Isn't that great? Sometimes I think I must be the luckiest girl in the whole world. I mean, really. Think about it: I may not be pretty, but I am not grossly disfigured; I live in New York City, the coolest place on the planet; I'm a princess; I have a boyfriend. What more could a girl ask for?
Oh, God.
WHO AM I KIDDING?????
This boyfriend of mine? Yeah, here's the scoop on him:
I DON'T EVEN LIKE HIM.
Well, OK, it's not that I don't like him. But this boyfriend thing, I just don't know. Kenny's a nice enough guy and all - don't get me wrong. I mean, he is funny and not boring to be with, certainly. And he's pretty cute, you know, in a tall, skinny sort of way.
It's just that when I see Kenny walking down the hall, my heart so totally doesn't start beating faster, the way girls' hearts start beating faster in those teen romances my friend Tina Hakim Baba is always reading.
And when Kenny takes my hand, at the movies or whatever, it's not like my hand gets all tingly in his, the way girls' hands do
in those books.
And when he kisses me? Yeah, you know those fireworks people always talk about? OK, forget it about. No fireworks. Nil. Nada.
It's funny, because before I got a boyfriend I used to spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to get one and, once I got him, how I'd get him to kiss me.
But now that I actually have a boyfriend, mostly all I do is try to figure out how to get out of kissing him.
One way that I have found works quite effectively is the head turn. See, if you notice his lips coming towards you, you just turn your head at the last minute so all he gets is your cheek and maybe some hair.
I guess the worst thing is that when Kenny gazes deeply into my eyes - which he does a lot - and asks me what I am thinking about, I am usually thinking about this one certain person.
And that person isn't Kenny. It isn't Kenny at all. It is Lilly's older brother, Michael Moscovitz, whom I have loved for - oh, I don't know, MY ENTIRE LIFE.
Not that he even knows I am alive, except as his little sister's best friend, but whatever.
Which is why I have decided I have to tell him. Kenny, I mean. About how I really feel.
That's why my life is over. Because how do you say to somebody who wants to hold your hand in the movies that you don't like him in that way? Especially when he's already asked you out a bunch of times and you've gone. And you knew full well
the whole time that he wasn't asking you as a friend — he was asking you as a potential life mate.
Or a royal consort, as Grandmere would say.
Wait, though. It gets worse.
Because now it's like everybody considers us this big item. You know? Now we're Kenny-and-Mia. Now, instead of Lilly
and me hanging out together Saturday nights, it's Lilly-and-Boris and Kenny-and-Mia. Sometimes my friend Tina Hakim Baba, and her boyfriend, Dave Farouq El-Abar, and my other friend Shameeka Taylor, and her boyfriend, Daryl Gardner, join us, making it Lilly-and-Boris and Kenny-and-Mia and Tina-and-Dave and Shameeka-and-Daryl.
So if Kenny and I break up, not only will it be this very big deal, but who am I going to hang around with on Saturday nights?
I mean, seriously. Lilly-and-Boris and Tina-and-Dave and Shameeka-and-Daryl won't want just plain Mia along. I'll be like
this seventh wheel.
Not to mention, if Kenny and I break up, who will I go to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance with?
Oh, God, I have to go now. Lilly-and-Boris and Tina-and-Dave and Kenny and I are supposed to go ice-skating at the Rockefeller Center.
All I can say is, be careful what you wish for. It iust might come true.
Saturday, December 5, 11 p.m.
OK, remember how I thought my life was over because I have a boyfriend now and I don't really like him in that way, and I have to break up with him without hurting his feelings, which is, I guess, probably impossible?
Yeah, well, I didn't know how over my life could actually be.
Not until last night, anyway.
That's right. Last night, when Lilly-and-Boris and Tina-and-Dave and Mia-and-Kenny were joined by a new couple, Michael-and-Judith.
That's right: Lilly's brother Michael showed up at the ice-skating rink, and he brought with him the president of the Computer Club - of which he is treasurer - Judith Gershner.
Judith Gershner, like Michael, is a senior at Albert Einstein High School. Judith Gershner, like Michael, is on the Honour Roll.
Judith Gershner, like Michael, will probably get into every college she applies to, because Judith Gershner, like Michael, is brilliant.
In fact, Judith Gershner, like Michael, won a prize last year at the Albert Einstein High School Annual Bio-Medical Technology Fair for her science project, in which she actually cloned a fruit fly.
She cloned a fruit fly. At home. In her bedroom.
Judith Gershner knows how to clone fruit flies in her bedroom. And me? Yeah, I can't even multiply fractions.
Hmm, gee, I don't know. If you were Michael Moscovitz - you know, a straight-A student who got into Columbia early decision - who would you rather go out with? A girl who can clone fruit flies in her bedroom, or a girl who is getting a D
in Freshman Algebra, in spite of the fact that her mother is married to her Algebra teacher?
Not that there's even a chance of Michael ever asking me out. I mean, I have to admit, there were a couple of times when
I thought he might. But that was clearly just wishful thinking on my part. I mean, why would a guy like Michael, who does
really well in school and will probably excel at whatever career he ultimately chooses, ever ask out a girl like me, who would have flunked out of the ninth grade by now if it hadn't been for all those extra tutoring sessions with Mr. Gianini and, ironically, Michael himself?