Gupta’s office, living through that whole codeine cough-syrup thing again.
So when Beverly Bellerieve said, “Mia, didn’t you have some exciting news recently?” I totally freaked out. Part of me was like, How did she know? And another part of me was like, Millions of people are going to see this. Act happy.
So I went, “Oh. Yes. Well, I’m pretty excited. I’ve always wanted to be a big sister. But they don’t really want to make a big deal out of it, you know. It’s just going to be a very small ceremony at City Hall, with me as their witness—”
That’s when my dad dropped the glass of Perrier he’d been drinking. Then Grandmère started hyperventilating and had to breathe into a paper bag.
And I sat there going, Oh, my God. Oh, my God, what have I done?
Of course it turned out that Beverly Bellerieve hadn’t been referring to my mother’s pregnancy at all. Of course not. How could she have known about it?
What she’d actually been referring to, of course, was my F in Algebra being raised to a D.
I tried to get up and go to my dad to comfort him, since I could see he’d sunk into a chair and had his head in his hands. But I was all tangled up in my microphone wires. It had taken about half an hour for the sound guys to get the wires right, and I didn’t want to mess them up or anything, but I could see that my dad’s shoulders were shaking, and I was sure he was crying, just like he always does at the end of Free Willy , though he tries to pretend it’s just allergies.
Beverly, seeing this, made a slashing motion with her hand to the camera guys, and very nicely helped me get untangled.
But when I finally got to my dad, I saw he wasn’t crying. . . . But he certainly didn’t look too good. He didn’t sound very good, either, when he croaked for someone to bring him a whiskey.
After three or four gulps, though, he got a little of his color back. Which is more than I can say for Grandmère. I don’t think she will ever recover. Last time I saw her, she was downing a Sidecar that someone had dropped some Alka-Seltzer tablets into.
I don’t even want to think about what my mom is going to say when she finds out what I’ve done. I mean, even though my dad said not to worry, that he’ll explain to Mom what happened, I don’t know. He had kind of a weird look on his face. I hope he doesn’t plan on popping Mr. G one in the piehole.
Me and my big mouth. My HUGE, GROTESQUE, DISPROPORTIONATELY MASSIVE mouth.
There’s no telling what else I said, once the interview got underway again. I was so completely freaked out by that first thing, I can’t remember a single other thing Beverly Bellerieve might have asked me.
My dad has assured me that he’s not the least bit jealous of Mr. Gianini, that he is very happy for my mother, and that he thinks she and Mr. G make a great couple. I think he means it. He seemed pretty unfazed, after the initial shock. Once the interview was over, I noticed that he and Beverly Bellerieve were yukking it up quite a bit.
All I can say is, thank goodness I am going straight from the hotel to Lilly’s. She is having us all over to film next week’s episode of her show. I think I’ll see if I can spend the night. Maybe this way, by the time my mom sees me tomorrow, she’ll have had time to process the whole thing, and will have forgiven me.
I hope.
Sunday, October 26, 2 a.m., Lilly’s bedroom
Okay, I just have one question: Why does it always have to go from bad to worse for me?
I mean, apparently it is not enough that
1. I was born lacking any sort of mammary growth gland
2. My feet are as long as a normal person’s thigh
3. I’m the sole heir to the throne of a European principality
4. My grade point average is still slipping in spite of everything
5. I have a secret admirer who will not declare himself
6. My mother is pregnant with my Algebra teacher’s
So when Beverly Bellerieve said, “Mia, didn’t you have some exciting news recently?” I totally freaked out. Part of me was like, How did she know? And another part of me was like, Millions of people are going to see this. Act happy.
So I went, “Oh. Yes. Well, I’m pretty excited. I’ve always wanted to be a big sister. But they don’t really want to make a big deal out of it, you know. It’s just going to be a very small ceremony at City Hall, with me as their witness—”
That’s when my dad dropped the glass of Perrier he’d been drinking. Then Grandmère started hyperventilating and had to breathe into a paper bag.
And I sat there going, Oh, my God. Oh, my God, what have I done?
Of course it turned out that Beverly Bellerieve hadn’t been referring to my mother’s pregnancy at all. Of course not. How could she have known about it?
What she’d actually been referring to, of course, was my F in Algebra being raised to a D.
I tried to get up and go to my dad to comfort him, since I could see he’d sunk into a chair and had his head in his hands. But I was all tangled up in my microphone wires. It had taken about half an hour for the sound guys to get the wires right, and I didn’t want to mess them up or anything, but I could see that my dad’s shoulders were shaking, and I was sure he was crying, just like he always does at the end of Free Willy , though he tries to pretend it’s just allergies.
Beverly, seeing this, made a slashing motion with her hand to the camera guys, and very nicely helped me get untangled.
But when I finally got to my dad, I saw he wasn’t crying. . . . But he certainly didn’t look too good. He didn’t sound very good, either, when he croaked for someone to bring him a whiskey.
After three or four gulps, though, he got a little of his color back. Which is more than I can say for Grandmère. I don’t think she will ever recover. Last time I saw her, she was downing a Sidecar that someone had dropped some Alka-Seltzer tablets into.
I don’t even want to think about what my mom is going to say when she finds out what I’ve done. I mean, even though my dad said not to worry, that he’ll explain to Mom what happened, I don’t know. He had kind of a weird look on his face. I hope he doesn’t plan on popping Mr. G one in the piehole.
Me and my big mouth. My HUGE, GROTESQUE, DISPROPORTIONATELY MASSIVE mouth.
There’s no telling what else I said, once the interview got underway again. I was so completely freaked out by that first thing, I can’t remember a single other thing Beverly Bellerieve might have asked me.
My dad has assured me that he’s not the least bit jealous of Mr. Gianini, that he is very happy for my mother, and that he thinks she and Mr. G make a great couple. I think he means it. He seemed pretty unfazed, after the initial shock. Once the interview was over, I noticed that he and Beverly Bellerieve were yukking it up quite a bit.
All I can say is, thank goodness I am going straight from the hotel to Lilly’s. She is having us all over to film next week’s episode of her show. I think I’ll see if I can spend the night. Maybe this way, by the time my mom sees me tomorrow, she’ll have had time to process the whole thing, and will have forgiven me.
I hope.
Sunday, October 26, 2 a.m., Lilly’s bedroom
Okay, I just have one question: Why does it always have to go from bad to worse for me?
I mean, apparently it is not enough that
1. I was born lacking any sort of mammary growth gland
2. My feet are as long as a normal person’s thigh
3. I’m the sole heir to the throne of a European principality
4. My grade point average is still slipping in spite of everything
5. I have a secret admirer who will not declare himself
6. My mother is pregnant with my Algebra teacher’s
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