So, Tina came up to me in the penguin house and was like, “Mia, I’m so glad I found you, we have to talk.”
And I was all, “Tina, what’s wrong? Did you hate my book, or something?”
Because, I have to admit, I mean, I know my book isn’t the greatest or anything—if it were, I’m sure someone would have wanted to publish it by now.
But I didn’t think it could be SO bad that Tina would have to meet me in the Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit at the Central Park Zoo to tell me in person.
Plus, she looked kind of pale underneath her kohl and lipstick. But it could have been the blue glow from t
he penguin tank.
But then she grabbed my arm and was like, “Oh my God, Mia, no! I loved your book! It was so cute! And it had beer in it! I thought that was so funny, because of your bad experience with beer, remember, in tenth grade, when you tried to be a party princess, and you drank that beer and did the sexy dance with J.P. in front of Michael?”
I glared at her. “I thought we agreed we were never going to speak of the sexy dance again.”
She bit her lip. “Oops. Sorry,” she said. “But it’s just so cute. I mean, that you wrote about beer! I love that! No, when I said I needed to talk to you about your book, what I meant was—”
And she gave Lars this total look, like—GO AWAY!
And he got the message and went over to join Wahim, Tina’s bodyguard, looking at the cute penguins swimming around, both of them keeping an eye on the two of us, but out of earshot.
And the whole time, I was like, in my head, Okay, I wrote about beer, I mean, there’s beer in my book, does Tina think I’m an alcoholic? Is she here to perform an intervention on me? I’ve totally seen that show Intervention on TV, is that what’s happening right now?
And I was looking around for the camera crew, wondering how I was going to get out of going to rehab, because, seriously, I don’t even like beer—
Then Tina turned to me and asked me the question that still has me shaking to my very core. I mean, she was smiling as she asked it, and her eyes were shining, but she looked super serious, too.
And as I’m writing this, I still can’t believe it. I mean—TINA! TINA HAKIM BABA! Of all people.
I’m not judging. I just never, ever expected it.
Or suspected it.
It’s just…TINA!
Anyway, she turned to me and said, “Mia, I just had to ask—I mean, I was reading your book, and—don’t get me wrong, I like it—but…I started wondering—and I know it’s none of my business, but—have you and J.P. had sex?”
I could only stare at her. This was so far from anything I’d been expecting her to say—especially in the Edge of the Icepack penguin exhibit, with our bodyguards a few yards away, and all the little kids around, going, “Look, Mommy! Happy Feet!”—that for a few seconds I think I was simply too shocked to speak.
“It’s just,” Tina went on quickly, seeing that I had been rendered mute, “the sex scenes in your book seem kind of realistic, and I just couldn’t help thinking that maybe you and J.P. have. Had sex, I mean. And if you have, I want you to know, I’m not judging you or anything for not waiting until prom night, like we agreed. I totally understand. In fact, I more than understand, Mia. The truth is, I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time that Boris and I…well, we already had sex, too.”
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“The first time was last summer,” she went on, after I just stared at her in total silence, doing my Rob Lowe in The Stand imitation again. “At the house my parents rented in Martha’s Vineyard? You remember, Boris came out for two weeks to visit? Well, that’s when it first happened. I tried to wait, Mia. I really did. But seeing him every day in his swimsuit—it was just too much to resist. I finally just…well, we did it. After my parents went to sleep. And we’ve been doing it pretty regularly ever since, whenever Mr. and Mrs. Pelkowski aren’t home.”
I think my eyes must have looked like they were about to roll out of my sockets because Tina reached over to shake my arm.
“Mia?” she asked, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”
“You?” I finally managed to choke out. “And Boris?” I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up or pass out. Or both.
It wasn’t so much the fact that Tina—TINA!—of all people had given up on her dream of losing her virginity on prom night.
It was that she’d just said the sight of Boris in a swimsuit had been too much for her to resist. I’m sorry but…
While it’s true that Boris had undergone an incredible transformation from nottie to hottie in recent years—and actually has annoying violin groupies who worship him and follow him around begging him to sign his headshot whenever he appears in recital halls—I just couldn’t—CANNOT—see him in that way.
Maybe if I had never known him back when he’d worn a bionater and been such a scrawny sweater tucker-inner—and dated Lilly—I could see it.