Either that, or I didn’t look like much of a threat. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a graduating senior.
With a bodyguard in tow.
Maybe someday I’ll write a book about this. A senior girl, experiencing conflicting emotions as she cleans out her locker, saying good-bye to the place of higher education she’s known so long…her love/hate relationship with it…She wants to leave it, and yet…she’s afraid to leave it, to spread her wings and start anew somewhere else. She hates the long, gray, smelly hallways, and yet…she loves them, too. I mean, in a way.
Einstein Lions, we’re for you
Come on, be bold, come on, be bold,
come on, be bold
Einstein Lions, we’re for you
Blue and gold, blue and gold,
blue and gold
Einstein Lions, we’re for you
We’ve got a team no one else can ever tame
Einstein Lions, we’re for you
Let’s win this game!
Good-bye, AEHS. You suck. I hate you.
And yet…somehow I’ll miss you, too.
Thursday, May 4, 6 p.m., the loft
Dear Ms. Delacroix,
Enclosed please find your manuscript, which we are sorry to say we do not believe is the right fit for us at this time. We wish you the best of luck placing it elsewhere.
Sincerely,
Heartland Romance Publications
I had to hide the above from J.P., who’s here right now. He came over after school today. It’s the first time in months he didn’t have play rehearsal or I didn’t have princess lessons or one of us didn’t have therapy.
So. He came over.
He’s out in the living room right now, talking to Mom and Mr. G about his movie deal. I’m “changing for Boris’s concert.”
But, obviously I’m not. I’m writing about what happened when he came over instead. Which is that I totally tried VERY VERY HARD to get my MHCs to respond to his. I did this by doing what Tina did, when she saw Boris in his swimsuit.
Yes. I jumped his bones.
Or I tried to, anyway. I just figured, if I could get J.P. to kiss me—reallykiss me, the way Michael used to, when we were having a heavy-duty make-out session in his dorm room—maybe everything would be all right. Maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about pretending I have a cold tomorrow when I have lunch with Michael. Maybe I won’t be so super attracted to him anymore.
But it didn’t work.
Not that J.P. pushed me away, or anything. He kissed me back, and stuff. He tried. He really did try.
But he kept stopping every thirty seconds or so to talk about his movie deal.
I’m not even joking.
Like about how “Sean” had asked him to write the screenplay. (I guess a screenplay isn’t the same as writing a play. J.P. has to rewrite the whole thing from scratch now, in a different computer program.)
And how J.P. is seriously considering moving out “to the Coast” so he can be there for the filming.
He’s even debating putting school off for a year so he can work on the movie. Because you can go to school any time.
But you can only be one of the hottest young screenwriters in Hollywood once.
Anyway, he asked me to come with him. Out to Hollywood.
This completely killed the mood. The making out mood, I mean.
I guess some girls would love it if their boyfriend, who’d written a play about them that was soon to become a major motion picture directed by Sean Penn, asked them to defer college for a year and move out to Hollywood with them.
But I, being the ultimate loser that I am, just blurted out, “Why would I dothat ?” before I could really stop myself. Mostly because I didn’t really have my mind in the conversation. I was thinking about…well, not Hollywood film deals.
Also because I’m a horrible person, for the most part.
“Well, because you love me,” J.P. was forced to remind me. We were lying on my bed, with Fat Louie glaring balefully at us from the windowsill. Fat Louie hates it when anyone but me lies on my bed. “And you want to support me.”
I flushed, feeling guilty for my outburst.
“No,” I said. “I mean, what wouldI do out in Hollywood?”
“Write,” J.P. said. “Maybe not romance novels, because frankly, I think you’re capable of much more important work—”
“You haven’t even read my book,” I reminded him, feeling hurt. We’d still never gotten to have our Stephen and Tabitha King editorial talk. And important work? Romance novels are important! To the people who like to read them, anyway.
“I know,” J.P. said, laughing. But not in a mean way. “And I’m going to, I swear, I’ve just been so swamped with the play and then finals and everything. You know how it is. And I’m sure it’s the best romance novel there is. I’m just saying, I think you could write something much weightier if you really put your mind to it. Something that could change the world.”
