I seriously can’t stand Ethan. I’m just so sick of him trying to make me look stupid in front of people. On Friday night after the basketball game, a bunch of us were waiting for Blaine to shower. (He scored nineteen points including the game-winning shot after which he pointed right at me cheering on the sidelines and mouthed “I love you, babe.”) So anyway, at some point, I used the word infer and Ethan goes, “It’s imply, not infer,” and starts giving me this big lesson on the difference. So I said, “It’s Friday night, Ethan. Take a chill pill.” And he starts going off on how there is certain “basic knowledge” that all people should know. Like where New Orleans is. And then he starts quizzing me. He’s all “Does the sun rise in the east or the west?” Puh-lease! So I said, “The east”—and he goes, “Who is the vice president?” And I’ll admit that I blanked for one second. So he goes, “Dan Quayle!” I was like, “No shit, Sherlock.” Then he goes, “Keep diggin’, Watson.” And then, “Bet you can’t name three planets other than the one you’re on.” So I called him queer. Right in front of Tommy Bilas—who just came out of the closet. Of course, I apologized right away and said I didn’t mean that kind of queer. Just the lame kind of queer. Ethan just shook his head and said, “You wanna throw out some racist remarks while you’re at it?” I was like, “I’m not racist! Hello? I dated a Spaniard.” That shut him up. Who needs enemies when you’re friends with Ethan Ainsley?
March 16
Major update. I’m pretty sure my dad is having an affair. He was ordering a pizza and gave a phone number I didn’t recognize (not his work or our home). So I memorized it and called it later. Some chick answered and said, “Melanie Miller speaking.” I hung up on her. Later that night, after my mom had gone to drink a glass of wine in the bathtub, I said to my dad, all casually, “Who is Melanie Miller?” He looked at me, stunned, and said, “Why do you ask that?” And I could just tell. All the late nights doing emergency procedures started to make sense, as did the dental conference in Palm Beach. “No reason,” I said. And then, “Hey, mind if I take your Amex to the mall tomorrow? I really could use a new Dooney & Bourke bag.” He said yes quicker than he’s ever given me permission before. After that, I was positive he was up to no good. I went over to Rachel’s and balled my eyes out. But she and her mom said there’s probably a logical explanation. Something I’m not thinking of. I hope they are right. I don’t want my parents to get a divorce!!!!!
March 24
I did a phone book search for Melanie Millers. There is only one in our town. So after three days of drive-bys on Setauket Avenue, I found my dad’s BMW in her driveway. That night, he came to my room to ask me something. I just glared at him and said, “Dad. I’m kind of sick of the Dooney & Bourke. I’m thinking more along the lines of Gucci.” Then I gave him a good, long stare before he said yes. I’m so pissed and sad.
April 8
Things are going from bad to worse. I got rejected by Notre Dame. That was pretty much a given, but I thought maybe they’d let me in for the sake of diversity. I mean, everyone there is super smart and serious about school and Catholic. You’d think they’d want a few fun Protestants in the mix. But no. I made the mistake of telling Rachel I got in. The lie just sort of slipped out. I was going to be all “Psyche! Just kidding,” but she acted so shocked that I got offended and decided to stick to the lie. I don’t know what I will do if she gets in, though. Because then she will expect me to go with her, and I’ll have to make up another lie to cover it up. I guess that’s what they mean about lying being dangerous. They just start to pile up.
April 15
I disregarded my usual “I don’t break up, I trade up” rule and broke up with Blaine with no backup. I can’t take more talk about baseball (note to self: do NOT date a three-sport guy in college!), and there is literally not one single guy at school I want to date. I think I’ll ask Michael Jordan to the prom. I love the Bulls and I feel that I’m worthy of a superstar. I think I will enclose a bikini shot too. I bet he will say yes.
As for Melanie Miller, I don’t think she’ll be sleeping with my dad anymore. I called her and read this script that Rachel typed for me while she sat on another line with the phone muted. The conversation went like this: “Hello. May I please speak to Ms. Melanie Miller.”
“This is Melanie.”
“Melanie. My name is Gwendolyn Smith and I’m calling from the Illinois Department of Health.”
Silence.
“Ms. Miller, I regret to inform you that one of your former sexual partners has tested positive for the HIV virus.”