Third Time Lucky

Tina has pointed out that he did try. But my shrieking when I read his poem, and then running in tears from the room, might not have seemed to him like a very encouraging sign. In fact, it might have actually looked to him like I was displeased by what I'd seen. Furthermore, Tina pointed out, even if Michael had tried to go after me, there'd have been Kenny cornering me on my way out. It had certainly looked as if the two of us were Having A Moment - which we most certainly were - and didn't wish

to be disturbed.

All of which could be true.

But it could also be true that Michael was just joking. A very mean joke under the circumstances, but Michael doesn't know that I love him with every fibre of my being. Michael doesn't know that I've been in love with him all my life. Michael doesn't know that without him, I will never, ever achieve self-actualization. I mean, to Michael, I'm just his kid sister's best friend. He probably didn't mean to be cruel. He probably thought he was being funny.

It isn't his fault that my life is over and that I am never, ever leaving this bathroom.

I'll just wait until everybody is gone, and then I'll sneak out, and no one will see me again until next semester starts, by which time, hopefully, all of this will have blown over.

Or, better yet, maybe I'll just stay in Genovia ...

Hey, yeah. Why not?

Friday, December 18, 5 p.m., the Loft

I don't know why people can't just leave me alone.

Seriously. I may be done with Finals, but I still have a lot to do. I mean, I have to pack, don't I? Don't people know that when you are leaving for your royal introduction to the people over whom you will one day reign, you have to do a lot of packing?

But no. No, people keep on calling, and e-mailing, and coming over.

Well, I'm not talking to anybody. I think I have made that perfectly clear. I am not speaking to Lilly, or Tina, or my dad, or

Mr. Gianini, or my mother, and ESPECIALLY not Michael, even though at last count he'd called four times.

I am way too busy to talk to anybody.

And with my headphones on, I can't even hear them pounding on the door. It's kind of nice, I have to say.

Friday, December 18, 5:30 p.m., the Fire Escape

People have a right to their privacy. If I want to go into my room and lock the door and not come out or have to deal with anyone, I should have a right to. People should not be allowed to take the hinges off my door and remove it. That is completely unfair.

But I have found a way to foil them. I am out on the fire escape. It is about thirty degrees out here and, by the way, it's snowing. But guess what? So far no one has followed me.

Fortunately, I bought one of those pens that is also a flashlight, so I can see to write. The sun went down a while ago, and I have to admit my butt is freezing. But it's actually sort of nice out here. All you can hear is the hiss of the snow as it lands on

the metal of the fire escape, and the occasional siren or car alarm. It is restful, in a way.

And you know what I'm finding out? I need a rest. Big-time.

Really. I need to like go and lie on a beach somewhere or something.

There's a nice beach in Genovia. With white sand, palm trees, the whole bit.

Too bad while I'm there, I'm never going to have time to visit it, since I'm going to be too busy christening battle ships or whatever.

But if I lived in Genovia . . . you know, moved there and lived there full time . . .

Oh, I'll miss my mom, of course. I've already considered that. She's leaned out the window about twenty times already,

begging me to come inside, or to at least put on a coat. My mom's a nice lady. I'll really miss her.

But she can come visit me in Genovia. At least, up until her eighth month. Then air travel might be a little risky. But she can come after my baby brother or sister is born. That would be nice.

And Mr. G, he's OK too. He just leaned out and asked if I wanted any of the four alarm chilli he just made. He left out the meat, he says, just for me.

That was nice of him. He can come visit me in Genovia too.

It will be nice to live there. I can hang out with my dad all the time. He's not such a bad guy, either, once you get to know him. He wants me to come in off the fire escape too. I guess my mom must have called him. He says he's really proud of me, on account of the press conference and my B minus in Algebra and all. He wants to take me out to dinner to celebrate. We can

go to the Zen Palatte, he says. A totally vegetarian restaurant. Isn't that nice of him?

Too bad he let Lars take my door down or I might have gone with him.

Ronnie, our next-door neighbour, just looked out her window and saw me. Now she wants to know what I'm doing, sitting

out on the fire escape in December.

I told her I needed some privacy, and that this appears to be the only way I can get it.

Ronnie went, 'Honey, don't I know how that is.'