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I tried to be casual, like it was no big deal. Which it isn’t, by the way. It wasn’t as if I’d had breast implants or something.
“Yeah,” I said, taking off my coat. “Well, my grandmother made me go see this guy Paolo, and he—”
But Lilly wouldn’t even let me finish. She was in this state of shock. She went, “Your hair is the same color as Lana Weinberger’s.”
“Well,” I said. “I know.”
“What’s on your fingers? Are those fake fingernails? Lana has those, too!” She stared at me all bug-eyed. “Oh my God, Mia. You’re turning into Lana Weinberger!”
Now, that kind of peeved me off. I mean, in the first place, I am not turning into Lana Weinberger. In the second place, even if I am, Lilly’s the one who’s always going on about how stupid people are for not seeing that it doesn’t matter what anybody looks like; what matters is what’s going on on the inside.
So I stood there in the Moscovitzes’ foyer, which is made out of black marble, with Pavlov jumping up and down against my legs because he was so excited to see me, going, “It wasn’t me. It was my grandmother. I had to—”
“What do you mean, you had to?” Lilly got this really crabby look on her face. It was the same look she gets every year when our PE instructor tells us we have to run around the reservoir in Central Park for the Presidential Fitness test. Lilly doesn’t like to run anywhere, particularly around the reservoir in Central Park (it’s really big).
“What are you?” she wanted to know. “Completely passive? You’re mute or something? Unable to say the word no? You know, Mia, we really need to work on your assertiveness. You seem to have real issues with your grandmother. I mean, you certainly don’t have any trouble saying no to me. I could have really used your help today with the Ho segment, and you totally let me down. But you’ve got no problem letting your grandmother cut off all your hair and dye it yellow—”
Okay, now keep in mind I’d just spent the whole day hearing how bad I looked—at least, until Paolo got ahold of me and made me look like Lana Weinberger. Now I had to hear there was something wrong with my personality, too.
So I cracked. I said, “Lilly, shut up.”
I have never told Lilly to shut up before. Not ever. I don’t think I have ever told anyone to shut up before. It’s just not something I do. I don’t know what happened, really. Maybe it was the fingernails. I never had fingernails before. They sort of made me feel strong. I mean, really, why was Lilly always telling me what to do?
Unfortunately, right as I was telling Lilly to shut up, Michael came out, holding an empty cereal bowl and not wearing a shirt.
“Whoa,” he said, backing up. I wasn’t sure if he said whoa and backed up because of what I’d said or how I looked.
“What?” Lilly said. “What did you just say to me?”
Now she looked more like a pug than ever.
I totally wanted to back down. But I didn’t, because I knew she was right: I do have problems being assertive.
So instead I said, “I’m tired of you putting me down all the time. All day long, my mom and dad and grandmother and teachers are telling me what to do. I don’t need my friends getting on my case, too.”
“Whoa,” Michael said again. This time I knew it was because of what I said.
“What,” Lilly said, her eyes getting all narrow, “is your problem?”
I went, “You know what? I don’t have a problem. You’re the one with the problem. You seem to have a big problem with me. Well, you know what? I’m going to solve your problem for you. I’m leaving. I never wanted to help you with your stupid Ho-Gate story anyway. The Hos are nice people. They haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t see why you have to pick on them. And”—I said this as I opened the door—“my hair is not yellow.”
Then I left. I sort of slammed the door behind me, too.
While I was waiting for the elevator, I sort of thought Lilly might come out and apologize to me.
But she didn’t.
I came straight home, took a bath, and got into bed with my remote control and Fat Louie, who’s the only person who likes me the way I am right now. I was thinking Lilly might call to apologize, but so far she hasn’t.
Well, I’m not apologizing until she does.
And you know what? I looked in the mirror a minute ago, and my hair doesn’t look that bad.
Past Midnight, Sunday, October 12
She still hasn’t called.
Sunday, October 12
