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Then she went to make some phone calls.
To my dad in Genovia, I hope. Or possibly an insane asylum, so that Grandmère can be locked up at last for her own—and my—protection.
But I suppose that’s a little too much to ask.
Why can’t I have a NORMAL grandma? One who’d make me a cake for my birthday, instead of hosting a transcontinental royal slumber party for me, and allow a cable network to FILM it?
WHY?
Friday, April 30, lunch
I was regaling everyone at lunch about Grandmère’s crazy scheme—I had purposefully not told anyone about it, including Lilly, just so I could tell everyone about it at the same time, because ever since J. P. started sitting with us at lunch, there’s sort of been this contest between us girls to see who can make him laugh the hardest, because, well, J. P. seems like he could use a laugh, being a bottled-up volcano of passion, and all.
Not that anyone has really ADMITTED that’s what we do. Try to see who can make J. P. laugh the hardest, that is.
But we totally do.
At least, I do.
Anyway, I was telling everyone about Lewis-with-the-scissor-handle glasses, and Janine-of-the-purple-hair, and they were laughing—especially J. P., particularly when I got to the part about the sex-segregated shopping for girls and jet-skiing for boys—when Lilly put down her chicken parm on a roll and was like, “Frankly, Mia, I think it was extremely uncool of you to turn down your grandmother’s generous offer to throw you such a fantastic party.”
I just stared at her with my mouth open, the way I’d stared at Grandmère and Lewis the night before.
“I do think it would be kind of neat to fly to Genovia for the weekend,” Perin said softly, from the other side of the table.
“I could totally use a Louis Vuitton violin case,” Boris said.
“But only the girls would be allowed to shop,” I pointed out to him. “You’d have to be jet-skiing with the boys. And you know how you get that allergic reaction to sand-flea bites.”
“Yeah,” Boris grumbled. “But Tina could have bought one for me.”
“You guys,” I said. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Hello. Have you ever even seen that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? They totally try to make the people on it look bad! On purpose. That’s the POINT of the series.”
“Not necessarily,” Lilly said. “I think the point of the series is to show how some American young people choose to celebrate their coming-of-age—which in this country is at sixteen—and to convey to audiences what a difficult and yet joyous time it can be, as sweet sixteens struggle on the threshold of adulthood, not quite a child anymore, not yet a man or woman….”
Everyone stared at her. J. P. was the one who finally said, “Um, I always thought the point of the series was to show stupid people spending way too much money on something that ultimately has no meaning.”
“TOTALLY!” I burst out. I couldn’t believe J. P. had put it so exactly right. Well, I could, of course, because J. P. is a wordsmith, like me, and aspires to a literary career of some sort, just like I do.
But I also couldn’t because, well, he’s a guy, and most of the time, guys just don’t GET stuff like that.
“Lilly,” I said, “don’t you remember that episode where those girls invited five hundred of their closest friends to that rock concert they gave for themselves at that night club, and they made that big deal out of not letting freshmen come, and had the ones who crashed thrown out by bouncers? Oh, and charged their friends admission to get in? To their own birthday party?”
“And then gave the money to charity,” Lilly pointed out.
“But still!” I said. “What about that girl who had herself carried into her party on a bed held on the shoulders of eight guys from the local crew team, then forced all her friends to watch a fashion show with herself as the only model?”
“No one is saying you have to do any of those things, Mia,” Lilly glowered.
“Lilly, that’s not the point. Think about it,” I said. “I’m the princess of Genovia. I’m supposed to be a role model. I support causes like Greenpeace and Housing for the Hopeful. What kind of role model would I be if I showed up on TV, spent all that money flying my friends to Genovia and had a huge shopping spree and rock concert, just for them?”
“The kind who really appreciates her friends,” Lilly said, “and wants to do something nice for them.”
“I do really appreciate you guys,” I said, a little bit hurt by this. “And I definitely think each and every one of you deserves a trip to Genovia for shopping sprees and free concerts. But think about it. How would it look, spending all that money on a birthday party?”
“It’s going to look like your grandmother really, really loves you,” Lilly said.
“No, it’s not. It’s going to look like I’m the biggest selfish spoiled brat on the planet. And if my grandmother really, really loved me,” I said, “she’d spend all that money on something I really wanted—like helping to feed AIDS orphans in Ethiopia, or even…I don’t know. Getting stationary bikes for spinning classes at AEHS!—not something I don’t care about at all.”
