That is me. That is so totally me. I mean, if you looked at me, and then you looked at my parents, who are both very attractive people, you would be all, Whathappened?
Seriously. I should go live with the X-men, I am such a mutant.
Besides, is Michael Moscovitz really the type of guy who’d say I was theJosiest girl in school? I mean, I am assuming the author is referring to Josie, the lead singer of Josie and the Pussycats, played by Rachael Leigh Cook in the movie. Except that in no way do I resemble Rachael Leigh Cook. I wish.Josie and the Pussycats started out as a cartoon about a girl band that solves crimes, like onScooby Doo, and Michael doesn’t even watch the Cartoon Network, as far as I know.
Michael generally only watches PBS, the Sci Fi Channel, andBuffy the Vampire Slayer. Maybe if the letter had saidI think you are the Buffiestgirl I’ve ever met. . . .
But if it isn’t from Michael, who could it be from?
This is all so exciting, I want to call someone and tell them. Only who? Everyone I know is in school.
WHY DID I HAVE TO GET SICK????
Forget sticking my wet head out the window. I have to get better right away so I can go back to school and figure out who my secret admirer is!
TEMPERATURE CHART:
10:45 a.m.—99.2
11:15 a.m.—99.1
12:27 p.m.—98.6
Yes! YES! I am getting better! Thank you, Selman Waksman, inventor of the antibiotic.
2:05 p.m.—99.0
No. Oh, no.
3:35 p.m.—99.1
Why is this happening to me?
Later on Thursday
This afternoon while I was lying around with icepacks under the covers, trying to bring my fever down so I can go to school tomorrow and find out who my secret admirer is, I happened to see the best episode ofBaywatch ever.
Really.
See, Mitch met this girl with this very fake French accent during a boat race, and they totally fell in love and ran around in the waves to this excellent soundtrack, and then it turned out the girl was engaged to Mitch’s opponent in the boat race—and not only that—she was actually theprincess of this small European country Mitch had never heard of. Her fiancé was this prince her father had betrothed her to at birth!
While I was watching this, Lilly came over with my new homework assignments, and she started watching with me, and she totally missed the deep philosophical importance of the episode. All she said was, “Boy, does that royal chick need an eyebrow waxing.”
I was appalled.
“Lilly,” I croaked. “Can’t you see that this episode ofBaywatch is prophetic? It is entirely possible that I have been betrothed since birth to some prince I’ve never even met, and my dad just hasn’t told me yet. And I could very likely meet some lifeguard on a beach and fall madly in love with him, but it won’t matter, because I will have to do my duty and marry the man my people have picked out for me.”
Lilly said, “Hello, exactly how much of that cough medicine have you had today? It says onetea spoon every four hours, nottable spoon, dorkus.”
I was annoyed at Lilly for failing to see the bigger picture. I couldn’t, of course, tell her about the letter I’d gotten. Because what if her brother was the one who wrote it? I wouldn’t want him thinking I’d gone blabbing about it to everyone I knew. A love letter is a very private thing.
But still, you would think she’d be able to see it from my perspective.
“Don’t you understand?” I rasped. “What is the point of me liking anybody, when it’s entirely possible that my dad has arranged a marriage for me with some prince I’ve never met? Some guy who lives in, like,Dubai , or somewhere, and who gazes daily at my picture and longs for the day when he can finally make me his own?”
Lilly said she thought I’d been reading too many of my friend Tina Hakim Baba’s teen romances. I will admit, that is sort of where I got the idea. But that is not the point.
“Seriously, Lilly,” I said. “I have to guard diligently against falling in love with somebody like David Hasselhoff or your brother, because in the end I might have to marry Prince William.” Not that that would be such a great sacrifice, and all.
Lilly got up off my bed and stomped out into the loft’s living room. My dad was the only one around, because when he’d come over to check on me, my mom had suddenly remembered an errand she had to get done and dashed off.
Only of course there was no errand. My mom still hasn’t told my dad about Mr. G and her pregnancy, and how they’re getting married, and all. I think she’s afraid that he might start yelling at her for being so irresponsible (which I could totally see him doing).
So instead she flees from Dad in guilt every time she sees him. It would almost be funny, if it wasn’t such a pathetic way for a thirty-six-year-old woman to behave. When I am thirty-six, I fully intend to be self-actualized, so you will not catch me doing any of the things my mother is always doing.
“Mr. Renaldo,” I heard Lilly say, as she went out into the living room. She calls my dad Mr. Renaldo even though she knows perfectly well he is the prince of Genovia. She doesn’t care though, because she says this isAmerica and she isn’t calling anybody “Your Highness.” She is fundamentally opposed to monarchies—and principalities, like Genovia, fall under that heading. Lilly believes that sovereignty rests with the people. In colonial times, she’d probably have been branded a Whig.
“Mr. Renaldo,” I heard her ask my dad. “Is Mia secretly betrothed to some prince somewhere?”
My dad lowered his newspaper. I could hear it crinkling all the way from my bedroom. “Good God, no,” he said.
“Moron,” she said to me, when she came stomping back into my room. “And while I can see why you might want to guard diligently against falling in love with David Hasselhoff, who is, by the way, old enough to be your father, and hardly a hottie, what does mybrother have to do with any of this?”
Too late, I realized what I’d said. Lilly has no idea how I feel about her brother Michael. Actually,I don’t really have any idea about how I feel about him either. Except that he looks extremely Casper Van Dien with his shirt off.