEY UNDER THE DOOR sign I loved so much.
I was very pleased to hear that they followed all of my advice and kept Rocky far away from hay threshers, copperhead snakes, and Hazel, Mamaw’s goat. Mom did say something about how it wasn’t actually necessary for me to have called every three hours to let them know that there was no cyclone activity on Doppler radar in their area, but that she appreciated my sisterly vigilance on Rocky’s behalf.
Later, while Mr. G was struggling to fit their suitcases back into the crawl space, I asked Mom if she’d happened to look up Wendell Jenkins, and she was all, “Why would I?”
“Because,” I said. “I mean, you loved him.”
“Sure,” Mom said. “Twenty years ago.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But you loved Dad fifteen years ago, and you see still see him.”
“Because I have a child with him,” my mom said, looking at me sort of strangely. “Believe me, Mia, if it weren’t for you, your dad and I probably wouldn’t have anything to do with each other. We’ve both moved on, just like Wendell and I moved on.”
Then my mom went on, “If I hadn’t met Frank, maybe I’d regret breaking up with Wendell or your dad. But I’m married to the man of my dreams. So, in answer to your question, Mia, no, I didn’t look up Wendell Jenkins this weekend.”
Wow. That is just…I don’t know. So nice. About Mr. G being the man of my mom’s dreams. I mean, I hope he realizes it. How lucky he is. Because whereas I strongly suspect there are a lot of women out there who might consider my dad, being a rich prince and all, the man of their dreams, I don’t think there are a whole lot of ladies who are going, “Hmmm, I wish I could meet a poor, flannel-shirt wearing, drum-playing Algebra teacher named Frank Gianini,” like my mom evidently did.
Anyway, that’s kind of nice. That both my mom and I are with the men of our dreams at the same time…
Except that mine is about to break up with me.
But would the man of my dreams REALLY tell me he’s not going to wait around for me forever? Wouldn’t the man of my dreams be willing to wait around for all ETERNITY to have me? I mean, look at Tom Hanks in the movie Cast Away. He TOTALLY waited for Helen Hunt. For FOUR years.
And okay, it’s not like he had much of a choice since there weren’t exactly any other girls running around on that island with him, but whatever.
Anyway, when I got home, I found a message from Michael on the answering machine. It was almost exactly like the one he’d left for me at the hotel, asking me to call.
And when I turned on my computer, there was an e-mail from him, too, saying basically the same thing he’d said in both phone messages: to call him.
No way am I falling for that one. I’m not calling him, just so he can break up with me.
Ooooooo nooooooooo Instant Message!
Let it be Michael.
No, don’t let it be Michael.
Let it be Michael.
No, don’t let it be Michael.
Let it be Michael.
No, don’t let it be Michael.
Let it be Michael.
ILUVROMANCE: Hey! It’s me!
Oh. It’s Tina.
FTLOUIE: Hi, T.
ILUVROMANCE: Just wanted to say thanx again for the GR8 time on Friday nite. It was SO MUCH fun.
FTLOUIE: OK. Thanks.
ILUVROMANCE: Hey, what’s the matter?
FTLOUIE: Nothing.
ILUVROMANCE: SOMETHING is the matter. You haven’t used a single exclamation point yet! What’s wrong? Did you and Michael have The Talk?
Sometimes I think Tina must be psychic.
FTLOUIE: Yes. And Tina, it was AWFUL. He totally shot down the idea of Doing It on prom night, and says he can’t afford the Four Seasons. He was nowhere NEAR as nice as Boris about it. He even said he wasn’t going to wait around for me forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ILUVROMANCE: NO! He did NOT say that!!!!
FTLOUIE: He totally did!!! Tina, I don’t know what to do. My world is collapsing around me. It’s like Lana was TOTALLY RIGHT.
ILUVROMANCE: That is not possible, Mia. You must have misunderstood.
FTLOUIE: Believe me, I didn’t. Michael wants to Do It and isn’t going wait around forever for me to make up my mind about it, either. I can’t believe this. All this time, you know, I thought he was the man of my dreams!!!!
ILUVROMANCE: Mia, Michael IS the man of your dreams. But just because you’ve found your one true love doesn’t mean that your relationship isn’t going to be fraught with hardship from time to time.
FTLOUIE: It doesn’t?
ILUVROMANCE: Oh, gosh, no! The road to romantic bliss is filled with many potholes and speed bumps. People think that once they’ve found that special someone, everything is smooth sailing. But nothing could be farther from the truth. Good relationships only stay that way through hard work and personal sacrifice on the part of both participants.
FTLOUIE: Then…what should I do?
ILUVROMANCE: Well…I don’t know. How did you leave things?
FTLOUIE: Um, Lars banged on the door and said it was time for me to go home. And I haven’t spoken to Michael since.
ILUVROMANCE: Well, what are you doing sitting there writing to ME? Get on the phone and call Michael right now!!!
FTLOUIE: You really think I should?
ILUVROMANCE: I KNOW you should. Let him know how much you love him and how hard this is for you and how much you’re hurting inside. Then TALK to him, Mia. Remember, communication is the key.
