Give Me Five pd-5

by Meg Cabot

  real well, let me tell you. I thought Grandmere was going to hit me.

  Instead, she threw my Fiesta Giles action figure - the one of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's watcher, Giles, in a sombrero -

  against the wall! I tried to explain to her that he is a collector's item and worth nearly twice what I paid for him, but she was fully unappreciative of my lecture. She just went, 'Get me a hot water with lemon and honey or I shall destroy all of your

  Bippy the Monster Catcher characters!'

  God. She can't even get the name of my favourite show right. I'd like to know how she'd feel, if I didn't pay attention next time she starts in about the Genovian bill of rights, or whatever.

  So I got her her stinking hot water with lemon and honey, and she drank it down, and then, I kid you not, she spent about

  half an hour in my bathroom. I have no idea what she was doing in there, but it nearly drove Fat Louie and I insane . . . me because I needed to get in there to get my toothbrush, and Fat Louie because that's where his litter box is.

  But whatever, I finally got in and brushed my teeth, and then I was like, 'See ya,' and Mr. G and I fully raced for the door.

  Not fast enough, though, because my mom caught us before we could get safely out of the apartment, and hissed at us in this very scary voice, 'I will get you both for leaving me alone with her all day today. I don't know how, and I don't know when. But when you least expect it. . . expect it.'

  Whoa, Mom. Have some more PediaLyte.

  Anyway, things here at school have calmed down a lot since yesterday. Maybe because the seniors aren't here. Well, all

  except for Michael. He's here. Because, he says, he doesn't believe in skipping just because Josh Richter says to. Also

  because Principal Gupta is giving ten demerits to every student with an unexcused absence for the day, and if you get

  demerits, the school librarian won't give you a discount at the end of year used-book sale, and Michael has had his eye

  on the school's collected works of Isaac Asimov for some time now.

  But really I think he's here for the same reason I am: to escape his current home situation. That's because, he told me in the

  limo on the way up to school, Lilly's parents finally found out about how she's been skipping school and holding press conferences without their permission. The Drs. Moscovitz supposedly went full-on Reverend and Mrs. Camden and are

  making Lilly stay home with them today so they can have a nice long talk about her obvious dis-establishmentarianism

  and the way she treated Boris. Michael was like, 'I was so outta there,' for which who can blame him?

  But things are definitely looking up because when we stopped by Ho's this morning before school to buy breakfast (egg sandwich for Michael; Ring Dings for me) he fully grabbed me while Lars was in the refrigerated section buying his morning

  can of Red Bull and started kissing me, and I got to smell his neck, which instantly soothed my Grandmere-frazzled nerves

  and convinced me that somehow, some way, everything is going to be all right. Maybe.

  Friday, May 9, Algebra

  Oh, my God, I can barely write, my hands are shaking so badly. I cannot believe what just happened . . . cannot believe

  it because it is so GOOD. How is this possible? Good things NEVER happen to me. Well, except for Michael.

  But this . . .

  It is almost too good to be believed.

  What happened was, I came into the Algebra classroom all unsuspectingly, not expecting a thing. I sat down in my seat and started taking out last night's homework - which Mr. G fully helped me finish - when all of a sudden, my mobile rang.

  Thinking my mom was going into labour - or had passed out in the ice-cream section of the Grand Union again - I hurried

  to answer it.

  But it wasn't my mother. It was Grandmere.

  'Mia,' she said. 'There's nothing to worry about. I've taken care of the problem.'

  I swear I didn't know what she was talking about. Not at first, anyway. I was like, 'What problem?' I thought maybe she

  was talking about Verl and his noise complaints against us. I thought maybe she'd had him executed, or something.

  Well, it's possible, knowing Grandmere.

  Which is why her next words were such a total shock.

  'Your prom,' she said. 'I spoke to someone. And I've found a place where you can have it, strike or no strike. It's all settled.'

  I just sat there for a minute, holding the phone to my ear, barely able to register what I'd just heard.

  'Wait,' I said. 'What?'

  'For God's sake,' Grandmere said all testily. 'Must I repeat myself? I have found a place for you to have your little prom.'

  And then she told me where.

  I hung up in a daze. I couldn't believe it. I swear I couldn't believe it.

  Grandmere had done it.

  Oh, not fessed up to her role in causing one of the most expensive strikes in the history of New York City. Nothing like that.

  No. This was more important.

  She'd saved the prom. Grandmere had saved the Albert Einstein High School Senior Prom.

  I looked at Lana sitting in front of me, resolutely not glancing in my direction, due to the fact that I was the one who'd caused the prom to be cancelled.

  And that's when it hit me. Grandmere had saved the prom for AEHS. But I could still save the prom for me. I poked Lana in the shoulder and went, 'Did you hear?' Lana turned to stare at me in a very mean way. 'Hear what, freak?' she demanded.

