I’m not kidding. This is not the Gap. It’s more of the kind of store Grandmère hangs out in. Only more crowded. Because usually when Grandmère shops, she calls ahead and has the store opened up for her after hours so she can shop without having to rub elbows with any commoners.

Mom about had a coronary when I told her where I was going this morning—and why I needed to borrow her jeans.

“You’re going shopping with WHOM????”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “It’s something I have to do. For therapy.”

“Your therapist is making you go shopping with Lana Weinberger?” Mom exchanged glances with Mr. G, who was refilling Rocky’s cereal bowl with Cheerios, and who had gotten so distracted by our conversation that he’d accidentally caused Cheerios to overflow from the bowl and all the way down the sides of Rocky’s booster chair. Which delighted Rocky no end. “This is supposed to help ALLEVIATE your depression?”

“It’s a long story,” I said to her. “I’m supposed to do something every day that scares me.”

“Well,” Mom said, handing over her Levi’s. “Shopping with Lana Weinberger would scare me.”

Mom’s right. What am I doing here? Why did I listen to Dr. K, anyway? What does HE know about the long, torrid history between Lana and me? Nothing! He’s never even seen the movies of my life! He doesn’t know all the heinous things she’s done to me and my friends in the past! He has no way of knowing that this whole shopping thing is probably a trick! That Carrot Top is the only one who is going to show up! That making me come here and stand among the perfume spritzers waiting for Carrot Top is Lana’s idea of a grand, final joke—

Oh. Here she comes.

More later.

Saturday, September 18, 3 p.m., bathroom at Nobu 57

For reasons that are completely beyond me, Lana Weinberger and her clone, Trisha Hayes, are actually being nice to me.

Well, the reasons aren’t completely beyond me. Lana already told me why she’s being so nice to me: “Because I’m finally over the Josh thing. It wasn’t your fault.”

When I pointed out—as politely as possible—that she hated me well before her boyfriend ever dumped her to date me (then went back to her when I, in turn, dumped him), she said, while we were sorting through size 36Cs (I’m a 36C!!!! Not a 34B anymore!!!! Lana insisted on my getting measured by an actual intimate apparel expert, and the expert confirmed what I’ve been suspecting, that I’ve grown a whole cup size and an inch around as well!), “Well, it wasn’t you so much I hated as that jerky friend of yours.”

To which Trisha added, “Yeah, how can you like that Lilly girl, anyway? She’s so full of herself.”

I wanted to burst out laughing at that. Because, hello, the Evil Death Twins, calling LILLY full of herself?

But I started thinking about it, and it IS kind of true. Lilly CAN be a little judgmental and bossy.

But that’s why I like her! I mean, at least she HAS opinions about stuff. Stuff that matters, anyway. Most of the rest of the people in our class don’t care about anything except who wins on American Idol and what Ivy League school they get into.

Or, in Lana’s case, which shade of lip gloss looks best on her.

But I didn’t say anything in Lilly’s defense because the truth is, even though I miss her and all—though not so much that it hurts sometimes, the way I do Michael—I need to figure out how to get out of this hole I’m in without the help of the Moscovitzes. Because as recent developments prove, neither Lilly nor Michael is going to be around to help me when I need them. I’ve got to learn to stand on my own two feet, without Lilly OR Michael to lean on as emotional crutches.

So I didn’t say anything when Lana and Trisha were (mildly) badmouthing Lilly. The truth was, I could see their point. It’s not like Lilly’s ever tried to put herself in Lana’s size 8 Manolos and see what it’s like to be Lana.

But I have.

And the view from Lana’s size 8s? It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s gorgeous and every guy in the store who wasn’t gay (of which there were approximately two) followed her around with his gaze like he couldn’t help it.

And she’s a SUPER MEGA EXCELLENT shopper—I mean, I would never in my life have tried on a pair of True Religion jeans. Just because Paris Hilton wears them, and even though I don’t know Paris personally, she doesn’t seem to do a lot for charities or the environment, that I know of.

But Lana insisted they would look good on me and made me try on a pair and so I did and…

I look AWESOME in them!!!

And don’t even get me started on what a difference having the right size/style bra makes. In my Agent Provocateur demi-cup underwires, I actually have breasts now. Like breasts that balance out the rest of my body so I don’t look pear-shaped or like a Q-tip. I actually look curvy.

And, okay, not like Scarlett Johansson curvy.

But like Jessica Biel curvy.

With each Marc Jacobs babydoll top Lana threw over my arm and commanded me to try on, I began to feel less and less like this whole thing was a trick, and more and more like Lana really was trying to make amends for past wrongs, and really did want me to look good. Every time she or Trisha made me try on something—like a faux tiger fur miniskirt or a gold Rachel Leigh link hip belt—and they went, “Oh, yeah, that’s hot,” or “No, that’s not you, take it off,” I felt like…well, like they cared.