by Meg Cabot
!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay. So THAT didn’t freak me out too much.
But I couldn’t show it or anything, because Lilly was in the limo waiting for me, and she totally saw us there on the red carpet, and put the window down and was like, “Come on, you two, I have to get home and collate!”
God, she can be annoying sometimes.
“Look, Mia,” J.P. said, completely ignoring Lilly, as was only fitting. “I know you’re having problems with your boyfriend, and that they’re partly because of me—no, don’t try to deny it. Tina already told me. I was really worried about you, because you just looked so down all day, so I forced it out of her. So, listen. We don’t have to kiss. Once we’re up there during the performance, we can pretty much do what we want, anyway. I mean, it’s not like your grandmother would be able to stop us. So, I just wanted to tell you, if you, you know, don’t want to, we don’t have to. I won’t be offended, or anything. I totally understand.”
OH MY GOD!
Isn’t that the sweetest thing you ever heard in the whole world?????
I mean, it’s just so thoughtful and mature and unlike me of him!
I think that’s why I did what I did next:
Which was stand up on my tiptoes and kiss the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili on the cheek.
“Thank you, J.P.,” I said.
J.P. looked extremely surprised.
“For what?” he asked in a voice that cracked a little. “All I said was that you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to.”
“I know,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “That’s why I kissed you.”
Then I jumped into the car.
Where Lilly was immediately all over me with questions, since we were dropping her off on our way to the loft:
Lilly:
What was that about?
Me:
He said I didn’t have to kiss him.
Lilly:
Then why did you? Kiss him, I mean?
Me:
Because I thought he was sweet.
Lilly:
Oh my God. You like him.
Me:
Just as a friend.
Lilly:
Since when do you kiss your guy friends? You’ve never kissed Boris.
Me:
Ew. Did you hear what he said that one time about being an over–saliva secreter, or whatever it was? I don’t know how Tina stands it.
Lilly:
What is going on with you two, Mia? You and J.P.?
Me:
Nothing. I told you, we’re just friends.
And the thing is, even though I knew I shouldn’t go there, because Lilly is about to receive the worst news she’s ever had, in the form of her parents breaking up—I mean, when someone finally gets around to telling her, and all—I totally went there. Because I was just so mad.
Me:
The real question is, what’s going on with YOU and J.P.?
Lilly:
ME? I’m not the one who kissed him. Or sexy danced with him. I just like him as a friend, like you CLAIM you do.
Me:
Then why won’t you pull the story I wrote about him from your ’zine? I mean, you know it’s just going to hurt his feelings. If you really like him as a friend, why would you want to hurt him?
Lilly:
I won’t be the person hurting him. You will. I didn’t write that story.
God. Why does she have to rub it in?
Wednesday, March 10, midnight, the loft
No e-mails from Michael.
No messages, either.
I realize he has a lot on his mind right now, and can’t be, like, totally focused on me and MY needs. I wasn’t expecting to come home and find a big bouquet of roses with a note tucked in them that said, “I love you.”
But a phone call reassuring me that we are, in fact, still going out might have been nice.
Yeah. So didn’t happen. I came home, and everyone in the house was already asleep. Again.
Being an actress, dedicated to her craft, is no joke. I mean, now I know how Meryl Streep must feel, stumbling home at all hours of the night after rehearsing whatever Academy Award–winning movie she’s in. I will never again think that acting is an easy career to have.
Anyway, I am taking Tina’s advice, and Giving Michael Some Space. The way she does with Boris when he has to learn some new Bartók.
And I can’t say I really blame Michael for not calling or e-ing me, since I’m obviously not the most stable person he knows. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to prove I was a party girl when I’m so not. Basically, I was just trying to manipulate Michael, and that is never a good idea. I mean, unless you’re Grandmère or Lana, who are masters at the art of manipulation—particularly the manipulation of the laws of supply and demand.
But that doesn’t mean it’s right.
Seriously. Just because you CAN do something well doesn’t mean you SHOULD do it.
Like my short story, for instance. I mean, sure, I can write.
But does that give me the right to write a story based on someone who actually exists, who might possibly read that story, and get upset about it?
No. Just because you HAVE the power doesn’t mean you should USE it. Or, at least, ABUSE it.
Which is what Grandmère and Lana do with the whole economics thing. If you are lucky enough to HAVE a talent—like mine, for writing—you have a moral obligation to use that talent for GOOD.
That’s what happened with the Michael thing. You know, when I did the sexy dance? That’s why it backfired. Because I was trying to manipulate people. Which is evil, not good.
I’m an evil economics abuser. I’m—
SOMEONE IS IMing ME!!!!!!!!!!
LET IT BE MICHAEL
LET IT BE MICHAEL
LET IT BE MICHAEL
LET IT
Oh. It’s Lilly.
