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 could 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