FTLOUIE: Well, if you really think it’ll help, I guess I could—
WOMYNRULE: Hey, Mia. So tomorrow’s the big day. Are you ready?
FTLOUIE: Lilly, where have you been? Your mother was looking for you. You haven’t been messing around with those nuns again, have you? You know Sergeant McLinsky told you to leave them alone.
WOMYNRULE: For your information, little missy, I have spent the entire day working tirelessly on YOUR behalf. You are going to ACE that debate tomorrow, thanks to some info I was just able to independently confirm. Although, one of these days, I WILL bring those nuns down. They are up to no good in there, of THAT I can assure you.
FTLOUIE: Lilly, what are you talking about? What info? And your mother wants you to walk Pavlov.
WOMYNRULE: Already done. Hey, are you and my brother in a fight or something?
FTLOUIE: WHY???? DID HE ASK ABOUT ME????
WOMYNRULE: Well, that answers THAT question. And yes, he did ask if I’d heard from you. But right now I want you to put whatever personal differences you’re having with my brother OUT OF YOUR MIND. I need you to be at your best tomorrow for the BIG DEBATE. Go to bed early tonight—like right now, for instance—and eat a really good breakfast in the morning. AND THINK POSITIVE. There’s an abbreviated fourth period tomorrow, with an assembly in the gym for the debate. Then voting’s right after, at lunch. NO PRESSURE. But if you don’t do well at the debate, everything we’ve done so far—the posters, the networking at the soccer game, all of it—will have been for nothing.
FTLOUIE: NO PRESSURE??? Lilly, I’m under NOTH
ING BUT pressure!!!! The country over which I will one day rule is being kicked out of the EU. My grandmother made me touch a dead saint’s petrified heart. My boyfriend wants to Do It. My baby brother doesn’t need to be sung to anymore—
WOMYNRULE: My brother wants to WHAT???????
FTLOUIE: OMG. I didn’t mean to admit that.
WOMYNRULE: YOU CAN’T DO IT BEFORE I DO IT!!! I WILL KILL YOU!!!!
FTLOUIE: I AM NOT DOING IT. YET. I meant he WANTS to Do It. Someday.
WOMYNRULE: Oh, God. Then what’s the problem? ALL guys want to Do It, you should know that by now. Just tell him to cool his jets.
FTLOUIE: You can’t tell someone like your brother to cool his jets, Lilly. He is a MANLY man, and has a manly man’s needs. You wouldn’t tell BRAD PITT to cool his jets. No. Because BRAD PITT is a manly man. LIKE YOUR BROTHER.
WOMYNRULE: Okay, only you, Mia, would call my brother a manly man. But whatever. Don’t think about all that tonight. Tonight, just concentrate on getting a good night’s sleep so you can be fresh for the debate tomorrow morning. And don’t worry. You’re gonna knock ’em dead.
FTLOUIE: LILLY!!! WAIT!!! I CAN’T DO IT!!! THE DEBATE, I MEAN!!! YOU HAVE TO DO IT FOR ME!!! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WANTS TO BE PRESIDENT ANYWAY!!!!!!!! I HAVE A FEAR OF PUBLIC SPEAKING!!!! NONE OF THE GREAT WOMEN OF GENOVIA HAVE BEEN GOOD IN FRONT OF CROWDS!!! WE’RE ONLY GOOD AT KILLING MARAUDERS!!! LILLY!!!!!!!!!!!!
WOMYNRULE: terminated
ILUVROMANCE: If it’s any consolation to you, Mia, I think you’ll do great tomorrow.
FTLOUIE: Thanks, Tina. But I have to go now. I think I’m going to be sick.
Monday, September 14, 1 a.m.
I cannot do this. I canNOT do this. I am going to make the hugest fool of myself….
Why did I ever say I would do this?
Monday, September 14, 3 a.m.
This isn’t fair. Haven’t I endured enough for one person in my lifetime? Why must total humiliation in front of my peers—once again—be added to it?
Monday, September 14, 5 a.m.
Why won’t Fat Louie stop sleeping on my head?
Monday, September 14, 7 a.m.
I’m going to die now.
Monday, September 14, Homeroom
Really, if you think about it, I’m worrying for nothing. I mean, if the world really is going to end in ten to twenty years due to all of the accessible petroleum running out, you have to ask yourself, What’s the big deal?
And what about the ice caps melting? If that happens, New York won’t even exist anymore.
And the supervolcano in Yellowstone? Hello, nuclear WINTER.
And what about the killer algae? If my snails don’t work, the entire Mediterranean coast will be destroyed. It’s really only a matter of time before every seafloor in the entire world is carpeted with Caulerpa taxifolia. Life as we know it will cease, because there will no longer be any seafood…no shrimp scampi or lobster rolls or smoked salmon…since there won’t be any shrimp or lobster or salmon. Or anything else living in the ocean. Except killer algae.
Really, considering all of this, isn’t my debate with Lana just SLIGHTLY insignificant?
Monday, September 14, PE
WHY did we have to start our section on volleyball today, of all days? I SUCK at volleyball. All that smacking the ball with the insides of your wrists…it really HURTS! I am totally going to have black-and-blue marks.
