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But he totally didn’t get it. He was like, “But isn’t that a good thing? A girl with whom you haven’t gotten along in the past made a friendly overture toward you. She is willing to move on from your past differences. Isn’t that what you’d like your friend Lilly to do?”
“Yeah,” I said, amazed he couldn’t understand something so obvious. “But I LIKE Lilly. Lana’s been nothing but mean to me.”
“And Lilly’s been kind lately?”
“Well, not LATELY. But she thinks I stole her boyfriend….” My voice trailed off as I remembered that I’d once stolen Lana’s boyfriend, too. “Okay,” I said. “I get your point. But…should I really go shopping with Lana Weinberger tomorrow?”
“Do YOU think you should go shopping with Lana tomorrow?” Dr. Knutz wanted to know.
Seriously. This is what we’re paying some ungodly amount of money for.
“I don’t know!” I cried. “I’m asking you!”
“But you know yourself better than I do.”
“How can you even say that?” I practically yelled. “Everyone knows me better than I do! Haven’t you seen the movies of my life? Because if not, you’re the only one in the world who hasn’t!”
“I might,” Dr. Knutz admitted, “have ordered them from Netflix. But they haven’t come yet. I only met you yesterday, remember. And I’m more of a Western fan, myself.”
I rolled my eyes at all the mustang portraits. “Gee,” I said. “I couldn’t tell.”
“So,” Dr. Knutz said. “What else?”
I blinked at him. “What do you mean, what else? Except for the fact that, I reiterate, my STEPDAD TOOK AWAY MY TV!!!”
“Do you know what the one thing every student who has ever been admitted to West Point has in common?”
Hello. Random. “No. But I guess you’re gonna tell me.”
“None of them had a television in their room.”
“BUT I DON’T WANT TO GO TO WEST POINT!” I yelled.
Dr. Knutz, however, doesn’t respond to yelling. He just went, “What else about your school do you hate?”
Where to begin? “Well, how about the fact that everybody thinks I’m dating a guy I’m not?” I as
ked. “Just because it said so in the New York Post? And the fact that the guy I do like—whom I, in fact, love—is sending me e-mails asking how I am, like nothing happened between us, and that he didn’t yank my heart out of my chest and kick it across the room, like we’re friends or something?”
Dr. Knutz looked confused. “But didn’t you agree with Michael that the two of you should just be friends?”
“Yes,” I said, frustrated. “But I didn’t mean it!”
“I see. Well, how did you respond to his e-mail?”
“I didn’t,” I said, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed. “I deleted it.”
“Why did you do that?” Dr. Knutz wanted to know.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just…I didn’t trust myself not to beg him to take me back. And I don’t want to be that girl.”
“That’s a valid reason for deleting his e-mail,” Dr. Knutz said. And for some reason—even though he’s a COWBOY THERAPIST—I felt pleased by this. “Now. Why don’t you want to go shopping with your friend?”
I stopped feeling so pleased. Could he not PAY ATTENTION TO THE SIMPLEST DETAIL?
“I told you. She’s not my friend. She’s my enemy. If you had seen the movies—”
“I’ll watch them this weekend,” he said.
