all sensible. What about this other young man?'
'What other young man?'
'The one you claim to be so in love with. Won't he be at this dance with the house fly girl?'
'Fruit fly,' I corrected her. And I don't know. Maybe.'
The thought that Michael might ask Judith Gershner to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance had never occurred to me. But as soon as Grandmere mentioned it, I felt that same sickening sensation I'd felt at the ice-skating rink when I'd first seen them together: kind of like the time when Lilly and I were crossing Bleecker Street and this Chinese food delivery man crashed into us on his bicycle and I had all the wind knocked out of me.
Only this time it wasn't just my chest that hurt, but my tongue. It had been feeling a lot better but now it started to throb again.
'It seems to me,' Grandmere said, 'that one way to get this young man's attention might be to show up at the dance on the arm of this other young man, looking perfectly divine in an original creation by Genovian fashion designer, Sebastiano Grimaldi.'
I just stared at her. Because she was right. She was so right. Except. . .
'Grandmere,' I said. 'The guy I like? Well, he likes girls who can clone insects. OK? I highly doubt he is going to be
impressed by a dress.'
I didn't mention that I had, of course, just the other night, been hoping that very thing.
But almost as if she could read my mind, Grandmere just went, 'Hmm,' in this knowing way.
'Suit yourself,' she continued. 'Still, it seems a bit cruel to me, your breaking things off with this young man at this time of year.'
'Why?' I asked, confused. Had Grandmere inadvertendy stumbled across some TV channel playing It's a Wonderful Life or something? She had never shown one speck of holiday spirit before now. 'Because it's Christmas?
'No,' Grandmere said, looking very disgusted with me - I guess over the suggestion that she might ever be moved by the anniversary of the birth of anyone's saviour. 'Because of your exams. If you truly wish to be kind, I think you might at least
wait until your Final exams are over before breaking the poor litde fellow's heart.'
I had been all ready to argue with whatever excuse for me not breaking up with Kenny Grandmere came up with next - but
this one I had not expected. I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I know it was hanging open, because I could see it reflected in the three full-length mirrors beside me.
'I cannot imagine,' Grandmere went on, 'why you do not simply allow him to believe his ardour returned until your exams are over. Why compound the poor boy's stress? But you must, of course, do what you think is best. I suppose this, er, Kenny is the sort of boy who bounces back easily from rejection? He'll probably do quite well in his exams, in spite of his broken heart.'
Oh, God! If she had stabbed a fork in my stomach and twisted my intestines around the tines like spaghetti noodles, she couldn't have made me feel worse . . .
And, I have to admit, a little relieved. Because of course I can't break up with Kenny now. Never mind my Bio. grade and the dance - you can't break up with someone right before Finals. It's like the meanest thing you can do.
Well, aside from the kind of stuff Lana and her friends pull. You know, girls' locker room stuff, like going up to someone who
is changing and asking her why she wears a bra when she obviously doesn't need one, or making fun of her just because she doesn't happen to like being kissed by her boyfriend. That kind of thing.
So here I am. I want to break up with Kenny, but I can't.
I want to tell Michael how I feel about him, but I can't do that either.
I can't even quit biting my fingernails. I am going to gross out an entire European nation with my bleedy-looking cuticles.
I am a pathetic mess. No wonder in the car this morning - after I accidentally closed the door on Lars's foot - Lilly said that I should really look into getting some therapy, because if anybody needs to discover
'What other young man?'
'The one you claim to be so in love with. Won't he be at this dance with the house fly girl?'
'Fruit fly,' I corrected her. And I don't know. Maybe.'
The thought that Michael might ask Judith Gershner to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance had never occurred to me. But as soon as Grandmere mentioned it, I felt that same sickening sensation I'd felt at the ice-skating rink when I'd first seen them together: kind of like the time when Lilly and I were crossing Bleecker Street and this Chinese food delivery man crashed into us on his bicycle and I had all the wind knocked out of me.
Only this time it wasn't just my chest that hurt, but my tongue. It had been feeling a lot better but now it started to throb again.
'It seems to me,' Grandmere said, 'that one way to get this young man's attention might be to show up at the dance on the arm of this other young man, looking perfectly divine in an original creation by Genovian fashion designer, Sebastiano Grimaldi.'
I just stared at her. Because she was right. She was so right. Except. . .
'Grandmere,' I said. 'The guy I like? Well, he likes girls who can clone insects. OK? I highly doubt he is going to be
impressed by a dress.'
I didn't mention that I had, of course, just the other night, been hoping that very thing.
But almost as if she could read my mind, Grandmere just went, 'Hmm,' in this knowing way.
'Suit yourself,' she continued. 'Still, it seems a bit cruel to me, your breaking things off with this young man at this time of year.'
'Why?' I asked, confused. Had Grandmere inadvertendy stumbled across some TV channel playing It's a Wonderful Life or something? She had never shown one speck of holiday spirit before now. 'Because it's Christmas?
'No,' Grandmere said, looking very disgusted with me - I guess over the suggestion that she might ever be moved by the anniversary of the birth of anyone's saviour. 'Because of your exams. If you truly wish to be kind, I think you might at least
wait until your Final exams are over before breaking the poor litde fellow's heart.'
I had been all ready to argue with whatever excuse for me not breaking up with Kenny Grandmere came up with next - but
this one I had not expected. I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I know it was hanging open, because I could see it reflected in the three full-length mirrors beside me.
'I cannot imagine,' Grandmere went on, 'why you do not simply allow him to believe his ardour returned until your exams are over. Why compound the poor boy's stress? But you must, of course, do what you think is best. I suppose this, er, Kenny is the sort of boy who bounces back easily from rejection? He'll probably do quite well in his exams, in spite of his broken heart.'
Oh, God! If she had stabbed a fork in my stomach and twisted my intestines around the tines like spaghetti noodles, she couldn't have made me feel worse . . .
And, I have to admit, a little relieved. Because of course I can't break up with Kenny now. Never mind my Bio. grade and the dance - you can't break up with someone right before Finals. It's like the meanest thing you can do.
Well, aside from the kind of stuff Lana and her friends pull. You know, girls' locker room stuff, like going up to someone who
is changing and asking her why she wears a bra when she obviously doesn't need one, or making fun of her just because she doesn't happen to like being kissed by her boyfriend. That kind of thing.
So here I am. I want to break up with Kenny, but I can't.
I want to tell Michael how I feel about him, but I can't do that either.
I can't even quit biting my fingernails. I am going to gross out an entire European nation with my bleedy-looking cuticles.
I am a pathetic mess. No wonder in the car this morning - after I accidentally closed the door on Lars's foot - Lilly said that I should really look into getting some therapy, because if anybody needs to discover
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