But can you really trust your boyfriend when, for instance, he is planning on having a party to which he is inviting college girls, who often smoke and seem to refer routinely to Nietzsche?

I’m not trying to criticize you or anything. I just really want to know. I mean, did you ever see Coma? It was really freaking scary. And I imagine that if you ever saw it, you might revise some of your requirements for transcending the ego. Like, for instance, the whole trust thing. I mean, I know it’s good to trust your doctor—up to a point.

But do you ever REALLY know that he’s not purposefully going to put you in a coma in order to harvest your organs and sell them to some really rich dude in Bolivia?

No. You don’t. So see? There’s a flaw in your whole theory.

So. What am I supposed to do now?

Still your friend,

Mia Thermopolis

Friday, March 5, the limo on the way to school

If Lilly comments one more time on how her interpretation of Rosagunde is going to make Julia Roberts’s portrayal of Erin Brockovich look like community theater, my head is going to spin off, shoot through the sunroof, and land in the East River.

Friday, March 5, Homeroom

They just announced over the intercom that the cast list for Braid! will go up outside the administrative offices at noon.

Just my luck. You could cut the tension around here with a knife. Not just the nervousness over who is going to get what part, either.

But the Drama Club is hopping mad that someone is putting on a musical to rival theirs. They are claiming they are going to contact the writers of Hair and tell them what Grandmère is doing—you know, because her musical’s name is so close to theirs.

I hope they do.

Although, if Grandmère gets sued and stops the show, I am back to selling candles again to raise the five grand I need.

On the other hand, there is no guarantee a musical version of the story of my ancestress Rosagunde could even raise five thousand dollars in ticket sales in the first place. I mean, who would pay money to go to a show written by my grandma? She once gave a speech at a benefit to raise money for the Genovian version of the ASPCA about how the kindest thing you can do for an animal is immortalize it forever by skinning it and using its pelt as a lovely shrug or throw for a divan.

So you see where I am coming from about this.

Friday, March 5, PE

Lana just asked me if I had her invitations yet. She asked me this as I was stepping into my underwear after my post-volleyball shower, which is about as vulnerable a position a person can be in.

I said I hadn’t had a chance to get them yet, but that I would.

Lana then looked down at my Jimmy Neutron underwear and went, “Whatever, freak,” and walked away before I got a chance to explain to her that I wear Jimmy Neutron underwear because Jimmy reminds me a bit of my boyfriend.

The genius part. Not the hair.

But I guess maybe it’s just as well. I highly doubt Lana would understand—even if she DID used to wear her boyfriend’s soccer shorts under her school skirt.

Friday, March 5, U.S. Economics

Demand = How much (quantity) of a product or service is desired by buyers.

Supply = How much the market can offer.

Equilibrium = When supply and demand are equal, the economy is said to be in equilibrium. The amount of goods being supplied is exactly the same as the amount of goods being demanded.

Disequilibrium = This occurs whenever the price or quantity is not equal to demand/supply.

(So, basically, the student government of AEHS is currently in disequilibrium due to our funds (zero) not being equal to the demand for one night’s rental of Alice Tully Hall ($5,728.00).)

Alfred Marshall, author of The Principles of Economics (circa 1890): “Economics is on one side the study of wealth; and on the other, and more important side, a part of the study of man.”

Huh. So that sort of makes economics a SOCIAL science. Like psychology. Because it isn’t really about numbers. It’s about PEOPLE, and what they are willing to spend—or do—to get what they want.

Like Lana, for instance. You know, how she was going to rat me out to Amber if I didn’t get her those invitations to Grandmère’s party?

That was a classic example of supply (I had the supply) versus demand (her demand that I give her what she wanted).

All of which leads me to believe that it’s entirely possible Lana Weinberger isn’t self-actualized at all:

She’s simply really good at economics!

Friday, March 5, English

One more period until the cast list goes up! Oh, I hope Boris gets the part of Gustav! He wants it so badly!

I hope he gets it, too, Tina! I hope everyone gets the parts they want.

What part do YOU want, Mia?

Me???? Nothing!!! I didn’t even submit a photo or a form, remember? I stink at that kind of thing. Acting and stuff, I mean.

Don’t put yourself down like that! Your Ciara imitation has gotten really EXCELLENT. And I thought you were really good as Rosagunde! Don’t you want the part just a little bit?

No, really. I’m a writer, not an actress. Remember??? I want to WRITE the things the people onstage say. Well, not really, because there’s no actual money in playwrighting. But you get what I mean.

Oh. Right. That makes sense.

Well, all I can say is, if I don’t get the part of Rosagunde, we’ll all know it’s because of the N word.

Nude scene???? When did you do a nude scene????

No, you idiot. NEPOTISM. Favoritism shown to a family member.

But that won’t happen because Mia didn’t really audition and doesn’t even WANT a part. So you should be fine, Lilly! Gosh, I hope we all get the parts we want—even if that means NO part!

I’ll second that!

Friday, March 5, Lunch

CAST LIST FOR:

Albert Einstein High School’s

Alternative Spring Musical

Braid!

Chorus….….…….

Amber Cheeseman, Julio Juarez, Margaret Lee, Eric Patel, Lauren Pembroke, Robert Sherman, Ling Su Wong

Rosagunde’s father…..

Kenneth Showalter

Rosagunde’s maid…..

Tina Hakim Baba

King of Italy….…….

Perin Thomas

Alboin….….….….

Boris Pelkowski

Alboin’s mistress….

