Give Me Five

A REALLY GOOD KISSER, ONCE HE TAKES OUT HIS BIONATER.

You know what that means, don't you? IT MEANS THAT TINA AND BORIS HAVE KISSED! How would she know

this if they hadn't????????

Oh, my God. I can't stop gagging. I like Boris - I really do. I mean, except for the fact that he is COMPLETELY INSANE

I think he is a really nice guy. He is sensitive and funny and, if you can forget the asthma inhaler and the mouth-breathing and

the violin playing and the whole sweater thing, yeah, OK I guess he is PASSABLY attractive.

I mean, at least he is taller than Tina.

BUT OH, MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!! BORIS PELKOWSKI, TINA'S MR. ROCHESTER?????

NO, NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But as Shameeka just pointed out to me (while Tina was checking her text messages), Boris doesn't necessarily have to be

her Mr. Rochester for all eternity. He could just be her Mr. Rochester for, you know, now. Until her real Mr.Rochester

comes along.

Oh, my God. I just don't know. I mean, BORIS PELKOWSKI.

Well, at least Tina's right about one thing: he does feel things passionately. I have the blood-soaked sweater to prove it.

Well, not really, because Mrs Pelkowski returned it and the dry cleaner really did get out all the stains.

But still.

Tina and BORIS PELKOWSKI?????????????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thursday, May 8, the Loft

After Lars had to shield me from yet another projectile - this one thrown with stunning accuracy by a senior rugby player -

he called my dad and said he thought for safety reasons I should be removed from school premises.

So my dad said OK. So I get the rest of the day off.

Except not really, because Mr. G is going over everything I haven't been paying much attention to in his class for the past

week and a half, using the front of the refrigerator as a chalk board, and the magnetic alphabet as the coefficients in the problems I'm supposed to be solving.

Whatever, Mr. G. Can't you see I have way bigger problems right now than a sinking grade in your class? I mean, hello,

I cannot even set foot in my own school without being pelted with fruit.

I'm so depressed. I mean, after everything with the strike, and then with Tina, and now this thing with everybody hating me,

I really don't see how I'm going to make it through the rest of the week. I already called my dad and was like, 'Tell

Grandmere thanks a lot. Now I'm not even safe at my own institution of secondary education, and it's all her fault.'

I don't know if he told her, though. I'm not sure he and Grandmere are speaking any more.

I know I'M not speaking to Grandmere. It seems like I'm not speaking to a lot of people, actually . . . Grandmere, Lilly,

Lana Weinberger . . .

Well, I've never really been on speaking terms with Lana. But you know what I mean. Wow, what if I can never go back to school again? Like, what if I have to be home-schooled? That would suck so bad! I mean, how would I keep up with all the gossip? Like who was going out with whom? And when would I ever see Michael? Just on weekends, and that's it. That would be so WRONG!!!! The high point of my day is seeing him waiting outside his building to be picked up by my limo on the way to school. I know that I am going to be deprived of this forever when he starts going to Columbia. But I thought I'd still be able to enjoy it for the rest of the school year, anyway.

Oh, my God, this is bumming me out so badly. I mean, I never really LIKED Albert Einstein High, but considering the alternatives . . . you know, home-schooling or, even worse, school in GENOVIA . . . my God, in comparison, AEHS is like Shangri-La. Whatever Shangri-La is.

How dare they try to keep me from it? AEHS, I mean. HOW DARE THEY?????????? Oh, someone is at the door. Please

let it be Michael with the rest of my homework. Not because I'm desperate to do the rest of my homework, but because if I have ever needed to be comforted with the smell of Michael's neck, it's now . . .

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

PLEASE PLEASE.

Thursday, May 8, later, the Loft

Well, it wasn't Michael. But it was close. It was a Moscovitz.

Just the wrong one.

I really think Lilly has some nerve coming around here after what she put me through. I mean, Asperger's or not, she has

made my life a perfect hell these past few days, and then she shows up at my door, crying and begging to be forgiven?

But what could I do? I couldn't exactly slam the door in her face. Well, I could have, of course, but it would have been

terribly unprincesslike.

Instead, I invited her in - but coldly. Very coldly. Who's the weak one NOW, I'd like to know????

We went into my room. I shut the door (I'm allowed to shut my bedroom door so long as anybody but Michael is inside

there with me).

And Lilly let loose.