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“I don’t know, J.P.,” I said dully. “I think I have dysthmia.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what that is,” J.P. said. “But I do know that I am holding in my hand two box seat tickets to tonight’s Broadway performance of Beauty and the Beast. Would you be interested in coming with me?”
I couldn’t help gasping. Box seats, to my favorite musical of all time?
“H-how—” I stammered. “How did you—”
“Easy,” J.P. said. “My dad’s a producer, remember? So. You up for it? Show starts in an hour.”
Was he kidding? How had he known? How had he known this was EXACTLY what I needed to get my mind off what a total and complete jerk I had been to the two people I cared about most in the world (besides Fat Louie and Rocky, of course)?
“I’m up for it,” I said. “I’m totally up for it!”
“I’ll meet you outside the theater in forty-five minutes,” J.P. said. “And Mia.”
“What?”
“Just for tonight, let’s not mention either of the Moscovitzes. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said, smiling for what felt like the first time all day. “See you in a few minutes.”
I hung up the phone.
Then, before I went to change out of my school uniform and into something nice for the theater, I got up and walked over to my computer.
I clicked on my e-mail. No new messages.
But that was okay. I wasn’t expecting any. I didn’t actually deserve any.
I clicked on Michael’s last e-mail to me—the one I hadn’t answered. Then I clicked REPLY.
Then I thought for a while.
Then, finally, in the blank space, I wrote:
Michael. I’m sorry.
Then I clicked SEND.
Thursday, September 9, English
Now the big question is: Do I tell Tina?
I mean, obviously, I can’t tell Lilly. She’ll see right through my plan and know what I’m trying to do. Which is not to express my undying love and devotion for her brother, but to try to control him.
With sex.
I highly doubt she’d approve.
Plus, she’ll totally accuse me of violating the feminist code by using feminine wiles instead of my brain as a means to get what I want.
But isn’t that what Gloria Steinem did when she went undercover as a sex kitten to expose the poor wages and long hours of the Playboy Bunnies, helping to improve their working conditions in the Grotto? I’m doing the same thing, basically. I am sacrificing my virginity in order to keep a valuable asset of our community from leaving it for a far-off shore. In the long run, my sleeping with Michael tonight will only benefit the U.S. economy.
You could almost say it’s my duty as a citizen to Do It.
On the other hand, if Lilly and J.P. really did consummate their relationship over the summer (although I have been observing them both closely at lunch, the only period we all three share together, and beyond the Yodel exchange, I have seen no overt signs of shared intimacy. They don’t even hold hands in the hallway or kiss when they see each other in the morning. Which may just be because they save all the lovey-dovey stuff for when they’re alone together. OR it may be because they haven’t gotten as far, intimacy-wise, as rumor would have it), Lilly ought to totally understand.
I mean, hormones are VERY POWERFUL things. It’s not easy to fight them. Surely Lilly, of all people, would understand.
