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What do I say?
Maybe this is my perfect opportunity to break up with him. I’m sorry, Kenny, but I don’t feel the same way—let’s just be friends. Is that what I should say?
It’s just that I don’t want to hurt his feelings, you know? And he is my Bio partner. I mean, whatever happens, I am going to have to sit next to him for the next two weeks. And I would much rather have a Bio partner who likes me than one who hates me.
And what about the dance? I mean, if I break up with him, who am I going to go to the Nondenominational Winter Dance with? I know it is horrible to think things like this, but this is the first dance in the history of my life to which I already have a date.
Well, I mean, if he’d ever get around to asking me.
And how about that final, huh? Our Bio final, I mean. No way am I going to be able to pass without Kenny’s notes. NO WAY.
But what else can I do? I mean, considering what happened today at the salad bar.
This is it. Good-bye, date for the Nondenominational Winter Dance. Hello, Friday-night television.
Dear Kenny,
It isn’t that I don’t think of you as a very dear friend. It’s just that—
Monday, December 8, 3 p.m., Mr. Gianini’s Algebra review
Okay, so the bell rang before I had time to finish my note.
That doesn’t mean I’m not going to tell Kenny exactly how I feel. I totally am. Tonight, as a matter of fact. I don’t care if it’s cruel to do something like that over the phone. I just can’t take it anymore.
HOMEWORK
Algebra: review questions at the end of Chapters 1–3
English: term paper
World Civ: review questions at the end of Chapters 1–4
G & T: none
French: review questions at the end of Chapters 1–3
Biology: review questions at the end of Chapters 1–5
Tuesday, December 9, Homeroom
All right. So I didn’t break up with him.
I totally meant to.
And it wasn’t even because I didn’t have the heart to do it over the phone, either.
It was something Grandmère, of all people, said.
Not that I feel right about it. Not breaking up with him, I mean. It’s just that after Algebra review, I had to go to the showroom where Sebastiano is flogging his latest creations, so that he could have his flunkies take my measurements for my dress. Grandmère was going on about how from now on, I should really only wear clothes by Genovian designers, to show my patriotism, or whatever. Which is going to be hard, because, uh, there’s only one Genovian clothing designer that I know of, and that’s Sebastiano. And let’s just say he doesn’t make very much out of denim.
But whatever. I so had more important things to worry about than my spring wardrobe.
Which I guess Grandmère must have caught on to, because midway through Sebastiano’s description of the beading he was going to have sewn onto my gown’s bodice, Grandmère shouted, “Amelia, what is the matter with you?”
I must have jumped about a foot in the air. “What?”
“Sebastiano asked if you prefer a sweetheart or square-cut neckline.”
