Only I can’t. Because I don’t think I could bear to see that dead-eyed thing she does whenever she looks at me now.

Because I know that’s exactly how she’ll respond.

Friday, September 17, PE

I’m standing here, shaking.

Standing and not sitting because I’m in one of the ball-fields on the Great Lawn in Central Park. I guess I’m playing left outfield, or something, but it’s hard to tell with all the yelling.Get the ball! Get the ball!

As if.You get the ball, loser. Can’t you see I’m busy writing in my journal?

I totally should have made Dr. Fung give me a note to get me out of gym class. WHAT WAS I THINKING?

Because it’s not just thisGet the ball thing. I had to DISROBE in front of everybody. Which meant I had to lift up my sweater, and everyone saw the SAFETY PIN holding my skirt together.

I went, “Ha, ha, lost a button.”

But that explanation didn’t work for why, when I put on my gym shorts, they were SKIN TIGHT and gave me total camel toe. Thank God my gym tee was always a little too big to begin with. Now it fits just right.

As if all of that weren’t bad enough, somehow LANA WEINBERGER ended up being in the locker room when I was changing.

I don’t know what she was doing there since she doesn’t even have PE this period. I guess she didn’t like the way her hair was curling, or something, because she was giving herself another blow-out. Eva Braun, aka Trisha Hayes, was standing right next to her, filing her nails.

And, of course, even though I ducked my head instinctively as soon as I saw them, hoping they wouldn’t notice me, it was too late. Lana must have spied my reflection in the mirror she was gazing into, or something, because next thing I know, she’d switched the hair dryer off and was going, “Oh, there you are. Where haveyou been all week?”

LIKE SHE’D BEEN LOOKING FOR ME!

See, this is EXACTLY why I didn’t want to go back to school. I can’t deal with stuff like this on TOP of all the other stuff that’s going on. Seriously, my head is going to explode.

“Um,” I said. “Bronchitis.”

“Oh,” Lana said. “Well, about that letter you got from my mother—”

I closed my eyes. I actually CLOSED MY EYES because I knew what was coming next—or thought I did, anyway—and I didn’t think I was emotionally capable of dealing with it.

“Yes,” I said. And inside, I was thinking,Just say it. Whatever mean, bitter, humiliating thing you’re going to say, just say it, so I can get out of here. Please. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

“Thanks for saying yes,” was the completely astonishing thing Lana said, instead. “Because Angelina Jolie was supposed to do it, but she totally dropped out to play Mother Teresa in some new movie. Mom was driving me crazy, she was so frantic to find a replacement. So I suggested you. You gave that speech last year, you know, when we were both running for student council president. And it was kind of good. So I figured you’d be a decent sub for Angelina. So. Thanks.”

I’m not positive—we’ll have to check with seismologists worldwide—but I truly think at that moment, hell actually froze over.

Because Lana Weinberger said something nice to me.

That, of course, isn’t the part that makes me wish I’d gotten a note from Dr. Fung excusing me from PE today, however.

This next part is.

I was so astonished that Lana Weinberger was acting like a human being, that I couldn’t reply right away. I just stood there staring at her. Which unfortunately gave Trisha Hayes a chance to notice the safety pin holding my skirt closed.

And she’s way too savvy to believe the lost button excuse.

“Dude,” Trisha said. “You, like, totally need a new skirt.” Then her gaze flicked up toward my chest. “And a bigger bra.”

I could feel myself turning bright, bright red. It’s a good thing I have an appointment with a therapist after school today. Because we’re going to have SO much to talk about.

“I know,” I said. “I, um, need to go shopping.”

Which is when the next totally astounding thing happened. Lana turned back toward her reflection and, running her fingers through her now stick-straight hair, said, “We’re going to the lingerie trunk show at Bendel’s tomorrow. Wanna come with?”

“Dude, are you—”Insane was clearly what Trisha was going to ask.

But I saw Lana cut her a warning glance in the mirror, and just like Admiral Piett when he realized he’d let theMillennium Falcon get away right in front of Darth Vader, Trisha shut her mouth…though she looked scared.

I just stood there, not sure if any of this was really happening, or if it was a symptom of my depression. Maybe I have some form of depression where you hallucinate invitations to lingerie trunk shows at Bendel’s from cheerleaders who’ve always hated you. You never know.

When I didn’t reply right away, Lana turned around to face me. For once, she didn’t look snobby. She just looked…normal.

