Give Me Five

'Lana,' I said. I swear, I have sat next to the Emperor of Japan, OK? I once shook the hand of Prince William. I even stood next to Imelda Marcos in line for the Ladies' Room at The Producers. But none of those events ever made me as nervous as Lana does with a mere glance. Because of course Lana has made tormenting me a special personal hobby of hers. That kind

of terror runs deeper than the fear of meeting emperors or princes or dictators' wives.

'Lana,' I said again, trying to get my voice to stop shaking. 'I need to ask you something.'

'No,' Lana said, and got back on to her mobile.

'I haven't even asked you yet,' I cried.

'Well, the answer is still no,' Lana said, tossing around her shiny blonde hair. 'Now, where was I? Oh yes, so I am fully

getting body-glitter and putting it on my - no, not there, Sandy! You are so bad.'

'It's just . . .' I had to talk fast because, of course, there was a strong chance Michael was going to stop by the Algebra classroom on his way to AP English, as he does almost every day. I did not want him to know what I was up to. '. . . I know you're on the Prom Committee, and I really think this year's senior class deserves live music at their prom, and not just a DJ. That's why I was thinking you should ask Skinner Box to play.'

Lana went, 'Hold on, Sandy. That person still hasn't gone away.' Then she looked at me from between her thickly mascaraed eyelashes and went, 'Skinner Box? You mean that band of geeks who played that stupid princess-of-my-heart song to you

on your birthday?'

I said, taking umbrage, 'Excuse me, Lana, but you shouldn't speak so disparagingly of geeks. If it were not for geeks, we

would not have computers, or vaccinations against many major diseases, or antibiotics, or even that mobile you are talking into—'

'Yeah,' Lana said briskly. 'Whatever. The answer is still no.'

Then she went back to her phone conversation.

I stood there for a minute, feeling colour rush into my face. I must really be making progress with my impulse control, since I didn't reach out and grab her mobile from her and crush it beneath my Doc Martens as I might once have. Being the proud owner of a mobile phone myself now, I know just how completely heinous doing something like that would be. Also, you know, considering how much trouble I got into the last time I did it.

Instead, I just stood there with my cheeks burning and my heart beating really fast and my breath coming out in these shallow little gasps. It seems like no matter what kind of strides I make in the rest of my life - you know, behaving with level-headed calmness in medical emergencies; knighting people; almost getting to second base with my boyfriend - I still can't seem to

figure out how to act around Lana. I just don't get why she hates me so much. I mean, what did I ever DO to her? Nothing.

Well, except for the whole mobile phone stomping thing. Oh, and that time I stabbed her with a Nutty Royale. And that other time I slammed her hair in my Algebra book. But I mean, besides all that.

Anyway, I didn't get a chance to get on my knees and beg her, because the second bell rang, and people started coming into the classroom, including Michael, who came up to me and gave me a bunch of pages he'd printed off the Internet about the dangers of dehydration in pregnant women - 'To give to your mom,' he said, kissing me on the cheek (yes, in front of

everyone: Tcha).

Still, there are shadows over my otherwise exuberant joy: one shadow is, I was unsuccessful in getting my boyfriend's band booked for the prom, thus making it more likely than ever that I will never have my Pretty in Pink moment with Michael. Another shadow is that my best friend is still not speaking to me, nor I to her, because of her psychotic behaviour and mistreatment of her former boyfriend. Yet another shadow is the fact that my first actual published news story ever in The Atom reads so incredibly lamely (although they did publish my poem ... TRES TRES TCHA. Even if I'm the only one who knows it's mine). It isn't exactly my fault my story sucks so much, though. I mean, Lesley hardly gave me enough time to come up with something truly Pulitzer-prize worthy. I'm no Nellie Bly or Ida M. Tarbell, you know. I had a lot of other homework

to do, too.

Finally, everything is overshadowed by my fear that my mother might pass out again, next time not within sight of Assistant

Fire Chief Logan and the rest of Ladder Company Number Three, and of course by my overall dread that, for two whole months this summer, I will be leaving this fair city and everyone in it for the distant shores of Genovia.

Really, if you think about it, this is all entirely too much for one simple fifteen-year-old girl to bear. It is a wonder I have been able to maintain what little composure I have left, under the circumstances.

When adding or subtracting terms that have the same variables, combine the coefficients.