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“You need a rebound guy,” Trisha said, pointing at me with her stirrer.
“I think it should be that J.P. guy,” Lana agreed. “I mean, he let himself get set on FIRE for you.”
“Getting set on fire is so hot,” Trisha informed me. Apparently without irony.
I nodded anyway. “I know. The thing is…on paper, J.P. is the perfect guy for me. We both love the theater and movies and come from similar backgrounds and my grandmother totally loves him and we both want to be writers—”
“And you’re both always scribbling in those notebooks,” Lana said, pointing at my Mead composition notebook with a manicured nail. “Like you’re doing now. Which isn’t weird at all, by the way.”
“Yeah,” I said, ignoring Trisha’s sarcastic snort. “And I know he’s good-looking and it was cool how he saved me and all. But it’s just…he doesn’t smell right.”
I knew they were both going to stare at me funny. And they both did. They had no idea what I was talking about.
No one does. No one gets it.
Except maybe my dad.
“Just get him a different cologne,” Trisha said.
“Yeah,” Lana said. “Josh used to wear this totally gross stuff that practically gave me a migraine, so for his birthday one year I got him some Drakkar Noir and he started wearing that instead. Problem solved.”
I had to pretend like I was thankful for this tip, and that it actually helped. Even though it totally didn’t. This, it turns out, is the problem with being friends with people in the popular crowd:
You can’t always tell them the truth about stuff, because a lot of things, they just don’t understand.
Thursday, September 23, Chemistry
Mia—you were so quiet at lunch today. Are you okay?
Yes, J.P.! Fine! Just…a little overwhelmed.
Not because of me, I hope.
No! Nothing to do with you!
You can’t tell cute guys the truth about stuff, either.
You’re lying.
No! I’m not! What would make you say that?
Your nostrils are flaring.
DANG! Can NOTHING in my life remain a secret?
Oh. Lilly told you about that?
She did. Listen, the last thing I want is for things to be weird between us.
They’re not! Well, I mean…not really.
I told you—I can wait.
I know! And it’s sweet of you. Really sweet!
I’m too sweet, aren’t I? Too much of a nice guy? Girls never fall for the nice guys.
No! You’re not nice. You’re scary, remember? At least according to your therapist….