WOMYNRULE: You know, it was really presumptuous of you to have kissed him if you don’t even like him that way. What if he gets the wrong idea? You already sexy danced with him, and now you’re going around kissing him? For someone so worried about hurting his feelings, you sure don’t seem to have thought that through.
!!!!!
FTLOUIE: Oh, yeah? Well, for someone who claims not to like him as anything but a friend, you sure do seem concerned about him liking me.
WOMYNRULE: Only because I THOUGHT you were dating my brother. But apparently one guy’s not enough for you. You have to have ALL the guys.
FTLOUIE: WHAT??? What are you talking about? I DO NOT LIKE J.P.
WOMYNRULE: Sure you don’t. I bet if I looked at your nostrils right now, they’d be flaring.
FTLOUIE: OMG, I am NOT lying. Lilly, I love your brother, and ONLY your brother. You KNOW that. What is WRONG with you?
WOMYNRULE: terminated
Wow. It’s a good thing her parents aren’t telling her about their separation just yet. If this is how she acts when she DOESN’T know about it, I hate to think how she’s going to act when she DOES.
Unless she DOES know, like Michael suspects, and she’s just PRETENDING she doesn’t know. That would explain a lot about her current behavior.
But regardless, at least I know what I have to do now. My mission is, at last, clear. A feeling of calm has descended over me.
Oh, wait, that’s just Fat Louie, sleeping on my feet.
Still. I have a plan.
About how I’m going to keep J.P. from reading “No More Corn!”, I mean. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the rest of the mess that is my life.
But I know what I’m going to do about Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole.
And truthfully, I think Carl Jung AND Alfred Marshall would approve.
From the desk of
Her Royal Highness
Princess Amelia Mignonette
Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo
Dear Dr. Carl Jung,
Hi. Sorry about my last letter. I was kind of…you know…c
uckoo.
Well, you know all about that. I mean, you devoted your entire career to the study of cuckoos like me.
Anyway, just wanted to say not to worry. Things are better now. I think I finally get it. You know, the whole transcendence thing. It’s not about what’s happening INSIDE you. It’s what you put OUT that matters.
Well, not, you know, put out like sex. But I mean what you put out into the universe. It’s about being kind to others, and telling the truth instead of lying all the time, and using your powers for good and not evil. Like, if your boyfriend is having a party, you should just go and try to have a good time, instead of resorting to elaborate schemes to try to make him think you’re a party girl.
And if your friend is going to run a story in a magazine that could really hurt someone’s feelings, you should stop her.
Right?
Anyway, I’m seriously going to devote the rest of my life to Telling the Truth and Doing Good Works. I really mean that. Because I know now that it’s the only way I’m going to achieve self-actualization, and that people like my grandmother and Lana Weinberger who resort to lies and blackmail and abuse the law of supply and demand will never find spiritual enlightenment.
Anyway, seeing as how I have now pledged to walk the Path of Truth and all of that, do you think there’s a chance that part of my self-actualization, when it comes after I perform all my good works, could be getting my boyfriend to forgive me for being such a freak? Because I seriously miss him.
I hope that’s not asking too much. I honestly don’t mean to be selfish. It’s just, you know. I love him, and all.
Hopefully,
Your friend,
Mia Thermopolis
Wednesday, March 10, Homeroom
So Lilly isn’t speaking to me, apparently. She wasn’t waiting outside her building this morning for us to pick her up and take her to school. And when I ran inside to buzz her apartment, no one answered.
But I know she’s not home sick because I saw her just now outside Ho’s Deli, buying a soy latte.
When I waved, she just turned her back.
So now BOTH the Moscovitzes are ignoring me.
This is not a very nice way to start my first day on the Path to Righteousness.
Wednesday, March 10, PE
Okay, so I know skipping gym is probably not the most direct path to achieving transcendence from the ego.
But it’s for a totally good cause!
Even Lars thinks so. Which is convenient since I’m going to need his help carrying the stuff. I mean, I don’t have the upper body strength to lift 3,700 pieces of paper.
At least, not all at once.
Wednesday, March 10, U.S. Economics
Okay. So I guess I still have a ways to go on the path to righteousness. I mean, I really THOUGHT I was doing the right thing.
At first.
I totally remembered Lilly’s locker combination from the time she got the flu and I had to bring her her books.
And when I opened her locker door, the stack of a thousand copies of Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole, Volume I, Issue 1, was just sitting right there, waiting to be sold today at lunch.
It was so easy to grab them.
Well, okay, not THAT easy, because they were heavy. But Lars and I split the pile between us, and I was frantically looking around for a place to hide them—someplace Lilly would never find them, because you so know she’s going to look—when I spied the men’s room.
Well, come on! How’s she going to look for them there?
So Lars and I staggered in there, with these giant armfuls of paper, and I barely had time to register the fact that in the men’s rooms at AEHS, there is no mirror over the sinks, and also no doors on the bathroom stalls (which is completely sexist if you ask me, because don’t boys need privacy and to see how their hair looks, too?) before I realized we were not alone in there.