  'My grandmother found an alternative space to hold the prom,' I said.

  And told her where.

  Lana just stared at me in total shock. Really. She was so stunned, she couldn't talk. I'd stunned Lana into silence. Not like

  that time I'd stabbed her with a Nutty Royale, either.

  That time, she'd had a LOT to say.

  This time? Nothing.

  'But there's just one condition,' I went on.

  And then I told her the condition.

  Which, of course, Grandmere hadn't brought up. The condition, I mean. No, the condition was a little princess-of-Genovia manoeuvring all of my own.

  But hey. I learned from a master.

  'So,' I said in conclusion, in an almost friendly way, as if Lana and I were buddies, and not sworn mortal enemies, like Alyssa Milano and the Source of All Evil. 'Take it, or leave it.'

  Lana didn't hesitate. Not even a second. She went, 'OK.'

  Just like that. 'OK.'

  And suddenly, it was like I was Molly Ringwald. I'm not kidding, either.

  I cannot explain, not even to myself, why I did what I did next. I just did it. It was like for a moment I was possessed by the spirit of some other girl, a girl who actually gets along with people like Lana. I reached out, grabbed Lana's head, pulled it towards me and gave her a great big kiss, smack in the middle of her eyebrows.

  'Ew, gross,' Lana said, backing away fast. 'What is wrong with you, freak?'

  But I didn't care that Lana had called me a freak. Twice. Because my heart was singing like those little birds who fly around Snow White's head when she's hanging out by the wishing well. I went, 'Stay right here,' and ran out of my seat. . .... much to the surprise of Mr. G, who had just come into the room, his Starbucks Grande in hand.

  'Mia,' he said bewilderedly as I darted past him. 'Where are you going? The second bell just rang.'

  'Be back in a minute, Mr. G,' I called over my shoulder as I raced down the hall to the room where Michael has AP English.

  I didn't have to worry about making a fool of myself in front of Michael's peers or anything, since none of Michael's peers

  were around, it being Senior Skip Day and all. I leaped into his classroom - the first time I had ever done such a thing: usually, of course, Michael visited me in MY classroom - and went, 'Excuse me, Mrs. Weinstein,' to his English teacher, 'but may I

  have a word with Michael?' Mrs. Weinstein - who you c
ould tell had been anticipating a light work day, since she'd come armed with the latest Cosmo - looked up from the Bedside Astrologer and went, 'Whatever, Mia.'

  So I bounded over to an extremely surprised Michael and, slipping into the desk in front of his, said, 'Michael, remember

  how you said that you'd only go to the prom if the guys in your band went, too?'

  Michael couldn't seem to fathom the fact that I was actually in his classroom for a change.

  'What are you doing here?' he wanted to know. 'Does Mr. G know you're here? You're going to get into trouble again . . .'

  'Never mind that,' I said. 'Just tell me. Did you mean it when you said you'd go to the prom if the guys from your band went, too?'

  'I guess so,' Michael said. 'But, Mia, the prom got cancelled, remember?'

  'What if I told you,' I said all casually, like I was talking about the weather, 'that the prom was back on, and that they need a band, and that the band the Prom Committee has chosen is YOURS?'

  Michael just stared. 'I'd say ... get out of town.'

  'I am totally serious,' I informed him. 'And I will not get out of town. Oh, Michael, please say yes, I want to go to the

  prom so badly . . .'

  Michael looked surprised. 'You do? But the prom is so ... lame.'

  'I know it's lame,' I said, not without some feeling. 'I know it is, Michael. But that does not alter the fact that I have been dreaming of going to the prom for my entire life, practically. And I really believe that I could achieve total self-actualization

  if you and I went to the prom together tomorrow night. . .'

  Michael still looked like he couldn't quite believe any of it - that his band was actually being booked for a real gig; that that gig was the school prom; and that his girlfriend had just confessed that her way up the Jungian tree of self-actualization might be speeded along if he agreed to take her to said prom with him.

  'Uh,' Michael said. 'Well, OK. I guess so. If you feel that strongly about it.'

  I was so overcome with emotion, that I reached out and grabbed Michael's head, just as I had grabbed Lana's. And just as

  I had done with Lana, I dragged Michael's head towards me and planted a great big kiss on him . . . only not between his eyebrows, like with Lana, but right square on the lips.

  Michael seemed very, very surprised by this - especially, you know, that I'd done it right in front of Mrs. Weinstein. Which is probably why he turned red all the way to his hairline after I finished kissing him, and went, 'Mia,' in a sort of strangled voice. But I didn't care if I'd embarrassed him. Because I was too happy. I went, 'See ya, Mrs. Weinstein,' to Michael's stunned-looking English teacher and skipped out of there, feeling just like Molly when Andrew McCarthy came up to her

  at the prom and confessed his love to her, even though she was wearing that hideous dress.

