Party Princess

“Yeah?” What did this have to do with me? I wondered. I don’t have a twin.

“Well, you know how you kept asking Lilly to pull ‘No More Corn!’, and she wouldn’t do it, even though she knew it would hurt J.P.’s feelings, and all, if he read it?”

What was she getting at? “Yeah?”

“Well, what if the reason Lilly refused to pull your story was because she WANTED J.P. to read it. Because she knew if he read it, he’d get mad at you for writing it, and then he wouldn’t like you anymore. And then he’d be free to like HER, instead.”

At first I was like, “No way. Lilly would never do something like that to me.”

But then I remembered the last thing she said to me during last night’s limo ride home from the Plaza:

I won’t be the person hurting him. You will. I didn’t write that story.

Oh my God! Could Tina be right? Does Lilly like J.P., but thinks he likes me? Could that really be why she was being so stubborn about pulling “No More Corn!”?

No. No, that can’t be right. Because Lilly doesn’t GET all weird and possessive about boys. She just doesn’t.

“I’m not saying she was doing it CONSCIOUSLY,” Tina said, when I mentioned this. “She probably hasn’t even admitted to HERSELF that she likes J.P. But SUBCONSCIOUSLY, this could be the reason why she refused to pull your story.”

“No,” I said. “Come on, Tina. That’s crazy.”

“Is it?” Tina wanted to know. “Think about it, Mia. What HASN’T Lilly lost to you lately? First the school presidency. Then the part of Rosagunde. Now this. I’m just saying. It would explain a lot.”

Well, it would explain a lot. If it were true. But it’s not. J.P. doesn’t like me that way, and Lilly doesn’t like HIM that way.

And even if she did, she would never do something like that to me. I mean, she’s the person I love seventh best in the whole world. And I’m sure she loves me third. Or maybe fourth. On account of her not having a boyfriend, a younger sibling, a stepparent, or any pets of her own.

Wednesday, March 10, G & T

Lilly’s back. She’s looking really pale. Apparently, Principal Gupta called her parents.

Who came in to school. For a conference.

I don’t know what they talked about. At the conference, I mean. But apparently, Lilly has to run the content of the next issue of Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole past Ms. Martinez before she’s allowed to sell it. Because Lilly never showed Ms. Martinez her short stories.

Or mine.

Or the name of the magazine. Which is being changed to The Zine.

Just The Zine.

Which is, as I told Lilly, in an effort to be kind, kinda catchy.

Lilly didn’t say anything back to me, like, “Thanks” or “I’m sorry.”

And I’m not saying anything to her, like, “Want to talk?” or “I’m sorry.”

But I wish I could.

I’m just afraid of what she’ll say back.

Wednesday, March 10, third-floor stairwell

Today must be some kind of record for me breaking school rules. Because Kenny and I just totally skipped Earth Science, and we’re up here with Tina, going over the choreography one last time before tonight’s performance.

Kenny says he’s so nervous, he wants to throw up. Tina, too.

Me? To tell the truth—and it’s my personal mission in life to ONLY tell the truth anymore—I could vomit up my intestines, I’m so freaked out.

Because tonight I am going to have to do something I have never done before in my life. And that’s kiss a boy.

A boy other than Michael, I mean.

Well, okay, except for Josh Richter, but he doesn’t count, because that was before Michael and I started going out.

But basically, tonight I am going to cheat on my boyfriend.

And okay, I know it’s not really cheating, since it’s just a play—I mean, musical—and we are only acting a part and don’t really like each other or anything.

But still. I’ll be kissing ANOTHER MAN. A man I, only last Saturday, sexy danced with. In front of my boyfriend.

Who didn’t like it very much. So much so, in fact, that he’s apparently not speaking to me now. So if he finds out about this kissing thing, I’m REALLY going to be dead.

And even if he doesn’t find out, I WILL KNOW.

How can I help but feel like I am betraying him somehow?

Especially if—and this is what worries me most—I end up LIKING it. Kissing J.P., I mean.

Oh, God. I can’t believe I even WROTE that.

Of COURSE I won’t like it. I only love one boy, and that’s Michael. Even if he doesn’t necessarily love me back right now. I could NEVER enjoy kissing someone else. NEVER.

Oh, God. WHY WON’T HE CALL?????

Wednesday, March 10, the big performance

He still hasn’t called.

And there are so many people here.

I’m serious.

I can’t actually see who any of them are because Grandmère won’t let us peek out from behind the curtains, because she says, “If you can see the audience, they can see you.” She says it’s unprofessional to be seen in costume until after the show has started.

Considering this is an amateur production, Grandmère sure is a stickler about us all acting professional.

Still, I can see there are like twenty-five rows of chairs, with like twenty-five seats across out there, and every seat is filled. That’s like…five thousand people!