Party Princess

Phil, the pianist, looks ready to drop. Even Grandmère is starting to droop. Only Señor Eduardo, dozing in his chair, looks rested. Well, Señor Eduardo and Rommel.

Oh, God. She’s making them run through, “Genovia, My Genovia” one more time. I freaking HATE this song. At least I’m not in this number. Still. Can’t she see she’s driving us past the breaking point? My God, aren’t there rules about how long you can force a child to work?

Oh, well. At least all of this is keeping my mind off last night’s humiliation. Sort of. I mean, Lilly still brings it up every chance she gets—“Oh, Mia, hey, thanks for the bagels,” and “Hey, Mia, maybe you could work that sexy dance into the scene where you murder Alboin,” and “Where’s your beret?”

Which of course has everyone who wasn’t there going, “What’s she talking about?” At which Lilly just smiles all knowingly.

And then there’s the Michael thing. Lilly says he wasn’t even there to GET the bagels I sent over this morning. He went back to his dorm room last night after the party ended because his parents were home and didn’t need him to keep Lilly out of trouble anymore.

I’ve sent him, like, three text messages apologizing for being such a weirdo.

All I got back from him was this:

 

WE NEED 2 TALK

 

Which can only mean one thing, of course. He—

Oh, wait. J.P. just passed me a note, so we won’t get yelled at for whispering, as happened earlier when he leaned over to let me know my combat boot had come untied.

 

J.P.:

 

Hey. You aren’t mad at me, are you?

Me:

 

Why would I be mad at you?

J.P.:

 

For dancing with you.

Me:

 

Why would I be mad at you for DANCING with me?

J.P.:

 

Well, if it got you in trouble with your boyfriend, or anything.

 

It was looking more and more like it totally had. But that wasn’t anybody’s fault but mine… and certainly not J.P.’s.

 

Me:

 

No. That was totally NICE of you. It helped me not look like the biggest freak in the universe. I’m so STUPID. I can’t believe I had that beer. I was just so nervous, you know. Of not being enough of a party girl.

J.P.:

 

Well, you looked like you were having a great time, if it’s any consolation. Not like today. Today you look—well, that’s why I thought you might be mad at me. Either because of last night, or maybe because of that thing I said the other day, about knowing you’re a vegetarian because of that fit you had in the caf that one time.

Me:

 

No. Why would that make me mad? It’s true. I DID have a fit when I found out they put meat in the lasagna. I mean, it was supposed to be vegetarian.

J.P.:

 

I know. They screw EVERYTHING up in that cafeteria. Have you seen what they do to the chili?

Me:

 

You mean how they put corn in it sometimes?

J.P.:

 

Yeah, exactly. That is just wrong. There shouldn’t be corn in chili. It’s unnatural. Don’t you think?

Me:

 

Well, I never really thought about it before. I mean, I like corn.

J.P.:

 

Well, I don’t. I never have. Not since—whatever. Never mind.

Me:

 

Not since what?

J.P.:

 

No, it’s nothing. Really. Never mind.

 

But, of course, now I HAD to know.

 

Me:

 

No, really. It’s okay. You can tell me. I won’t say a word to anyone. I swear.

J.P.:

 

Well, it’s just…you know how I told you the only celebrity I’d most like to meet is David Mamet?

Me:

 

Yeah…

J.P.:

 

Well, my parents have actually met him. They went to his house for a dinner party once about four years ago. And I was so excited when I found out, I was like—in that way you do, when you’re twelve, you know, and you think the world revolves around you—“Did you tell him about me, Dad? Did you tell him I’m his biggest fan?”

Me:

 

Yeah. And what did your dad say?

J.P.:

 

He said, “Yes, son, as a matter of fact, your name did come up.” Turns out Dad had told him about me, all right. He told him about the first time they ever fed me corn as a baby.

Me:

 

Yeah?

J.P.:

 

And how amazed they were the next morning when they found it in whole pieces in my diaper. The corn, I mean.

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Actually, this happened the first—and only time—we fed corn to Rocky. So I know PRECISELY how gross it really is.

 

Me:

 

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! Oops, I mean. Sorry. That must have been very embarrassing. I mean, for you. That they told your idol something like that about you. Even if you WERE just a baby at the time that it happened.

J.P.:

 

Embarrassing? I was mortified! I haven’t been able to stand the sight of corn since!

Me:

 

Well. That explains it, then.

J.P.:

 

Explains what?