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 Spiderman and all.
Then she says that watching the way Boris fell apart after Lilly left him for Jangbu Pinasa 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 suffers from Asperger's syndrome.)
• Intelligent
(4.0 GPA)
• Musical
(As I can only too readily testify.)
• In touch with popular culture
(He does watch Buffy?)
• 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, OK 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 the 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?????????????
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, May 8, the Loft
After Lars had to shield me from yet another projectile - this one thrown with stunning accuracy by a senior rugby player -
he called my dad and said he thought for safety reasons I should be removed from school premises.
So my dad said OK. So I get the rest of the day off.
Except not really, because 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 chalk board, 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
Grandmere 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 Grandmere are speaking any more.
I know I'M not speaking to Grandmere. It seems like I'm not speaking to a lot of people, actually . . . Grandmere, 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