Even Later on Sunday
I just turned on my computer to look up some stuff about Afghanistan on the Internet (I have to write a paper for World Civ on a current event), and then I saw that someone was instant messaging me. I hardly ever get instant messages, so I was totally excited.
But then I saw who it was from: CracKing.
Michael Moscovitz? What couldhe want?
Here’s what he wrote:
CRACKING:HEY, THERMOPOLIS. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU LAST NIGHT? IT’S LIKE YOU WENT MENTAL, OR SOMETHING.
Me? Mental???
FTLOUIE:FOR YOUR INFORMATION, I DID NOT GO MENTAL. I JUST GOT TIRED OF YOUR SISTER ALWAYS TELLING ME WHAT TO DO. NOT THAT IT’S ANY OF YOUR BUSINESS.
CRACKING:WHAT ARE YOU BEING SO SNOTTY ABOUT? OF COURSE IT’S MY BUSINESS. I HAVE TO LIVE WITH HER, DON’T I?
FTLOUIE:WHY? IS SHE TALKING ABOUT ME?
CRACKING:YOU COULD SAY THAT.
I can’t believe she’s been talking about me. And you know she can’t have been saying anything good.
FTLOUIE:WHAT’S SHE SAYING?
CRACKING:I THOUGHT IT WASN’T ANY OF MY BUSINESS.
I’m so glad I don’t have a brother.
FTLOUIE:IT ISN’T. WHAT’S SHE SAYING ABOUT ME?
CRACKING:THAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT’S WITH YOU THESE DAYS, BUT EVER SINCE YOUR DAD CAME TO VISIT YOU’VE BEEN ACTING LIKE A HEAD CASE.
FTLOUIE:ME? A HEAD CASE? WHAT ABOUT HER? SHE’S THE ONE WHO’S ALWAYS CRITICIZING ME. I’M SO SICK OF IT!! IF SHE WANTS TO BE MY FRIEND, WHY CAN’T SHE JUST ACCEPT ME THE WAY I AM???
CRACKING:NO NEED TO YELL.
FTLOUIE:I’M NOT YELLING!!!
CRACKING:YOU’RE USING EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF PUNCTUATION, AND ON-LINE, THAT’S LIKE YELLING. BESIDES, SHE’S NOT THE ONLY ONE CRITICIZING. SHE SAYS YOU WON’T SUPPORT HER BOYCOTT OF HO’S DELI.
FTLOUIE:WELL, SHE’S RIGHT. I WON’T. IT’S STUPID. DON’T YOU THINK IT’S STUPID?
CRACKING:SURE IT’S STUPID. ARE YOU STILL FLUNKING ALGEBRA?
Thatwas out of the blue.
FTLOUIE:I GUESS SO. BUT CONSIDERING THE FACT THAT MR. G SLEPT OVER LAST NIGHT, I’LL PROBABLY SCRAPE BY WITH A D. WHY?
CRACKING:WHAT? MR. G SLEPT OVER? AT YOUR PLACE? WHAT WAS THAT LIKE?
Now, why did I tell him that? It’ll be all over school by tomorrow morning. Maybe Mr. G will get fired! I don’t know if teachers are allowed to date their pupils’ mothers. Why did I tell Michael that?
FTLOUIE:IT WAS PRETTY AWFUL. BUT THEN HE KIND OF JOKED AROUND, AND MADE IT OKAY. I DON’T KNOW. I SHOULD PROBABLY BE MORE MAD, BUT MY MOM’S SO HAPPY, IT’S HARD.
CRACKING:YOUR MOM COULD DO A LOT WORSE THAN MR. G. IMAGINE IF SHE WAS GOING OUT WITH MR. STUART.
Mr. Stuart teaches Health. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. I haven’t had him yet, since you don’t have Health until sophomore year, but even I know that you should never go near Mr. Stuart’s desk, because if you do, he’ll reach out and rub your shoulders like he’s giving you a massage, but everybody says he’s really just trying to see whether or not you’re wearing a bra.
If my mom ever went out with Mr. Stuart, I would move to Afghanistan.
FTLOUIE:HA HA HA. WHY’D YOU WANT TO KNOW WHETHER OR NOT I’M FLUNKING ALGEBRA?
CRACKING:OH, BECAUSE I’M DONE WITH THIS MONTH’S ISSUE OF CRACKHEAD, AND I THOUGHT IF YOU WANTED, I COULD TUTOR YOU DURING G & T. IF YOU WANTED.
Michael Moscovitz, offering to do something for me? I couldn’t believe it. I nearly fell off my computer chair.
FTLOUIE:WOW, THAT WOULD BE GREAT! THANKS!
CRACKING:DON’T MENTION IT. HANG IN THERE, THERMOPOLIS.
Then he signed off.
Can you believe it? Wasn’t that nice? I wonder what’s got into him.
I should definitely fight with Lilly more often.
Even Later on Sunday
Just when I thought things might be looking very slightly up, my dad called. He said he was sending Lars over to pick me up so me and him and Grandmère could have dinner together at the Plaza.
Notice the invitation didn’t include Mom.
But I guess that’s okay, since Mom didn’t want to go anyway. When I told her I was going she got really cheerful, in fact.
"Oh, that’s okay," she said. "I’ll just stay here and order in some Thai food and watchSixty Minutes."
She’s been really cheerful ever since she got back from Central Park. She says she and Mr. G went on one of those dorky carriage rides. I was shocked. Those carriage drivers don’t take care of their horses at all. There’s always some ancient carriage horse keeling over from lack of water. I had always vowed never to ride in one of those carriages. At least not until they start giving those horses some rights, and I always thought my mom agreed with me.
Love can do strange things to people.
The Plaza wasn’t that bad this time. I guess I’m getting used to it. The doormen know who I am now—or at least they know who Lars is—so they don’t give me a hard time anymore. Grandmère and my dad were both in kind of bad moods. I don’t know why. I guess they’re not getting paid to spend time with each other, like I kind of am.