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Since it is Friday and Michael was up at the bean bar getting me a second helping, and Lilly was otherwise occupied, Tina asked me what I am going to do about Michael’s not having asked me to the prom yet.
“What CAN I do?” I wailed. “I just have to sit around and wait, like Jane Eyre did when Mr. Rochester was busy playing billiards with Blanche Ingram and pretending he didn’t know Jane was alive.”
To which Tina replied, “I really think you should say something. Maybe tomorrow night, at your party?”
Oh, great. I was kind of looking forward to my party— you know, except for the part where Mom was sure to stop everyone at the door and tell them all about her Incredible Shrinking Bladder—but now? No chance. Because I know Tina will be staring at me all night, willing me to ask Michael about the prom. Great. Thanks.
Lilly just handed me this giant sign. It says, LES HAUTES MANGER IS UN-AMERICAN!
I pointed out to Lilly that everyone already knows Les Hautes Manger is un-American. It is a French restaurant. To which Lilly replied, “Just because its owner was born in France is no reason for him to think he does not have to abide by our nation’s laws and social customs.”
I said I thought it was one of our laws that people could pretty much hire and fire who they wanted to. You know, within certain parameters.
“Just whose side are you on in this, anyway, Mia?” Lilly wanted to know.
I said, “Yours, of course. I mean, Jangbu’s.”
But doesn’t Lilly realize I have way too many problems of my own to take on an itinerant busboy’s as well? I mean, I have the summer to worry about, not to mention my Algebra grade, and an African orphan to support. And I really don’t think I can be expected to help get Jangbu’s job back when I can’t even get my own boyfriend to ask me to the prom.
I gave Lilly her sign back, explaining that I won’t be able to come to the protest after school, as I have a princess lesson to attend. Lilly accused me of being more concerned for myself than for Jangbu’s three starving children. I asked her how she knew Jangbu even had kids, because as far as I knew, this had not been mentioned in any of the newspaper articles about the incident, and Lilly still hadn’t managed to get hold of him. But she just said she meant it figuratively, not literally.
I am very concerned about Jangbu and his figurative children, it is true. But it is a dog-eat-dog world out there, and right now I’ve got problems of my own. I’m almost positive Jangbu would understand.
But I told Lilly I’d try to talk Grandmère into talking the owner of Les Hautes Manger into hiring Jangbu back. I guess it’s the least I can do, considering my presence on Earth is the reason the poor guy’s livelihood was destroyed.
HOMEWORK
Algebra: Who knows
English: Who cares
Biology: Whatever
Health and Safety: Please
G & T: As if
French: Something
World Civ: Something else
Friday, May 2, in the limo on the way home from Grandmère’s
Grandmère has decided to act like nothing happened last night. Like she didn’t bring her poodle to my birthday dinner and get an innocent busboy fired. Like her face wasn’t plastered all over the front of every newspaper in Manhattan, minus The Times. She was just going on about how in Japan it is considered terrifically rude to poke your chopstick into your rice bowl. Apparently, if you do this, it is a sign of disrespect to the dead, or something.
Whatever. Like I am going to Japan anytime soon. Hello, apparently I am not even going to the PROM.
“Grandmère,” I said, when I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are we going to talk about what happened at dinner last night, or are you just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”
Grandmère looked all innocent. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I can’t think what you mean.”
“Last night,” I said. “My birthday dinner. At Les Hautes Manger. You got the busboy fired. It was all over the papers this morning.”
“Oh, that.” Grandmère innocently stirred her Sidecar.
“Well?” I asked her. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Do?” Grandmère looked genuinely surprised. “Why, nothing. What is there to do?”
