CRACKING: I THOUGHT IT WASN’T ANY OF MY BUSINESS.
I’m so glad I don’t have a brother.
FTLOUIE: IT ISN’T. WHAT’S SHE SAYING ABOUT ME?
CRACKING: THAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT’S WITH YOU THESE DAYS, BUT EVER SINCE YOUR DAD CAME TO VISIT YOU’VE BEEN ACTING LIKE A HEAD CASE.
FTLOUIE: ME? A HEAD CASE? WHAT ABOUT HER? SHE’S THE ONE WHO’S ALWAYS CRITICIZING ME. I’M SO SICK OF IT!! IF SHE WANTS TO BE MY FRIEND, WHY CAN’T SHE JUST ACCEPT ME THE WAY I AM???
CRACKING: NO NEED TO YELL.
FTLOUIE: I’M NOT YELLING!!!
CRACKING: YOU’RE USING EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF PUNCTUATION, AND ON-LINE, THAT’S LIKE YELLING. BESIDES, SHE’S NOT THE ONLY ONE CRITICIZING. SHE SAYS YOU WON’T SUPPORT HER BOYCOTT OF HO’S DELI.
FTLOUIE: WELL, SHE’S RIGHT. I WON’T. IT’S STUPID. DON’T YOU THINK IT’S STUPID?
CRACKING: SURE IT’S STUPID. ARE YOU STILL FLUNKING ALGEBRA?
That was out of the blue.
FTLOUIE: I GUESS SO. BUT CONSIDERING THE FACT THAT MR. G SLEPT OVER LAST NIGHT, I’LL PROBABLY SCRAPE BY WITH A D. WHY?
CRACKING: WHAT? MR. G SLEPT OVER? AT YOUR PLACE? WHAT WAS THAT LIKE?
Now, why did I tell him that? It’ll be all over school by tomorrow morning. Maybe Mr. G will get fired! I don’t know if teachers are allowed to date their pupils’ mothers. Why did I tell Michael that?
FTLOUIE: IT WAS PRETTY AWFUL. BUT THEN HE KIND OF JOKED AROUND, AND MADE IT OKAY. I DON’T KNOW. I SHOULD PROBABLY BE MORE MAD, BUT MY MOM’S SO HAPPY, IT’S HARD.
CRACKING: YOUR MOM COULD DO A LOT WORSE THAN MR. G. IMAGINE IF SHE WAS GOING OUT WITH MR. STUART.
Mr. Stuart teaches Health. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. I haven’t had him yet, since you don’t have Health until sophomore year, but even I know that you should never go near Mr. Stuart’s desk, because if you do, he’ll reach out and rub your shoulders like he’s giving you a massage, but everybody says he’s really just trying to see whether or not you’re wearing a bra.
If my mom ever went out with Mr. Stuart, I would move to Afghanistan.
FTLOUIE: HA HA HA. WHY’D YOU WANT TO KNOW WHETHER OR NOT I’M FLUNKING ALGEBRA?
CRACKING: OH, BECAUSE I’M DONE WITH THIS MONTH’S ISSUE OF CRACKHEAD, AND I THOUGHT IF YOU WANTED, I COULD TUTOR YOU DURING G & T. IF YOU WANTED.
Michael Moscovitz, offering to do something for me? I couldn’t believe it. I nearly fell off my computer chair.
FTLOUIE: WOW, THAT WOULD BE GREAT! THANKS!
CRACKING: DON’T MENTION IT. HANG IN THERE, THERMOPOLIS.
Then he signed off.
Can you believe it? Wasn’t that nice? I wonder what’s got into him.
I should definitely fight with Lilly more often.
Even Later on Sunday
Just when I thought things might be looking very slightly up, my dad called. He said he was sending Lars over to pick me up so me and him and Grandm่re could have dinner together at the Plaza.
Notice the invitation didn’t include Mom.
But I guess that’s okay, since Mom didn’t want to go anyway. When I told her I was going she got really cheerful, in fact.
“Oh, that’s okay,” she said. “I’ll just stay here and order in some Thai food and watch Sixty Minutes.”
She’s been really cheerful ever since she got back from Central Park. She says she and Mr. G went on one of those dorky carriage rides. I was shocked. Those carriage drivers don’t take care of their horses at all. There’s always some ancient carriage horse keeling over from lack of water. I had always vowed never to ride in one of those carriages. At least not until they start giving those horses some rights, and I always thought my mom agreed with me.
Love can do strange things to people.
The Plaza wasn’t that bad this time. I guess I’m getting used to it. The doormen know who I am now—or at least they know who Lars is—so they don’t give me a hard time anymore. Grandm่re and my dad were both in kind of bad moods. I don’t know why. I guess they’re not getting paid to spend time with each other, like I kind of am.
Dinner was so boring. Grandm่re went on and on about which fork to use with what and why. There were all these courses, and most of them were meat. One was fish, though, so I ate that, plus dessert, which was a big fancy tower of chocolate. Grandm่re tried to tell me that when I am representing Genovia at state functions I have to eat whatever is put down in front of me or I will insult my hosts and possibly create an international incident. But I told her I would have my staff explain to my hosts ahead of time that I don’t eat meat, so not to serve me any.
Grandm่re looked kind of mad. I guess it never occurred to her that I might have watched that made-for-TV movie about Princess Diana. I know all about how to get out of eating stuff at state dinners, and also about barfing up what you did eat afterwards (only I would never do that).
All through dinner, Dad kept asking me these weird questions about Mom. Like was I uncomfortable about her relationship with Mr. Gianini, and did I want him to say something to her. I think he was trying to get me to tell him whether or not I thought it was serious between the two of them—Mr. G and my mom, I mean.
Well, I know it’s pretty serious if he’s spending the night. My mom only lets guys she really, really likes spend the night. So far, including Mr. G, that’s only been three guys in the past fourteen years: Wolfgang, who turned out to be gay; this guy Tim, who turned out to be a Republican; and now my Algebra teacher. That’s not so many, really. It’s only like one guy every four years.