“Look,” she said. “I know you and I haven’t always gotten along, Mia. That thing with Josh…well, whatever. He was such a jerk sometimes. Plus, some of your friends are really…I mean, that Lilly girl—”

“Say no more,” I said, raising a hand. I wasn’t just saying it, either. Because I really meant it. I really didn’t want Lana to say anything more about Lilly. Who, it’s true, has been treating me like dirt lately.

But maybe I deserve to be treated like dirt.

“Yeah, well,” Lana went on. “I saw you weren’t sitting with her at lunch today.”

“We’re having,” I said stiffly, “a time-out.”

“Well, whatever,” Lana said. “You’re really bailing my mom out of a jam. And if you’re going to be in Domina Rei someday, like I will—with any luck—then I think we ought to let bygones be bygones. I mean, we’re hopefully a little more mature than we used to be, and can be grown-up about this. Don’t you think?”

I was so shocked I just nodded.

Instead of pointing out that it isn’t so much that Lana and I haven’t gotten along as that she’s been totally mean to some of my friends.

Instead of going, “For your information, I wouldn’t be in Domina Rei if you paid me.”

Instead of doing either of those things, I just stood there and nodded.

Because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. That’s how completely astonished I was by what was going on.

Or how crazy depressed I am about everything.

“Cool,” Lana said. “So tomorrow morning, ten o’clock, at Bendel’s. We’ll do lunch somewhere after. If you want. Come on, Trish. We gotta get to class.”

And, just like that, the two of them walked out……at almost the exact same time that Mrs. Potts came in and blew her whistle and told us to get in line to go to the park.

I did what I was told without even thinking about it. That’s how much of a daze I was in from what had just happened. A part of me was going,It’s a trick. It has to be. I’m going to get to Bendel’s, and instead of Lana, Carrot Top is going to be there, along with all these paparazzi who’ll take pictures of me and Carrot Top together, and the headline in all the Sunday papers will be, “Meet the New Future Royal Consort of Genovia…Carrot Top!”

But the rational part of me—I guess, even as sunk into depression as I am, there’s still a rational side of me—was going,OBVIOUSLY Lana was being sincere. That thing she said about Josh—I mean, basically, what happened between you and Josh and Lana is no different than what’s happening now between you and J.P. and Lilly. Even though you and J.P. arejust friends, Lilly still THINKS you stole him, same as Lana thought about Josh. The only difference really was that you were actually crushing on Josh. No wonder Lana was mad. No wonder LILLY is mad. God, Mia. You dosuck.

So maybe it’s not a trick after all. Maybe Lana really does want to hang out with me.

The question is…do I really want to hang out with her?

Oh, crud. Here comes Mrs. Potts. She doesn’t look too happy about the fact that I’ve brought my journal out to left field with me.

But is it my fault no one will throw the ball to me?

Friday, September 17, Chemistry

Oh, God.

As far as I can tell, utter bedlam has overtaken this class since I’ve been gone. We’ve broken off into individual group experiments of our choice. The one Kenny and J.P. have chosen in my absence appears to be something called nitro starch synthesis, which, they inform me, is actually “a mixture of several nitrate esters of starch with the formula [C6H7(OH)x(ONO2)y]n wherex +y=3 andn is any whole number from 1 on up.”

I have no idea what any of that means. I just put on my goggles and my lab coat, and am sitting here holding stuff out to them when they ask for it.

When I can actually identify what it is that they want, anyway.

I think I’m still in shock from the whole Lana incident. I have to figure out how I’m going to get out of going to the lingerie trunk show at Bendel’s with Lana Weinberger tomorrow.

True, I totally do need new bras. But how can I hang out withLana ? I mean, even if shedid apologize. She’s still…Lana. What do we even have in common? She likes partying. I like lying in bed in my Hello Kitty flannel pajamas watchingWhy I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy.

Which reminds me. I can’t go shopping at Bendel’s tomorrow. There’s no school tomorrow, which means I can spend the whole day in bed. YES!!! I love my bed. It’s safe in there. No one can get me there.

Except that Mr. G took my TV away.

Oh, well. I can always readJane Eyre again. I mean, there’s that whole part in it where Jane and Mr. Rochester get separated because of the whole Bertha thing, and then she hears his disembodied voice floating over the moor…. Maybe I’ll hear Michael’s disembodied voice floating over the Hudson, and know that deep down he still loves me and wants me back, and then I can fly to Japan and—