But I APOLOGIZED to him. It’s only a matter of time (two hours) until he gets my e-mail and calls me (please, God) and we patch things up and he sends me back my snowflake necklace and we’re back together and everything’s fine again.
Unless he happens to check Google News and sees the giant article about me and J.P.
But why would hebelieve it? He never believed any of the lies the paparazzi was always reporting about me and James Franco. Why would he believe THIS one?
He wouldn’t. Hecan’t.
So what is Lilly’sproblem ?
Anyway. I am not going to freak out. It’s true that in the past, I would be hysterical over something like this. I’d be calling my dad and begging him to have our lawyers demand a retraction. I’d be trying to get to the bottom of who’d tipped the papers off—as if I didn’t know (Grandmère). I’d be frantically e-mailing Michael, hysterically explaining that none of it’s true.
But not now. I’m way too mature for all that. Also, I’m used to it.
And besides: I amway too freaked out as it is. How could I possibly freak out anymore ? I can barely hold on to my pen to write this, my hand is so drenched in sweat.
So…whatever. I’m going to allow Lilly a little cooling-off period. I’m sure when she’s having her party and everyone is there but me (I called Tina after I ran out and got the paper. I told her that of COURSE she has to go to Lilly’s party, even though she was going to boycott out of solidarity with me. But I actuallyneed her to go so I can find out what Lilly is saying about me. I swear, if Lilly’s bad-mouthing me, I will call the Federal Communications Commission and report the fact that she used the S word on last week’s episode ofLilly Tells It Like It Is , while she was describing the current state of affairs in Iraq), she’ll start missing me and invite me over.
And then I’ll go and we’ll hug it out and it will all be fine.
I’ll just sit here and do my Precalculus homework until then. Because God knows I didn’t pay much attention last week, so I have NO IDEA what’s going on in that class. Or any of my classes, really. The last thing I need, on top of everything else that’s going on, is to flunk out of high school.
And I think while I’m doing that, I’ll finish off the rest of the pork dumplings left over from Number One Noodle Son (this meat thing is unreal. Once you start eating it, you reallycan’t stop).
Because that’s how a mature person would handle the situation.
TWO HOURS TILL HE LANDS!!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Saturday, September 11, 10:15 a.m., the loft
So I just put my name in the Google News search engine to see how many stories there were about me, and what the likelihood of Michael seeing that piece about me and J.P. is and…
…there are 527 RSS articles about it.
And that’s not all.
I went to Google Blog Search to see if anyone was blogging about me, and there’s a new website up: www.ihatemiathermopolis.com.
There’s a list there of the top ten stupidest things about Mia Thermopolis. Number one is my hair.
Number ten is my name.
The stuff in between gets progressively worse.
I know I’m supposed to ignore my negative press. Grandmère told me if I react to it or acknowledge it in any way, I’m only feeding into it, and giving the haters MORE to write about.
But this. This is really…
Great. Just great. Like I don’t have ENOUGH to worry about.
Now somebody out there in the world hates me enough to point out for the whole world to read that with my new haircut, my ears resemble teapot handles.
Just what I need.
Saturday, September 11, 10:30 a.m., the loft
Dear Michael,
By now you’ve probably seen
Dear Michael,
Hi! I was just wondering if you’d seen
Dear Michael,
Whatever you do, don’t look at
Dear Founder of ihatemiathermopolis.com,
IF YOU HATE ME SO MUCH WHY DON’T YOU JUST TELL IT TO MY FACE, YOU COWARD????
Saturday, September 11, noon, the loft
Inbox: 0
My cell phone just rang. I was so certain it was Michael (his plane has landed by now) that I almost dropped it, my hands were so sweaty, plus shaking so badly (also they were so greasy from the chicken leg I found in the back of the fridge and was gnawing).
But it was only J.P. He wanted to know if I’d seen the paper.
“Yes, isn’t that funny?” I tried to sound all breezy. Which is hard to do with a leftover fried chicken leg in your mouth. “They think we’re in love. Ha ha.”
“Yeah,” J.P. said. “Ha ha.”
I’m lucky he’s such a good sport.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “It’s sort of a hazard of hanging out with me. I mean, that you’re going to end up in the paper.” I didn’t mention ihatemiathermopolis.com. I figured he’d find out soon enough about that.
“I don’t mind,” J.P. said, “being associated with a princess, the heir to a royal throne. And my parents are totally impressed. They think I’ve finally accomplished something.”
It was my turn to go, “Ha ha.” Although the truth is I was feeling kind of sick. Maybe on account of all the meat I’d consumed in the past hour and a half. Basically everything that was in the fridge. I seriously don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve gone from a vegetarian to practically a cannibal in less than a week.
Well, okay, not a cannibal. But whatever you call an excessive meat eater.
Except that I knew the truth. My sick feeling had nothing to do with all the meat I’d eaten, and everything to do with the fact that Michael’s plane had totally landed, and that he’d conceivably be checking his messages at any minute.
“Listen,” J.P. said. “I was wondering if you’d heard about Lilly’s party.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not invited. Obviously.”
“I figured,” J.P. said with a sigh. “I was hoping she’d gotten over that by now.”
“Well, seeing our pictures plastered all over the news together isn’t going to help the situation any,” I said.
“No,” J.P. said. “Maybe if we give her the weekend…”
“Maybe.” I hope so. But I don’t really think the weekend is going to do it.
“Want to get together and have a party of our own tonight?” J.P. asked. “You know, show them how it’s done?”
“Oh my gosh, that is so sweet of you,” I said. “But I think I’d better stay here. Because Michael’s plane has landed, so he should be checking his e-mail soon. And I really want to be here when he calls.”If he calls.
But he has to call.Right??????
“Oh.” J.P. sounded kind of taken aback. “Well, wouldn’t it be better if youweren’t there when he calls? So he realizes how sought-after and popular you are?”
I laughed. J.P. really does have a twisted sense of humor.
“Funny! But I think there’s a good chance he’s going to realize that when he sees the paper. If that photo of us makes it to Japan. Besides, I really do need to work on my Precalculus if I’m going to pass.”
“Well, if you need help, I’ll be happy to come over,” J.P. offered. “I’m a whiz at the summation of infinitesimal differences.”
Isn’t he the sweetest? Imagine, offering to give up his Saturday to help me with Precalculus!
“Aw,” I said. “That’s so nice. But I’m good. I have an actual Algebra instructor living here, who I can turn to if I start pulling out my hair in despair. I mean, what’s left of my hair.”
“Well,” J.P. said. “Okay. But if you change your mind…”
“I’ll know who to call,” I said. I was kind of trying to hurry him off the phone. Because Michael could have been calling at that very moment. Not that my cell wouldn’t have told me. But. You know.