What I said instead was, “I’m just here to support my friends.”

To which Grandmère merely replied, “Do not trifle with me, Amelia. I haven’t the time nor the patience. Get up here. Now.”

She said it in her most dowager-princessy voice—a voice I totally recognized. It was the same voice she uses right before she drags out some excruciatingly embarrassing story from my childhood to mortify me in front of everyone—like the time I accidentally smacked my chest into the sideview mirror of the limo while I was Rollerblading in the driveway of her château, Miragnac, and I noticed afterwards it was all swollen, and I showed my dad and he was like, “Um, Mia, I don’t think that’s swelling. I think you’re getting breasts,” and Grandmère told every single person she met for the rest of my stay that her granddaughter mistook her own breasts for contusions.

Which, if you think about it, isn’t THAT bad of a mistake to make, since they aren’t much bigger today than they were then.

I could totally see her, however, trotting out this story in front of everyone if I didn’t do what she told me to.

“Fine,” I said, from between gritted teeth, and got up to audition just as Grandmère called the name of the next guy she wanted to hear read.

A guy who just happened to be named John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth.

Who, when he stood up, turned out to be…

…The Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili.

Thursday, March 4, in the limo on the way home

She denies it, of course. Grandmère, I mean. About just wanting to put on this play—excuse me, MUSICAL—to butter up John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Third by casting his kid in the lead.

But what other explanation is there? Am I REALLY supposed to believe she’s just doing this to help me with my little financial problem, like she says, since people are supposedly going to pay admission to this little nightmare she’s created, and I can use all the money to restore the student government’s diminished coffers?

Yeah. Right.

I fully confronted her as soon as the auditions were over.

“How am I embarrassing you this time, Amelia?” she wanted to know, after everyone had left and it was just her and me and Lars and the rest of her staff—and Rommel and Señor Eduardo, of course. But both of them were asleep. It was hard to tell whose snores were louder.

“Because you’re going to give”—I almost called him The Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, but stopped myself just in time—“John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth the lead in your play just so his dad will feel like he owes you one and possibly drop his bid on the faux island of Genovia! I KNOW what you’re up to, Grandmère. I’m taking U.S. Economics this semester, I know all about scarcity and utility. Admit it!”

“Braid! is a musical, not a play,” is all Grandmère would say about that.

But she didn’t HAVE to say more. Her very silence is an admission of guilt! John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth is being used!

Granted, he doesn’t seem to know it. Or, if he does, he doesn’t exactly seem to mind. Strangely, away from the overuse of farinaceous grains in the AEHS cafeteria, the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili seems pretty happy-go-lucky. “J.P.”—as he asked Grandmère to call him—is almost menacingly large (not unlike the bodyguard, played by Adam No-Relation-to-Alec Baldwin, in the low-budget high school bully film, My Bodyguard) at six feet two, at least. His floppy brown hair looks less shaggy and much shinier when it’s not under the harsh glow of the cafeteria’s less-than-flattering lighting.

And up close, it turns out J.P. has surprisingly bright blue eyes.

I got to see them—J.P.’s eyes—up close because Grandmère made us do the scene where Rosagunde has just strangled Alboin and is freaking out about it, when Gustav comes bursting into the bedroom to rescue his lady love from a ravishing by her new husband, not realizing she’d:

a) already drunk the guy under the table so he couldn’t get it up to ravish her in the first place, and

b) killed him after he passed out from all the Genovian grappa he’d consumed.

But, oh well. Better late than never.

I have no idea why Grandmère made me go through that farce of an audition since it’s clear she’s going to cast J.P. as Gustav—just to appease his dad. Although, truthfully, J.P. was really good, both with the acting AND the singing (he did a totally hilarious rendition of “The Safety Dance” by Men Without Hats). And that she’ll cast Lilly as Rosagunde. I mean, Lilly was clearly the best out of all the girls (her version of Garbage’s “Bad Boyfriend” nearly brought the house down) and has the most experience with the whole performance thing, on account of her TV show, and all.

Plus she was really good at killing Alboin—which is only natural, since if there’s anyone at AEHS who I could see strangling someone with a braid, it’s Lilly. Oh, and maybe Amber Cheeseman.

