But Michael and Judith Gershner, on the other hand, are perfect for each other. Judith even looks like him, a little. I mean, they both have the same curly black hair and pale skin from being inside all the time, looking up stuff about genomes on the Internet.
But if Michael and Judith Gershner are so suited to one another, how come when I first saw them walking towards us while we were lacing up our rental skates, I got this very bad feeling inside?
I mean, I have absolutely no right to be jealous of the fact that Michael Moscovitz asked Judith Gershner to go skating with him. Absolutely no right at all.
Except that when I saw them together, I was shocked. I mean, Michael hardly ever leaves his room, on account of always being at his computer, maintaining his webzine, Crackhead. The last place I'd ever expected to see him is the ice-skating rink at Rockefeller Center during the height of the Christmas tree-lighting hysteria. Michael generally avoids places he considers tourists traps — like pretty much everywhere north of Bleecker Street.
But there he was. And there was Judith Gershner, in her overalls and Rockports and ski parka, chatting away about something - probably something really smart, like DNA.
I nudged Lilly in the side — she was lacing up her skates — and said, in this voice that I hoped didn't show what I was feeling inside, 'Look, there's your brother.'
And Lilly wasn't even surprised to see him! She looked over and went, 'Oh, yeah. He said he might show up.'
Show up with a date? Did he mention that? And would it have been too much for you, Lilly, to have mentioned this to me beforehand, so I could have had time for a little mental preparation?
Only Lilly doesn't know how I feel about her brother, so I guess it never occurred to her to break it to me gently.
Here's the subtle way in which I handled the situation. It was really smooth (NOT).
As Michael and Judith were looking around for a place to put on their skates:
Me: (Casually, to Lilly) I didn't know your brother and Judith Gershner were going out.
Lilly: (Disgusted for some reason) Please. They're not. She was just over at our place, working with Michael on
some project for the stupid Computer Club. They heard we were all going skating, and Judith, said she wanted to
come too.
Me: Well, that sounds like they're going out to me.
Lilly: Whatever. Boris, must you constantly breathe on me?
Me: (To Michael and Judith as they walk up to us) Oh, hi, you guys. Michael, I didn't know you knew how to ice-skate.
Michael: (Shrugging) I used to be on a hockey team.
Lilly: (Snorting) Yeah, Pee Wee Hockey. That was before he decided that team sports were a waste of time because the success of the team was dictated by the performance of all the players as a whole, as opposed to sports determined by individual performance such as tennis and golf.
Michael: Lilly, don't you ever shut up?
Judith: I love ice-skating! Although I'm not very good at it.
And she certainly isn't. Judith is such a bad skater, just to keep from falling flat on her face she had to hold on to both of Michael's hands while he skated backwards in front of her. I don't know which astonished me more - that Michael can skate backwards, or that he didn't seem to mind having to tow Judith all around the rink. I mean, I may not be able to clone a fruit
fly, but at least I can remain upright unaided in a pair of ice-skates.
But Kenny really seemed to think Michael and Judith's method of skating was way preferable to skating the old-fashioned
way - you know, solo - so he kept coming up and trying to tow me around the way Michael was towing Judith.
And even though I was all, 'Duh, Kenny, I know how to skate,' he said that wasn't the point. Finally, after he'd bugged me for like half an hour, I gave in, and let him hold both my hands as he skated in front of me, backwards.
Only the thing is, Kenny isn't very good at skating backwards. I can skate forward, but I'm not good enough at it that if someone is wobbling around in front of me, I can keep from crashing into him if he doesn't move out of the way fast enough.
Which was exactly what happened. Kenny fell down and I couldn't stop, so I crashed into him and my chin hit his knee and I bit my tongue and all this blood filled up in my mouth, and I didn't want to swallow it so I spat it out. Only unfortunately it went all over Kenny's jeans and on to the ice, which clearly impressed all of the tourists standing along the railings around the rink; taking pictures of their loved ones in front of the enormous Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, since they all turned around and started taking pictures of the girl spitting up blood on the ice below - a truly New York moment.
And then Lars came shooshing over - he is a champion ice-skater, thanks to his Nordic upbringing; quite a contrast to his bodyguard training in the heart of the Gobi desert -picked me up, looked at my tongue, gave me his handkerchief and told me to keep pressure on the wound. Then he said, 'That's enough skating for one night.'
And that was it. Now I've got this bloody gouge in the tip of my tongue, and it hurts to talk, and I was totally humiliated in front of millions of tourists, not to mention in front of my friends and, worst of all, Judith Gershner, who it turns out also got accepted early decision at Columbia (great, the same school Michael's going to in the fall) where she will be pre-med, and who advised me that I should see my family practitioner as it seemed likely to her that I might need stitches. In my tongue? I'm lucky, she said, I didn't bite the tip of it off.
Lucky!