Thursday, April 27, Psychology
Okay! So I told someone the truth about something…
And nothing earth-shattering happened (well, except that Madame Wheeton flipped out over finding us texting each other while she was trying to do her review session for the final).
I told Tina the truth about J.P. not having asked me to the prom…and my not really wanting to go anyway. And nothing earth-shattering happened. Tina didn’t faint dead away.
She did try to convince me I’m wrong, of course.
But what else did I expect? Tina is such a romantic, of course she thinks the prom is the height of teen l’amour.
I know there was a time when I thought so, too. All I have to do is look through the pages of my old journals. I used to becrazy for the prom. I would sooner have DIED than missed it.
I guess in a way I wish I could recapture that old excitement.
But we all have to grow up one day.
And the truth is, I really don’t see what the big deal is about going to a dinner (rubbery chicken and wilted lettuce under disgusting dressing) and dance (to bad music) at the Waldorf (which I’ve been to a million times before anyway, most notably last time where I gave a speech that may have ruined my family’s reputation, not to mention my native country, for all time).
I just wish—
AHHHHH!!!! God, Ihave to get used to that thing vibrating in my pocket….
Ameliaaaaaaa—I need an updated guesssssst list from you for Mondayyyyyy. I’m quite put outtttttttt.Everyone I’ve invited has RSVP’d yesssssss, according to Vigo. Even your cousin Hankkkkkkkkkkkk is coming in from the Milan shows to attend. And I just heard from your motherrrrrrrr that your dreadful grandparents from Indianaaaaaaaaaa will be flying into town for the event. I am most upset about thisssssssss. Of course they had to be invited, but I never expected them actually to sayyesssssssssssss . It’s all most disturbing…I may need for you to disinvite a few of your guests. You know the yacht only holds three hundred comfortably. Call me immediately.—Clarisse, your grandmotherrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device
God! Why did Dad get Grandmère a BlackBerry? Is he trying to ruin my life? And who, exactly, was stupid enough to show her how touse it? I could kill Vigo.
Bystander effect—a psychological phenomenon in which someone is less likely to intervene in an emergency situation when other people are present and able to help than when he or she is alone. See Kitty Genovese case, in which a young woman was brutally attacked within hearing of a dozen neighbors, but none of them called the police, each thinking someone else would do it.
HOMEWORK
World History: Whatever
English Lit: Bite me
Trig: God, I hate this class
G&T: I know Boris is playing at Carnegie Hall for his senior project, but WHY WON’T HE STOP ALREADY WITH THE CHOPIN?????
French:J’ai mal à la tête
Psychology II: I can’t believe I even bother taking notes in this class. I have lived this class.
Thursday, April 27, Jeffrey
Great.
J.P. saw us in the hallway heading out toward the limo and was all, “Where are you girls going, looking so happy?” and Lars went, before I could stop him, “Prom dress shopping.”
And then Lana and Tina and Shameeka and Trisha looked at J.P. expectantly with their eyebrows raised, like,Hello? Prom? Remember? Did you forget something? Would you like to ask your girlfriend to go with you?
I guess news travels fast. The part about J.P. not having asked me to the prom, I mean. Thanks, Tina!
Not that she doesn’t mean well.
Of course J.P. just smiled at us tolerantly and went, “Well, have fun, girls, Lars.” Then he kept walking toward the auditorium, where he was holding play rehearsal.
They were all totally flabbergasted—Lana and those guys, I mean. That he didn’t smack himself in the forehead and go, “D’oh! Prom! Of course!” Then drop to one knee and take my hands tenderly in his and ask me to forgive him for being a churlish lout and beg me to go with him.
But I told them they shouldn’t be so shocked. I don’t take it personally. J.P. can’t think aboutanything but his play,A Prince Among Men.
Which I totally understand, because when I was writing my book, I felt the same way. I couldn’t think aboutanything else. Every chance I got, I just curled up in bed with my laptop and with Fat Louie at my side (he proved to besuch an excellent writing cat) andwrote.
I mean, that’s why I didn’t keep up with my journal, or anything, not for almost two whole years. It’s hard, when you’re really concentrating on a creative project, to keep your mind on anything else.
Or at least it was for me.
Which, in a way, I guess, was why Dr. K suggested it. That I write a book. To get my mind off…well, other things.
Or other people.
And it wasn’t like I had anythingelse to do, since my parents took away my TV, and it was really hard to watch my shows out in the living room. It’s kind of embarrassing to veg out in front ofToo Young to Be So Fat: The Shocking Truth when people know you’re watching it.
Anyway, writing my book was great therapy, because it really worked. I didn’t feel like writing in my journal once while I was writing and researching it. Everything just went intoRansom My Heart .
Now that the book’s done, of course (and getting rejected everywhere), I suddenly find myself wanting to write in my journal again.
Is that a good thing? I don’t know. Sometimes I think maybe I should write another book instead.
So I’m just saying I understand J.P.’s preoccupation with his play.
The thing is, unlike me, J.P. has a solid chance of actually gettingPrince produced, at least off-Broadway, because his dad is such a mover and shaker in the theater world, and all.
And Stacey Cheeseman has done all those Gap Kids commercials, and had that part in that Sean Penn movie. J.P.’s even got Andrew Lowenstein, Brad Pitt’s third cousin’s nephew, playing the part of the male lead. The thing is bound to be HUGE. I hear, from people who’ve seen it, it might even have Hollywood potential.
But, back to the whole prom thing: It’s not like I don’t know J.P. loves me. He tells me so, like, ten times a day—
Oh, God, I forgot how annoyed everyone gets when I start writing in my journal instead of paying attention to what’s going on. Lana is making me try on a strapless Badgley Mischka now.
Look, I get the fashion thing now. I do. How you look on the outside is a reflection of how you feel about yourself on the inside. If you let yourself go—not washing your hair, wearing the same clothes you slept in all day or clothes that don’t fit or are out of style—that says, “I do not care about myself. And you shouldn’t care about me either.”
You have to Make An Effort, because that says to other people I Am Worth Getting To Know. Your clothes don’t have to beexpensive . You just have to look good in them.
I realize that now, and acknowledge that in the past, I may have slacked off in that area (although I still wear my overalls at home on the weekends when no one is around).
And since I’ve stopped binge eating, my weight has stopped fluctuating, and I’m back down to a B cup.
So I get the fashion thing. I do.
But honestly—why does Lana think I look good in purple? Just because it’s the color of royalty doesn’t mean it looks good on every royal! Not to be mean, but has anyone taken a good look at Queen Elizabeth lately? She so needs neutral colors.
An excerpt fromRansom My Heart by Daphne Delacroix
Shropshire, England, 1291
Hugo stared down at the lovely apparition swimming naked below him, his thoughts a jumble in his head. Foremost amongst them was the question,Who is she?,though he knew the answer to that. Finnula Crais, the miller’s daughter. There had been a family of that name in villenage to his father, Hugo remembered.