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FTLOUIE: Principal Gupta? Why HER? What does SHE have to do with it?
ILUVROMANCE: Well, since the site is so obviously run by someone at AEHS….
FTLOUIE: What do you mean, obviously?
Even though it was kind of hard to see, what with my tears, and all, I clicked over to ihatemiathermopolis.com. So much had been going on in my life, I hadn’t had a chance to go there in a while.
I immediately saw that neglecting the site had been a mistake. Because there had been updates since my last visit. A LOT of updates.
Whoever owned the site had been keeping a close eye on my every move. And I mean my every move. The day I got a drink out of the second-floor water fountain at AEHS and the spray hit me in the face instead of my mouth? Recorded with glee. The time I tripped over my new shoes and dropped all my books outside the Chem lab? Noted. The time I spilled soy sauce all down the front of my school uniform in the caf? There was actually a photo…a bad one, obviously taken with a cell phone camera.
But it was there.
And whoever had founded the site hadn’t stopped there. There was loads of advice as to how I could improve my looks so as not to appear so physically repulsive. For instance, according to ihatemiathermopolis.com, I needed to grow my hair out (well, obviously), and stop wearing my platform Mary Janes to school, because I’m “towering over everyone like some kind of supermodel. Or so she obviously THINKS she appears. Too bad no one’s told her she looks more like a superspastic.”
Nice.
That’s when the tears in my eyes spilled over. Suddenly sobs were wracking my body.
FTLOUIE: Tina. I’m sorry. I have to go.
ILUVROMANCE: Mia? Are you all right? You’re not taking this idiotic stuff SERIOUSLY, are you?
FTLOUIE: No, of course not! I just have to go. I’ll call you later.
ILUVROMANCE: Mia! I’m so sorry—but I thought you should know! Your dad should really call the school.
FTLOUIE: I’m glad you told me. Really. Good night, Tina.
ILUVROMANCE: Good night—
Wednesday, September 22, midnight, the loft
I just cried for, like, half an hour—in my bathroom, with the door shut, and the water running, so everyone would think I was just showering, and not bother me, asking me what was wrong. I think I cried harder just now than I ever have in my whole life. Fat Louie’s fur is SOAKED from all the tears that dropped into it while he curled up in my lap.
Well, okay. He wasn’t really curled up onto my lap. I was clutching him there, and he was trying to get away, and wailing piteously for help.
But whatever! If a girl can’t have her cat to comfort her in her time of direst need, what good is even HAVING a cat???
It just…it so blows, you know? I don’t WANT to be that girl. The crying emo girl. Next thing you know, I’ll start wearing skinny jeans and too much black eyeliner and nail polish and reading vampire romance novels.
God. I just…when am I going to start feeling BETTER? When am I going to get out of this hole Dr. Knutz PROMISED me he’d help me out of?
And it’s so lame, because I know how LUCKY I am. I mean, I don’t have any REAL problems. Well, except for the whole princess thing. And the ihatemiathermopolis.com thing.
But so what? Lots of people get crummy things written about them on the Internet. Look at Rachael Ray, that woman on the Food Network. There’s a whole online community devoted to how much people hate her, and she’s totally adorable. You can’t take it personally. You certainly can’t make a big deal out of it. That just gives the haters what they want—the attention they so obviously crave.
And if I tell on them—like if I tell my dad, and he goes to Principal Gupta about it, and she figures out who is doing it, and expels them, or whatever (because Albert Einstein High School has an online harassment policy that is supposed to protect its students from bullying like this), what good will it do?
They’re—whoever they are…and let’s face it, I have a pretty good idea who “they” are—just going to hate me more.
Right.
And so my boyfriend dumped me, and I’m still in love with him—so much so, it hurts? Big deal. Millions of girls have gotten dumped by their boyfriends over the years. I’m not special. My own best friend got dumped just like this a couple of weeks ago.
And now the guy who dumped her says he loves me.
Go figure.
