And choreography? Forget about it. Some people look down on cheerleaders (okay, me included, except for Shameeka—up until now), but that stuff is HARD!!! Remembering all those steps??? Oh my God! It’s like, “Take my chi already, Feather! I can’t step-ball-change anymore!”
But Feather didn’t have the least bit of sympathy for me—and she had even LESS for Kenny, who can’t step-ball-change to save his life.
And guess what? We’re all expected to show up at ten tomorrow morning for more of the same.
Boris said tonight, as we were all leaving, “This is the hardest I have ever had to work for a hundred extra credit points.”
Which is a totally good point. But, as Ling Su mentioned to him, it beats selling candles door-to-door.
After which I had to shush her, because Amber Cheeseman had been standing nearby!
Except of course J.P. overheard me shushing Ling Su, and was like, “What? What’s the big secret? What are you guys talking about? You can tell me, I swear I’ll take it to the grave.”
The thing is, when you are thrown together for so many hours, the way we’ve all been since rehearsals started, you sort of… bond. I mean, you can’t help it. You’re just in each other’s company SO MUCH. Even Lilly, who has markedly antisocial tendencies, yelled, as we were all putting on our coats, “Hey, you guys, I almost forgot! Party tonight at my place! You should totally come, my parents are out of town!”
Which I thought was kind of bold of her—it’s Michael’s party, really, not hers, and I don’t know how thrilled he’ll be if a bunch of high school kids show up (besides me, of course).
But, you know. It’s an example of how close we all feel to one another.
And also why I felt forced to tell J.P. the truth—that the student government had run a little short on cash to pay for the seniors’ commencement ceremony, and that was why we were putting on Braid! in the first place.
J.P. seemed surprised to hear this—but not, as I first thought, because he was shocked to learn I’d messed up the budget.
“Really?” he said. “And here I was thinking that this whole thing was just an elaborate ruse by your grandmother to sucker my dad into giving up his bid on the faux island of Genovia.”
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I just stared at him with my mouth hanging open until he laughed and said, “Mia, don’t worry. I won’t tell. About the money for commencement OR your grandmother’s scheme.”
But then I got all curious, and was like, “Why does your dad want to buy the faux island of Genovia, anyway, J.P.?”
“Because he can,” J.P. said, not looking jokey at all—which, for him, was a first. He almost never seems to look upset or worried about anything—except corn, of course.
I could see right away that John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Third was a sore subject to John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth. So I dropped it. That’s the kind of thing you learn when you’re training to be a princess. How to drop subjects that suddenly seem to turn uncomfortable.
“Well, see you tomorrow,” I said to J.P..
“Are you going to Lilly’s party?” he wanted to know.
“Oh,” I said. “Yes.”
“Maybe I’ll see you there, then,” J.P. said.
Which is sweet. You know, that J.P. feels comfortable enough with us to want to come to Lilly’s party. Even if he doesn’t know it’s Michael’s party and not Lilly’s.
Anyway, I’ve got more important things to worry about right now than J.P. and Lilly and Grandmère and her diabolical schemes for faux island domination.
Because I’ve got a scheme of my own to put into action….
Sunday, March 7, 1 a.m., the loft
I’m so embarrassed. Seriously. I’m MORTIFIED. This is probably the most embarrassed I have ever been in my entire life.
And I know I’ve said that before, but this time, I really mean it.
I really thought, for a while there, that it might have been working. My plan to prove to Michael that I really am a party girl, I mean.
I don’t understand exactly what went wrong. I had it ALL planned out. I did EXACTLY what Lana said. As soon as I got to Lilly and Michael’s apartment, I changed out of my rehearsal clothes into my party clothes:
—Black tights
—My black velvet skirt (transformed into a mini—the edges were kind of raggedy because Fat Louie kept batting at the scissors as I was cutting, but whatever, it still looked okay)
—My black Docs
—A black leotard left over from that Halloween I dressed as a cat, and Ronnie from next door said I looked like a flat-chested Playboy bunny so I never wore it again
—A black beret my mom used to wear when she was performing acts of civil disobedience with her fellow Guerrilla Girls
—And the water bra. Which I didn’t even fill up all that much, because, you know, I was scared of leaks.
Plus I put on red lipstick and tousled my hair all sexily, like Lindsay Lohan’s when she’s coming out of New York clubs like Butter after just narrowly having missed running into her ex, Wilmer.
But instead of being all, “That’s hot,” about my new look, Michael—who was answering the door as the first of his guests began to arrive, just raised his eyebrows at me like he was kind of alarmed about something.
And Lars actually looked up from his Sidekick as I walked by and started to say something, but then apparently thought better of it, since he went back to leaning against the wall and looking up stuff on the Web.
And then Lilly, who was busy getting her camera ready to film the festivities for a piece she’s doing for Lilly Tells It Like It Is on male-female dynamics in a modern urban setting, was like, “What are you supposed to be? A mime?”
But instead of getting mad at her, I tossed my head, the way Lana does, and was like, “Aren’t you funny?”
Because I was trying to act mature in front of Michael’s friends, who were coming in just then.
And I guess I succeeded, because Trevor and Felix were like, “Mia?” as if they didn’t recognize me. Even Paul was all, “Nice sticks,” which I guess was a compliment about my legs, which look quite long when I wear a short skirt.
Even Doo Pak went, “Oh, Princess Mia, you are looking very nice without your overalls.”
And J.P.—who showed up a little while later, at the same time as Tina and Boris—said, “‘Your beauty would put even the loveliest Mediterranean sunset to shame, my lady,’” which is one of his lines from the play, but whatever, it was still nice.
And he accompanied it with the same courtly bow from the play, too. I mean, musical.
Michael was the only one who didn’t say anything. But I figured it was because he was too busy putting on the music and making everyone feel at home. Also, he wasn’t too thrilled Lilly had invited Boris and those guys without asking him first.
So I tried to help him out. You know, make things go smoother. I went up to some girls from his dorm who had come in—none of whom was wearing a beret or even a particularly sexy outfit. Unless you consider Tevas with socks sexy—and was like, “Hi, I’m Michael’s girlfriend, Mia. Would you like some dip?”
I didn’t mention that I’d made the dip myself, because I didn’t think a true party girl would really make her own dip. Like, I doubt Lana’s ever made dip. Making dip was a bad miscalculation on my part, but not one that was impossible to overcome, because I didn’t have to tell people I’d made the dip.
The college girls said they didn’t want any dip, even when I assured them I had made it with low-fat mayonnaise and sour cream. Because I know college girls are always watching their weight in order to avoid gaining that Freshman Fifteen. Although I didn’t SAY this to them, of course.
But I wasn’t going to let their refusal of dip get me down. I mean, that had really just been an opening to start a conversation with them.