Grandmère:
Pfuit. What is it REALLY, Mia? And make it snappy.
Me:
Oh, all RIGHT. It’s Michael. Remember that prom thing I told you about? Well, he doesn’t want to go.
Grandmère:
I knew it. He’s still in love with that housefly girl, isn’t he? He’s taking her, is he? Well, never mind. I have Prince William’s mobile phone number here some place. I’ll give him a ring, and he can take the Concorde over and take you to the little dance, if you want. That will show that unappreciative—
Me:
No, Grandmère. Michael doesn’t want to take someone else. He doesn’t want to go at all. He… he thinks the prom is lame.
Grandmère:
Oh… for… the… love… of… heaven. Not one of those.
Me:
Yes, Grandmère. I’m afraid so.
Grandmère:
Well, never mind. Your grandfather was the same way. Do you know that if I had left it up to him, we’d have been married in a clerk’s office, and gone to a coffee shop for lunch afterward? The man simply had no understanding of romance, let alone the public’s need for PAGEANTRY.
Me:
Yes. Well. That’s why I’m a little down today. Now, if you don’t mind, Grandmère, I really have to start on my homework. I have a story due to the paper in the morning, too….
I didn’t mention that it was a story about HER. Well, more or less. It was the story about the incident at Les Hautes Manger. According to The Sunday Times , the restaurant’s management was still refusing to hire Jangbu back. So Lilly’s march had been for nothing. Well, except that it had apparently gotten her a new boyfriend.
Grandmère:
Yes, yes, get to work. You have to keep your grades up, or your father will give me another one of his lectures for forcing you to concentrate too much on royal matters and not enough on trigonometry or whatever it is you seem to be having so much trouble with. And don’t worry too much about the situation with that boy. He’ll come around, same as your grandfather did. You just have to find the right incentive. Good-bye.
Incentive? What was Grandmère talking about? What kind of incentive would make Michael come around to the idea of going to the prom? I couldn’t think of a single thing that might make him get over this obviously deeply rooted prejudice he has against the prom.
Except possibly if the prom were a combo prom/Star Wars/Star Trek/Lord of the Rings/computer convention.
Sunday, May 4, 9 p.m., the loft
I know why Michael never called. Because he e-mailed me, instead. I just didn’t check my messages until I turned on my computer to type up my story for The Atom.
LINUXRULZ: Mia—Hope you didn’t get in too much trouble over the closet thing from last night. Mr. G is a cool guy, though. I can’t imagine he was too upset, after his initial blow-up.
Things have been pretty tense here, what with the whole Lilly/Boris breakup. I am trying to stay out of it, and I strongly recommend, for your sanity’s sake, you do the same. It’s their problem, NOT OURS. I know how you are, Mia, and I really mean it when I say you’re better off staying out of it. It’s not worth it.
I’ll be around all day if you want to give me a call. If you aren’t grounded or whatever, maybe we can get together for dim sum? Or if you want, I can come over later to help with your Algebra homework. Just let me know.
Love,
Michael
Well. Judging from the tone of THAT, I guess Michael isn’t feeling too bad about the whole prom thing. It’s almost as if he doesn’t KNOW he’s ripped out my heart and torn it into little pieces.
Which, considering the fact that I didn’t exactly tell him how I felt, might actually be true. That he doesn’t know, I mean.