But the whole time it was my turn to audition, Grandmère kept yelling, “Enunciate, Amelia!” and “Don’t turn your back to your audience, Amelia! Your behind is not as expressive as your face!” (Which caused no small amount of chortling from the side of the room my friends were sitting on.)

And she didn’t seem at ALL impressed by my version of “Barbie Girl” by Aqua (especially the chorus, “C’mon Barbie/Let’s go party,” which, if you think about it, is highly ironic considering my inability to do so. Party, I mean).

Really, what was THAT about? I mean, it’s not as if she’s going to cast me, so why all the yelling? I mean, what do I even know about acting? Apart from a brief stint as the mouse in The Lion and the Mouse in the fourth grade, I am not exactly what you’d call experienced in the dramatic arts.

It was a total relief when Grandmère finally let me sit down.

Then, on our way back to our seats, J.P. said, “Hey, that was fun, huh?” to me.

AND I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING BACK!!!!!!!!!!!

BECAUSE I WAS SO STUNNED!!!!!!!

Because to me, J.P. is the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. He’s not John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth. The Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili doesn’t have a NAME. He’s just… the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili. The guy I wrote a short story about. A short story that was rejected by Sixteen magazine. A short story I hope to expand into a novel someday.

A short story at the end of which the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili throws himself under the F train.

How can I talk to a guy I had throw himself under a train—even if it WAS only fiction?

Worse, on her way out after the auditions were over, Tina (Jessica Simpson’s “With You”) was all, “Hey, you know what? The Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili is kinda cute. I mean, when he’s not freaking out about corn.”

“Yeah,” Lilly agreed. “Now that you mention it, he kinda is.”

I waited for Lilly to add something like, “Too bad he’s such a freak,” or “It’s a shame about the corn thing.” But she didn’t. SHE DIDN’T.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My friends think the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili is cute!!!! A guy I KILLED in my short story!

And it’s all Grandmère’s fault. If she hadn’t got it into her head to buy a stupid faux island, it would never have occurred to her to write a musical—let alone put it on—for my school, and I never would have met the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, much less found out that his nickname is J.P. and that, contrary to the character in my short story about him, he is NOT an existential loner, but actually just a nice guy who has a pretty good singing voice, and who my friends think is cute (and they’re right, he is).

God, I hate her.

Well, okay, it’s wrong to hate people.

But I don’t love her, let’s put it that way. In fact, on the list of people I love, Grandmère isn’t even in the top five.

PEOPLE I LOVE, IN ORDER OF

HOW MUCH I LOVE THEM:

1. Fat Louie

2. Rocky

3. Michael

4. My mom

5. My dad

6. Lars

7. Lilly

8. Tina

9. Shameeka/Ling Su/Perin

10. Mr. G

11. Pavlov, Michael’s dog

12. The Drs. Moscovitz

13. Tina Hakim Baba’s little brother and sisters

14. Mrs. Holland, my government teacher last semester

15. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

16. Ronnie, our next-door neighbor

17. Boris Pelkowski

18. Principal Gupta

19. Rommel, Grandmère’s dog

20. Kevin Bacon

21,000. Ms. Martinez

22,000. The doorman at the Plaza who wouldn’t let me in that one time because I wasn’t dressed fancy enough

23,000. Trisha Hayes

24,000,000. Lana Weinberger

25,000,000,000. Grandmère

And I don’t even feel the least bit bad about it. She brought it on HERSELF.

Thursday, March 4, the loft

Guess what Mr. G made for dinner tonight?

Oh yes. Chili.

There wasn’t corn in it, but still.

Maybe I should throw MYSELF under an F train.

Thursday, March 4, the loft

I knew I’d be inundated with e-mails the minute I turned my computer on. And I was right.

From Lilly:

WOMYNRULE: Does your grandmother realize that the subject matter of her little play is practically rated PG-13? I mean, it contains attempted rape, excessive alcohol consumption, murder, violence—about the only thing it DOESN’T have in it is bad language, and that’s only because it takes place in the year 568. And could you believe how off-key Amber Cheeseman was? I totally blew her out of the water. If I don’t get the part of Rosagunde, it will be a travesty of justice. I was MADE to play this role.