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I said, “Oh, Kenny. Are you Jo-C-rox?”
Kenny grinned.
“Yes,” Kenny said. “Didn’t you figure it out?”
No. Because I am a complete idiot.
“Uh-huh,” I said, forcing another smile. “Finally.”
“Good.” Kenny looked pleased. “Because you really do remind me of Josie, you know. Of Josie and the Pussycats, I mean. See, she’s lead singer in a rock group, and she solves mysteries on the side. She’s cool. Like you.”
Oh, my God. Kenny. My Bio partner, Kenny. Six-foot-tall, totally gawky Kenny, who always gives me the answers in Bio. I’d forgotten he’s like this huge Japanese anime fan. Of course he watches the Cartoon Network. He’s practically addicted to it. Batman is like his favorite thing of all time.
Oh, someone shoot me. Someone please shoot me.
I smiled. I’m afraid my smile was very weak.
But Kenny didn’t care.
“And you know, in later episodes,” Kenny said, encouraged by my smile, “Josie and the Pussycats go up into space. So she’s also a pioneer into space exploration.”
Oh, God, make this be a bad dream. Please make this be a bad dream, and let me wake up and have it not be true!
All I could do was thank my lucky stars that I hadn’t said anything to Michael. Could you imagine if I’d gone up to him and said what I’d planned to? He’d have thought I’d forgotten to take my medication, or something.
“Anyway,” Kenny said. “You want to go out sometime, Mia? With me, I mean?”
Oh, God. I hate that. I really hate that. You know, when people go “Do you want to go out with me sometime?” instead of “Do you want to go out with me next Tuesday?” Because that way you can make up an excuse. Because then you can always go, “Oh, no, on Tuesday I have this thing.”
But you can’t go, “No, I don’t want to go out with you EVER.”
Because that would be too mean.
And I can’t be mean to Kenny. I like Kenny. I really do. He’s very funny and sweet and everything.
But do I want his tongue in my mouth?
Not so much.
What could I say? “No, Kenny? No, Kenny, I don’t want to go out with you ever, because I happen to be in love with my best friend’s brother?”
You can’t say that.
Well, maybe some girls can.
But not me.
“Sure, Kenny,” I said.
After all, how bad could a date with Kenny be? What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. That’s what Grandmère says, anyway.
After that, I had no choice but to let Kenny put his arm around me—the only one he had, the other being tightly secured beneath his costume to give him the appearance of having been severely injured in a land mine explosion.
But we were all jammed in so closely at that table that Kenny’s arm, as it went around my shoulders, jostled Michael, and he looked over at us. . . .
And then he looked over at Lars, really fast. Almost like he—I don’t know . . .
Saw what was going on, and wanted Lars to put a stop to it?
