that's all. Not that it's any of your business.'

Instead of taking offence at my tone, which any self-respecting grandparent would have found insolent, Grandmere only took

a sip of her drink and suddenly looked way interested.

'Oh?' she said, in a totally different tone of voice — the same tone of voice she uses when someone mentions a stock tip she thinks might be useful for her portfolio. 'What boyfriend is this?'

God, what did I ever do to be cursed with such a grandmother? Seriously. Lilly and Michael's grandma remembers the names of all their friends, makes them rugelach all the time, and always worries that they're not getting enough to eat, even though their parents, the Drs. Moscovitz, are wholly reliable at bringing home groceries or at least ordering out.

Me? I get the grandma with the hairless poodle and the nine-carat diamond rings whose greatest joy in life is to torture me.

And why does she enjoy that so much? I've never done anything to her. Nothing except be her only living grandchild, anyway. And it isn't exactly like I go around advertising how I feel about her. You know, I've never actually told her I think she's a mean old lady who contributes to the destruction of the environment by wearing fur coats and smoking filterless French cigarettes.

'Grandmere,' I said, trying to remain calm. 'I have only one boyfriend. His name is Kenny.' I've only told you about fifty thousand times, I added, in my head.

'I thought this Kenny person was your Biology partner,' Grandmere said, after taking a sip of her Sidecar.

'He is,' I said, a little surprised that she'd managed to remember something like that. 'He's also my boyfriend. Only the other night he went completely schizo on me and told me he loves me.'

Grandmere patted Rommel, who was sitting in her lap looking miserable (his habitual expression), on the head.

'And what is so wrong,' Grandmere wanted to know, 'about a boy who says he loves you?'

'Nothing,' I said. 'Only I'm not in love with him, see? So it wouldn't be fair of me to, you know, lead him on.'

Grandmere raised her painted-on eyebrows. 'I don't see why not.'

How had I ever gotten into this conversation? 'Because, Grandmere. People just don't go around doing things like that. Not nowadays.'

'Is that so? Well, I've never observed such a thing. Except, of course, if one happens to be in love with someone else. Then shedding an undesirable suitor might be considered wise, so that one can make oneself available for the man one truly likes.' She eyed me. 'Is there someone like that in your life, Amelia? Someone, ahem, special?'

'No,' I lied, automatically.

Grandmere snorted. 'You're lying.'

'No, I'm not,' I lied.

'Indeed you are. I oughtn't to tell you this, but I suppose as it is a bad habit for a future monarch you ought to be made aware of it, so that in the future you can try to prevent it. When you lie, Amelia, your nostrils flare.'

I threw my hands up to my nose. 'They do not!'

'Indeed,' Grandmere said, clearly enjoying herself immensely. 'If you do not believe me, look in the mirror.'

I turned around to face the nearby full-length mirrors. Taking my hands from my face, I examined my nose. My nostrils weren't flaring. She was crazy.

'I'll ask you again, Amelia,' Grandmere said, in a lazy voice, from her chair. Are you in love with anyone right now?'

'No,' I lied automatically . . . And my nostrils flared right out!

Oh my God! All these years I've been lying and it turns out whenever I do, my nostrils totally give me away!

How could no one have pointed this out to me before? And Grandmere - Grandmere, of all people - was the one who figured it out! Not my mother, with whom I've lived for fourteen years. Not my best friend, whose IQ's higher than Einstein's.

If this got out, my life was over.

'Fine,' I cried dramatically, spinning away from the mirror to face her. 'All right, yes. Yes, I am in love with somebody else.

Are you happy now?'

Grandmere raised her painted-on eyebrows. 'No need to shout, Amelia,' she said, with what I might have taken for amusement in anyone other than her. 'Who might this special someone be?'

'Oh, no,' I said, holding out both my hands. If it wouldn't have been totally rude, I'd have made a little cross out of my index fingers and held it up towards her — that's how much she scares me. And if you think about it, with her tattooed eyeliner she does look a little like Nosferatu. 'You are not getting that information out of me.'

Grandmere stubbed out her cigarette in this ashtray Sebastiano had provided, and went, 'Very well. I take it, then, that the gentleman in question does not return your ardour.'

There was no point in lying to her. Not now. Not with my nostrils.

My shoulders sagged. 'No. He likes this other girl. This really smart girl who knows how to clone fruit flies.'

Grandmere snorted. 'A useful talent. Well, never mind that now. I don't suppose, Amelia, that you are acquainted with the expression "dirty dishwater is better than none"?'

I guess she must have been" able to tell from my perplexed expression that this was one I hadn't heard before, since she went on, 'Do not throw away this Kenny until you have managed to secure someone better.'

I stared at her, horrified. Really, my grandmother has said - and done - some pretty cold things in her time, but this one took the biscuit.

'Secure someone better?' I couldn't believe she actually meant what I thought she meant. 'You mean I shouldn't break up with Kenny until I've got someone else?'

Grandmere lit another cigarette. 'But of course.'

'But, Grandmere.' I swear to God, sometimes I can't figure out if she's human or some kind of alien life force sent down from another planet to spy on us. 'You can't do that. You can't just string a guy along like that, knowing that you don't feel the same way about him that he feels about you.'

Grandmere exhaled a long plume of blue smoke. 'Why not?'

'Because it's completely unethical!' I shook my head. 'No. I'm breaking up with Kenny. Right away. Tonight, as a matter of fact.'