And also, I don’t appreciate Mrs. Potts’s little joke of making Lana and me team captains. Because, of course, it totally descended into a game of the Popular versus the Unpopular, with Lana picking Trisha and all of her heinous friends, and me picking Lilly and all of the uncoordinated rejects in the class, on account of, well, I knew LANA wasn’t going to pick them, and I didn’t want them to feel left out, because I KNOW what it’s like to be the last person picked for a team. It’s the most horrible feeling in the world, standing there while the person doing the picking flicks a glance your way, then moves coolly past you, as if you weren’t even THERE!
And, of course, Lana won the coin toss so she got to serve first, and she whacked that ball straight AT ME, I swear. Good thing I ducked, or it might have hit me and left a bruise.
And I don’t care if Mrs. Potts DOES say that’s the point. Hasn’t she heard of all those volleyball-related injuries that occur every year? How would SHE like to have an EYE put out by a BALL?
But then, of course, none of my teammates rushed forward to hit it, because clearly ALL of them knew the volleyball-to-eye-related-injury ratio as well as I did.
Needless to say, we lost every round.
Now Lana is prancing around the locker room in Ramon Riveras’s soccer shorts, talking about what a FABULOUS time they had this weekend after the game. Apparently, she and Ramon went sailing around Manhattan on her dad’s yacht. This is something she won’t be able to do when the ice caps melt, because Manhattan won’t exist anymore since it will be underwater, so I hope she appreciated it. Although I don’t think she did because she said they had a fun time throwing bottle caps overboard and watching the seagulls swoop down to try to eat them, not realizing they were bottle caps and not food.
Obviously, Lana is not very environmentally savvy if she doesn’t realize those bottle caps could choke a not particularly intelligent seagull or fish.
Then her dad took them to the Water Club, a restaurant I have always wanted to go to, but that will probably be going out of business soon if something isn’t done about the killer algae strangling all the other undersea plant life in the world.
Although, I highly doubt that Lana has ever once in her life thought about what’s going on UNDER the ocean. She only cares about what’s going on ON TOP of the water. As in, how she looks in a bikini.
Which, having seen her in a thong, I can honestly state is disgustingly good.
But that doesn’t make her a good person.
Why won’t someone shoot me?
Monday, September 14, Geometry
Two more periods until I make a fool of myself in front of the entire school.
Indirect proof = assumption made at the beginning that leads to contradiction.
Contradiction indicates the assumption is false and the desired conclusion is true.
Because Lana is pretty, she must be nice. Because all things that are pretty are nice.
FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE
Killer algae is pretty, but it is also deadly.
Postulate = a statement that is assumed to be true without proof.
I can pretty much postulate that I will lose today’s debate to Lana.
You know what? I think I might be getting the hang of this Geometry thing.
Oh, my God, wouldn’t it be weird if all this time, I thought I was good at one thing, and bad at another, and it turns out I was really bad at that one thing, and good at another????
Except…I don’t want to be a mathematician when I grow up. I want to be a WRITER. I want to be good at WRITING. I don’t WANT to be good at Geometry.
Well, okay, I want to be good at it. Just not, you know, SO good that I start winning all these Geometry prizes and everyone is all, “Mia! Mia! Solve this theorem!”
Because that would be boring.
Monday, September 14, English
One more period until I make a fool of myself in front of the entire school.
Look at her. Who does she think she is, in those Samantha Chang slippers?
I know! She fully thinks she’s all that. You can so tell.
I bet she doesn’t even need those glasses. She probably just wears them to distract from the fact that she has horrible, squinty little eyes.
Totally. And those cargo pants. Hello.
SO last year. I think.
MIA!!! ARE YOU PUMPED???? You don’t look pumped. In fact, you look as crappy as you did in PE. Did you get ANY sleep at all last night?
How was I supposed to sleep, knowing, as I did, that today I’m going to get flayed alive in front of the entire studen
t body—like that guy in Horatio Hornblower?
Nobody is going to get flayed alive. Except maybe Lana. Because you are going to flatten her.
LILLY! I’m NOT! I’m no good at public speaking, you KNOW that. And evolutionarily speaking, Lana has the advantage of both looks AND the fact that her sociopolitical group is the one to whom the rest of us willingly tithe.
What are you talking about?
Just trust me. I’m going to lose.
You aren’t. I have a secret weapon.
YOU’RE GOING TO SHOOT HER?????
No, Tina, you SPAZ, I am not going to shoot Lana during the debate. I have a little something up my sleeve that—if the student body looks unconvinced—I will pull out. But only if Mia looks as if she needs it.
I NEED IT!!!! I NEED IT!!!!
Patience, my young padawan.
Lilly, PLEASE, if you know something, you’ve got to tell me, I’m DYING here. Between your brother and this and the snails, I’m completely fried—
Mia! She wants to see you! In the hallway!
Breathe. Just breathe. And you’ll be all right. Just like Drew in Ever After.
That’s easy for you to say, Lilly. She didn’t stomp all over YOUR dreams.
Monday, September 14, third-floor stairwell