Mamaw shrieked so loud, I had to hold the cell phone away from my ear.

“WHERE IS HE?” she yelled. “YOU TELL HIM FROM ME THAT WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON HIM, HE’S—“

“Mamaw,” I cried. It was kind of embarrassing, because all sorts of people in the hallway heard her yelling and were looking at me. I tried to make myself inconspicuous by hunching behind Lars.

“Mamaw,” I said, “he got a contract with Ford Models, Inc. He’s the newest Calvin Klein underwear model. He’s going to be a big celebrity, like—“

“UNDERWEAR?” Mamaw yelled. “Mia, you tell that boy to call me RIGHT NOW.”

“Well, I can’t really do that, Mamaw,” I said. “On account of the fact that—“

“RIGHT NOW,” Mamaw repeated, “or he’s in BIG TROUBLE.”

“Um,” I said. The bell was ringing anyway. “Okay, Mamaw. Is, um, the, uh, wedding still on?”

“The WHAT?”

“The wedding,” I said, wishing I could, just for once, be a normal girl who did not have to go around asking people if the royal marriage of her pregnant mother and her Algebra teacher was still on.

“Well, of course it’s still on,” Mamaw said. “What do you think?”

“Oh,” I said. “You, um, talked to my mom?”

“Of course I did,” Mamaw said. “Everything is all set.”

“Really?” I was immensely surprised. I could not picture my mother going along with this thing. Not in a million years. “And she said she’d be there?”

“Well, of course she’ll be there,” Mamaw said. “It’s her wedding, isn’t it?”

Well . . .sort of, I guess. I didn’t say that to Mamaw, though. I said, “Sure.” And then I hung up, feeling crushed.

For entirely selfish reasons, too, I confess. I was a little bit sad for my mom, I guess, since she really had tried to put up a resistance against Grandmère. I mean, she really had tried. It wasn’t her fault, of course, that she’d been going up against such a inexorable force.

But mostly I felt sad for myself. I would NEVER escape in time for Rocky Horror. Never, never, never. I mean, I know the movie doesn’t even start until midnight, but wedding receptions last way longer than that.

And who knows if Michael will ever ask me out again? I mean, not once today has he acknowledged that he is, in fact, Jo-C-rox, nor has he mentioned Rocky Horror. Not once. Not even so much as a reference to Rachel Leigh Cook.

And we talked at length during G and T. AT LENGTH. That is on account of how some of us who saw last year’s groundbreaking episode of Lilly Tells It Like It Is were understandably confused by Lilly’s helping Hank to realize his dream of supermodel stardom. The segment was titled “Yes, You as an Individual Can Bring Down the Sexist, Racist, Ageist, and Sizeist Modeling Industry” (by “criticizing ads that demean women and limit our ideas of beauty” and “finding ways to make your protest known to the companies advertised” and “letting the media know you want to see more varied and realistic images of women.” Also, Lilly urged us to “challenge men who judge, choose, and discard women on the basis of appearance”).

The following exchange took place during Gifted and Talented (Mrs. Hill has returned to the teachers’ lounge—permanently, one can only hope) and included Michael Moscovitz, who, as you will see, did NOT ONCE mention Jo-C-rox or Rocky Horror:

Me: Lilly, I thought you found the modeling industry as a whole sexist and racist and belittling to the human race.

Lilly: So? What’s your point?

Me: Well, according to Hank, you helped him realize his dream of becoming a you know what. A model.

Lilly: Mia, when I recognize a human soul crying out for self-actualization, I am powerless to stop myself. I must do what I can to see that that person’s dream is realized.

[Gee, I haven’t noticed Lilly doing all that much to help me realize my dream of French-kissing her brother. But on the other hand, I have not exactly made that dream known to her.]

Me: Um, Lilly, I hadn’t noticed that you had a real foothold in the modeling industry.

Lilly: I don’t. I merely taught your cousin how to make the most of his God-given talents. Some simple lessons in elocution and fashion, and he was well on his way to landing that contract with Ford.

Me: Well, why did it have to be such a big secret?

Lilly: Do you have any idea how fragile the male ego is?

[Here Michael broke in.]

Michael: Hey!

Lilly: I’m sorry, but it’s true. Hank’s self-esteem had already been reduced to nothing thanks to Amber, Corn Queen of Versailles County. I couldn’t allow any negative comments to ruin what little self-confidence he had left. You know how fatalistic boys can be.

Michael: Hey!

Lilly: It was vital that Hank be allowed to pursue his dream without the slightest fatalistic influence. Otherwise, I knew, he didn’t stand a chance. And so I kept our plan a secret even from those I most cared about. Any one of you, without consciously meaning to, might have torpedoed Hank’s chances with the most casual of comments.

Me: Come on. We’d have been supportive.

Lilly: Mia, think about it. If Hank had said to you, ‘Mia, I want to be a model,’ what would you have done? Come on. You would have laughed.

Me: No, I wouldn’t have.

Lilly: Yes, you would have. Because to you, Hank is your whiny, allergy-prone cousin from the boondocks who doesn’t even know what a bagel is. But I, you see, was able to look beyond that, to the man Hank had the potential to become. . . .