  And now I am sitting here - having told Lana that Skinner Box would definitely be performing at the prom -trembling with excitement over my own good fortune. I am going to the prom. I, Mia Thermopolis, am going to the prom. With my boyfriend and one true love, Michael Moscovitz. Michael and I are going to the prom.

  MICHAEL AND I ARE GOING TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  TO THE PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!

  PROM!

  Friday, May 9, 7 p.m., the Loft

  I really do not have time for all of this bickering between my mom and Grandmere. Don't these women know I have more important things to worry about? I AM GOING TO THE PROM TOMORROW WITH MY BOYFRIEND. I am

  supposed to be getting plenty of rest and anointing my body with precious unguents right now, not refereeing fights between

  the post-menopausal and the hormonally-challenged.

  WHY CAN'T YOU BOTH SHUT UP??????????? I want to scream at them.

  But that, of course, wouldn't be very princesslike.

  I am going to put on my headphones and try to drown out the noise with the mix Michael made for my birthday party.

  Perhaps the dulcet tones of The Flaming Lips will calm my fractious nerves.

  Homework

  Algebra: Who cares? Michael and I are going to the prom!!!!!

  English: Prom!!!!

  Biology: I'm going to the prom!!!!!!!!

  Health and Safety: PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Gifted and Talented: As if

  French: Nous Allans Au Promme!!!!!!

  World Civ.: WORLD PROM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  PROM!

  Friday, May 9, 7:02 p.m.

  Not even The Flaming Lips can drown out Grandmere's strident tones. Am switching to Kelly Osbourne.

  Friday, May 9, 7:04 p.m.

  Success! Finally, I can hear myself think.

  Michael just emailed to let me know that he and the band would probably be up all night practising for their first big gig. But it

  is fully all right for the GUY to show up at the prom with dark circles under his eyes (look at that guy who ended up at the

  Time Zone dance with Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy}. It's just not OK for the GIRL to look less than petal smooth and daisy fresh.

  The guys in the band aren't exactly stoked about the whole playing-at-the-prom thing. In fact, rumour has it Trevor even said, 'Oh, man, can't we just stick forks in our eyes, instead?'

  But Michael says he told him a gig is a gig, and that beggars can't be choosers.

  Michael signed off on his email with this:

  See you tomorrow night. Love, M

  Tomorrow night. Oh yes. Tomorrow night, my love, when I enter the prom on your arm, and see the jealous gazes of all of

  my peers. Well, just Lana, because she's the only freshman besides me who is going. Except for Shameeka. Only she would never look at me jealously, because she is my friend.

  Oh, and Tina. Because it turns out Tina is going to the prom, too. Because of course Boris is in Michael's band, and since he

  is going to be there, he is allowed to bring one guest, and he chose Tina, because she, as he put it at lunch today, 'is my new muse, and sole reason for living.'

  Oh, how thrilled Tina looked to hear those words uttered from the lips of her new love! I swear, she practically choked on her Fruitopia. She beamed across the table at Boris, and though I never thought I would write these words, I swear they are true:

  Boris almost looked handsome as he basked beneath the hearthglow of her affection.

  Seriously. Like, even his underbite didn't look that pronounced. And his chest kind of puffed out.

  Either that, or he's been working out or something.

  AHHHHH! The phone! Oh please God let it be my dad to say the strike is over and he's sending the limo down to pick Grandmere up ...

  Friday, May 9, 7:10 p.m.

  It wasn't my dad. It was Michael, to ask if I agree with the line-up of songs Skinner Box plans on playing tomorrow. It

  includes many old prom standbys, such as The Moldy Peaches' 'Who's got the Crack' and Switchblade Kittens' 'All Cheerleaders Die', in addition to edgier stuff such as 'Mary Kay' by Jill Sobule and 'Call the Doctor' by Sleater-Kinney.

  This is not to mention Skinner Box's original songs, such as 'Rock Throwing Youths' and 'Princess of my Heart'.

  I did feel compelled to suggest Michael substitute 'Rock Throwing Youths' with something a little less controversial, like

  'When It's Over' by Sugar Ray or 'She Bangs' by Ricky Martin, but he said he would sooner show up in the middle of Times Square wearing nothing but a cowboy hat (oh, how I wish he would!). So I suggested some old school Spoon or White

  Stripes instead.

  Then Michael went, 'What is all that shouting in the background?'

  'Oh,' I said airily. 'That's just Grandmere and my mom arguing. Grandmere keeps insisting that my mom let her smoke in the Loft, but Mom says it's not good for me, or for the baby. Grandmere just accused my mother of being a fascist. She says

  when she had Hitler and Mussolini over to the palace for tea at the height of World War Two, they both let her
smoke, and