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as what I did.
Which is sort of shocking. I mean, I never thought about it before, but it’s true: What I did tonight—it was as sneaky as anything Grandmère’s ever done.
But I guess that shouldn’t be very surprising. We are related, after all.
Then again, so were Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader.
Must go. Baywatch is on. This is the first time in a while I’ve been home to watch it.
Thursday, December 18, 9 p.m.
Tina just called. She didn’t want to talk about the press conference. She wanted to know what I got from my Secret Snowflake. I was all, “Secret Snowflake? What are you talking about?”
“You know,” Tina said. “Your Secret Snowflake. You remember, Mia. We signed up for it like a month ago. You put your name in the jar, and then someone draws it, and they have to be your Secret Snowflake for the last week of school before Winter Break. They’re supposed to surprise you with little gifts and stuff. You know, as a stress breaker. Since it’s finals week, and all.”
I dimly remembered, one day before Thanksgiving Break, Tina dragging me over to a folding table where some nerdy-looking kids from the student government were sitting on one side of the cafeteria with a big jar filled with little pieces of paper. Tina had made me write my name on a slip of paper, then pick someone else’s name out of the jar.
“Oh, my God!” I cried. With all the stress of finals and everything, I had forgotten all about it!
Worse, I had forgotten that I had drawn Tina’s name. No real coincidence, since she’d stuffed her slip of paper into the jar right before I picked. Still, what kind of heinous friend am I, that I would forget something like this?
Then I realized something else. The yellow roses. They hadn’t been put in my locker by mistake! And they really weren’t from Kenny, either! They had to be from my Secret Snowflake.
Which was kind of upsetting in a way. I mean, it’s really starting to look as if Kenny has no intention whatsoever of asking me to tomorrow night’s dance.
“I can’t believe you forgot about it,” Tina said, sounding amused. “You have been getting stuff for your Secret Snowflake, haven’t you, Mia?”
I felt a rush of guilt. I had totally blown it. Poor Tina!
“Uh, sure,” I said, wondering where I was going to find a present for her by tomorrow morning, the last day of the Secret Snowflake thing. “Sure, I have.”
Tina sighed. “I guess nobody picked me,” she said. “Because I haven’t gotten anything.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, hoping the guilt washing over me wasn’t noticeable in my voice. “You will. Your Secret Snowflake is probably waiting, you know, until the last day because she’s—or he’s—gotten you something really good.”
“Do you think so?” Tina asked, wistfully.
“Oh, yes,” I gushed.
Reassured, Tina got businesslike.
“Now,” she said, “that finals are over . . .”
“Um, yes?”
“. . . when are you going to tell Michael that you’re the one who sent him those cards?”
Shocked, I went, “How about never?”
To which Tina replied, tartly, “Mia, if you don’t tell him, then what was the point of sending those cards?”
“To let him know that there are other girls out there who might like him, besides Judith Gershner.”
Tina said, severely, “Mia, that’s not enough. You’ve got to tell him it was you. How are you ever going to get him if he doesn’t know how you feel?” Tina Hakim Baba, surprisingly, has a lot in common with my dad. “Remember Kenny? That’s how Kenny got you. He sent the anonymous notes, but then he finally fessed up.”
“Yeah,” I said, sarcastically. “And look how great that turned out.”
“It’ll be different with you and Michael,” Tina insisted. “Because you two are destined for each other. I can just feel it. You’ve got to tell him, and it’s got to be tomorrow, because the next day, you are leaving for Genovia.”