Weightier? What is he talking about? And haven’t I done enough for the world? I mean, I made Genovia a democracy. Well, not me personally, but I helped. And if you write something that cheers someone up when they’re feeling down, doesn’t that change the world?
And let me tell you something: I have seenA Prince Among Men now, and it is not going to change the world OR cheer anybody up. I don’t mean to sound like I’ve got sour grapes, but it’s the truth. It doesn’t even make you think except to make you think that the guy who wrote it must think pretty highly of himself.
Sorry. I didn’t mean that. That was uncalled for.
Anyway, I was like, “J.P., I don’t know. Moving to Hollywood with you isn’t something my mom or my dad is going to approve of. They both expect me to go to college.”
“Right,” J.P. said. “But taking a year off might not be such a bad idea. It’s not like you got in anywhere that great anyway.”
Ouch. See, that would have been a great opportunity for me to say, “Actually, J.P., I was kind of exaggerating when I said I didn’t get in anywhere….”
Only, of course, I didn’t. Instead, I just suggested we go into the living room and watchTrue Life: I’m Hooked on OxyContin , because I didn’t want to get in an argument.
Anyway, after watchingTrue Life , I learned something. Not just that I am never going to do drugs (obviously). But that writing is my drug. It’s the only thing I ever do that I really like.
I mean, besides kiss Michael. But I can’t do that anymore, obviously.
Thursday, May 4, 8 p.m., ladies’ room, Carnegie Hall
OH MY GOD!
I thought this concert was going to be really boring, but I was wrong.
Oh, not the music.That’s totally boring. I’ve heard it a million times coming out of the G&T supply closet (although I’ll admit, it’s kind of different to hear it coming from the center of the Carnegie Hall stage, especially seeing all these fancy people turned out in their best clothes, clutching CDs with Boris—BORIS—on the cover, all saying his name in excited voices. I mean, it’s just Boris Pelkowski. But these people seem to think he’s some kind of celebrity. Which, hello, HIGHlarious).
But the fact that everyone I know from AEHS is here, includingboth Moscovitz siblings—that’sexciting. I wasn’t expecting that.
And I know it’s wrong to be excited to see my ex-boyfriend when I’m out on a date with my current boyfriend.
However, that is not my fault. It’s MHC.
Our seats are rows and rows apart so there’s no chance of my being overpowered by eau de Michael. Unless somehow we bump into him later. Which I highly doubt is going to happen.
Anyway, Michael’s alone. He didn’t come with a date! Which may be because Micromini Midori is in Genovia.
Except that I can’t help wondering if he came solo because I said in my e-mail to him that I’d be coming.
But then I remembered what Boris said—about how the two of them are going to be living together this year. So I guess that’s why he’s here, actually. To support his friend.
Stupid me, getting my hopes up. AGAIN.
Anyway. I guess I should be getting back to my seat. I didn’t want to be rude and write while I was supposed to be looking like I was paying attention, but—
WAIT.
Oh, God.
I recognize those shoes.
Thursday, May 4, 8:30 p.m., ladies’ room, Carnegie Hall
I was right: Theywere her shoes.
I totally confronted her when she came out of her stall.
Well, confronted isn’t the right word. Iasked her about the commercial she made for my dad. Why she did it, I mean.
At first she tried to get out of it by saying it had been a birthday gift for me.
And it’s true, she had said, back in theAtom office when I turned in my story about Michael, that there was something she’d been going to give me for my birthday. And she’d said to give it to me, she’d need to come to my party. She just hadn’t said she was going to give it to meat my party. I’d assumed that part.
But…why now? Why a presentthis year? And such agreat present?
At first she looked really annoyed that I wouldn’t just let it go. Like she couldn’t believe she’d walked into the bathroom and there I was.
I guess it probablydoes seem like every single time she goes for a pee, there I am.
Well, it’s basically true. It’s like I have some kind of Lilly Moscovitz bladder radar.
And this time Kenneth wasn’t around to ask weird questions about whether or not I was still going out with J.P., and keep her from answering. For a second I thought she wouldn’t anyway.
But then she seemed to make a decision within herself. She sort of sighed and, looking a bit annoyed, went, “Fine. If you must know, Mia…my brother said I had to be nice to you.”
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