No one but Lilly and me, that is, when we’ve been upset about something in the past.
Lars is standing guard at the bottom of the stairs to keep anyone from coming up. He seems genuinely concerned about me. He went, “Princess, should I call your mother?”
I was like, “No, thanks, Lars.”
And then he was all, “Well, then, your father, maybe?”
And I was like, “NO!”
He looked kind of taken aback by my vehemence. But I was afraid he was going to ask if he should call Dr. Knutz next.
Thankfully, though, he just nodded and said, “All right, then. If you’re sure…”
Am I ever sure. I told him I just needed to be by myself for a little while. I said I’d be right back down…
But it’s been fifteen minutes, and I don’t feel like the tears are going to stop anytime soon. I just—how could shesay those things? After everything we’ve been through together? How could she WRITE those things on her site? How can she think I would ever do anything like what she accused me of? How could she ever be so…socruel ?
Oh, no. I hear footsteps. Lars is letting someone up! WHY, LARS, WHY???? I told you—
Friday, September 24, G & T
Oh, God. That was so…
Random.
Really. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it.
Which makes it no wonder Ms. Martinez despairs of my ever being a successful freelance writer or journalist.
But, seriously! How else can I put it? It was just…RANDOM.
And what was Lars THINKING? I told him to let NO ONE up. Except for Principal Gupta or a teacher, OBVIOUSLY.
So how did BORIS become exempt from that?
But sure enough, I heard footsteps on the stairs, and the next thing I knew, BORIS was there, all out of breath, like he’d been running.
At first I was worried he was going to tell me HE loves me, too (well, whatever, it’s amazing the things that start happening when you finally grow into a 36C).
But he just went, “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all over. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but it’s not true.”
“What’snot true, Boris?” I asked him, totally confused.
“What Lilly just said,” he said. “About Michael being sick of you. I can’t tell you how I know. But I do.”
I smiled at him. Even though I was still in total despair and everything, I couldn’t help it. Really, Tina is so lucky. She has the most fantastic boyfriend in the entire world.
Fortunately, she knows it.
“Thanks, Boris,” I said, trying to wipe away my tears with my sleeve so I didn’t look like quite as much of a lunatic as I was pretty sure I did. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”
“I’m not being sweet,” Boris insisted earnestly, still panting from all the running around he’d been doing, looking for me. “I’m telling the truth. And you should write him back.”
I blinked at him, more confused than ever. “W-what? Write who back?”
“Michael,” Boris said. “He’s been e-mailing you, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, stunned. “But how did you—”
“You should write him back,” Boris said. “I mean, just because you’re broken up doesn’t mean you can’t be friends anymore. Isn’t that what you both agreed? That you’d still be friends?”
“Yes,” I said, bewildered. “But, Boris, how do you know he’s been e-mailing me? Did…did Tina tell you?”
Boris hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. That’s right, Tina told me.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I can’t e-mail him back, Boris. I’m just…I’m not ready to be friends with him yet. It still hurts too much not to bemore than friends.”
“Well,” Boris said. “I can understand that, I guess. But…you should e-mail him back as soon as you feel ready. So he doesn’t think—you know. That you hate him. Or that you’ve forgotten about him. Or whatever.”
As if THAT’S ever going to happen.
I assured Boris I’d e-mail Michael when I felt emotionally capable of doing so without falling apart and begging him in eighteen-point type to take me back.
Then Boris did the nicest thing. He volunteered to walk me to class (once I’d pulled myself together and gotten rid of the evidence of my tears…smeared mascara, snot down my nose, etc.).
So the three of us—Boris, Lars, and I—all got to G and T at the same time (late).
But it didn’t matter, since neither Mrs. Hill nor Lilly is here.
I suppose Lilly’s skipping to meet Kenny somewhere. They’re like a regular Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain. Minus the heroin. All Lilly needs is to start smoking, though, and maybe get a tattoo or two, she’ll have completely perfected her tough girl image.
Boris asked me one last time if I was all right, and when I said I thought I was, he slipped into the supply closet and started practicing my favorite Chopin piece of his.
Which has to have been on purpose. He’s so thoughtful.
Tina really is a lucky girl.
I just hope someday I can be as lucky as she is.
Or maybe I’ve alreadyhad my luck where boys are concerned, and I completely squandered it.
God, I hope that’s not the case. Although if it is, all I can say is, it was good while it lasted.
Friday, September 24, Dr. Knutz’s waiting room
Lana and Trisha insisted on taking me out for what they like to call a Mani-Pedi Time-Out. They said I deserved it, after what Lilly did to me in the caf.
So instead of playing softball during sixth period, I got my toenails and what was left of my fingernails (I haven’t had new acrylic tips put on since I got back from Genovia this summer, and I’ve been biting what remains of my natural nails) painted I’m-Not-Really-a-Waitress red, a color Grandmère insists is totally inappropriate for young girls.
Which is precisely why I picked it.
But I have to admit, after we were done with our forty-five-minute manicure/pedicures, I didn’t feel much better. I know Lana and Trisha were trying.
But there’s just too much drama in my life right now for a simple hand and foot massage (and nail color application) to cure.
Oh. Dr. Knutz is ready to see me now.
I don’t think anyone, even Dr. Knutz, could EVER be ready for me and the disaster that is my life.
Friday, September 24, limo on the way to the Four Seasons
So I poured my heart out to Dr. Knutz, the cowboy therapist, and here is what he said:
“But Genovia already has a prime minister.”
I just looked at him. “No, it doesn’t,” I said.
“Yes, it does,” Dr. Knutz said. “I watched the movies of your life, like you told me to. And I distinctly remember—”
“The movies of my life got that part WRONG,” I said. “Among the many, many other parts they got wrong. They claimed artistic license, or something. They said they had to raise the stakes. As if the stakes in my REAL life aren’t high enough.”
So then Dr. Knutz said, “Oh. I see.” He thought about it for a minute. Then he said, “You know, all of this reminds me of a horse I have, back at the ranch….”
I nearly flung myself out of my chair at him.
“DO NOT TELL ME ABOUT DUSTY AGAIN!” I yelled. “I ALREADY KNOW ABOUT DUSTY!”
“This isn’t about Dusty,” Dr. Knutz said, looking startled. “It’s about Pancho.”
“How many horses do you have, anyway?” I demanded.
“Oh, a few dozen,” Dr. Knutz said. “But that’s not important. What’s important is, Pancho is a bit of a pushover. Anybody who takes him out of his stall and saddles him up, Pancho falls in love with. He’ll rub his head against them, just like a cat, and follow them around…even if they don’t treat him particularly nicely. Pancho is desperate for affection, wants everybody to like him—”
“Okay,” I interrupted. “I get it. Pancho has self-esteem issues. I do, too. But what does this have to do with the fact that my father is trying to keep Princess Amelie’s Bill of Rights from the Genovian people?”