Instead of pointing out that it isn’t so much that Lana and I haven’t gotten along as that she’s been totally mean to some of my friends.

Instead of going, “For your information, I wouldn’t be in Domina Rei if you paid me.”

Instead of doing either of those things, I just stood there and nodded.

Because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. That’s how completely astonished I was by what was going on.

Or how crazy depressed I am about everything.

“Cool,” Lana said. “So tomorrow morning, ten o’clock, at Bendel’s. We’ll do lunch somewhere after. If you want. Come on, Trish. We gotta get to class.”

And, just like that, the two of them walked out……at almost the exact same time that Mrs. Potts came in and blew her whistle and told us to get in line to go to the park.

I did what I was told without even thinking about it. That’s how much of a daze I was in from what had just happened. A part of me was going, It’s a trick. It has to be. I’m going to get to Bendel’s, and instead of Lana, Carrot Top is going to be there, along with all these paparazzi who’ll take pictures of me and Carrot Top together, and the headline in all the Sunday papers will be, “Meet the New Future Royal Consort of Genovia…Carrot Top!”

But the rational part of me—I guess, even as sunk into depression as I am, there’s still a rational side of me—was going, OBVIOUSLY Lana was being sincere. That thing she said about Josh—I mean, basically, what happened between you and Josh and Lana is no different than what’s happening now between you and J.P. and Lilly. Even though you and J.P. are just friends, Lilly still THINKS you stole him, same as Lana thought about Josh. The only difference really was that you were actually crushing on Josh. No wonder Lana was mad. No wonder LILLY is mad. God, Mia. You do suck.

So maybe it’s not a trick after all. Maybe Lana really does want to hang out with me.

The question is…do I really want to hang out with her?

Oh, crud. Here comes Mrs. Potts. She doesn’t look too happy about the fact that I’ve brought my journal out to left field with me.

But is it my fault no one will throw the ball to me?

Friday, September 17, Chemistry

Oh, God.

As far as I can tell, utter bedlam has overtaken this class since I’ve been gone. We’ve broken off into individual group experiments of our choice. The one Kenny and J.P. have chosen in my absence appears to be something called nitro starch synthesis, which, they inform me, is actually “a mixture of several nitrate esters of starch with the formula [C6H7(OH)x(ONO2)y]n where x+y=3 and n is any whole number from 1 on up.”

I have no idea what any of that means. I just put on my goggles and my lab coat, and am sitting here holding stuff out to them when they ask for it.

When I can actually identify what it is that they want, anyway.

I think I’m still in shock from the whole Lana incident. I have to figure out how I’m going to get out of going to the lingerie trunk show at Bendel’s with Lana Weinberger tomorrow.

True, I totally do need new bras. But how can I hang out with Lana? I mean, even if she did apologize. She’s still…Lana. What do we even have in common? She likes partying. I like lying in bed in my Hello Kitty flannel pajamas watching Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy.

Which reminds me. I can’t go shopping at Bendel’s tomorrow. There’s no school tomorrow, which means I can spend the whole day in bed. YES!!! I love my bed. It’s safe in there. No one can get me there.

Except that Mr. G took my TV away.

Oh, well. I can always read Jane Eyre again. I mean, there’s that whole part in it where Jane and Mr. Rochester get separated because of the whole Bertha thing, and then she hears his disembodied voice floating over the moor…. Maybe I’ll hear Michael’s disembodied voice floating over the Hudson, and know that deep down he still loves me and wants me back, and then I can fly to Japan and—

Mia! What are you doing tomorrow night? If I got tickets to something, would you come with me? Anything you want to see, you name it.—J.P.

Oh, God. What can I say? I just want to stay in bed. Forever.

That’s sweet, J.P., but I’m still not quite over my bronchitis. I think I’m going to lay low. Thanks for thinking of me, though!—M

That’s cool! If you want, I could come over. We could watch some movies….

Oh, wow. J.P. is really taking this breakup with Lilly hard. Even though he, of course, is the one who initiated it. Still, he can’t even stand the thought of being alone on a Saturday night.

I’d love to, but the truth is, my TV is on the fritz.

Which isn’t the truth at all. But is about as much of the truth as J.P. is ever going to get.

Mia, is this about the newspaper thing? Everybody thinking we’re going out? Is the paparazzi staking out your place or something? You don’t want to be caught being seen with me, a mere commoner, again?

Oh, God.

NO! Of course not! I’m just really beat. It’s been a long week.

Okay. I can take a hint. There’s someone else, isn’t there? It’s Kenny, right? You two are engaged? When’s the wedding? Where are you registered? Sharper Image, right? You guys want an iJoy 550 robotic massage chair, don’t you?

I couldn’t help bursting out laughing at that. Which, of course, made Mr. Hipskin look over at our table and go, “Is there a problem, people?”

“No,” Kenny said, then glared at us. “Could you two,” he hissed, “quit passing notes and help?”