My mouth fell open.Homework? There’s going to behomework? Nobody said anything about homework!
"And close your mouth," she barked. "It is uncouth to let it hang open like that."
I closed my mouth. Homework???
"Tomorrow you will wear nylons. Not tights. Not kneesocks. You are too old for tights and kneesocks. And you will wear your school shoes, not tennis sneakers. You will style your hair, apply lipstick, and paint your fingernails—what’s left of them, anyway." Grandmère stood up. She didn’t even have to push up with her hands on the arms of her chair, either. Grandmère’s pretty spry for her age. "Now I must dress for dinner with the shah. Good-bye."
I just sat there. Was she insane? Was she completely nuts? Did she have the slightest idea what she was asking me to do?
Evidently she did, since the next thing I knew Lars was standing there, and Grandmère and Rommel were gone.
Geez! Homework!!! Nobody said there was going to be homework.
And that’s not the worst of it. Panty hose? To school? I mean, the only girls who wear panty hose to school are girls like Lana Weinberger, and seniors, and people like that. You know. Show-offs. None ofmy friends wear panty hose.
And, I might add, none of my friends wear lipstick or nail polish or do their hair. Not forschool, anyway.
But what choice did I have? Grandmère totally scared me, with her tattooed eyelids and all. I couldn’t NOT do what she said.
So what I did was, I borrowed a pair of my mom’s panty hose. She wears them whenever she has an opening—and on dates with Mr. Gianini, I’ve noticed. I took a pair of her panty hose to school with me in my backpack. I didn’t have any fingernails to paint—according to Lilly, I am orally fixated; if it fits in my mouth, I’ll put it there—but I did borrow one of my mom’s lipsticks, too. And I tried some mousse I found in the medicine cabinet. It must have worked, since when Lilly got into the car this morning, she said, "Wow. Where’d you pick up the Jersey girl, Lars?"
Which I guess meant that my hair looked really big, like girls from New Jersey wear it when they come into Manhattan for a romantic dinner in Little Italy with their boyfriends.
So then, after my review session with Mr. G at the end of the day, I went into the girls’ room and put on the panty hose, the lipstick, and my loafers, which are too small and pinch my toes really bad. When I checked myself out in the mirror, I thought I didn’t look so bad. I didn’t think Grandmère would have any complaints.
I thought I was pretty slick, waiting to change until after school. I figured on a Friday afternoon there wouldn’t be anyone hanging around. Who wants to hang around school on a Friday?
I had forgotten, of course, about the Computer Club.
Everybodyforgets about the Computer Club, even the people who belong to it. They don’t have any friends, except each other, and they never go on dates—only unlike me, I think this is by choice: No one at Albert Einstein is smart enough for them—except, again, for each other.
Anyway, I walked out of the girls’ room and ran smack into Lilly’s brother, Michael. He’s the Computer Club treasurer. He’s smart enough to be president, but he says he has no interest in being a figurehead.
"Christ, Thermopolis," he said, as I scrambled around, trying to pick up all the stuff I’d dropped—like my high-tops and socks and stuff—when I bumped into him. "What happened toyou?"
I thought he meant why was I there so late. "You know I have to meet with Mr. Gianini every day after school because I’m flunking Alge—"
"I knowthat." Michael held up the lipstick that had exploded out of my backpack. "I mean what’s with the war paint?"
I took it away from him. "Nothing. Don’t tell Lilly."
"Don’t tell Lilly what?" I stood up, and he noticed the panty hose. "Jesus, Thermopolis. Where areyou going?"
"Nowhere." Must I continuously be forced to lie all the time? I really wished he would go away. Plus a bunch of his computer nerd friends were standing there, staring at me like I was some new kind of pixel or something. It was making me pretty uncomfortable.
"Nobody goesnowhere looking like that." Michael shifted his laptop from one arm to the other, then got this funny look on his face. "Thermopolis, are you going out on adate?"
"What?No, I’m not going on a date!" I was completely shocked at the idea. Adate?Me? I’m so sure! "I have to meet my grandmother!"
Michael didn’t look as if he believed me. "And do you usually wear lipstick and panty hose to meet your grandmother?"
I heard some discreet coughing, and looked down the hall. Lars was there by the doors, waiting for me.
I guess I could have stood there and explained that my grandmother had threatened me with bodily harm (well, practically) if I didn’t wear make up and nylons to meet her. But I sort of didn’t think he’d believe me. So I said, "Look, don’t tell Lilly, okay?"
Then I ran away.
I knew I was dead meat. There was no way Michael wasn’t going to tell his sister about seeing me coming out of the girls’ room after school in lipstick and panty hose. No way.
And Grandmère’s was HORRIBLE. She said the lipstick I had on made me look like apoulet. At least that’s what I thought she said, and I couldn’t figure out why she thought I looked like a chicken. But just now I looked uppoulet in my English-French dictionary, and it turns outpoulet can also mean "prostitute"! My grandmother called me a hooker!
Geez! Whatever happened to nice grandmothers, who bake brownies for you and tell you how precious you are? It’s just my luck I get one who has tattooed eyeliner and tells meI look like a hooker.