Because John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth was standing at one of the sinks, wiping his hands on a paper towel!!!!!
“Mia?” J.P. looked back and forth from Lars to me. “Um, hey. What’s up?”
Both Lars and I had frozen. I went, “Um. Nothing.”
But J.P. didn’t believe me. Obviously.
“What’s all that?” he asked, nodding at the huge stacks of papers we were each sagging under.
“Um,” I said, desperately trying to think of some kind of excuse I could give him.
Then I remembered I’m supposed to be treading the Path of Truth, and all, and I had pledged to the memory of Dr. Carl Jung not to lie anymore.
So I had no choice but to say, “Well, the truth is, these are copies of my short story for Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole, which I stole out of Lilly’s locker and am trying to hide in the men’s room, because I don’t want anyone to read them.”
J.P. raised his eyebrows. “Why? You don’t think your story’s any good?”
I REALLY wanted to say yes.
But since I swore I’d tell the truth from now on, I was forced to say, “Not exactly. The truth is, I wrote this story, um, about you. But way before I had ever met you! And it’s really stupid and embarrassing, and I don’t want you to read it.”
J.P.’s eyebrows went up even MORE.
But he didn’t look mad. He looked—actually, he sort of looked like he was kind of flattered.
“You wrote a story about me, huh?” He leaned against one of the sinks. “But you don’t want me to read it. Well, I can see your dilemma. Still, I don’t think hiding them, even in the men’s room, is going to work. She’s bound to get someone to look in here, don’t you think? I mean, it’s the first place I’d look, if I were Lilly.”
The thing was, after he said it, I knew he was right. Hiding the copies in the men’s room wasn’t going to keep Lilly from finding them.
“What else can we do with them?” I wailed. “I mean, where can we put all this so she won’t find it?”
J.P. appeared to think about this for a moment. Then he straightened up and said, “Follow me,” and walked past us, back out into the hallway.
I looked at Lars. He shrugged. Then we followed J.P. out into the hall, where we found him pointing…
…at one of the recycling bins. One of the ones I’d ordered, that said PAPER, CANS, AND BATTLES on it.
My shoulders sagged with disappointment.
“She’ll totally look there,” I wailed. “I mean, it even says PAPER on it.”
“Not,” J.P. said, “if we put it all in the crusher.”
Which was when he tossed the paper towel he’d used to dry his hands into the can section of the recycling bin…
…which immediately sprang to life, and began its crushing action, smushing the paper towel to shreds.
“Voilà,” J.P. said. “Your problem is solved. Permanently.”
But as the recycling bin’s internal crushing device finally quieted down, I looked down at the stack of magazines in my arms.
And knew that I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. As much as I hated that horrible cover, and the story I’d written beneath it, I knew I couldn’t destroy something Lilly had worked so hard on.
“Princess?” Lars shifted his armload of magazines and nodded toward the hallway clock. “The bell is about to ring.”
“I—” I looked from the pinkly glowing magazine cover to J.P.’s face, then back again. “I can’t do it. J.P., I’m sorry. But I just can’t. She would be so hurt…and she’s going through a really tough time right now. Even if she doesn’t know it.”
J.P. nodded.
“Hey,” he said. “I understand.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think you do. My story about you is really stupid. I mean, REALLY stupid. And everyone is going to read it. And know that it’s about you. Which I admit makes ME look like the fool, not you. But people might…you know. Laugh. When they read it. And I really don’t want to hurt your feelings any more than I want to hurt Lilly’s.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about me,” J.P. said
. “I’m a loner, remember? I don’t care what other people think of me. With the exception of a select few.”
“Then…” I nodded at the pile of magazines in my arms. “If I put these back where I found them, and Lilly sells them at lunchtime, you won’t care?”
“Not a bit,” J.P. said.
And he even helped Lars and me stuff them all back into Lilly’s locker.
Then the bell rang, and everyone started pouring out into the hallway and going to their lockers, and so we had to say good-bye, or we’d have been late to our next class.
The saddest part is, Lilly will never know the sacrifice J.P. is making on her behalf. He TOTALLY likes her. It’s so OBVIOUS.
Wednesday, March 10, English
Hey, are you nervous about tonight? Our big debut? I know I am!
To tell you the truth, I haven’t really had a chance to think about it.
Really? Oh my gosh—you still haven’t heard from Michael?
No.
Probably because he’s going to surprise you with a big bouquet of roses after the performance tonight!
I wish I lived in Tinaland.
Wednesday, March 10, Lunch
I walked into the caf, and there she was. At the booth she set up, underneath all these signs she made, advertising today’s sale of the first issue of the school’s new literary ’zine.
I knew I had to be, you know. Nice about it. On account of Lilly’s home life being unsatisfactory. Or going to become that way, anyway, even if she didn’t quite know it yet.