What am I going to do?????? I am scheduled to have sex in less than two days with a guy with whom I am a complete MHC match!
AND THAT IS THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT MAJOR HISTOCOMPATIBILITY COMPLEX IS ALL ABOUT!
My MHC mismatch is someone who broke up with me almost two years ago!
And who, despite what my grandmother and best friend seem to think, does NOT love me, but really just does want to be friends.
True, J.P. and I have so much in common personality-wise—we both like creative writing, and Beauty and the Beast, and drama.
While Michael and I basically have nothing in common except a deep and abiding love for Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Star Wars (the original three movies, not the hideous prequels).
And yet I might as well admit, I have an insufferable weakness for him. Yes! I do! I cannot resist the way he smells. I am drawn to him the way the American public is drawn to Tori Spelling.
I have got to fight this. I can’t allow myself to feel this way about a boy who is so incredibly wrong for me (except, of course, genetically).
But what if I’m not strong enough?
Thursday, May 4, Psych final
Mia, is it true? Is J.P.’s play really going to be a movie?
Ahhhhh! You scared me! I don’t have time to talk about this now, Tina. I just figured out J.P. and I are total MHC mismatches…or, matches, really. Our children are going to be perfect genetic mutants, like Lana! And that Michael’s my MHC match! That’s why I’ve always been obsessed with how his neck smells! And why whenever I’m around him, I act like a total blithering idiot. Tina, I am a dead woman.
Mia…are you on drugs?
No—don’t you see what this means? It explains EVERYTHING! Why I’ve never felt attracted to J.P…. Why I can’t let Michael go…Oh, Tina, I’m being held hostage by my own MHC. I’ve got to FIGHT it. Will you help?
Do you need help? Because I could call Dr. Knutz.
No! Tina—Look. Just…never mind. I’m fine. Pretend I never said anything.
Why does everyone always think I’m crazy when I’ve never been saner in my life? Can’t Tina—can’t everyone—see that I’m just a woman who’s busy trying to take care of business? I’m eighteen now. I know what I have to do to get things done.
Or, as in this case—not done, I guess. Because there’s nothing I can do about this.
Except stay far, far away from Michael Moscovitz.
I just can’t believe I bought J.P. all that cologne. When it turned out cologne had nothing to do with it in the first place. It was his genes all along.
Who knew?
Well…me, I guess. I just didn’t put it all together until the test today.
I guess I have had a lot on my mind, what with trying to get my dad elected and pick a college and all.
I blame the educational system in this country. Why did they wait until the last semester my senior year to tell me all this—about MHC, I mean? This is information that might have been useful to me, oh, I don’t know, around about ninth grade, maybe!
The big question now is: How am I going to avoid smelling Michael during lunch tomorrow?
I don’t know. I guess I’ll just stay as far away from him as I can. I certainly won’t hug him this time. If he asks for a hug, I’ll just say I have a cold.
Yes! That’s it. And I don’t want him to catch it.
God. Genius.
I can’t believe Kenneth is our class valedictorian. It should really be me. If they gave out class valedictorian for LIFE lessons, it would be.
Thursday, May 4, Lunch
Dad just called with more Moscovitz news.
This time it was about Lilly.
Seriously, I should stop purchasing food here, since I’m only going to end up dropping it on the floor. Although since tomorrow is Senior Skip Day…I guess this is the last day I’m going to have this particular problem.
“Do you remember how she was filming everyone at your party?” Dad asked, when I picked up the phone, convinced this time Grandmère really had keeled over.
“Yeah…” I was picking bits of salad out of my hair. Everybody else was giving me the evil eye, picking bits of salad out of their own hair. Though it wasn’t my fault, really, I’d dropped my Fiesta Taco Bowl.
“Well, she’s crafted a campaign commercial from the footage. It began airing on Genovian television last night at midnight.”
I groaned. Everyone looked politely inquisitive—except J.P. He got a call on his own cell phone at that exact moment.
“It’s Sean,” he said apologetically. “I’ve got to take this. I’ll be right back.” He got up to go take the call outside, away from the din of the caf.
“How bad’s the damage?” I asked. Dad’s numbers had gotten a little better since Michael’s donation, and the press Dad had received because of it.
But René was still leading in the polls.
“No,” Dad said. He sounded strange. “You don’t understand, Mia. Her commercial’s in support of me. Not against me.”
“What?” I asked him breathlessly. “What did you say?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “I just thought you should know. I’ve e-mailed you a link to it. It’s really lovely, actually. I can’t imagine how she accomplished it. You said she has her own show in Korea, or something? I suppose she had her people there put it together, and then they had someone over here—”
“Dad,” I said, my chest feeling tight. “I’ve got to go….”