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But whatever she was going to say about Michael—I just didn’t want to hear it. So much so, I actually put my hand over her mouth.
“No,” I said.
Tina blinked at me with her big brown eyes, looking very surprised.
“Wha?” she said, from behind my hand.
“Don’t say it,” I said. “Whatever it is you’re about to say.”
“It’s nofing bad,” Tina said against my palm.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t want to hear it. Do you promise not to say it?”
Tina nodded. I dropped my hand.
“Do you need a tissue?” Tina asked, nodding at my hand. Because, of course, my fingers were covered in lip gloss.
It was my turn to nod. Tina handed me a tissue from her bag. I wiped off my hand, purposefully not acknowledging the fact that Tina looked as if she were literally dying to tell me what she wanted to tell me.
Well, okay, maybe not literally dying. But metaphorically.
Finally Tina said, “So. What are you going to do?”
“What do you mean, what am I going to do?” I asked. I couldn’t help feeling this total sense of impending doom…not unlike what I felt concerning J.P.’s forthcoming prom invitation. Well, I guess that wasn’t as much doom as it was dread. “I’m not going to do anything.”
“But, Mia—” Tina appeared to be choosing her words with care. “I know you and J.P. are totally and blissfully happy. But aren’t you the least bit curious to see Michael? After all this time?”
Fortunately it was right then that the bell rang and we had to grab our stuff and “skeedaddle,” as Rocky is fond of saying. (I have no idea where he picked up the word “skeedaddle,” much less “skeedaddling shoes,” which are what he calls his sneakers. Oh, God, how am I going to go away to college for four whole years and miss out on all his formative development…not to mention, his cuteness? I know I’ll be back for holidays—the ones I don’t spend in Genovia—but it won’t be the same!)
So I didn’t have to answer Tina’s question.
I sort of wish now that I hadn’t stopped Tina from telling me her theory. I mean, now that my heart rate has slowed down. (It was totally pounding back there in the stairwell for some reason. I have no idea why.)
I bet, whatever it was, it would have made me laugh.
Oh, well. I’ll ask her about it later.
Or not.
Actually, probably not.
Friday, April 28, G&T
Okay. They’ve descended into madness.
I guess some of them (namely Lana, Trisha, Shameeka, and Tina) didn’t have that far to go, anyway.
But I think they’ve taken the word “senioritis” to new extremes.
So Tina and I were out in the hallway just before lunch when we ran into Lana, Trisha, and Shameeka, and Tina yelled, over the din of everyone passing by, “Did you guys hear? Michael is back! And his robotic arm is a huge success! And he’s a millionaire!”
Lana and Trisha, as one might predict, both let out shrieks that I swear could have burst the glass in all the emergency fire pulls nearby. Shameeka was more subdued, but even she got a crazed look in her eyes.
Then, when we got into the jet line to get our yogurts and salads (well, those guys. They’re all trying to lose five pounds before the prom. I was getting a tofurkey burger), Tina started telling them about Michael’s donating a CardioArm to the Columbia University Medical Center, and Lana went, “Oh my God, when is that, tomorrow? We are so going.”
“Uh,” I said, my heart sliding up into my throat. “No, we aren’t.”
“Seriously,” Trisha said, agreeing with me. (I could have kissed her.) “I’ve got a tanning appointment. I’m totally building up a golden glow for prom next weekend. I’m wearing white, you know.”
