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Wednesday, March 10, third-floor stairwell
Today must be some kind of record for me breaking school rules. Because Kenny and I just totally skipped Earth Science, and we’re up here with Tina, going over the choreography one last time before tonight’s performance.
Kenny says he’s so nervous, he wants to throw up. Tina, too.
Me? To tell the truth—and it’s my personal mission in life to ONLY tell the truth anymore—I could vomit up my intestines, I’m so freaked out.
Because tonight I am going to have to do something I have never done before in my life. And that’s kiss a boy.
A boy other than Michael, I mean.
Well, okay, except for Josh Richter, but he doesn’t count, because that was before Michael and I started going out.
But basically, tonight I am going to cheat on my boyfriend.
And okay, I know it’s not really cheating, since it’s just a play—I mean, musical—and we are only acting a part and don’t really like each other or anything.
But still. I’ll be kissing ANOTHER MAN. A man I, only last Saturday, sexy danced with. In front of my boyfriend.
Who didn’t like it very much. So much so, in fact, that he’s apparently not speaking to me now. So if he finds out about this kissing thing, I’m REALLY going to be dead.
And even if he doesn’t find out, I WILL KNOW.
How can I help but feel like I am betraying him somehow?
Especially if—and this is what worries me most—I end up LIKING it. Kissing J.P., I mean.
Oh, God. I can’t believe I even WROTE that.
Of COURSE I won’t like it. I only love one boy, and that’s Michael. Even if he doesn’t necessarily love me back right now. I could NEVER enjoy kissing someone else. NEVER.
Oh, God. WHY WON’T HE CALL?????
Wednesday, March 10, the big performance
He still hasn’t called.
And there are so many people here.
I’m serious.
I ca
n’t actually see who any of them are because Grandmère won’t let us peek out from behind the curtains, because she says, “If you can see the audience, they can see you.” She says it’s unprofessional to be seen in costume until after the show has started.
Considering this is an amateur production, Grandmère sure is a stickler about us all acting professional.
Still, I can see there are like twenty-five rows of chairs, with like twenty-five seats across out there, and every seat is filled. That’s like…five thousand people!
Oh no, wait. Boris says it’s only six hundred and twenty-five.
Still. That is a LOT of people. Not ALL of them can be related to us, you know? I mean, obviously, there are CELEBRITIES out there. According to Netscape, which I checked just before I left for the Plaza, Grandmère’s Aide de Ferme benefit is sold out—donations for the Genovian olive growers have been pouring in all week from movie stars and rock musicians alike. Apparently, Grandmère’s benefit—with its musical tribute to Genovian history—is THE place to be tonight.
I could be totally wrong, but I think I saw Prince—the artist formerly known as Prince, I mean—demanding an aisle seat just now.
And what about the REPORTERS? There are a ton of them, crouched down behind the orchestra, their cameras poised to photograph us the minute the curtains go up. I can just see tomorrow’s headline emblazoned across the Post: PRINCESS PLAYS A PRINCESS. Or worse, PRINCESS TAKES A BOW.
Shudder.