Grandmere stroked Rommel under the chin. He looked more miserable than ever, as if instead of stroking him she was peeling the skin away from his body. He really is the most heinous excuse for a dog I have ever seen.

'That,' Grandmere said, 'is your prerogative, of course. But allow me to point out to you that if you break off your relationship with this young man, your Biology grade will suffer.'

I was shocked. But mostly because this was something I had already thought of myself. I was amazed Grandmere and I had actually shared something.

Which was really the only reason I shouted, 'Grandmere!'

'Well,' Grandmere said, flicking ash from her cigarette into the nearby crystal ashtray. 'Isn't it true? You are only making what,

a C, in this class? And that is only because that young man allows you to copy his answers to the homework.'

'Grandmere!' I yelled again. Because, of course, she's right.

She looked at the ceiling. 'Let me see,' she said. 'With your D in Algebra, if you get anything less than a C in Biology your grade point average will take quite a little dip this semester.'

'Grandmere.' I couldn't believe this. She was right. She was so right. But still. 'I am not going to postpone breaking up with Kenny until after the Final. That would be just plain wrong.'

'Suit yourself,' Grandmere said with a sigh. 'But it will certainly be awkward having to sit beside him for the next -how long is

it until the end of the semester? - oh, yes, two weeks. Especially considering the fact that after you break things off with him,

he probably won't even speak to you any more.'

God, so true. And not something I hadn't thought of myself. If Kenny got mad enough over me breaking up with him not to want to speak to me any more, sixth period was going to be plenty unpleasant.

And what about this dance?' Grandmere rattled the ice in her Sidecar. 'This Christmas dance?'

'It's not a Christmas dance,' I said. 'It's a non-denominational—'

Grandmere waved a hand. The spiky charm bracelet she was wearing tinkled.

'Whatever,' she said. 'If you stop seeing this young man, who will you go to the dance with?'

'I won't go with anybody,' I said firmly, even though, of course, my heart was breaking at the thought. 'I'll just stay home.'

'While everyone else has a good time? Really, Amelia, you aren't being at all sensible. What about this other young man?'

'What other young man?'

'The one you claim to be so in love with. Won't he be at this dance with the house fly girl?'

'Fruit fly,' I corrected her. And I don't know. Maybe.'

The thought that Michael might ask Judith Gershner to the Non-Denominational Winter Dance had never occurred to me. But as soon as Grandmere mentioned it, I felt that same sickening sensation I'd felt at the ice-skating rink when I'd first seen them together: kind of like the time when Lilly and I were crossing Bleecker Street and this Chinese food delivery man crashed into us on his bicycle and I had all the wind knocked out of me.

Only this time it wasn't just my chest that hurt, but my tongue. It had been feeling a lot better but now it started to throb again.

'It seems to me,' Grandmere said, 'that one way to get this young man's attention might be to show up at the dance on the arm of this other young man, looking perfectly divine in an original creation by Genovian fashion designer, Sebastiano Grimaldi.'

I just stared at her. Because she was right. She was so right. Except. . .

'Grandmere,' I said. 'The guy I like? Well, he likes girls who can clone insects. OK? I highly doubt he is going to be

impressed by a dress.'

I didn't mention that I had, of course, just the other night, been hoping that very thing.

But almost as if she could read my mind, Grandmere just went, 'Hmm,' in this knowing way.

'Suit yourself,' she continued. 'Still, it seems a bit cruel to me, your breaking things off with this young man at this time of year.'

'Why?' I asked, confused. Had Grandmere inadvertendy stumbled across some TV channel playing It's a Wonderful Life or something? She had never shown one speck of holiday spirit before now. 'Because it's Christmas?

'No,' Grandmere said, looking very disgusted with me - I guess over the suggestion that she might ever be moved by the anniversary of the birth of anyone's saviour. 'Because of your exams. If you truly wish to be kind, I think you might at least

wait until your Final exams are over before breaking the poor litde fellow's heart.'

I had been all ready to argue with whatever excuse for me not breaking up with Kenny Grandmere came up with next - but

this one I had not expected. I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I know it was hanging open, because I could see it reflected in the three full-length mirrors beside me.

'I cannot imagine,' Grandmere went on, 'why you do not simply allow him to believe his ardour returned until your exams are over. Why compound the poor boy's stress? But you must, of course, do what you think is best. I suppose this, er, Kenny is the sort of boy who bounces back easily from rejection? He'll probably do quite well in his exams, in spite of his broken heart.'

Oh, God! If she had stabbed a fork in my stomach and twisted my intestines around the tines like spaghetti noodles, she couldn't have made me feel worse . . .

And, I have to admit, a little relieved. Because of course I can't break up with Kenny now. Never mind my Bio. grade and the dance - you can't break up with someone right before Finals. It's like the meanest thing you can do.

Well, aside from the kind of stuff Lana and her friends pull. You know, girls' locker room stuff, like going up to someone who

is changing and asking her why she wears a bra when she obviously doesn't need one, or making fun of her just because she doesn't happen to like being kissed by her boyfriend. That kind of thing.

So here I am. I want to break up with Kenny, but I can't.

I want to tell Michael how I feel about him, but I can't do that either.

I can't even quit biting my fingernails. I am going to gross out an entire European nation with my bleedy-looking cuticles.

I am a pathetic mess. No wonder in the car this morning - after I accidentally closed the door on Lars's foot - Lilly said that I should really look into getting some therapy, because if anybody needs to discover harmony between her conscious and her unconscious, it's me.