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Saturday, September 11, noon, the loft
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My cell phone just rang. I was so certain it was Michael (his plane has landed by now) that I almost dropped it, my hands were so sweaty, plus shaking so badly (also they were so greasy from the chicken leg I found in the back of the fridge and was gnawing).
But it was only J.P. He wanted to know if I’d seen the paper.
“Yes, isn’t that funny?” I tried to sound all breezy. Which is hard to do with a leftover fried chicken leg in your mouth. “They think we’re in love. Ha ha.”
“Yeah,” J.P. said. “Ha ha.”
I’m lucky he’s such a good sport.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “It’s sort of a hazard of hanging out with me. I mean, that you’re going to end up in the paper.” I didn’t mention ihatemiathermopolis.com. I figured he’d find out soon enough about that.
“I don’t mind,” J.P. said, “being associated with a princess, the heir to a royal throne. And my parents are totally impressed. They think I’ve finally accomplished something.”
It was my turn to go, “Ha ha.” Although the truth is I was feeling kind of sick. Maybe on account of all the meat I’d consumed in the past hour and a half. Basically everything that was in the fridge. I seriously don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve gone from a vegetarian to practically a cannibal in less than a week.
Well, okay, not a cannibal. But whatever you call an excessive meat eater.
Except that I knew the truth. My sick feeling had nothing to do with all the meat I’d eaten, and everything to do with the fact that Michael’s plane had totally landed, and that he’d conceivably be checking his messages at any minute.
“Listen,” J.P. said. “I was wondering if you’d heard about Lilly’s party.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not invited. Obviously.”
“I figured,” J.P. said with a sigh. “I was hoping she’d gotten over that by now.”
“Well, seeing our pictures plastered all over the news together isn’t going to help the situation any,” I said.
“No,” J.P. said. “Maybe if we give her the weekend…”
“Maybe.” I hope so. But I don’t really think the weekend is going to do it.
“Want to get together and have a party of our own tonight?” J.P. asked. “You know, show them how it’s done?”
“Oh my gosh, that is so sweet of you,” I said. “But I think I’d better stay here. Because Michael’s plane has landed, so he should be checking his e-mail soon. And I really want to be here when he calls.” If he calls.
But he has to call. Right??????
“Oh.” J.P. sounded kind of taken aback. “Well, wouldn’t it be better if you weren’t there when he calls? So he realizes how sought-after and popular you are?”
I laughed. J.P. really does have a twisted sense of humor.
“Funny! But I think there’s a good chance he’s going to realize that when he sees the paper. If that photo of us makes it to Japan. Besides, I really do need to work on my Precalculus if I’m going to pass.”
“Well, if you need help, I’ll be happy to come over,” J.P. offered. “I’m a whiz at the summation of infinitesimal differences.”
Isn’t he the sweetest? Imagine, offering to give up his Saturday to help me with Precalculus!
“Aw,” I said. “That’s so nice. But I’m good. I have an actual Algebra instructor living here, who I can turn to if I start pulling out my hair in despair. I mean, what’s left of my hair.”
“Well,” J.P. said. “Okay. But if you change your mind…”
“I’ll know who to call,” I said. I was kind of trying to hurry him off the phone. Because Michael could have been calling at that very moment. Not that my cell wouldn’t have told me. But. You know.
“Okay,” J.P. said. “Well, just remember. We make a ‘very attractive’ couple.”