Lilly Moscovitz

Gustav….….….….

John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy IV

Rosagunde….…….

Amelia Thermopolis Renaldo

FIRST REHEARSAL TODAY, 3:30 P.M.

The Plaza Hotel, Grand Ballroom

I know I’m only supposed to use my cell phone for emergencies. But the minute I saw that cast list, I could tell this was an emergency. A MAJOR one. Because Grandmère has no idea of the MAGNITUDE of what she’s done.

I called her from the jet line.

“Hello, you’ve reached Clarisse, Dowager Princess of Genovia. I’m either shopping or receiving a beauty treatment at the moment, and cannot come to the phone. At the tone, please leave your name and number, and I’ll ring you back shortly.”

Boy, did I let her have it. Or her voice mail, anyway:

“Grandmère! What do you think you’re doing, casting me in your musical? You know I didn’t even want to audition for it, and that I don’t have any acting talent whatsoever!”

Tina, in line beside me, kept nudging me, going, “But your version of ‘Barbie Girl’ was so good!”

“Well, okay, maybe I can sing,” I shouted into the phone, “but Lilly is much better! You better call me back right away so we can get this mess straightened out, because you’re making a HUGE mistake.” I added this last part for Lilly’s sake, who, even though she’s taken the whole thing really well, still looked a little red around the eyes when she joined us in the jet line, after having disappeared into the ladies’ room for a long time once she’d seen the cast list.

“Don’t worry,” I said to Lilly after I hung up. “You’re destined for the part of Rosagunde. Really.”

But Lilly pretended not to care. “Whatever. It’s not like I don’t have enough to do. I don’t know if I’d have had time to memorize all those lines, anyway.”

Which is ridiculous, since Lilly practically has a photographic memory, and almost a hundred percent aural recall (which makes fighting with her super hard because sometimes she drags out stuff you said, like, five years before and have no memory of ever saying. But SHE remembers it. Perfectly).

It’s just so wrong! If anyone deserves the lead in Braid!, it’s her!

“At least by playing Alboin’s mistress,” Lilly said, all bravely, “I only have a few lines—‘Why would you marry her, who doesn’t even want you, when you could have me, who adores you?’, or whatever. So I’ll have plenty of time to work on things that REALLY matter. Like Fat Louie’s Pink Butthole.”

And okay, I feel really bad for Lilly, because she totally deserves the part of Rosagunde, and all.

BUT I STILL HATE THAT NAME!!!

Friday, March 5, later during Lunch

So everyone is freaked out because on the way back to our table from the jet line I stopped by where J.P. was sitting by himself and asked him if he wanted to join us.

I don’t know what the big deal is. I mean, it’s not like I suddenly whipped off my clothes and started doing the hula in front of everyone. I just told a guy we know, who some of us may be spending a lot of time with in the near future, that he can come sit with us, if he wants to.

And he said thanks.

And next thing I knew, John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy the Fourth was sliding his tray down next to mine.

“Oh, hi, J.P.,” Tina said. She shot a warning look at Boris, since he was the one who’d objected so strongly when I’d suggested inviting J.P. to join us, back when we’d only known him as the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili.

But Boris wisely refrained from saying anything about not wanting to eat with a corn hater.

“Thanks,” J.P. said, squeezing into the spot we made for him at our table. Not that he’s fat. He’s just… big. You know, really tall, and everything.

“So what do you think of the falafel?” J.P. asked Lilly, who looked startled at being spoken to by a guy who for, the past two years, we’ve sort of mocked.

She looked even more startled when she realized they both had the exact same things on their trays: falafel, salad, and Yoo-hoo chocolate drink.

“It’s good,” she said, staring at him with kind of a funny look on her face. “If you put enough tahini on it.”

“Anything’s good,” J.P. said, “if you put enough tahini on it.”

THIS IS SO TRUE!!!!!

Trust Boris to go, “Even corn?” all mock-innocently.

Tina shot him another warning look…

…but it was too late. The damage was done. Boris was clearly unable to restrain himself. He started smirking into a napkin, while pretending to be blowing his nose.

“Well,” J.P. said, cheerfully falling for the bait. “I don’t know about that. But maybe, like, erasers.”

Perin brightened at this statement.

“I’ve always thought erasers would taste good fried,” she said. “I mean, sometimes, when I have calamari, that’s what it reminds me of. Fried erasers. So I bet they’d taste good with tahini on them, too.”

“Oh, sure,” J.P. said. “Fry anything, it’d taste good. I’d eat one of these napkins, if it was fried.”

Tina, Lilly, and I exchanged surprised looks. J.P., it turns out, is kind of… funny.

Like, in a humorous, not strange, way.

“My grandmother makes fried grasshoppers sometimes,” Ling Su volunteered. “They’re pretty good.”

“See,” J.P. said. “Told you.” Then, looking at me, he went, “What’re you working on so diligently over there, Mia? Something due next period?”

“Don’t mind her,” Lilly said with a snort. “She’s just writing in her journal. As usual.”

“Is that what that is?” J.P. said. “I always kinda wondered.” Then, when I threw him a questioning look, he went, “Well, every time I see you, you’ve got your nose buried in that notebook.”

Which can mean only one thing: The whole time we’ve been watching the Guy Who Hates It When They Put Corn in the Chili, he’s been watching us right back!

Even freakier, he opened his backpack and pulled out a Mead wide-ruled composition notebook with a black marbled cover with KEEP OUT! PRIVATE! written all over it.