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But apparently, it was all completely physical between her and Jangbu.
God. I wonder what base they got to. Would it be rude to ask? I mean, I know that, considering we aren’t best friends anymore, it probably isn’t any of my business.
But if she got to third with that guy, I’ll kill her.
“But it’s over between Jangbu and me,” Lilly just announced, very dramatically… so dramatically that Fat Louie, who doesn’t like Lilly very much in the first place, and usually hides in the closet among my shoes when she comes over, just tried to burrow his way into my snowboots. “I thought he had the heart of a proletarian. I thought at last, I had found a man who shared my passion for social causes and the advancement of the worker. But alas… I was wrong. So very, very wrong. I simply cannot be soul mates with a man willing to sell his life story to the press.”
It appears that Jangbu has been approached by a number of magazines, including People and Us Weekly, who are vying for the exclusive rights to the details of his run-in with
the dowager princess of Genovia and her dog.
“Really?” I was very surprised to hear this. “How much are they offering him?”
“Last time I talked to him, they were up to six figures.” Lilly dries her eyes on a piece of lace I received from the crown prince of Austria. “He won’t be needing his job back at Les Hautes Manger, that’s for sure. He’s planning on opening a restaurant of his own. A Nosh in Nepal, he’s planning on calling it.”
“Wow.” I feel for Lilly. I really do. I mean, I know how much it sucks when someone you thought was your spiritual life mate turns out to be a sellout. Especially when he French kisses as well as Josh—I mean Jangbu—does.
Still, just because I feel sorry for Lilly doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive her for what she did. I may not be self-actualized, but at least I have pride.
“But I want you to know,” Lilly is saying, “that I realized I wasn’t in love with Jangbu before all this stuff with the strike happened. I knew I had never stopped loving Boris when he picked up that globe and dropped it on his head for me. I mean, Mia, he was willing to get stitches for me. That’s how much he loves me. No boy has ever loved me enough to risk actual, physical pain and discomfort for me… and certainly not Jangbu. I mean, he’s WAY too caught up in his own fame and celebrity. Not like Boris. I mean, Boris is a thousand times more gifted and talented than Jangbu, and HE isn’t caught up in the fame game.”
I really don’t know quite how to respond to all this. I guess Lilly must realize this by the way she’s narrowing her eyes at me and going, “Would you please stop writing in
that journal for ONE MINUTE and tell me how I can win Boris back?”
Though it pains me to do it, I am forced to inform Lilly that I think the chances of her ever winning Boris back are, like, zero. Less than zero, even. Like, in the negative polynomials.
“Tina is really crazy about him,” I tell her. “And I think he feels the same way about her. I mean, he gave her his autographed eight-by-ten glossy of Joshua Bell—”
This information causes Lilly to clutch her heart in existential pain. Or maybe not so existential, since I’m not even really sure what existential means. In any case, she clutches her heart and falls back dramatically across my bed.
“That witch!” she keeps yelling—so loudly that I’m afraid any minute Mr. G is going to come busting in here, thinking we have Charmed turned up too loud. “That black-hearted, back-stabbing witch! I’ll get her for stealing my man! I’ll get her!”
So I have to get very severe with Lilly. I tell her that under no circumstances is she going to “get” anyone. I tell her that Tina really and sincerely adores Boris, which is all he has ever wanted—to love and be loved in return, just like Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge . I tell her that if she really loves Boris the way she says she does, she will leave him and Tina alone, let them enjoy the last few weeks of school together. Then if, in the fall, Lilly still finds herself wanting Boris back, she can say something. But not before.
Lilly is, I think, a little taken aback by my sage—and very direct—advice. In fact, she still appears to be digesting it. She’s sitting on the end of my bed, blinking at my Princess Leia screensaver. I am sure it must be quite a blow to a girl with an ego the size of Lilly’s… you know, that a boy who had once loved her could learn to love again. But she will just have to get used to it. Because after what she put Boris through this week, I for one will see to it that she never, ever dates him again. If I have to stand in front of Boris with a big old sword, like Aragorn in front of that Frodo dude, I will totally do it. That is how determined I am that Lilly will never again mess with Boris Pelkowski’s heavily bandaged, misshapen genius head.
I don’t know if she can see that by how fiercely I am writing, or if there is something particularly determined in my expression, or what. But Lilly just sighs and goes, “Oh, all right.”
Now she is putting on her coat and leaving. Because even though she and Jangbu have parted ways, she is still chairperson of SATWDOJPA, and has loads to do.
None of which apparently includes apologizing to me.
Or so I thought.
At my door, Lilly turns and says, “Listen, Mia. I’m sorry I called you weak the other day. You’re not weak. In fact… you’re one of the strongest people I know.”
Hello! So true! I have battled so many demons in my day, I make those girls on Charmed look like the ones on freaking Full House. Really, I should get a medal, or at least the key to the city, or something.
Sadly, however, just when I thought my bravery was no longer going to be needed—Lilly and I hugged, and she left, after a few words of apology to my mom and Mr. G overthe whole making-out-in-our-hall-closet-with-Jangbu-the-unemployed-busboy thing, which they graciously accepted— the buzzer in the vestibule went off AGAIN. I thought for SURE it had to be Michael this time. He’d promised to collect and bring over all of my remaining assignments.
So you can imagine my horror—my absolute revulsion— when I bounded over to the intercom, hit the TALK button, went, “Hellooo-ooooo?” and the voice that came crackling over it in response was not the deep, warm, familiar voice of my one true love…
…but the hideous cackle of GRANDMÈRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Friday, May 9, 1 a.m., the futon couch in the loft
This is a nightmare. It has to be. Somebody is going to pinch me and I’m going to wake up and it’s all going to be over and I’m going to be back snug in my own bed, not out here on this futon—how come I never noticed how HARD this thing is?—in the living room in the middle of the night.
