Meg Cabot - Every Boy’s Got One

Oooooh, I have an idea. If his email is the same as everyone else’s who works at the Journal ….

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

It’s me. What you said back there in the parking lot—about how you’re going to do whatever it takes to make sure Mark doesn’t make the biggest mistake of his life—that’s pretty presumptuous of you, don’t you think?

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Ms. Harris. What a surprise. You’re emailing me.

From the backseat.

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Oh, please. Like you and Mark weren’t doing the same in the cab yesterday.

I realize you and Mark are friends—good friends, since childhood, just like Holly and I are.

But you haven’t seen him in a long time. How do you even know what’s good for him anymore? And you certainly don’t know Holly well enough to make any kind of judgment about her. How can you presume that you know what’s best for either of them when the truth is, you hardly know them at all?

J

___________________________________________

To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

You are certainly entitled to your opinion. Just as I am entitled to mine.

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

You’re not entitled to your opinion at ALL. Because it’s WRONG. You have absolutely no factual basis for it. You can’t know Mark is making “the biggest mistake of his life” by marrying Holly because you hardly know Holly. You’re basing your opinion on your own personal biases against love and marriage. And that has nothing to do with Mark OR Holly. That was just your own stupidity.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Now who’s stating an opinion for which she has no factual basis?

Cal

___________________________________________

To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Um, hello, any MORON can tell you that marrying a model you’ve known for a month is stupid. I’m sorry, but it’s true.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Has anyone ever told you, Ms. Harris, that your tactlessness is astounding?

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

ME??? I’m not the tactless one, Mr. There’s No Such Thing as Romantic Love. Holly and Mark are in their thirties, not their twenties, and they’ve lived together for over two years. They are NOT making the same mistake you did. They are consenting adults—neither working in the modeling industry—who are in love. End of story.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Perhaps we should discuss this face-to-face. My persuasive powers are at a disadvantage on handheld portable devices.

Cal

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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

No way! I don’t want Holly getting wind of the fact that you aren’t one hundred percent behind this wedding thing. She’s freaking out enough about her family not being behind the idea. If she finds out the best man’s against it too, she’ll die.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

I meant sometime when Holly and Mark were not with us.

Cal

___________________________________________

To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

Well, I don’t see when that’s going to happen.

J

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To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Fr: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

You don’t anticipate that, during the next seven days we will be spending together, there will be a time when we will be alone together?

Cal

___________________________________________

To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>

Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>

Re: Holly and Mark

God, I hope not. I mean, no, I don’t. Let’s just keep this conversation on paper. Or email. Or whatever. I don’t want Holly getting wind of it. I—

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Travel Diary of Holly Caputo and Mark Levine

Jane Harris

Well, THAT was totally humiliating. Holly’s cell phone went off right when I was about to rewrite that last message to Cal, and I accidentally pushed Send.

Then Holly asked me to answer her cell phone, since she was concentrating on driving, and her purse was in the back-seat anyway with me and Mark (Cal, of course, got the front seat, since he’s so TALL) and the phone was ringing.

And so I answered it, and this weird old lady was all, “Hellooo? Hellooo-ooo?” and I was all, “Holly Caputo’s line,” and the old lady was like, “Vat? Vat?” with this German accent, and I was like, “Holly, there’s a German lady on the line.”

And Holly went, “Oh, that’s Frau Schumacher, my uncle’s housekeeper. She’s meeting us at the exit to take us to the house since I haven’t been there since I was little and I don’t remember the way, and she says it’s too hard to explain. Tell her we’re on our way.”

So I went, “Oh. OK. Hello, Frau Schumacher?”

And Frau Schumacher was all, “Helloooo, Holly?”

“No, this is Holly’s friend, Jane,” I said. “Holly can’t talk now because she’s driving. But she said to tell you we’re on our way.”

“Vere are you?” Frau Schumacher wanted to know.

So, to be helpful, I looked out the car window, and saw one of those green-and-white signs that let you know the name of the next city that’s coming up.

“We’re just outside Carabinieri,” I said.

Which made Cal start laughing VERY VERY hard. Even though to my knowledge, I hadn’t said anything funny.

“Vat?” Frau Schumacher sounded confused. But it was hard to tell with all the LAUGHING in the car.

“Vere are you?”

“We just passed Carabinieri,” I said into the phone. Now Holly was laughing, too. I leaned forward and swatted her, while Mark asked, confusedly, “What’s so funny?”

“Jane,” Holly choked, between chortles. “Carabinieri isn’t the name of a town . It means police. We drove by a police station just then.”

Really, I don’t see what’s so funny about that. I mean, how am I supposed to know what carabinieri means? I’ve only just gotten down si—yes—andgrazie —thank you. I’m still trying to keepbuon giorno — good day—andbuona sera —good night—straight… not to mention Non ho votato per lui (I didn’t vote for him) in the event of any rampant anti-Americanism that might rear its ugly head.

“Vere are the carabinieri?” Frau Shumacher wanted to know, sounding panicky. “Zey are following you?”

“No, no,” I said, into the phone. “Sorry. No, I made a mistake.”

“Zey zink zey own the roads, the carabinieri!” Frau Schumacher shouted. “In Germany, the polizia, zey know zeir place!”

“No, no carabinieri,” I said. “There isn’t any carabinieri… I made a mistake…”

“Give me that.” Suddenly, the Modelizer was leaning over, trying to snatch the phone from me.

“I’ve GOT it,” I said, outraged, and yanking the phone out of his reach.

“You guys,” Holly yelled, jerking the wheel.

“I told you you don’t know how to drive a stick,” Mark said, as Holly’s suitcase landed on him.

Then, because of the knowing look Cal threw me—as if, just because Mark was criticizing Holly’s driving, they weren’t destined for each other—I tossed the phone at him.