times—especially when I was PMSing, which I was. As I sat there watching Michael inspect a piece of spicy tuna for candle wax, I burst into tears.
He looked up from the sushi, confused. “What’s the matter?”
Operation Remotivation was a bust. It wasn’t working. It was
never
going to work. At least not with Michael. I realized that the moment to have The Talk had arrived. To tell Michael that as much as I loved him, I wasn’t
in
love with him, and because of that, we should probably go our separate ways—which is what Devon had told the hippie rain forest activist she had met in Costa Rica in
Riddled by Remembrance.
But I just…couldn’t. Literally. Because when I opened my mouth to tell him, I choked on the mint I had been sucking on to make sure I had minty-fresh breath when we kissed. When I could breathe again, I started crying again.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, puzzled.
“I’m not,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I mean, I
was
, a second ago, but now I’m not. Now I’m just sniffling. I think I’m just PMSing.”
He put down the sushi and walked over and gave me a hug. Michael’s kisses no longer set my loins aflame with passion, as Devon would say, but he
did
give awesome hugs. He used just the right amount of pressure. “I’m sorry,” he said as he squeezed me.
How was I going to give that up? I started to cry again.
“What’s the matter now?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” I said, willing myself to buck up.
After a few more squeezes, he let go of me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded as I swiped at my eyes some more.
“Good. Do you want to go fix your makeup?”
“Why?” I sniffled.
“I don’t know. Because you look a little bit like a raccoon?” he suggested.
I could tell he was trying to be helpful, but it didn’t stop me from bursting into tears again.
“You don’t have to,” he said, patting me again. “I just thought, you know, you might want to, before we eat. Not because it would gross me out or anything while I was eating, but because, you know, you have such pretty eyes.”
I started crying harder. This was why I was so
confused
. What was I supposed to do when he went and said something so romantic?
“I’ll be right back,” I sniffled as I walked toward the bathroom.
After I splashed some cold water on my face and ruined one of my mom’s good guest towels with mascara streaks, I stared at myself in the mirror. “Why are you throwing away something so rare and precious?” I said to my greasy-haired, puffy-eyed reflection in the mirror. “Michael
loves
you. Maybe he only said it once, on your fifteenth birthday, because you refused to let him have that second piece of cake unless he did, but that’s just because, like a lot of guys, he has troubletalking about his feelings.” I blew my nose. “Millions of girls would
kill
to have someone like him,” I said. Okay, maybe not
millions
of girls—maybe just Annie Bellamy, who went to Buckley, his high school, with him and always freaked me out when I saw her because last year she had gotten into Wicca and I was afraid she was going to put a spell on me.
When I walked back to the dining room, I found that Michael had blown out the candles and moved the sushi to the family room, where he was watching
Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew
on VH1.
“Is this cool?” he asked with his mouth full of yellowtail.
“Sure,” I sighed, plopping down next to him and plucking a piece of freshwater eel off the plate.
We spent the rest of the evening like we usually did—stuffing our faces while Michael channel surfed.
Operation Remotivation was a bust, but the second red velvet cupcake that I let myself have for dessert helped soften the blow a
little
bit.
four
Friday was the first of April, a.k.a. Horoscope Day. I can’t stand being late, so Thursday night I had to set my alarm for fifteen minutes earlier than usual so that when I woke up I could log on to HoroscopeAddicts.com and still make
He looked up from the sushi, confused. “What’s the matter?”
Operation Remotivation was a bust. It wasn’t working. It was
never
going to work. At least not with Michael. I realized that the moment to have The Talk had arrived. To tell Michael that as much as I loved him, I wasn’t
in
love with him, and because of that, we should probably go our separate ways—which is what Devon had told the hippie rain forest activist she had met in Costa Rica in
Riddled by Remembrance.
But I just…couldn’t. Literally. Because when I opened my mouth to tell him, I choked on the mint I had been sucking on to make sure I had minty-fresh breath when we kissed. When I could breathe again, I started crying again.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, puzzled.
“I’m not,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I mean, I
was
, a second ago, but now I’m not. Now I’m just sniffling. I think I’m just PMSing.”
He put down the sushi and walked over and gave me a hug. Michael’s kisses no longer set my loins aflame with passion, as Devon would say, but he
did
give awesome hugs. He used just the right amount of pressure. “I’m sorry,” he said as he squeezed me.
How was I going to give that up? I started to cry again.
“What’s the matter now?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” I said, willing myself to buck up.
After a few more squeezes, he let go of me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded as I swiped at my eyes some more.
“Good. Do you want to go fix your makeup?”
“Why?” I sniffled.
“I don’t know. Because you look a little bit like a raccoon?” he suggested.
I could tell he was trying to be helpful, but it didn’t stop me from bursting into tears again.
“You don’t have to,” he said, patting me again. “I just thought, you know, you might want to, before we eat. Not because it would gross me out or anything while I was eating, but because, you know, you have such pretty eyes.”
I started crying harder. This was why I was so
confused
. What was I supposed to do when he went and said something so romantic?
“I’ll be right back,” I sniffled as I walked toward the bathroom.
After I splashed some cold water on my face and ruined one of my mom’s good guest towels with mascara streaks, I stared at myself in the mirror. “Why are you throwing away something so rare and precious?” I said to my greasy-haired, puffy-eyed reflection in the mirror. “Michael
loves
you. Maybe he only said it once, on your fifteenth birthday, because you refused to let him have that second piece of cake unless he did, but that’s just because, like a lot of guys, he has troubletalking about his feelings.” I blew my nose. “Millions of girls would
kill
to have someone like him,” I said. Okay, maybe not
millions
of girls—maybe just Annie Bellamy, who went to Buckley, his high school, with him and always freaked me out when I saw her because last year she had gotten into Wicca and I was afraid she was going to put a spell on me.
When I walked back to the dining room, I found that Michael had blown out the candles and moved the sushi to the family room, where he was watching
Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew
on VH1.
“Is this cool?” he asked with his mouth full of yellowtail.
“Sure,” I sighed, plopping down next to him and plucking a piece of freshwater eel off the plate.
We spent the rest of the evening like we usually did—stuffing our faces while Michael channel surfed.
Operation Remotivation was a bust, but the second red velvet cupcake that I let myself have for dessert helped soften the blow a
little
bit.
four
Friday was the first of April, a.k.a. Horoscope Day. I can’t stand being late, so Thursday night I had to set my alarm for fifteen minutes earlier than usual so that when I woke up I could log on to HoroscopeAddicts.com and still make
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