Mia Goes Fourth

'A man without a country,' Grandmere said, 'is like a man without a soul.'

Great. And this is my date for the Contessa Trevanni's black-and-white ball. A man without a soul. What next, I ask you? Brunch with Count Dracula?

And what am I supposed to do now? About Michael, I mean? I can't bring both him and Prince Rene to the ball. I mean,

I look weird enough, with my half-grown-out hair and my androgyny (although judging by Grandmere's description of her,

the contessa might look even weirder than I do) without hauling two dates and a bodyguard around with me.

This new year is not turning out to be very propitious for any of us. I mean, first Tina sprains her ankle, then loses her one

true love; then I get saddled with Prince Rene, a black-and-white ball, and the realization that I am one hundred percent not talented at anything . . . well, except for maybe one thing, only I don't know what it is, and the person who does know won't tell me because I am supposed to figure it out on my own.

But I can't even figure out how to explain to my boyfriend that I can't make our very first date with one another. How am I supposed to figure out what my secret talent is?????

Wednesday, January 20,

The Loft

Well, my mom getting hold of my dad was a washout. Apparently the whole parking fees debate has gotten way out of

control. The Minister of Tourism is conducting a filibuster, and there can't be a vote until he stops talking and sits down. So

far he's been talking for twelve hours, forty-eight minutes. I don't know why my dad doesn't just have him arrested and put

in the dungeon. According to my mom, that would be a violation of the minister's right to free speech. But what about my

dad's right to take phone calls from the mother of his only child? Who is safeguarding that right, I would like to know?

I am really starting to be afraid that I am not going to be able to get out of this ball thingy.

'You better let Michael know,' my mom just poked her head in to say, helpfully, 'that you won't be able to make it Friday.

Hey, are you writing in your journal again? Aren't you supposed to be doing your homework?'

Trying to change the subject from my homework (hello, I am totally doing it, I am just taking a break right now), I went,

'Mom, I am not saying anything to Michael until we've heard from Dad. Because there's no point in my running the risk of Michael breaking up with me if Dad's just going to turn around and say I don't have to go to the stupid ball.'

'Mia,' my mom said, 'Michael is not going to break up with you just because you have a familial commitment you cannot

get out of.'

'I wouldn't be so sure,' I said, darkly. 'Dave Farouq El-Abar broke up with Tina today because she didn't return his call.'

'That's different,' my mom said. 'It's just plain rude not to return someone's calls.'

'But Mom,' I said. I was getting tired of having to explain this stuff to my mom all the time. It is a wonder to me she ever got

a single guy in the first place, let alone two of them, when she clearly knows so little about the art of dating. 'If you are too available, the guy might think all the thrill has gone out of the chase.'

My mother looked suspicious. 'Don't tell me. Let me guess. Your grandmother told you that?'

'Urn,' I said. 'Yes.'

'Well, let me give you a little tip my mother once gave me,' my mom said. I was surprised. My mom doesn't get along so well with her parents, Mamaw and Papaw, who run the Handy Dandy Hardware Store of Versailles, Indiana. It is rare that she mentions either of them ever giving her a piece of advice worthy of passing down to her own daughter, as my mom ran away from home as soon as she was financially able to, and has only been back there, like, twice.

'If you think there's a chance you might have to cancel on Michael for Friday night,' she said, 'you'd better cat-on-the-roof

him now.'

I was understandably perplexed by this. 'Cat on the whatta?'

'Cat on the roof,' my mother said. 'You need to begin mentally preparing him for the disappointment. For instance, if

something had happened to Fat Louie while you were in Genovia—' My mouth must have fallen open, since my mom went, 'Don't worry, nothing did. But I'm just saying, if something had, I would not have blurted it right out to you, over the phone.

I'd have prepared you gently for the eventual letdown. Like I might have said, "Mia, Fat Louie escaped through your window and now he's up on the roof, and we can't get him down".'

'Of course you could get him down,' I protested. 'You could go up by the fire escape and take a pillowcase and when you

get near him, you could throw the pillowcase over him and scoop him up and carry him back down again.'

'Yes,' my mom said. 'But supposing I told you I'd try that. And the next day I called you and said it hadn't worked, Fat Louie had escaped to the neighbour's roof—'

Td tell you to go to the building next door and make someone let you in, then go up to their roof.' I really did not see where