Anyway, Lilly says that the big news at school is that the “It Couple,” Josh Richter and Lana Weinberger, got back together, after having been broken up one whole entire week (a personal record for the both of them: Last time they broke up, it was for only three days). Lilly says when she went by my locker to get my books, Lana was standing there in her cheerleader uniform, waiting for Josh, whose locker is next to mine.
Then, when Josh showed up, he laid a big wet one on Lana that Lilly swears was the equivalent to an F5 on the Fujimoto scale of tornado suck zone intensity, making it impossible for Lilly to close my locker door again (how well I know that problem). Lilly resolved the situation pretty quickly, however, by accidentally-on-purpose stabbing Josh in the spine with the tip of her number two pencil.
I thought about telling Lilly my own Big News: you know, about my mom and Mr. G. I mean, she’s going to find out about it anyway.
Maybe it was the infection coursing through my body, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just couldn’t bear the thought of what Lilly might say regarding the potential size of my future brother’s or sister’s nostrils.
Anyway, I have about a ton of homework. Even the father of my unborn sibling, who you would think would feel an iota of sympathy toward me, loaded me down with it. I tell you, there isn’t a single perk to having your mother engaged to your Algebra teacher. Not a single one.
Well, except when he comes over for dinner and helps me with the assignment. He doesn’t give me the answers, though, so I mostly get sixty-eights. And that’s still a D.
And I am really sick now! My temperature has gone up to ninety-nine point eight! Soon it will reach one hundred.
If this were an episode of ER, they’d have practically put me on a respirator already.
There is no way I’ll be able to be interviewed by Beverly Bellerieve now. NO WAY.
Tee hee.
My mom has her humidifier in here, going on full blast. Lilly says my room is just like Vietnam, and why don’t I at least crack the window, for God’s sake.
I never thought of it before, but Lilly and Grandmère sort of have a lot in common. For instance, Grandmère called a little while ago. When I told her how sick I was, and how I probably wouldn’t be able to make it to the interview on Saturday, she actually chastised me.
That’s right. Chastised me, like it was my fault I got sick. Then she starts going on about how on her wedding day she had a fever of one hundred and two, but did she let that stop her from standing through a two-hour wedding ceremony, then riding in an open coach through the streets of Genovia waving to the populace, and then dining on prosciutto and melon at her reception and waltzing until four in the morning?
No, you might not be too surprised to learn. It did not.
That, Grandmère said, is because a princess does not use poor health as an excuse to shirk her duties to her people.
As if the people of Genovia care about my doing some lousy interview for Twenty-Four/Seven. They don’t even get that show there. I mean, except for the people who have satellite dishes, maybe.
Lilly is just about as unsympathetic as Grandmère. In fact, Lilly isn’t really a very soothing visitor to have at all when you are sick. She suggested that it was possible that I have consumption, just like Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I said I thought it was probably only bronchitis, and Lilly said that’s probably what Elizabeth Barrett Browning thought, too, before she died.
HOMEWORK
Algebra: problems at the end of Chapter 10
English: in your journal, list your favorite TV show, movie, book, food, etc.
World Civ: one thousand word essay explaining the
conflict between Iran and Afghanistan
G&T: as if
French: ecrivez une vignette amusant (Oh, right)
Biology: endocrine system (get answers from Kenny)
God! What are they trying to do over there, anyway? Kill me?
Wednesday, October 22
This morning my mom called my dad where he’s staying at the Plaza, and made him bring the limo over so I could go to the doctor. This is because when she took my temperature after I woke up, it was one hundred and two, just like Grandmère’s on her wedding day.
Only I can tell you, I didn’t feel much like waltzing. I could hardly even get dressed. I was so feverish I actually put on one of the outfits Grandmère bought me. So there I was in Chanel from head to toe, with my eyes all glassy and this sheen of sweat all over me. My dad jumped about a foot and a half when he saw me, I think because he thought for a minute that I was Grandmère.
Only of course I am much taller than Grandmère. Though my hair isn’t as big.
It turns out that Dr. Fung is one of the few people in America who hadn’t heard yet that I’m a princess, so we had to sit in the waiting room for like ten minutes before he could see me. My dad spent the ten minutes talking to the receptionist. That’s because she was wearing an outfit that showed her navel, even though it is practically winter.
And even though my dad is completely bald and wears suits all the time instead of khakis like a normal dad, you could tell the receptionist was completely into him. That’s because in spite of his incipient European-ness, my dad is still something of a hottie.
Lars, who is also a hottie in a different sort of way (being extremely large and hairy), sat next to me, reading Parenting magazine. I could tell he would have preferred the latest copy of Soldier of Fortune, but they don’t have a subscription to that at the SoHo Family Medical Practice.
Finally Dr. Fung saw me. He took my temperature (101.7) and felt my glands to see if they were swollen (they were). Then he tried to take a throat culture to check for strep.