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“Um,” I said. “Okay, Grandmère.” It was really hard to hide my relief. I have a LOT of shaving to do.
Hmmm, I wonder if she knows this, and that’s WHY she’s letting me go home early?
But no, that’s not possible. Not even GRANDMÈRE could actually WANT me to have premarital sex.
I mean. Could she? Why else would she have—
No. Not even Grandmère could be that calculating.
Thursday, September 9, the Moscovitzes’ apartment, 7 p.m.
Okay, so I’m here. I’m shaved and exfoliated and conditioned and the sponges are secured in my backpack and I think I’m ready.
I mean, aside from the throwing-up feeling, which still hasn’t gone away.
Everything is crazy here. Michael is packing to leave, and his mother seems to think they don’t actually have things like shampoo and toilet paper in Japan. She keeps slipping that kind of stuff into his suitcase. She and Maya, the Moscovitzes’ housekeeper, went to Sam’s Club in New Jersey and bought a year’s supply of stuff like family-size containers of Tums for him to take with him.
He’s like, “Mom, I’m sure they have Tums in Japan. Or something similar. I do not need a family-size container of them. Or this giant vat of Listerine mouthwash.”
But Dr. Moscovitz doesn’t care, she just keeps putting them back in his suitcase every time Michael takes them out.
It’s kind of sad. I mean, I know how Dr. Moscovitz feels. She just wants to have SOME feeling of control in a world that is rapidly spinning into chaos. And apparently making sure her son has enough antacid to last him until the next millennium helps Michael’s mother feel more in control.
I wish I could tell her she has nothing to worry about, since Michael won’t be going to Japan after all. But I can’t really let HER in on my plan before I let MICHAEL in on it.
Anyway, I already told him we’re going to be sneaking out. He doesn’t like it—he’s always afraid of getting on my dad’s bad side, which I can understand might be a concern to anyone, seeing as how my dad has command of an elite security task force—but I can tell he’s intrigued. He was like, “Okay. Let me just find my jacket. I know it’s in my room…somewhere.”
Little does he know he’s not going to need his jacket.
Lilly just came out of her room with her video camera and said, “Oh, good, POG, I’m glad you’re here. Quick—what are some ways you’d reduce climate-heating pollution so that we don’t experience a climatic disaster equivalent to the ones portrayed in The Day After Tomorrow and Category 6? I mean, if you ruled the world, and not just Genovia.”
“Lilly,” I said. “I am not in the mood to be on your TV show right now.”
“This isn’t for Lilly Tells It Like It Is, it’s for the campaign. Come on, quick. Pretend you’re addressing the Genovian parliament.”
I sighed. “Fine. Well, instead of spending three hundred billion dollars a year extracting and refining fossil fuels, I’d urge world leaders to spend that money developing alternative clean energy resources, like solar, wind, and biofuels.”
“Good,” Lilly said. “What else?”
“Is this part of your scare-the-freshmen-into-voting-for-me thing?” I asked. “Because I’m such a worrywart, I’ve already researched what to do in the event of most disasters??”
“Just answer the question.”
“I’d help developing nations, which are the ones causing the most pollution, switch over to clean energy resources, too. And require automakers to manufacture only gas-electric hybrid cars, and buy back everyone’s SUV, and provide tax breaks to consumers and businesses that switch from fossil fuel burning to solar or wind power.”
“Awesome. Why do you look so funny?”
I put a hand up to my face. I’d been extra careful with my makeup, because Michael would be seeing it extra up close. I didn’t want it to look like I was wearing any. Boys like the natural look. Well, boys like Michael, anyway.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Funny how?” Was I getting a zit? That would be just my luck.
“No. You just look really nervous. Like you’re going to throw up.”
“Oh.” Thank God it wasn’t a zit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“POG.” Lilly lowered the camera and stared at me curiously. “What’s going on? What are you up to? What are you and Michael doing tonight, anyway? He said you had some kind of surprise for him.”
Thank God Michael just came out from his room, carrying his jean jacket and going, “Sorry, I’m ready now.”
