Third Time Lucky

But of course this time, there's a note attached to the rose. It says:

Good luck with your trip to Genovia! See you when you get back!

                                                  Your Secret Snowflake,

                                                   Boris Pelkowski

Boris Pelkowski. Boris is the one who has been leaving those roses. Boris is my Secret Snowflake.

Of course, Boris wouldn't know that a yellow rose represents love everlasting. Boris doesn't even know not to tuck his

sweater into his trousers. How would he know the secret language of flowers?

I don't know which was actually stronger, my feeling of relief that it wasn't Justin Baxendale leaving those roses after all ...

... or my feeling of disappointment that it wasn't Michael.

Then Michael went, 'Well? What's the verdict?'

To which I responded by staring at him blankly. I still hadn't quite gotten over it. You know, those brief few seconds when

I'd thought - I'd actually thought, fool that I am - that he loved me.

'What did you get in Algebra?' he asked slowly, as if I were dense.

Which, of course, I am. So dense that I never realized how much in love with Michael Moscovitz I was until Judith Gershner came along and swept him right out from under my nose.

Anyway, I opened the computer printout containing my grades, and would you believe that I had raised my F in Algebra all

the way up to a B minus?

Which just goes to show that if you spend nearly every waking moment in your life studying something, the likelihood is that

you are going to retain at least a little of it.

Enough to get a B minus on the Final, anyway.

I'm trying really hard not to gloat, but it's difficult. I mean, I'm so happy.

Well, except for the whole not-having-a-date-to-the-dance thing.

Still, it's hard to be unhappy. There is absolutely no way I got this grade because the teacher happens to be my stepfather. There's nothing subjective about Algebra, like in English. There's no interpretation of the facts. Either you're right or you're not.

And I was right. Eighty per cent of the time.

Of course, it helped that I knew the answer to the Final's extra credit question: What instrument did Ringo, in the Beatles, play?

But that was only worth two points.

Anyway, here's the part where I got into trouble. Even though, of course, it isn't my fault.

I was so happy about my B minus, I completely forgot for a minute how much I am in love with Michael. I even forgot, for a change, to be shy around him. Instead, I did something really unlike me.

I threw my arms around him.

Seriously. Threw my arms right around his neck and went, 'Wheeeeeee!!!!!'

I couldn't help it. I was so happy. OK, the whole rose thing had been a little bit of a bummer, but the B minus made up for it. Well, almost.

It was just an innocent hug. That's all it was. Michael had, after all, tutored me almost the whole semester. He had some stake in that B minus too.

But I guess Kenny, who Tina now tells me came around the corner right as I was doing it - hugging Michael, I mean - doesn't see it that way. According to Tina, Kenny thinks there's something going on between Michael and me.

To which, of course, I can only say, I WISH!

But I can't say that. I have to go find Kenny now and let him know, you know, it was just a friendly hug.

Tina's all, 'Why? Why don't you tell him the truth? That you don't feel the same way about him that he feels about you. This is your big chance!'

But you can't break up with someone during the Winter Carnival. I mean, really. How mean.

Why must my life be so fraught with trauma?

Friday, December 18, Still the Winter Carnival

Well, I still haven't found Kenny, but I really have to hand it to the administrators: grasping they might be, but they sure do know how to throw a party. Even Lilly is impressed.

Of course, signs of corporatization are everywhere: there are McDonald's orange drink dispensers on every floor, and it

looks as if there was a run on Entenmann's, there are so many cake-and-cookie-laden tables scattered around.

Still, you can tell they are really trying to show us a good time. All of the clubs are offering activities and booths. There's ballroom dancing in the gym, courtesy of the Dance Club; fencing lessons in the auditorium, thanks to the Drama Club; even cheerleading lessons in the first-floor hallway, brought to us by, you guessed it, the junior varsity cheerleaders.

I couldn't find Kenny anywhere, but I ran into Lilly at the Students for Amnesty International booth (Students Against the Corporatization of Albert Einstein High School did not submit their application for a booth in time to get one, so Lilly is stuck running the Amnesty International booth instead). And guess what? Guess who got an F in something?

That's right.

'Lilly.' I couldn't believe it. 'Mrs. Spears gave you an F in English? YOU got an F?'

She doesn't seem too bothered by it, though.