Dinner wasso boring. Grandmère went on and on about which fork to use with what and why. There were all these courses, and most of them were meat. One was fish, though, so I ate that, plus dessert, which was a big fancy tower of chocolate. Grandmère tried to tell me that when I am representing Genovia at state functions I have to eat whatever is put down in front of me or I will insult my hosts and possibly create an international incident. But I told her I would have my staff explain to my hosts ahead of time that I don’t eat meat, so not to serve me any.
Grandmère looked kind of mad. I guess it never occurred to her that I might have watched that made-for-TV movie about Princess Diana. I know all about how to get out of eating stuff at state dinners, and also about barfing up what you did eat afterwards (only I would never do that).
All through dinner, Dad kept asking me these weird questions about Mom. Like was I uncomfortable about her relationship with Mr. Gianini, and did I want him to say something to her. I think he was trying to get me to tell him whether or not I thought it was serious between the two of them—Mr. G and my mom, I mean.
Well, I know it’s pretty serious if he’s spending the night. My mom only lets guys she really, really likes spend the night. So far, including Mr. G, that’s only been three guys in the past fourteen years: Wolfgang, who turned out to be gay; this guy Tim, who turned out to be a Republican; and now my Algebra teacher. That’s not so many, really. It’s only like one guy every four years.
Or something like that.
But of course I couldn’t tell my dad that Mr. G had spent the night, or I know he’d have had an embolism. He is such a chauvinist—he has girlfriends stay over at Miragnac every summer, sometimes a new one every two weeks!—but he expects Mom to stay pure as the driven snow.
If Lilly were still speaking to me, I know she’d say men are such hypocrites.
A part of me wanted to tell my dad about Mr. G, just so he’d stop being so smug. But I didn’t want to give my grandmother any more ammunition against my mom—Grandmère says my mom is "flighty"—so I just pretended like I didn’t know anything about it.
Grandmère says we’re going to work on my vocabulary tomorrow. She says my French is atrocious but my English is even worse. She says if she ever hears me say "Whatever"again, she’s going to wash my mouth out with soap.
I said, "Whatever, Grandmère," and she shot me this way dirty look. I wasn’t trying to be smart-alecky, though. I really forgot.
To date, I’ve made $200 for Greenpeace. I’m probably going to go down in history as the girl who saved all the whales.
When I got home, I noticed there weretwo empty containers of pad Thai in the trash. Alsotwo sets of plastic chopsticks andtwo bottles of Heineken in the recycling bin. I asked my mom if she’d had Mr. G over for dinner—my God, she’d spent the whole day with him already!—and she said, "Oh, no, honey. I was just really hungry."
That’s two lies she’s told me in one day. This thing with Mr. G must be pretty serious.
Lilly still hasn’t called. I’m starting to think maybeI should callher. But what would I say?I didn’t do anything. I mean, I know I told her to shut up, but that was only because she told me I was turning into Lana Weinberger. I had every right to tell her to shut up.
Or did I? Maybe nobody has a right to tell anybody to shut up. Maybe this is how wars get started, because someone tells someone else to shut up, and then no one will apologize.
If this keeps up, who am I going to eat lunch with tomorrow?
Monday, October 13, Algebra
When Lars pulled up in front of Lilly’s building to pick her up for school, her doorman said she’d already left. Talk about holding a grudge.
This is the longest fight we’ve ever had.
When I walked into school, the first thing somebody did was shove a petition in my face.
Boycott Ho’s Deli!
Sign below and take a stand against racism!
I said I wouldn’t sign it, and Boris, who was the person holding it, told me I was ungrateful, and that in the country he came from voices raised in protest had been crushed for years by the government, and that I should feel lucky I lived in a place where I could sign a petition and not live in fear that the secret police would come after me.
I told Boris that in America we don’t tuck our sweaters into our pants.
One thing you have to say for Lilly: She acts fast. The whole school is plastered with Boycott Ho’s Deli posters.
The other thing you have to say about Lilly: When she’s mad, she stays mad. She is totally not speaking to me.
I wish Mr. G would get off my case. Whocares about integers, anyway?
Operations on Real Numbers: negatives or opposites—numbers on opposite sides of the zero but the same distance from zero on the number line are called negatives or opposites
What to Do During Algebra
O what to do during Algebra! The possibilities are limitless: There’s drawing, and yawning, and portable chess. There’s dozing, and dreaming, and feeling confused. There’s humming, and strumming, and looking bemused. You can stare at the clock. You can hum a little song. I’ve tried just about everything to pass the time along.
BUT NOTHING WORKS!!!!!
Later on Monday, French
So even if Lilly and I weren’t in a fight, I wouldn’t have been able to sit with her at lunch today. She’s become the queen of the cause célèbre. All these people were clustered around the table where she and I and Shameeka and Ling Su normally eat our dumplings from Big Wong.Boris Pelkowski was sitting where I usually sit.