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Mia! What are you doing tomorrow night? If I got tickets to something, would you come with me? Anything you want to see, you name it.—J.P.
Oh, God. What can I say? I just want to stay in bed. Forever.
That’s sweet, J.P., but I’m still not quite over my bronchitis. I think I’m going to lay low. Thanks for thinking of me, though!—M
That’s cool! If you want, I could come over. We could watch some movies….
Oh, wow. J.P. is really taking this breakup with Lilly hard. Even though he, of course, is the one who initiated it. Still, he can’t even stand the thought of being alone on a Saturday night.
I’d love to, but the truth is, my TV is on the fritz.
Which isn’t the truth at all. But is about as much of the truth as J.P. is ever going to get.
Mia, is this about the newspaper thing? Everybody thinking we’re going out? Is the paparazzi staking out your place or something? You don’t want to be caught being seen with me, a mere commoner, again?
Oh, God.
NO! Of course not! I’m just really beat. It’s been a long week.
Okay. I can take a hint. There’s someone else, isn’t there? It’s Kenny, right? You two are engaged? When’s the wedding? Where are you registered? Sharper Image, right? You guys want an iJoy 550 robotic massage chair, don’t you?
I couldn’t help bursting out laughing at that. Which, of course, made Mr. Hipskin look over at our table and go, “Is there a problem, people?”
“No,” Kenny said, then glared at us. “Could you two,” he hissed, “quit passing notes and help?”
“Absolutely,” J.P. said. “What do you want us to do?”
“Well, for starters,” Kenny said. “You could pass me the starch.”
Which reminded me:
“So, Kenny,” I said, as Kenny was sprinkling some white stuff into a jar of other white stuff. “What’s this I hear about Lilly hooking up with some muay thai fighter friend of yours at her party Saturday night?”
Kenny nearly dropped the white stuff. Then he gave me a very irritated look.
“Mia,” he said. “With all due respect. I am in the middle of a hazardous procedure involving the use of highly corrosive acids. Please can we talk about Lilly some other time?”
God! What a baby.
Friday, September 17, limo on the way home from Dr. Knutz’s office
Seriously, I don’t know which is worse: princess lessons or therapy. I mean, they are both equally horrible, in their own way.
But at least with princess lessons, I get the POINT. I’m being prepared to one day rule a country. With therapy, it’s like…I don’t even KNOW what the point is. Because if it’s supposed to be making me feel better, it’s NOT.
And there’s HOMEWORK. I mean, like I don’t have ENOUGH to do with a week of school to make up. I have to do homework on my PSYCHE, too?
I don’t know what we’re paying Dr. Knutz for, when he’s making ME do all the work.
Like, today’s session started off with Dr. Knutz asking me how school went. We were alone in his office this time—Dad wasn’t there, because this was a real session and not a consultation. Everything was exactly the same as last time…crazy cowboy décor, wire-rimmed glasses, white hair, and all.
The only difference, really, was that I was in my too-small school uniform instead of my Hello Kitty pajamas. Which I told him my mom had put down the incinerator. The same night my stepfather took away my TV.
To which Dr. Knutz replied, “Good. Now. What happened in school today?”
So then I told him—ONCE AGAIN—that I don’t even get why I have to GO to school, since I already have complete job assurance after graduation ANYWAY, and I hate it, so why can’t I just stay home?
Then Dr. Knutz asked me why I hate school so much, and so—just to illustrate my point—I told him about Lana.
