learn today?
Um, that you are going to dump me if I don’t put out.
But, of course, I couldn’t SAY that. So I just told Michael about how this weekend my mom and Mr. G are making an emergency trip to Indiana to introduce Rocky to his Hoosier grandparents. And how Lilly has stabbed me in the back ONCE AGAIN, this time by nominating me for student council president but how she’d said not to worry about it since she “has a plan”; also about how I hate Geometry already.
SKINNERBX: Wait…your parents are going to Indiana this weekend?
FTLOUIE: Not my parents. My mom and Mr. G.
I love Mr. G and all, I guess, but it still weirds me out when anyone refers to him as my parent or my dad. I already have a dad.
I forgive Michael for this common mistake, however, as he does not know—as I do—what it’s like to come from a broken home.
FTLOUIE: What do you think your sister could be up to, anyway? I mean, I would be the worst student council president EVER.
SKINNERBX: What day are they leaving?
Why is Michael fixated on the fact that Mom and Mr. G are going out of town? This is totally the LEAST of my problems.
FTLOUIE: I don’t know. Friday, I guess.
Which reminded me:
FTLOUIE: Do you still want me to come over on Saturday to meet Doo Pak?
SKINNERBX: Sure. Or if you want, I could come over there.
FTLOUIE: With Doo Pak?
SKINNERBX: No. I meant by myself.
FTLOUIE: Well, if you want to. But I don’t know why you would, nobody’s going to be here but me.
Oh, no. Rocky’s crying again.
I’m not a baby-licker. I’m NOT.
SKINNERBX: Mia? Are you still there?
But how can they just sit there and listen to him cry like that? It’s just WRONG.
SKINNERBX: Mia?
FTLOUIE: Sorry, Michael, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.
I wonder if there’s a Baby-lickers Anonymous I could join.
Wednesday, September 9, Homeroom
Well, Lana certainly didn’t waste any time launching her campaign for student council president into overdrive.
When Lilly and I walked into school this morning, it was to find the hallways WALLPAPERED with giant full-color glossy posters of Lana with the words VOTE LANA written underneath them.
Some of the posters are just like headshots, showing Lana tossing her long shimmery golden hair back and laughing, or with her chin cupped in her hands, smiling with the angelic sweetness of Britney on her first album cover. In the pictures, Lana doesn’t look at all like someone who might grab the back of another girl’s bra and hiss, “Why do you bother to wear one of these when you have nothing to put in it?”
Or someone who might tell a girl in the jet line that college boys expect their girlfriends to Do It.
Some of the other posters show Lana in full-on action shots, like jumping into the air and doing the splits in her cheerleading uniform. One of them shows Lana in her prom dress from last year, standing at the bottom of some staircase. I don’t know where, since there was no staircase like it at the actual prom. Maybe her apartment? I wouldn’t know, of course, having never been invited there.
Lilly took one look at all the posters and then down at her own posters—yes, Lilly spent all last night, while I was learning about Wendell Jenkins, making campaign posters for me—and said a very bad word.
Because even though Lilly’s posters are very nice—they say MIA RULES and PICK THE PRINCESS—they are only glitter poured over Elmer’s on white foam core (for rigidity). Lilly didn’t exactly blow up any full-color glossy headshots of me and plaster the school with them.
“Don’t worry, Lilly,” I told her, very sympathetically. “I don’t want to be president anyway, so maybe this is for the best.”
Even Boris noticed how sad Lilly was and felt bad for her, which I thought was really nice of him, given how she’d ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped all over it just last May.
“Your
Um, that you are going to dump me if I don’t put out.
But, of course, I couldn’t SAY that. So I just told Michael about how this weekend my mom and Mr. G are making an emergency trip to Indiana to introduce Rocky to his Hoosier grandparents. And how Lilly has stabbed me in the back ONCE AGAIN, this time by nominating me for student council president but how she’d said not to worry about it since she “has a plan”; also about how I hate Geometry already.
SKINNERBX: Wait…your parents are going to Indiana this weekend?
FTLOUIE: Not my parents. My mom and Mr. G.
I love Mr. G and all, I guess, but it still weirds me out when anyone refers to him as my parent or my dad. I already have a dad.
I forgive Michael for this common mistake, however, as he does not know—as I do—what it’s like to come from a broken home.
FTLOUIE: What do you think your sister could be up to, anyway? I mean, I would be the worst student council president EVER.
SKINNERBX: What day are they leaving?
Why is Michael fixated on the fact that Mom and Mr. G are going out of town? This is totally the LEAST of my problems.
FTLOUIE: I don’t know. Friday, I guess.
Which reminded me:
FTLOUIE: Do you still want me to come over on Saturday to meet Doo Pak?
SKINNERBX: Sure. Or if you want, I could come over there.
FTLOUIE: With Doo Pak?
SKINNERBX: No. I meant by myself.
FTLOUIE: Well, if you want to. But I don’t know why you would, nobody’s going to be here but me.
Oh, no. Rocky’s crying again.
I’m not a baby-licker. I’m NOT.
SKINNERBX: Mia? Are you still there?
But how can they just sit there and listen to him cry like that? It’s just WRONG.
SKINNERBX: Mia?
FTLOUIE: Sorry, Michael, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.
I wonder if there’s a Baby-lickers Anonymous I could join.
Wednesday, September 9, Homeroom
Well, Lana certainly didn’t waste any time launching her campaign for student council president into overdrive.
When Lilly and I walked into school this morning, it was to find the hallways WALLPAPERED with giant full-color glossy posters of Lana with the words VOTE LANA written underneath them.
Some of the posters are just like headshots, showing Lana tossing her long shimmery golden hair back and laughing, or with her chin cupped in her hands, smiling with the angelic sweetness of Britney on her first album cover. In the pictures, Lana doesn’t look at all like someone who might grab the back of another girl’s bra and hiss, “Why do you bother to wear one of these when you have nothing to put in it?”
Or someone who might tell a girl in the jet line that college boys expect their girlfriends to Do It.
Some of the other posters show Lana in full-on action shots, like jumping into the air and doing the splits in her cheerleading uniform. One of them shows Lana in her prom dress from last year, standing at the bottom of some staircase. I don’t know where, since there was no staircase like it at the actual prom. Maybe her apartment? I wouldn’t know, of course, having never been invited there.
Lilly took one look at all the posters and then down at her own posters—yes, Lilly spent all last night, while I was learning about Wendell Jenkins, making campaign posters for me—and said a very bad word.
Because even though Lilly’s posters are very nice—they say MIA RULES and PICK THE PRINCESS—they are only glitter poured over Elmer’s on white foam core (for rigidity). Lilly didn’t exactly blow up any full-color glossy headshots of me and plaster the school with them.
“Don’t worry, Lilly,” I told her, very sympathetically. “I don’t want to be president anyway, so maybe this is for the best.”
Even Boris noticed how sad Lilly was and felt bad for her, which I thought was really nice of him, given how she’d ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped all over it just last May.
“Your