Thursday, September 23, 7 a.m., the loft
Inbox: 2!
The first one was from Michael. My heart started beating super fast when I saw it.
But I must be getting a little better, because my palms didn’t get sweaty this time.
Could therapy be working? Or am I just completely dehydrated from all that crying last night?
I couldn’t help wondering, like always, if maybe he’d finally changed his mind, and decided he wanted to get back together after all….
If he did, would I go for it? Would I really stoop that low and take him back, after everything I’d been through in the past few weeks?
Yeah. I would.
But I was crushed (again) to see it was just a link to theNew York Post ’s story covering the AEHS explosion yesterday, with a note that said:
So I guess Kenny finally figured out how to get the attention he’s always felt he deserved….
Then there was a wink face, and then Michael’s signature.
So. I guess he’s not upset about all the stuff about me and J.P. after all.
Not that he would be. Since we’re just friends and all.
Sigh.
The second e-mail was from J.P. in response to mine. I have to admit, my heart didn’t speed up AT ALL when I saw it.
JPRA4: Dear Mia,
You take all the time you need to get your head straightened out (although I have to admit your head’s always seemed perfect to me). I’ll wait.
Love,
J.P.
So. That’s nice.
I guess.
Thursday, September 23, Homeroom
I know I’m not supposed to be writing in my journal at school, but this is just homeroom, and not a real class, anyway, so they can’t bust me.
And this isn’t my journal, which is at home, but my Precalculus notebook.
And besides, I HAVE to write this down, because I just saw the most random thing. And I’m sure Dr. Knutz would want me to write it down for my own SANITY just to process it:
When the limo pulled up to let me off at school—in a special cordoned-off area, because there are still so many reporters and news vans outside the school, trying to get interviews with students and faculty about the “mad bomber”—I got out and looked around for Lars, who turned out to be standing right next to me but I totally spaced noticing him because I’m so dazed from lack of sleep.
Anyway, that’s how I happened to see, under the scaffolding from where they’re replacing the mortar on one of the brick buildings across the street, this tall guy in a black leather jacket and faded jeans and dark sunglasses with a red bandanna around his head staring intently at the school.
And at first I was like,What is Ryan from The OCdoing across the street from our school? I thought that show got canceled….
And then the totally weird thing happened: A girl in an AEHS uniform walked up to the guy, and tugged on his sleeve…
…and he turned around and put his arms around her and the two of them started kissing passionately.
And I realized the girl was Lilly Moscovitz, and the hottie in the leather jacket was KENNY SHOWALTER!!!!
YES!!! The suspended juvenile delinquent who caused all of this trauma in the first place!!! Showing up at school to kiss his girlfriend before classes start!!!!
All of which, of course, begs the question:
When did Kenny Showalter get hot????
And also…
WHY WON’T LILLY TALK TO ME????
Because I am totally DYING to ask her how this whole Kenny thing came about in the first place. And also how the student council is going. And if Kenny has shown her his Final Fantasy action figure collection he first started assembling when he and I were going out. And if she’s behind ihatemiathermopolis.com, and if so, what I ever did to make her hate me so much.
Also if Michael ever asks about me.
But I can’t. Because she wouldn’t tell me anyway.
Thursday, September 23, English
Mia! How ARE you?
I’m fine, Tina! I mean, I’m a little stiff from being knocked to the ground yesterday. But my butt only hurts if I sit on it a certain way.
That’s good! But I meant…how are you EMOTIONALLY? You know…about ihhatemiathermopolis.com. And also J.P., and what he told you.
Oh! That! Yeah. No big deal. Us celebs have to get used to being cyberhated. And about the J.P. thing, I guess I’m okay. J.P. said he’s willing to wait, you know, until I’m ready. To date again. So. That’s good.
He’s so sweet! And it’s so romantic, how he SAVED you, the woman who unleashed his inner passion volcano. And did you see how hot he looked in that picture in theNew York Post this morning, with him on the back of that ambulance looking at you sitting on the back of that other ambulance? Now the whole city wants you to date him!
I know. No pressure.
You know I’m kidding!
I know, Tina. But that’s the thing: It’s really true. The problem is…I just don’t know ifI want to.
Well, whatever you decide, I’ll always love you. You know that, right?
Thanks, T. I just wish everyone were as sweet as you.
Thursday, September 23, G & T
Lunch was excruciating today. Everyone was coming up and congratulating J.P. for saving me.
Not that I don’t think J.P. deserves everybody’s praise and thanks.
It’s just that…that thing Tina said? It’s really true. It’s like everyone in the world is rooting for J.P. and me to go out—not including everyone who already thinks we ARE going out.
And I feel totally bad for resenting it, because J.P. really is a great guy, and we totally SHOULD be dating.
It’s just—how come everybody wasn’t this gung-ho aboutMichael and me going out? I mean, sure, Michael never saved me from exploding nitrostarch.
But he saved my sanity PLENTY of times.
And it’s not like he’s over there in Japan learning how to draw MANGAS or something like that. He’s over there building something that’s going to save people’slives.
Jeesh.
Thursday, September 23, PE
Oh my God. I KNEW it was going to happen. I knew there was going to be a price to pay for being chummy with Lana Weinberger:
She’s making me cut class with her.
And, okay, the only class I’m missing is PE, which isn’t exactly integral to my academic career.
But still! I’m so not a class-ditching type of girl!
Well, I mean, I’ve ditched…but usually only to sit in the third-floor stairwell to talk someone—generally MYSELF—through an emotional trauma…not to go to Starbucks.
But Lana and Trisha were waiting for me in the girls’ locker room when I got there today. They grabbed me and hustled me—right past Lars, who’d been leaning against the wall by the water fountain playing Fantasy Football on his cell phone—out of school and down the street. (Lars finally caught up around Seventy-seventh Street.) Lana said she really, really needed a nonfat mocha latte, and that she can’t possibly sit through Spanish (the class she has this period) anyway, because it’s right beneath the Chem lab, and that whole side of the school still reeks of smoke.
“Besides,” Lana said, “with all the reporters standing around outside, trying to get interviews with Principal Gupta about Beaker, it’s not like we’re going toobtenga cualquier trabajo a hecho , anyway.”
Which is no exaggeration. Our school is still the center of a media blitzkrieg, though the reporters are keeping off the school property, with the help of the NYPD, whom the school board apparently called in for crowd control.
However, we managed to get past them without my being recognized thanks to draping our blazers over our heads and running for it. Which was educational, in that it illustrated how it might feel to have to wear a burka.
“So,” Lana said, once we were all seated. “Everyone’s saying that J.P. guy saved your life. Are you two, like, going out?”
“No,” I said, feeling myself beginning to blush.
“Dude, why not?” Trisha ordered a nonfat no-whip caffè mocha and was blowing on it to cool it off. “Saving your life? That’s hot.”